Tampa Calling

Restless again. My band stops playing and a smattering of applause fills the void of sound as the barkeep kicks on the punk jukebox. Love Comes in Spurts pipes through the shitty speakers as Richard Hell’s whiney voice affirms the nihilistic undertones of modern living. I look down at my sweat-stained shirt and a tiny button of Hell’s vacant stare pinned above my left breast pocket catches my eye. For a second, its blank straight-mouthed expression curls into a shit eating grin and he whispers up at me, “I know punk sounds better through the filter of a canned, thought-out and planned recording” as I rub my eyes, pick up my amplifier and carry it hastily out the back door.

Fresh air stings my lungs, billowing smoke escaping through the closing door behind me. I drop my keys, set the amp down on the pavement and pick them up. After throwing the amp in the back seat of my car, I reluctantly re-enter the bar from the back to finish cleaning up.

Unexpectedly, the door leads directly into my parents’ house three towns over. The sun burns through the large windows as my hands begin to shake uncontrollably. I must have really shaken something up in my head last night with that show, I tell myself in a panic. I can hear my parents arguing in the next room:

“Why can’t you use your gift of music to serve the Lord?”

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Screeching guitars over a rapid backbeat pierce 50 ears trying to hear 25 stilted conversations. A foot-long needle shoots directly through the beckoning orifices, winds around the ear canals and connects directly with the center of each half of the brain. A throbbing begins at the base of the skull as imaginary brain fluid leaks out of each ear. Each face contorts into wrinkled disgust and the faces move closer together.

“Music is my life!” screams one bearded-with-glasses 20-something into the ear of a young girl with hair framing her face, brown tank top, cut-off jean shorts and several colored tattoos spattered across each arm. Clouds of cigarette smoke linger between them and slowly rise to the tar-stained ceiling. From the other end of the bar, the shapes and cartoons on her arms aren’t distinguishable, but I’m convinced they’re more than just blobs of ink. ”Have you ever heard the first Bad Brains album?” he continues to yell, ”It’s so raw, I can’t get enough of it!”

The band falls into a repetitive pattern of chunky chords, fast, pounding, tribal drums and hollering vocals. A few words sneak out of the mix, “MAKE…APPOINTMENT…TIME…MIND…EXCUSE!” Fuzzed mumbling fills the spaces between the recognizable words.

“I’m so glad you like them, too! Did you go see them at State a few months ago? They were great. I was there for Propaghandi, though!” the girl hollers back.

“What!? I can’t hear a fucking thing with this shit music!” Read the rest of this entry »

To begin by beating a dead horse: Modern Radio sucks! We’re lucky in the Tampa Bay area with WMNF, but even this leftist station leans toward mainstream boomer culture rather than underground or avant garde sounds. And who can blame them? Fiscal feasability dictates the output of modern media (d’uh).

In a pinch, I tend to listen to right wing radio for a good, healthy gut laugh, because it’s better than being depressed by cheesy mediocrity! Bottom line: Radio is for the masses. Lowest common denominator pandering pervades every aspect of post-modern living. From the huge conglomerates to the indies, companies and not-for-profits don’t have faith in our ability to think, contemplate and make our own decisions. This is not special knowledge that I’ve tapped into / I do not have any extra intelligence not available to the rest of you. You are all well aware of the hoodwink that modern media attempts to pull over on us every day. It/s like that “Everybody Knows” song by Leonard Cohen (he supercedes boomer culture, right?). Read the rest of this entry »

New from No Clear Records: a schizophrenic compilation colliding different genres of the underground and crapping them together in one easy to swallow CD-R. No Clear, No Eyes Volume 2 spirals around themes of frustration, loneliness and salvation through the lenses of punk, no wave, garage, folk, experimental, noise, comedy, avant garde, rock ‘n’ roll and more without batting an eye. All thought up, recorded and executed right here in Florida (mostly Tampa Bay, though other acts hail from Gainesville and Melbourne), this compilation accurately depicts the underbelly of Florida culture that more and more people are seeking out as mainstream alternatives to their cultural intake.

Tonight, Friday, May 22, 2009, Cafe Bohemia hosts a compilation release show for this seminal Florida mix featuring live music from some of Tampa Bay’s most exciting weirdos. 937 Central Ave., St. Petersburg, 6 or 7 p.m. start time (it’ll go all night). (Follow the jump for track listing.)

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Improvisational collective Legatto Staccato has released an exclusive new track entitled “Lemonjello’s Birthday” recorded sometime last year at the International Academy of Design and Technology in Tampa.

This recording is an excerpt from a half-hour session the band recorded using drums, bass, guitar, saxophone, percussion and various analog sound effects (including assorted balloons and toys). No word yet on whether the entire session will be released, but it’s likely. No word yet if this means more performances from the group, but keep checking their site and this blog for updates.

Leg Stac on MySpace

Legatto Staccato – Bounce.mp3

I’ve got some pretty varied taste in music and I’m usually pretty open to the sort of sonics other people tend to find abrasive, or abnormal, or just plain out there. I like music that feels like it could fall apart at any minute, that’s absurd or ironic, that’s too smart for its own good. I like music that sounds like it comes from outerspace, music with noises I can’t describe in simple text (though they’re a bitch to write about), and I’m especially drawn to novelty as long as it’s backed up by brilliance and not some sort of artificial play at it. I like dissonance and cacophony, especially when the band that brandishes it knows what they’re doing.

But I’ll be the first to admit that I’m just not a fan of Noise, nor do I think I really even get it. I mean, any genre of music that, by definition, means a loud, harsh, confused, discordant sound or group of sounds, just doesn’t sound appealing to me. And I’ve yet to find a self-described noise band that’s done anything other than turn me off.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something redeeming about it, to someone. Which brings me to the real reason for this post: St. Pete International Noise Fest 2. (Organizers sent the press release to me too late for inclusion in the paper, but on time enough to make it to this blog.)

The free, BYOB outdoor fest features 13 bands with such memorably awful and amusing names as Insecticide Lobotomy, Grand Hotel Abyss, Black Beast of Arrrghhh, The Uh…, The Fuckin Faggots (pictured above, if you couldn’t tell by the sign boobtube being used as a sign), Cozmonot 13, Aloonaluna, The Penetralia and Telepathik Friend. I’ve checked out a few, and they’re actually not half bad. More ambient noise and Dan Deacon-esque electro rather than harsh. Could be a fun time; I bet some of these guys have some crazy light rigs.

Sat., April 4, 6 p.m., Megavod, 11498 68th St., Largo, free admission.

The 17th annual fest takes place Feb. 24-March 1 and will feature Antony & the Johnsons, Deerhunter, Stephen Malkmus, Josh Ritter (solo with a string quartet), A.C. Newman, French Kicks, Matt Costa, Thao Nguyen, Martha Wainwright, From Monument to Masses, Kool Keith, Mike Relm, The Morning Benders, The Submarines, Ra Ra Riot, Dear And The Headlights, The Matches, Portugal.The Man, Sholi, Flosstradamus, N.A.S.A., No Age, Les Savy Fav, and several others. For more info, check out the Noise Pop 17 website.

Over in the record reviews section, I’ve posted a write up of the new Dälek album, Gutter Tactics. Haven’t heard of them?

Give it a read and check them out. Here’s a teaser for you:

Dälek is not your typical rap group; in fact, they are something completely different altogether. Sure, there are beats and rhyming, but it’s not the sort of music that would pass for hip-hop on MTV or in dance clubs. There are no guest rappers littering every other track. There is no hook while the DJ revolves it. Read the rest of this entry »

Insecticide Lobotomy

Tampa Bay musician Insecticide Lobotomy (IL) performs and creates noise by manipulating and combining a series of effect pedals and processors.  Turning knobs on and off while adjusting oscillation, frequency, pitch and rhythm of the different effects, musicians like IL create a soundscape of squeals, clicks, drones and caustic noise.  Certainly not unique in technique or attitude, IL serves as a great example of the growing noise community.  Also, he crafts noise very eloquently compared to some of his contemporaries, while not being too sophisticated to bash it out with the best of ’em.

Basically performances like the Youtube video up above pose intrinsic questions about the very natures of music and expression themselves.  Is this music?  What is music?  Who cares?…

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