Tampa Calling

It was ridiculously hot. It took me 15 minutes to realize that my white wife beater would become my face towel for the day. It was loud. It was colorful. It was my first time at Vinoy Park. And finally, at the age of 24, it was my first time experiencing Warped Tour.

It’s been three years since I attended a music festival and as I walked through the ticket line into a field filled with tents, stages, beer stands and even a slip n’ slide, I instantly recalled why I love outdoor fests; passing through the gates meant entering a world of the unpredictable and the unexpected. I didn’t know what kind of crazies I’d come across (there were bound to be some amidst the 10,000 attendees), what kind of new music I’d hear, or how pleased I’d be with the bands I was there to support. Read the rest of this entry »

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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Sunday night rock ‘n’ roll shows: difficult to book, annoying to promote and hard to get people to leave their comfortable homes and come out for bands they may not have heard about. My band Blast and the Detergents last played a Sunday night show a couple months ago at Crowbar opening for amazing touring band, Pontiak, and “gets more Tampa shows than I do” Orlando band Kingsbury.

(Another band played and I can’t remember their name — kind of Hootie and the Blowfish-sounding singer songwritery stuff… not my bag).  Anyway, the show turned out great because the DJ played some really great classic punk and rock ‘n’ roll junk, Pontiak owned and I got to play, which I always enjoy regardless of crowd size or reception.

However, I always feel bad when I fail to deliver the promise of beer drinkers for these dive bars that put up with my crazy sound. Sundays, this memorable Crowbar night included, challenge the notion of profit for these beer holes.

On the other hand, touring band always need a place to play on Sundays, and with the notorious Atlanta tour cutoff we usually cry about down here, I am satisfied when a band I like plays any night of the week down this way in our chatty little twin cities.

Chapel Hill underground rockers Americans in France destroyed the Emerald last year (I think it was a Thursday) with one-man garage-rock  band Pinche Gringo (he covered The Gories, for Christ’s sake) and now they are returning to our fair sprawl. I am bringing them into bombed-out downtown Tampa’s little bar/venue Kelly’s Pub this Sunday, May 17 around 8 or 9 p.m.  (you know how these things go).

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Wednesday, March 18: I arrived to Austin by 9:30am, exhausted from the previous night’s St. Patty’s Day festivities. On the plane Flee and Jo Ellen (from WMNF and The Globe respectively) had the privilege to watch me zonk out with mouth agape for most of the 2 hour flight.

Excitement was high as soon as I deplaned. Dozens of people carrying guitar cases were scurrying about the terminal as if late for a very important meeting. I took a shuttle to the “Little” Ramada on the far ass north of town, where I would be staying during my visit. The driver ran me down the key places to visit in Austin (Bat Country, The Capitol), the great restaurants to visit (Guero’s) and that I shouldn’t walk the streets around my hotel alone at night. At first impression Austin seemed tired and run down, with haggard bums adorning every street corner.

Upon arriving to the hotel, I met two bands off the bat: Colombia’s Raton Perez and London’s Little Thief. I took advantage of my “journalist status” and did a quick interview with each:

Raton Perez (Screamo Heavy Metal)

Little Thief (Pop Punk ala Arctic Monkeys)

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Black Lips play Orpheum in Ybor City next Thursday, March 26. Here’s my feature/interview with the band:

“I want other bands like us to become as successful as we are so they can stay as shitty as we are,” says Jared Swilley, bass player for Black Lips, talking on a cell phone as the band rolls out of Omaha in a van.
So why is Swilley standing up for shitty music? You have to understand his definition of such: music that comes from a raw, unfiltered place, that’s not recorded using the latest computer technology, that doesn’t concern itself with whether the vocals and guitars are exactly in tune or the rhythms are perfectly in time.

“I like the human side of music,” he says. “I love imperfections and mistakes. Otherwise the cyborgs win. Look at ‘Louie Louie.’ It was No. 1 hit [actually a No. 2 in 1963] and it was sloppy and had the biggest vocal flub.”

“Louie Louie” would be a fair reference point for the music of Black Lips, an Atlanta quartet that’s been together since the early part of this decade. It sounds like the stuff made in basements and garages by self-taught kids in the 1960s, recorded off-the-cuff with lots of reverb and little regard for squeaky-clean sonics. Black Lips have dubbed their music “flower punk.”

“When me and [guitarist] Cole [Alexander] were pretending to be in a band early on, we listened to The Germs and they couldn’t play their instruments at all,” Swilley says. “When we really started playing guitar, we emulated Link Wray. He had these guitar riffs that were cool and tough and easy to play. We were into the punk stuff, but we were always into the ’60s stuff.”

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Where to begin? Last Thursday seems like so long ago, the start of a very long weekend of incredible music. With the Harvest Of Hope festival bringing bands by the boatload to Florida, many of them played shows throughout the state before and after the weekend. I (with my girlfriend and a few other friends) went to four shows in six days across the state. I did my best to document all of this with pictures and video; and even managed to score a short video interview with Bryce Dessner of The National. Read the rest of this entry »

On February 18th, both the Chicago Tribune and Pitchfork ran stories that put a knife through the heart of the punk/indie world. Venerable Chicago label, Touch and Go Records would be closing it’s distribution wing and massively scaling back it’s own output. This decision, that I’m sure was made after all other options were exhausted, effects more than just T&G’s roster. They provided distribution for 23 other labels Read the rest of this entry »

The Cramps crapped the punk of The Sonics/Ramones continuum and Hasil Adkins/Link Wray rockabilly together in the late ’70s, extolling the virtues of simple, high-velocity distorted music and inescapable, in-your-face attitude, and naming their new subgenre “psychobilly.” Best described as a psychotic crooner, Lux Interior sang and contorted for The Cramps for the last 30-something years. Poetry about death, alienation, revenge and caustic self-affirmation littered their first EP, Gravest Hits, and LP, Songs the Lord Taught Us, (my two favorites), and rang true for me and countless others across the world over the years. “The way I walk is just the way I walk” and other such declarations paired with science fiction/horror references defined their early records. Early live shows were characterized by Lux literally going crazy and falling apart onstage, including vomiting all over himself and other antics. Here’s some footage of The Cramps playing a mental hospital in 1978:

Delayed, choking/massively stuttering vocals filled spaces between two or three chords heavily drenched in reverb and distortion punk. Mesmerizing, inspiring simplicity speaks toward the minimalism of the amateur (doing something for the love of it).

Rest in peace, Lux, and thanks for the music/inspiration/thoughts and references to an underground culture of rollicking rock ‘n’ roll fun.

Little Fyodor returns to Tampa Bay Friday night to downtown St. Petersburg’s Cafe Bohemia. After blowing the roof off of Transitions Art Gallery and then the whole town of Gainesville one year ago with his cohort Babushka, Fyodor returned to his home in Colorado, kept in touch with some Floridians, and played some Florida music on his radio show, “Under the Floorboards.”

Locals in attendance at Transitions for Fyodor’s performance have been waiting with bated breath and salty skin for the return of an underground legend. A combination of weird, angular and hilarious, the music of Little Fyodor represents an underground barely covered in any medium.  His 80s band Walls of Genius got one line of text in the Richie Unterberger classic book, Unknown Legends of Rock n Roll.

Extremely entertaining, spastic and poignant in combating our current boredom/mediocrity based culture, Little Fyodor promises to put on a great show this Friday, January 16.

Pictured: Little Fyodor strangles a guitar (courtesy www.littlefyodor.com).

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Mohawk Bomb Records, the award-winning, Clearwater-based independent record label, announces its release schedule for spring 2009.

Soulfound “Live at Zen Recording”: features 5 songs performed live at Zen Recording from their “Is a Rock Band” album, released in September 2008. There are 5 video companions to the songs available on Soulfound’s YouTube channel. The EP will be  available as a digital release on February 17, 2009.

No Lip Vol. 2 Compilation: This 14-song eclectic mixed bag of Rock music anthems is the second release in Mohawk Bomb’s No Lip series. Although leaning towards Punk and Pop Rock, No Lip pulls samples from the Florida, California, Texas, Ontario (Canada), UK and Australian music scenes as a survey course of the caliber of independent music. Profiles on each of the contributing bands will be posted on the label’s Website at www.mohawkbomb.com over the next month. The compilation will be available for sale online after February 24, 2009. Physical CDs will be passed out as free giveaways and sent to music press around the USA.

Mohawk Bomb Records is a new kind of record label, focused on sharing all music with the World using social networking and Web 2.0 technologies.

Hankshaw & Friends

The annual New Granada Christmas Show at New World Brewery featuring King of Spain, Davey von Bohlen, Hankshaw and Jarvik 7 was a splendid night of reunions with a grand soundtrack.  The show has a reputation for unique elements (including in past years the reunions of Scrog, Pohgoh and appearances by elusive bands like The Blackwoods Orchestra) and it’s a place to meet up with friends from near and far.

King of Spain… Read the rest of this entry »

The Encyclopedia of Punk ($19. 56 at Amazon) lives up to its name with A-Z coverage of approximately 500 bands, zines, clubs, labels, subgenres and scenesters.

The text is peppered with hundreds of pages that capture the movement in all its sweaty, ripped denim and tattooed glory.

With a cover the size of a vinyl jacket and 400 glossy pages that make the tome thicker and heavier than your first laptop, it should make for an impressive presence on any self-respecting punk enthusiasts’ coffee table — or that old speaker box doubling as one.