January 2005 Live Reviews (scroll down to read all of them)

SOCIAL DISTORTION
TIGER ARMY
RED TAPE
November 26, 2004 @ the Wiltern Theatre (Los Angeles, CA)
By Marcus Solomon

Social Distortion put on a visceral, inspiring, and celestial performance at the opulent Wiltern Theatre, with psychobilly goth-rockers Tiger Army providing strong support. It has taken over 20 years for the diamond in the rough that is Social Distortion to make its way from the dingy and dirty little punk clubs to the pretty jewel-box venues like the awe-inspiring, art-deco Wiltern Theatre. I was fortunate to have enjoyed Social D live over two decades ago at the infamous Cathay de Grande, a tiny, fire-trap basement club that was located in nearby Hollywood. At times, it seemed like a strange, surreal dream to see the band now bathed in relative success and fame performing in a fancy place that never would have allowed such music in the past. Has society become distorted enough for the wealthy to truly appreciate the value in bands such as this, or do they simply follow popular trends and present whatever sells tickets? Whatever the reason, the punks and freaks have infiltrated the popular venues and airwaves.

SKRATCH MAGAZINE pulled a few strings to obtain these special tickets so that I could take my friend (and writing student) Scott Brown to see one of his favorite bands. Young Scott is confined to a wheelchair due to his degenerative muscular dystrophy and has to travel with an attendant. Despite the best efforts of those close to the bands, we were only able to secure two tickets, thus creating a dilemma. Scott graciously declined to attend so that I could go and write this article.

I arrived just as opening band Red Tape was finishing its set and heard two songs from this capable and energetic four-piece (which is signed to Roadrunner Records). Red Tape is a fine band that seemed to be out of its element. Its old-school punk meets chunky metal was over-polished by the Wiltern mixing board, and the band members seemed stiff and reluctant to move about the stage. Red Tape does not belong in a jewel box.

About 20 minutes later, the lights dimmed to a deep, dark blue, and the large Tiger Army banner silently slid into place at the rear of the stage. Hoots and whistles from the considerable number of psychobilly fans in attendance welcomed the dark trio. Wasting no time, the band jumped right into what it does best: pumping out wild, dark tunes that make people want to slam dance at a '50s sock hop with Frankenstein. Despite the band's urging, the crowd did not slam dance, due to the venue's strict rules against it. Even so, the heavy slappin' of Geoff Kresge's stand-up bass was genuinely infectious; Fred Hell's drum work was simple, strong, and steady; while Nick 13's sharp guitar often reminded me of early T.S.O.L. Nick also has a great singing voice, but he sometimes sounds like a strip-club DJ when addressing the audience. Favorite songs of the evening include "Santa Clara Twilight", which featured some interesting country/western infusion; the very splendid "The Power of Moonlite"; "Fuck the World"; and the set ended strongly with the echo-laden "Never Die".

It was easier to see from above, so I switched my floor ticket with someone who had a balcony seat. The view of the stage was amazingly close and unobstructed. As if on cue, the large Social D banner of a dancing skeleton dropped into place. Then, one by one, each band member walked into position, with Mr. Ness taking his place last. Mike was wearing his mechanic's clothes, a perfect juxtaposition to the Wiltern's lavishness. Following a strange melodic piano intro, the band exploded into its compelling version of "Under My Thumb". Now the crowd really started to churn, as the energy level suddenly spiked. The next number was the defiant 1983 classic "Telling Them". The strong energy kept building in intensity as the band continued to belt out one great song after another. We were then treated to "Bad Luck", the new radio hit "Reach for the Sky", "Sick Boy", the classic "Mommy's Little Monster", and the euphoric rush of "1941". Some of the fans could no longer contain themselves and began to slam. Unfortunately, it was the big lunkhead, kick-your-ass version of a pit, which was fearsome enough to keep away both the disapproving security and anyone not suicidal and/or on steroids. Having reached the energetic apex, the music then became predominantly ethereal. "Prison Bound" created a deeper, somber mood, and I almost expected Mike to grow greasy, broken angel wings. My personal favorite from the new album came next, and I felt a bit of a chill as the great "Highway 101" filled my soul. Suddenly, another banner came down, covering the first: a massive reproduction of the new album SEX, LOVE AND ROCK 'N' ROLL's cover. Clever. Mike then dedicated a tune to our fascist elect, Mr. G.W. Bush: "Don't Drag Me Down". The set ended with Social D's fantastic cover of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire".

A genuine encore was called for, and Mike then took the opportunity to thank all of "the old-timers" for being loyal fans. He also pointed out that in the early days of punk rock, "it wasn't so much the gangs we had to look out for, it was the whole rest of society!" True, the underground has become accepted to a strange degree. Three songs were then played. The first two were reflective and insightful works from the new album, "Winners and Losers" and "Nickels and Dimes". The final tune of the evening was "Story of My Life"-the perfect end to a show that was, in essence, the story of Mike Ness's life. I have to admit that for a long time I had wondered if Social Distortion was even a punk band anymore. I have come to realize that it took this long for my consciousness to comprehend what was happening.

GWAR
DYING FETUS
ALL THAT REMAINS
December 2, 2004 @ the Galaxy Theatre (Santa Ana, CA)
By Lorraine McTiernan

When my 15-year-old nephew Christopher asked me to take him to a "rock and roll" concert, I said yes without even thinking twice about it. What I ended up seeing was the single most offensive spectacle I have ever witnessed. The members of GWAR should be ashamed of themselves. As a devout Christian, I am praying for their souls; and when you read what happened at their show, I'm sure you will be, too. WARNING: The following description is very graphic and may upset some sensitive readers.

We arrived at the theatre a bit late, so we missed All That Remains and walked in to find a band called Dying Fetus on stage. I thought their name was in wretched taste, and the singer's low, guttural tone had me suspecting that their lyrics were Satanic in nature. I grinned and bore it, saying a small prayer to myself to keep the demons at bay.

As the lights dimmed for GWAR, Christopher wanted to go into the "mosh pit," which is an area of the dance floor where people flail their arms violently. (I don't understand why this adds to the enjoyment of the music, but apparently it's all the rage with teenagers these days.) I forbade Christopher from taking part in any "moshing" and stood with him just beyond the edge of the dance floor. Then, a person in an oversized, latex John Kerry costume walked onto the stage. He made some comments about his war record and lack of character. It was rather humorous. But then the band took the stage dressed like some sort of wicked demon-creatures. They were so repulsive that it truly turned my stomach. The lead singer picked up a huge, foam-rubber sword and hacked off John Kerry's head. While I appreciate the fact that the band has as much distaste for liberals as I do, I was upset to see them express themselves with such violence. As the first song began, a thick stream of blood spewed from Kerry's body and the singer gluttonously fed upon it before turning the stream towards the audience. I assumed the audience would immediately leave in disgust and the show would be over, but for reasons I cannot comprehend, the audience actually seemed to ENJOY being sprayed with blood! I became a little frightened and squeezed Christopher's hand, but he wrested free and shook his fists in the air. Thank the good Lord he was not making the sign of the Devil with his fingers (as many others were). Someone in an Arnold Schwarzenegger costume came on stage for the second song. I will not repeat the lewd comments Arnold made about women's personal areas, but suffice it to say that the costume included massively oversized fingers. Arnold's hands were chopped off-and, again, the audience was sprayed with blood. A Paris Hilton character was brought out for the third song, and I enjoyed the fact that the band condemned her loose sexual morals. I did not, however, enjoy watching them tear Paris in half and force her to perform...a certain sexual act...on herself. Next, they brought out Michael Jackson and promptly pulled his face off. Blood spurted from the skull underneath, and this time the stream reached all the way to the back of the dance floor, dousing Christopher and myself. Christopher shrieked with delight; I shrieked in horror. My Faith Hill concert T-shirt was now completely ruined! I had had enough, so I grabbed Christopher's hand and pulled him towards the door-but he broke free and ran into the "mosh pit." I nearly left Christopher behind when the band brought out President Bush, exposed his genitalia, and proceeded to treat it in a despicably sinful manner. I thought they had reached the height of tastelessness with such an obscene amount of disrespect for our Commander-in-Chief (during a time of war, no less!), but they went one step further by bringing out Lacey Peterson and pulling a fish out of her womb. I couldn't help myself: I started loudly booing. The optimist in me thought things might end on a decent note when they introduced a character called "The Reaganator," which was part robot, part Ronald Reagan...but they hacked it to pieces with their swords, and the robot sprayed blood and green fluid all over the audience before the band exited the stage. For some unfathomable reason, the crowd called for an encore, and the singer returned with a snake-like phallus strapped over his groin that sprayed green liquid on everyone. Finally, they brought out a fluid-spewing cannon called "the bile driver" and finished everyone off.

I found Christopher afterwards and scolded him the whole way home. I couldn't believe what he'd gotten me into, and now he was sitting in my Volvo covered head to toe with God knows what. The members of GWAR are clearly morally bankrupt and in desperate need of the guiding light of the Lord Jesus Christ. I truly hope God will help them find their way. Until then, I urge all parents to boycott, protest, and censor GWAR so that they might not pollute any more young minds with their vile and degenerate behavior. Let's keep America's youth safe. Thank you for listening. God bless.

THE ADICTS
THE DICKIES
D.I.
2 CENTS
BAD SAMARITANS
December 2, 2004 @ the Vault (Long Beach, CA)
By Marcus Solomon

The Vault is a converted bank located near the Queen Mary in downtown Long Beach, CA. It is a nice, medium-size venue that appears to still have a lot of money invested in it. The fashionably bored young woman at the door was being a bit of a bad Samaritan, so I missed the band of that name. In fact, the entire Soliman family (no relation to this writer), had a bit of trouble getting into the show-despite the fact that they own the label to which The Adicts are currently signed. No backstage privileges for Ezzat Soliman, the man who owns SOS Records? It is not good for the Vault to actually live up to its name by making it difficult for guests to obtain entry.

2 Cents was second on the roster-but first on my list of bands to enjoy. At first, I hated this group. The first song was a thrash-bang concoction consisting of ear-splitting screaming and a cacophony of irritating guitars. It is still unclear whether or not this first number was the band playing a joke on the audience. The crowd responded with a flurry of middle fingers and a general consensus of "fuck you," to which the band retorted with big smiles and "fuck you, too!" Things immediately took a turn for the better, as the band then burst into a high-energy set of punk-thrash-metal imbued with humor and a definite sense of social insight. My personal favorites from this band were "Pop Music Is the Enemy" and the hilariously intense rendition of the theme from THE SIMPSONS, which blended into a head-banging interpretation of the theme from KING OF THE HILL. 2 Cents' music is an unpretentious and explosive breath of fresh air...but those long-hairs look a bit smelly.

Soon, the sparkly purple curtain did its silent, electronic parting, revealing the illustrious D.I. Casey greeted the crowd with his typical laid-back, impromptu chatter. "Hi! We're D.I.! I don't know why, but we're D.I." Then the band burst right into the classic "O.C. Life" to a very appreciative audience. The group played tightly, enthusiastically, and was well-received, but the sound quality was definitely lacking. The overall mix of the instruments sounded muted, the volume kept drifting up and down, and there were times when the sound of one guitar or another would disappear completely. Despite these problems, everyone enjoyed the songs, which included "Hang Ten (in East Berlin)", "Falling Out", "O.C. Is Burning", "Johnny's Got a Problem", and "Voices in My Head". The set ended with everyone singing along to one of the best-known songs in all of punkdom, "Amoeba". (For the record, Casey wrote this song many years ago, when he was the drummer for The Adolescents.)

My personal favorite band, The Dickies, was up to do that silly punk-rawk thang it does so well. Did you know that The Dickies is the only punk band to release NEW music in four different decades? Yes, children, this band is OLD (and so am I). If you can't appreciate old-school, power-chord zaniness with puppets, bad jokes, and dumb props, then you are definitely taking life much too seriously. The various sound problems were still evident, and lead guitarist Stan Lee's amp head appeared to have died, but he quickly changed it and the band charged forward. Most of the standard favorites were on tap, including the cover of The Moody Blues' "Knights in White Satin", "Waterslide", "I'm OK, you're OK", "Poodle Party"; and, of course, the big, happy penis puppet Stewart sang his anthem, "If Stewart Could Talk". Later, vocalist Leonard informed me that Stan's amp had merely come unplugged, but nobody else noticed, so they changed the whole thing.

Mirth, glee, and an overwhelming sense of happiness was the final item on this evening's agenda as The Adicts once again immersed its fans in rapturous music, miles of Silly String, and pounds of glitter and confetti, all topped off with a generous helping of smiles and glistening sweat. Monkey and his droogs put on quite an energetic show that lasted well over an hour-and-a-half. Scanning the crowd, I noticed a substantial number of kids rocking out with their very cool parents. Remember, this was a THURSDAY night, so I asked the young Mexican kid dancing next to me if he had to go to school the next day. Without missing a beat, he said, "Yeah, but my mom is cool with it, as long as I don't complain tomorrow. And besides, this is THE ADICTS!" As usual, the set began with "Viva la Revolution", appropriately setting the pace and atmosphere for more of the same joviality. The previous sound problems were remedied, so the band cranked out many old favorites including "You're All Fools", "My Baby Got Run Over by a Steamroller", and "Who Spilt My Beer?". A few new songs off the latest album, ROLLERCOASTER, were also performed, such as "Youth", "Cheese Tomato Man", and "Rollercoaster". The encore consisted of "Songs of Praise", "Roll Call", "Bad Boy", and the reprise of "Viva la Revolution". Giant inflatable balls and balloons bounced throughout, as the charismatic Monkey led everyone through another unforgettable round of celebration without agenda.

BETA FACTOR
A THORN FOR EVERY HEART
SAOSIN
FINCH
December 4, 2004 @ the Glass House (Pomona, CA)
Text by Tim Markel, photos by Todd Markel

We drove up to our usual parking space about a block away from the Glass House. I could tell it was going to be cold outside, as it had just rained. After much contemplation, I decided I'd rather be cold now than hold my sweatshirt in the mosh pit, so comfort and I went our separate ways as I shivered my way up to the venue. The crowd around the box office was polluting the street, as many of the kids standing stagnantly didn't have tickets to get in. The smirk was quickly yanked from a few eager teens' faces as the woman behind the window informed them that they weren't on the guest list and that the show was sold out.

Beta Factor was the first band to molest the stage. I was more than happy to stand still for them, as it seemed that everyone else in the building would be following the trend. This band's sound ranges from boring to unmemorable. Their really slow, sludgy melodic rock kept me yawning for about 30 minutes. Their stage presence was dull, mellow, random, and unorganized. Some kind of light show definitely could have helped them out. The bassist seemed blatantly out of place with his crazy robotic side-step moonwalk dance. The keyboard accented the band-and was possibly the only thing holding the songs together. Give these guys a year or two to find their sound-and, hopefully, a better singer-and then we'll see.

The only thing I knew about the next band, A Thorn for Every Heart, prior to this show was that they had been getting a decent amount of recognition on smartpunk.com. Before the band even played a note, I could tell I was in for a lot more than the first band had offered me. A Thorn for Every Heart took the stage faster than you can say "trendy haircut" and blew away any prior expectations I had for them. These guys are your typical pop screamo band with nothing too distinguishable, though I might consider obtaining their CD. The band seemed talented on their instruments and really tight as a group, and the singer's vocal range is pretty high. With that being said, I recommend downloading a few of these guys' songs before buying the CD.

Saosin

Again the lights came on as the equipment was quickly shuffled off stage and replaced with Saosin's. The lights dimmed so slowly that I hardly noticed it happening, and members of Saosin took to the pitch-black stage. They built up into the first song, "Lost Symphonies", as their somewhat new singer, Cove Reber, emerged from the blackness wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap. By way of comparing Cove to the singer who put these guys on the map, Anthony Green, I'd have to say that Cove is not exactly as high-pitched as Anthony but can still match every note with flying colors. They played every song off their EP TRANSLATING THE NAME, plus a Cove original called "Bury Your Head", a new instrumental tune, and "Mookie's Last Christmas". Saosin's set ended with an extended version of "They Perched on Stilts Pointing and Daring Me". If you haven't heard Saosin yet, you need to do yourself a favor and either buy their CD or find the songs that are available on the Internet. (Saosin is already well into the recording process of their new CD, which will most likely be available within the first quarter of 2005.)

Finch

I was really surprised to see that a lot of people cleared out after Saosin's set. I wasn't really anticipating Finch's set all that much, having just seen Finch at the Holiday Havoc show just last month. Don't get me wrong: Finch is up in my top-five favorite bands, but I was pretty much exhausted from Saosin's set and time spent in the pit. Finch suddenly broke into the opening chords of "Worms of the Earth", which was the most memorable part of their set. I was baffled by the amount of new songs they played, as was most of the crowd. During the new songs, the audience would pretty much stand still. After block after block of new songs, they broke into "Untitled", and it was as if the venue had been building up tension waiting for a recognizable song, and the audience exploded with frenzy. The band ended with "What It Is to Burn" (as expected) and left the stage with the guitar delay still ringing out. After about two minutes of swooshing and clicking of ambience, Nate (singer) and Randy (guitar) took the stage again to begin the encore. Randy and Nate began the opening chords of "Ender", and a couple minutes into the song the rest of the band had joined in to finish the epic closer. Great show! But I was far too exhausted after Saosin's set to enjoy Finch's as much as I would have liked to. Or maybe they just played too many new songs. (The release of a new full-length by Finch should be sometime around March 2005.)

SPARTA
FURTHER SEEMS FOREVER
COPELAND
SUNSHINE
December 4, 2004 @ Henry Fonda Theater (Hollywood, CA)
By Drew Baker

No one sent me the memo regarding earlier show times for sold-out all-ages shows. That would have been a helpful memo to receive. It would have saved me the disappointment of missing the first THREE opening bands. So, for now, I am left only to imagine how Sunshine, Copeland, and Further Seems Forever sounded live.

Considering this was my first experience at the Henry Fonda Theater-a fact simultaneously sad and pleasant-I was largely impressed (aside from the overzealous security guard who searched me). I walked into the venue to the wonderful surprise of an upper tier-with seating, which was perfect, because I am a lazy bastard.

Subsequent to the break-up of At the Drive-In, the members went on to continue their musical paths. Two members went on to form The Mars Volta; the remaining three found bass player Matt Miller and started Sparta. Originally from El Paso, TX, but now residing in Los Angeles, Sparta was here on their five-week tour and ready to jam.

As the anticipation seemed to peak, the house lights dimmed and an eerie, ambient instrumental jam seeped through the speakers. While the curtain rose, smoke crawled across the dark stage and the lights scoured the audience. Behind the band equipment loomed the word "SPARTA" above their swan logo (recognizable from the cover of their latest album, PORCELAIN). In the shadows, the four members of Sparta took the stage. In an explosion of blue lights solely focused on drummer Tony Hajjar, they ripped into the drum-heavy intro of "Guns of Memorial Park" (track 1 of PORCELAIN). As singer/guitarist Jim Ward belted out the melodies, he boosted the band's intensity by improving vocal lines. They seamlessly blended the end of the song with the beginning of "Mye" (found on both their AUSTERE EP and WIRETAP SCARS full-length) with an instrumental jam. To me, it sounded as if they were playing the moody, half-time song a tad faster than on the recorded versions, but it added a new dimension to the intensity. Ward took a moment after the song finished to say "What's up, L.A.?" while guitarist Paul Hinojos held out some ambient notes underneath that they extended into the guitar intro of "La Cerca". Once again, Ward sang improvised versions of his lines soulfully. Their set was a very well-thought-out balance of material from the EP and both full-lengths. The highlight song of their performance was "Vacant Skies", an older, driving, half-time song from AUSTERE; but running a close second was their explosive six-count song "Cut Your Ribbon". That song had Ward, Miller, and Hinojos at their respective microphones screaming the words in unison, while Hajjar rocked the drums furiously. Another powerful moment was during "From Now to Never" when Ward put down the guitar and sat down at a keyboard. He passionately sang into a microphone in front of him and played along as the rest of the band brought it down. They dropped the song into an almost Sun Ra-esque space-jazz noise jam. Hajjar turned away from his drum kit, picked up a djembe (an African, handheld, bongo-like instrument) and tapped a soft beat underneath Ward's piano and Hinojos's spacey guitar. Toward the end of the show, Ward put down the electric guitar and picked up an acoustic. The rest of the band left the stage as Ward belted out the beginning of "Collapse". The band rejoined him midway through the song, making the rendition of the song powerful with the combination of electric instruments and acoustic. They closed the night with "Air" from WIRETAP SCARS. The straight kick-drum beat of the verses had the crowd clapping along, and the hard-edged choruses rang through the walls.

After the captivating hour and 20 minutes of watching the four-piece vibe together on stage, I was left speechless. Their ability to span the spectrum of raw and aggressive and soft and spacey continues to astound. Aside from a few minor exceptions (like tempo), their live set is almost CD-quality. Jim Ward's knack for improvising his vocal lines keeps the show entertaining and makes every show different. If they come through your town, check them. And if you haven't heard them, it's imperative that you do. WWW.SPARTAMUSIC.COM

DAVE NAZ
December 11, 2004 @ Sometimes Madness Is Wisdom Gallery (Santa Ana, CA)
By Chantal deFelice

Perusing Dave Naz's photographs at his recent showing, LEGS, at the Sometimes Madness Is Wisdom Gallery in Santa Ana's Artists' Village was very much like flipping through a stash of pilfered homemade porn your little brother had accumulated during his summer job at the one-hour photo lab. In each full-color, oversized Cibachrome print of half-nude young women posing mainly in interior settings, imagine amateur porn-making at its most sincere. Most of the photographs come from two of Naz's published books, LEGS and PANTIES; and the majority of the sincerity comes from fresh, unpowdered faces, cotton undergarments, and the occasional unapologetic spider vein or stretch mark. Authentic and even innocent locations such as Naz's grandmother's pool or his parents' living room add to the intimacy that the models' direct gazes have already initiated. Naz (who you might have heard or seen playing drums with such bands as Chemical People, Down by Law, and Tater Totz) picked up photography 10 years ago and began to learn from professionals in the field, as well as by his own experimentation. Though he has had no formal training, Naz's personal work represents the kind of attention to lighting, color combinations, and composition that most photographers can only learn in school. Naz works with natural and artificial light to create luminous skin tones and clean, flat backdrops. His individual color palettes for each photograph are sophisticated and concordant. By carefully placing the model centrally against her surroundings, Naz manages to divide the space into large, abstract geometrical shapes without potentially-irritating tangents. That takes planning. It is this kind of forethought, along with his preference for traditional (as opposed to digital) methods, truly attest to years of experience and attention to detail. Naz's professional work includes photography for magazines such as BARELY LEGAL, LEG WORLD, and TIGHT, and by picking up one of his books (which were being sold at the gallery to a strictly 18-and-older audience), it became apparent to me that Naz has no qualms about asking his model to show a bit of vagina...or the entire thing. I immediately began warming up an art-versus-pornography debate to confront Naz with-as anyone who has taken an art-literacy class would. Naz was unassuming and polite but quickly stopped me in my tracks and reminded me of the futility of assigning labels. Basically, in his words, pornography is anything anyone can jerk off to. Good point. By this argument, Naz's photographs are no less art than any floral still-life by Georgia O'Keefe. Naz did not seem worried in the least about how people were going to perceive his work, and when questioned about whether he felt uncomfortable showing this type of erotic subject matter, he made another good point about the range of human opinion and perception: as an artist, you just can't get held up by what others are going to think about your work, and you can't suppress it because you are afraid of negative judgments. Those are not his exact words, but that's what I gleaned in simplistic terms you can remember to tell your undiscovered artistic genius friends. When you find it is time to buy gifts for these friends, whose tastes are so eclectic yet particular, you should know that the Sometimes Madness Is Wisdom Gallery is not just about the art hanging on its mauve walls.

At the artists' reception, gallery patrons mingled under a sky of glittering chandeliers and nibbled on cranberry brie atop water crackers while sipping Bombay and tonic or whatever kind of cocktails you can make with Cointreau. They lingered in front of the art and wore black. Just when you thought things couldn't get any classier, a woman dressed in a vintage velvet pantsuit and matching, floor-length coat tells someone next to you that in one of the many glass jars on display containing preserved corpses of squids, snakes, and armadillos is her uterus. I think she was serious. This woman, it turns out, was Dominique, the fabulous proprietor of both the gallery and adjoining curiosity shop (simply named Dominique's) who has filled her space with the adornments of Golden Age scientifica, as well as whimsical contemporary gifts and knickknacks. Among the fancy bath soaps and jeweled baubles, you can also find three-legged dolls, antique prosthetics, and frilly dresses and aprons whose style could easily be described as Mary Pickford meets Patricia Arquette. Ornate vanity dressers with mirrors in which to flaunt the many parasols and feathered hats occupied one back corner of the room, while a cushy reading area filled with strange and hilarious subject matter rested comfortably in another. I visually devoured everything in there for three hours and felt as though I'd only had one pass at the buffet.

If this review has titillated your senses at all, be sure to check out Dave's next show at Clair Obscur Gallery in Los Angeles on January 29, 2005. (One night only. Call (323) 662-6693 for details. And be sure to visit Dominique and her collection of oddities at 202 North Broadway (across from Memphis) in the Santa Ana Artists' Village, or call (714) 542-0629.

TRAVIS MORRISON
THE BEAUTY PILL
December 15, 2004 @ the Khyber Pass (Philadelphia, PA)
By Matthew Siblo

During his tenure in the now-defunct The Dismemberment Plan, Travis Morrison seemed to have found the perfect niche for himself. Part indie-rock heartthrob, part philosophing faux-intellectual, the Plan provided a perfect vehicle for Morrison's highbrow tales of love, longing, and just about any other like "L" word. Alas, those were different times than now. After nine years together and what felt like an even lengthier farewell tour, The Dismemberment Plan called it a day back in 2003, leaving a legacy that is only beginning to reveal itself. So what is a charismatic, book-smart 30-something to do? Go solo, of course! And solo Mr. Morrison has gone. Earlier this year, Barsuk released his first effort, TRAVISTAN. The record was something of a mixed bag, incorporating Morrison's signature wry cynicism backed by various quaint modes of electronic instrumentation. Though at times a bit over the top (e.g., "Get Me off This Coin A-D" and "Song for the Orca"), TRAVISTAN sounded like exactly what it was: a former singer of a popular band's first effort out of the gates. While the record left plenty room for improvement, it stands as a valiant effort-providing an endearing moment or two in the process. Unfortunately for Morrison, the clamoring masses (or more accurately, one specific Internet publication) had decided that TRAVISTAN was simply not up to snuff. A nation of rabid Plan fans had suddenly dismissed their favorite bastard of a lead singer-most doing so without giving the record an actual listen. Such is life for the American celebrity (of sorts, in this case), and Morrison was left with a goose egg in the win column and a fickle, aging audience.

You'd never guess any of this of course by Morrison's manic behavior onstage at the Khyber, however. He's still flashing his devilish grin, dancing ridiculously, and sporting what could be an arsenal of black shirts (or possibly just one); but it's evident that Morrison can still deliver the goods live. Travis maintained a certain nervous energy throughout the set, indicating that for the first time in years he might have something to prove. And although his critics might think that he does owe them something, the fact remains that bellyaching over new material won't resurrect the Plan. Surprisingly, Morrison played only a few tracks off TRAVISTAN, instead opting to showcase more recent material. The unreleased songs sounded promising, leaning more towards a Talking Heads worldbeat than to the blippy electronics of TRAVISTAN. The band did include an oversexed rendition of Ludacris's "What's Your Fantasy?", which worked, I suppose, depending on your tastes. Despite his quirks, Morrison has retained his ability to amuse an audience. The herds might not be consuming TRAVISTAN just yet, but I think they will in time.

Fellow District-dwellers The Beauty Pill opened the show. They get better every time I see them. The recent addition of Jean Cook to vocals has really increased the intensity of their live show and has made their older material come alive. I have a feeling that their next record is going to take this band places (meaning that more people will go to their shows). Regardless, if you're hankering for some moody, Smart Went Crazy-influenced post-punk, you now know where to go.

THIRTY THREE
BULLETS AND OCTANE
SUBURBAN LEGENDS
THE MATCHES
REEL BIG FISH
December 28, 2004 @ the House of Blues (Anaheim, CA)
Text and photos by Todd Markel

It was a dark and stormy night as I huddled under the awning in front of the box office at the House of Blues in Anaheim. I was waiting in a light drizzle for over 45 minutes to get a photo-pass mix-up sorted out. The headliner that night was Zebrahead...No, wait: Reel Big Fish...yeah, that's it-it says so on that piece of paper taped up on the box-office window. This was originally supposed to be a Zebrahead show when I signed up to cover it, but as they say, "Shit happens." According to their Website, Zebrahead and vocalist/guitarist Justin Mauriello will be going their separate ways. The band will be looking for a new vocalist, and Justin has a new band called I Hate Kate. Do you want to sing for Zebrahead? Well, they are holding auditions. Check out for all the dirt.

With only a few days notice, Orange County's own Reel Big Fish and their protŽgŽs Suburban Legends stepped up to the plate to fill in. I completely missed Thirty Three, the opening act, as I was still standing near the box office waiting for someone from production to solve the photo-pass mix-up. I did get to meet a nice older couple that was on vacation and needed to sell their tickets to the show (they were excepting to see a blues show). Oh, well, it was their loss: they didn't get to see Bullets and Octane perform. I had never seen Bullets and Octane before, much less heard of them. They immediately caught my attention. The set that they played was pure rock 'n' roll with a little swagger. Their charismatic singer Gene reminded me a little bit of Scott Weiland of Velvet Revolver or a younger, cockier Mick Jagger in his mannerisms and stage presence. They played a song called "Sweet Dreams", an original that rocks; and a catchy little number called "Pirates" with its chorus of "Dat dat da lada dat dat da" that really gets stuck in your head. You can download a couple of their songs from www.purevolume.com, but I suggest that you go pick up their latest CD, THE REVELRY, at your local record store. Catch Bullets and Octane as they tour with The Swinging Utters during the month of January.

Suburban Legends played their highly choreographed and infectious brand of ska to a very receptive audience. They started their set with "Up All Night" from their RUMP SHAKER CD, then proceeded to shake their rumps for the next 45 minutes. Tim Maurer and the boys were taking a break from the studio and the recording of their next CD to play this last-minute show. They seemed right at home after a lengthy residency playing just outside the club at Downtown Disney, and a lot of their loyal fans were here, as was evident by the many Suburban Legends T-shirts in the crowd. They played a good set, even with the disadvantage of being short one member, horn player Vincent Walker.

Oakland's The Matches made their triumphant return to the House Blues Anaheim by showing just how many fans they have in Orange County. This venue has almost become their home away from home. I just saw them here in October, and they have another show scheduled here with Matchbook Romance in February. Hell, even Mike Dirnt of Green Day says he's been listening to The Matches lately. Lead singer Shawn, sporting a massive faux 'hawk, really gives the fans his all, and by the third song he was dripping in sweat-and just getting started. Besides playing my favorite song of theirs, "The Restless", they previewed a new song that they are currently working on in the studio. I really like The Matches. My only gripe about them might be that their ripped and stained "punk outfits" are oh so obvious. I don't think they need the gimmick to set themselves apart. You can check out their latest release, E. VON DAHL KILLED THE LOCALS, on Epitaph Records.

The Matches

Reel Big Fish's set reminded me of why I put myself through this: because I love the music. All of their old, classic songs off of TURN THE RADIO OFF just bring back such memories for me. The opening riff of "Join the Club" had everyone in the club singing back, "Was gonna call my friends and get 'em all together / I was going to go and start a band." They played all the favorites from "Everything Sucks" to "She Has a Girlfriend Now" and all the way through "The Set Up" off of WHY DO THEY ROCK SO HARD. Then, much to most of the fans' dismay, they played the "entire side A" of their yet-to-be-released new album-but then they quickly returned to the hits. They delighted the crowd by playing a surprisingly dead-on version of Metallica's "Enter Sandman", with Scott's vocals sounding very much like James Hetfield. They finished with "Sell Out", ran off stage, and returned for an encore of "Beer" and their cover of "Take on Me". By this time it was almost 12:45 a.m., and the biggest storm to hit the Southern California area in over a year was in full force as the show emptied out. Even though everyone was totally drenched as we fought our way through this deluge back to the parking lot, it obviously didn't dampen the sprits of many, as they danced and skipped through the puddles back to their cars.

GUTTERMOUTH
F-LOADER
THE SCABS
December 30, 2004 @ the House of Blues (Anaheim, CA)
By Esteban Ramirez

If I lived in a perfect world, I would not have to deal with the red tape needed to get a photo pass at the House of Blues (HOB) in Anaheim. I missed The SCABS' performance due to unforeseen circumstances at the door-and from the look of the tiny television atop the HOB balcony, it was a good one. I'm sure I was interesting to watch as I bobbed my head desperately trying to listen to the music barely escaping over the Downtown Disney(r) noise.

When I finally received the green light and went inside, I had missed about half of F-Loader's set. Musically, F-Loader has some very good ideas, taking a bit of old-school punk and wrapping it in some Hermosa Beach-style punk (e.g., Pennywise). Is it now customary not to enjoy opening acts at the HOB? The crowd seemed bored (with the exception of my friend Heather, who was drooling over the bassist). F-Loader's music is not bad, and they seemed to have their act together very tightly (for punk rock, anyways), but their stage performance lacked energy. When you have fast, ripping songs and all you do is stand there, how can you get mad at the audience when they stare blankly? You're not The F-ing Beatles! Their ray of sunshine came from their lead singer, who was reminiscent of Darby Crash of The Germs: "If you don't pit to this one, then you should have your punk-rock license revoked." He finally got a pit going by some suicidals, but not even their Minor Threat covers "Filler" and "I Don't Wanna Hear It" pulled it in for them. F-Loader has lots of potential, and I might pay to see them again when they kick up their stage show up a notch.

The HOB Anaheim was not sold out on December 12, 2004, but it might as well have been. It was packed wall to wall, which made it frustrating getting to the bar. Would any of you hate me if I told you that Guttermouth is the reason I am a punk today? If you do, let me say this: I think getting kicked off the Warped Tour is way more punk then wearing eyeliner! With that said, I was very excited to see Guttermouth play. I haven't seen them since the Warped Tour (and before then I hadn't seen them for almost two years). I remember the first time I saw Guttermouth play at the Palace (now the Avalon) in '98. Back then, the floor exploded when they started to play, and it was the most intense thing I had experienced at age 16. With their new album EAT YOUR FACE, they have taken me back to the Nitro Records glory days of Guttermouth. The last two albums were a nightmare. But this is a show review, not a CD review.

Guttermouth

I was anxiously waiting to see Guttermouth on stage, and everyone was restless. Soon, the lights went low, and I heard a strum of guitar. As the curtains opened, out came Bruce Lee vs. the KISS Army! Frontman and lead singer Mark Adkins was dressed like the kung-fu master Bruce Lee, while the rest of the band portrayed members of KISS, facepaint and all. They opened with a KISS number, and the crowed went crazy! Once the crowed was all riled up, they went straight into "Party of 2". I'm madly in love with their new album, and I was very glad to hear my favorite tracks from EAT YOUR FACE, including: "Surf's Up Asshole", "Octopus Hairpiece", "Wasted Lives", "Hotdog to the Head", and "Ticket to Quebec". Guttermouth has an amazing stage performance. The energy exuberated by Mark Adkins has been compared to only a few. The best part of a Guttermouth performance is audience participation. The band likes the audience to be involved, so the ultra-hardcore Guttermouth fans (all two of them) sported facepaint, as well. So what does Mark do? Mark brings one of the girls with facepaint on stage and gives her a bass guitar. "This costs about $64 retail!" says Mark, handing over the blue bass. Their cover of Bad Religion's "Pity" was well received by the crowd, and Guttermouth played all their classic offensive songs, including, "Lucky the Donkey", "Lipstick", "Race Track", "Bakers Dozen", "1-2-3 Slam", and (naturally) "Bruce Lee vs. the Kiss Army", then ended with a sing-along "Perfect World". There was no encore, but I got plenty of what I came for: a fantastic, high-energy performance that takes the audience by the balls (or ovaries, or whatever you have). If you have never seen Guttermouth live, then make plans to; but if you can't handle a bit of crude and rude humor, then you shouldn't be going to a punk show, anyway. Check out for upcoming shows.

REVEREND HORTON HEAT
THREE BAD JACKS
TEXAS TERRI
January 1, 2005 @ House of Blues (Anaheim, CA)
Review and photos by Annette Ovanessian

After a relaxing New Year's Eve at home, New Year's Day at the House of Blues became my true 2005 celebration. A night of good old rockabilly music really brought soul to the first day of my year. Of course, my first mission was the bar, and one of the bars at the Anaheim House of Blues is on a really nice outside patio that overlooks Downtown Disney. Grabbing my usual (vodka and pineapple), I almost lost my breath when the bartender said, "$8.50." Damn, that's basically my hourly salary! But after my first drink, money was no object. I headed back to that bar several times during the night, and I graciously spent my money with no worries!

Texas Terri was the opening band of the evening. This lady singer-whose real name is Texas-caught me by surprise. Her stage presence was full of energy, as she wildly projected herself right into the faces of her audience. She somehow reminded me of Brody from The Distillers, but Texas has much more originality of style. The confidence and passion in her loud voice spread out to all corners of the room, and by the force of her bodily movements, the whole crowd couldn't keep our eyes off of her. Female punk-rock singers are very scarce, so I was glad that a woman represented the night.

Texas Terri

During the break between bands, my friend and I encountered a strange offer by a man desperate for a cigarette. As my friend was smoking a cigarette, a man asked her, "If you give me a cigarette, I'll buy you a drink." How could she refuse? She willingly gave the man two cigarettes for his generous exchange. We harmlessly laughed as we drank the free drink, then headed backstage to see what else we can get for free! Food! There were three trays of food on the table being heated up from underneath, but before I could even open the lid to see what was inside, I noticed that there were no plates and no forks. What kind of craft service is that?

Shoving through the packed crowd to get to the front was not fun; in fact, it really pissed me off. Besides the fact that it's basically impossible, what really pisses me off the most is that the people you try to pass totally despise you. I'm usually a calm and polite person, but an evil woman literally pushed me out of her way with force, killing my buzz and making my blood boil. Evil words just came pouring out of my mouth. After I quickly regained my focus, I fought with the crowd and made it to the front! I was now ready to hear some powerful lines from my favorite instrument, the stand-up bass. Rockabilly band Three Bad Jacks was absolutely entertaining. Vocalist/guitarist Elvis held a smile on his face during the whole set, which reflected the happiness rooted in their lively music. Their music is filled with classic rock 'n' roll sounds, loud bass slaps, poppy drum beats, and beautiful guitar melodies. If you like bands that make songs to sing along to, Three Bad Jacks is a great choice.

Three Bad Jacks

I am so lucky that I got a chance to see Reverend Horton Heat perform. It is not so often that they play, so I'm glad I didn't miss this opportunity. Being that the show was sold out, people outside were desperately trying to find ways of getting in. While I was waiting in line, someone offered me $50 for my ticket. Good offer, but I had to pass. My friend and I were also lucky to have backstage passes, which allowed us to stand on stage as Reverend Horton Heat performed. I remember telling my friend that this would never happen again. We were on stage, chilling, watching Jimbo throw his heavy stand-up bass in the air. During the breaks between songs, the Reverend himself exchanged numerous smiles with my friend and me. We were completely overwhelmed with excitement! They played my favorite song, "Loco Gringos Like a Party", and they played their super fun song "Psychobilly Freakout". While the Rev was telling us funny stories about the incidents that have inspired some of their songs, some girls began screaming out, "Take off your shirt!" Damn, the Rev is a pimp! One of the best parts of their performance was the breakdown of musicians. The drummer did an amazing solo freestyle, where he gave us the illusion that he was twirling his sticks while drumming. That was amazing! Jimbo's solo was undoubtedly off the hook, and the Rev's guitar solo took us home. What a great concert!

Reverend Horton Heat

TEAM VALCORE
PLAGUE OF SHEOL
ICARUS FALLEN
BELAY MY LAST
BEAUTY TILL DEATH
AS BLOOD TURNS BLACK
January 2, 2005 @ Chain Reaction (Anaheim, CA)
By Darren Davis

I have plenty of love for Chain Reaction. I think of it as my home court. It is a completely decent, somewhat clean, neutral venue that has always shown support for its local scene. It would be a lie, however, to say that most of the shows I attend at Chain are as reliable as the venue itself. Even those mind-blowing, two-day, "How on Earth did they make it to Anaheim?" extravaganzas tend to disappoint. There is nothing worse than a stuffy, boring crowd. Everyone can't be that jaded. So imagine my surprise when I show up to one of Chain's trademark local hardcore shows to be greeted by a healthy, energetic, good-size crowd. It seemed that all six bands on the bill had pulled their own weight, and I was excited to see how they would deliver.

The first band up was totally new to me: As Blood Runs Black, a metal-core outfit from Salt Lake City. They were booked last-minute and in the middle of a tour-and by the looks of it, wherever they went, a crowd of angry Utah natives followed. I was impressed right off the bat. As Blood Runs Black seemed totally confident on stage, even far away from home in the not-so-intimidating Orange County. They played a hybrid of textbook metal riffs and ridiculous breakdowns, with lyrics like "Bring the motherfucking ruckus." I was already glad to be there. When people are doing back flips off the stage within the first two songs, I can tell the show is going to put out.

Next on the bill was Beauty Till Death, a name I've heard tossed around here and there but had never been given the opportunity to experience for myself. And while I discovered that BTD was by no means an untalented group of guys, their set left me unimpressed. To put it simply, I had heard it all before. The quintet took the stage right on schedule. They were five guys in dark clothes, the lead singer looking rather snazzy in a sweater over a white shirt. The 30-minute set bled together into one long story of...I don't know what-I'm guessing heartbreak, betrayal, or bipolarity...something along those lines. Their songs stayed heavy enough to dance to but melodic enough to be considered catchy. I did become a fan of their drummer, who resembled Animal from THE MUPPET SHOW more so than any other drummer I've seen. By the end of the set, I had come to the conclusion that I'd probably enjoy their recordings...but they just weren't entertaining live.

The next band was called Belay My Last, also known as a melting pot of current and former members of current and former Orange County hardcore bands. The show marked their first real public performance, but you wouldn't have known it. The first thing I noticed about BML was their guitar work, which was instantly recognizable as unrecognizable; I was hearing something new, something fresh. The two guitarists-who had obviously been playing together for a long time-weaved in and out of complicated progressions that make you stop and go, "Wow, that was interesting." There was something more dynamic about Belay My Last's set, a little spark that the previous bands lacked. It could have been sincerity, a true excitement to be playing there, in that moment...or just fantastic musicianship. Either way, I enjoyed every one of their songs. The bassist consistently flailed about across the stage, making the other band members look stagnant. I kept waiting for him to clobber their singer with his bass head, but it never happened. BML finished with their longest and strongest song, "Deceiving Ways", ending their set on just the right note.

I had never heard of Icarus Fallen, the fourth ensemble to take the stage. They looked younger than any of the other bands that night, so I was surprised when they began to play an assortment of relatively heavy metal-core and held their own during what seemed like the longest set of the night. The group lacked the dynamic of Belay My Last and the energy of As Blood Runs Black but made up for it in well-rehearsed musicianship and powerful vocals that came bellowing out of their tiny singer. Even if the music itself was mediocre and resembled dozens of other bands (some from that night), the crowd seemed into it and had picked up the pace. Even if it wasn't my cup of tea, Icarus Fallen had put on a completely decent show. If I were their parents, I would be proud.

I was given a Plague of Sheol demo back in July, and I remember being thoroughly impressed. Their brand of death metal was played refreshingly fast and with evil intensity, with rarely a pause to throw in the now-required breakdowns for kids to dance to. I had wanted to catch a Plague show ever since listening to that demo-and by the looks of it, so did the rest of Chain Reaction. There was already a pit opening up as the band took the stage, and as they began to play, a tremendous circle pit broke out at the command of Plague of Sheol's behemoth of a singer. As far as sound was concerned, PoS sounded heavier and more precise than any of the previous bands, and their singer's high-pitched vocals echoed throughout the small venue. Plague didn't let up once during their 30-minute set. The Horsemen of Hell could rise up from the depths and deliver their biblical wrath upon poor little Chain Reaction, and Plague of Sheol would probably still be blasting through their songs. Either that or they'd join the onslaught. Either way, Plague took the cake as the best performers of the night, and I can't wait to see them again.

Team Valcore were the headliners for the night, and I wasn't surprised. The hardcore ensemble have been together forever, and I have seen them play many times over the years. They are one of those bands that don't change much over time. The lineup was pretty much the same as when I'd seen them last, and their energy and spunk hadn't diminished at all. I always enjoyed Team Valcore shows because they seemed to be having the time of their lives, and tonight was no exception. The enthusiasm of the group could be seen rubbing off on the crowd, which consisted of both new listeners and longtime followers. TV played a more rock-influenced set than the previous bands, with hints of old-school hardcore and contemporary melody. One thing I appreciated about Team Valcore was the diversity of their songs. Never did I catch myself wandering about looking for something else to entertain me while they finished a song that sounded exactly like the last. A headliner's job is potentially the hardest, for they need to keep the interest of a crowd that has already sat through a group other acts, but Team Valcore never faltered, ending the night with intensity and tying the whole show in a nice little ribbon. Well done.

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