By Ian S. Port
By Cory Sklar
By Godofredo Vasquez
By Gil Riego Jr.
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Christopher Victorio
By Ian S. Port
American Rumble Volume One
Cashing in on the second coming of rockabilly, American Rumble is a neobilly primer, a must-have for any real gone guy or dynamite doll who wants to be in the know. Featuring over two dozen acts from across the continent, the compilation captures the wide array of the scene's flavors, from the western-swing stylings of the Ray Condo Band (complete with wax crackle) to the speed-belt psychobilly sounds of the Phantom Rockers, the weak-in-the-knees crooning of the Rattled Roosters, and the dust-bowl beats of the Hyperions.
Better yet, American Rumble will keep you in bobby socks and butch wax without losing sight of the calendar year. In "My Baby Moved," the Hillbilly Hellcats give the traditional I-lost-my-baby theme a modern-day twist when girlfriend gives up cruisin' not for a boy, but for vegetarian meals in a tie-dye bus. The Immaculate Daughters of Elvis add a bit of irreverence with "Elvis Don't Come Back From the Grave," while the Boilermakers rail against a sadistic ex who works at the "Pussycat Laundromat."
Ultimately, though, the kitsch is overshadowed by real talent. L.A.'s Roadhouse Rockers frontman Tony Balbinot (collaborating with S.F. guitarist Tim Ferris) could easily become the next Chris Isaak -- if he weren't so damn cool; Georgia's Hillbilly Frankenstein is a quartet (sounds like an octet) fronted by Esta Hill, an angel-voiced gal who gives the greaser lads a run for their money; and Phantom 306 couldn't be any sexier if it were a quartet of James Deans backed by Jerry Lee Lewis. The one true failing of American Rumble is that it doesn't feature any San Francisco bands -- now how can that be?
The American Rumble showcase happens Thurs, Dec. 21, at the DNA Lounge in S.F.; call 626-1409.
-- Silke Tudor
Super Ape Inna Jungle
The beauty of dub music lies in its inherent naivetŽ: Even the simple combination of swaths of space echo, low-fi production, and garbled, madcap verses often does the trick. While many dub addicts have embraced this formula to impressive effect, few have reached the state of nirvana Lee "Scratch" Perry inhabits. From his long-standing obsession with Michael Jackson to his psychedelic cover art, the father of dub suffers (enjoys?) a reputation as an oblivious eccentric. The recurring lyric of Super Ape Inna Jungle doesn't help: "I am not a human being/ I am a machine being/ I am not a human being/ I'm a computer being."
Whether one credits his out-there image to too many bong hits or clever media manipulation, it's obvious that Perry's peculiarities have allowed him a flexibility and longevity that most of his contemporaries could only dream of. His attempts to tackle jungle, the U.K.'s latest techno offshoot, shouldn't raise an eyebrow: It's less an effort to seize a passing trend than to inflict his whacked dub vision on another musical realm. Rather than submit to jungle's typically flawless production, Perry makes the bass-heavy music conform to his crude aesthetic standards. Here, dub and jungle battle in a head-spinning blend of ballistic rhythms, sloppy effects, and Perry's throw-away "Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-Do's." For remix assistance, Perry brings in unknowns Douggie Digital and Juggler and his peer-in-dementia, Mad Professor. Anyone with the slightest bit of production finesse would have realized that Super Ape is an utter mess, and no one but this master of fortunate accidents could still make it sound compelling.
-- Aidin Vaziri
Tales of Brown Dragon
Dieselhed is one of those "wacky" San Francisco bands. You know, prone to bizarre onstage antics, '70s-esque anthems with lots of grandiose instrumental flourishes, and lyrics that are equal parts complicated narrative and pure dada. Mysteriously invoking a hoedown stomp, Dieselhed has a bunch of nutty fans who dance around maniacally and spook bystanders, a spectacle second only to the inevitable groupie floor show. Unsurprisingly, Tales of the Brown Dragon is a good time, and this is why: The maniac sing-along words to "Brown Dragon" remind me of campfire retreats I never went to. And the song opens and closes with what sounds like samples from an early Marx Brothers movie theme. ... The downtempo minor-key "M&M" recalls spooky, ghost-town spaghetti-western music. ... Whoever's singing "The Wedding Song" sounds like Tom Petty, circa 1983. ... Tales should be a concept album, and probably is. ... Weirdo reverbed "bonus trax" at the end of the CD. ... The Dieselhed formula -- quiet instrumental, two-part harmony buildup, big vocal explosion, tactful build-down, rinse and repeat if necessary -- stays reasonably fresh through repeated listens. ... Cranking up Tales, I burned through an entire sinkful of dishes in 20 minutes flat. There is even the sound of someone washing dishes framing one song. Mere coincidence, or something more? As for my criticisms, well, I've never been much of a groupie, and sometimes the attempted musical epiphanies thud rather than float. But if I weren't drawn to perverted stadium rock and cryptic references, I wouldn't be a Diesel-head in the first place.
Dieselhed plays Sun, Dec. 31, at the Kilowatt in S.F.; call 861-2595.
-- Josh Wilson
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