I hope you guys had as much fun as I had this Saturday. I sure had a blast listening to great music, running into just about everyone I know, and it’s nice to see Westheimer with some hustle and bustle on its sidewalks.

Some highlights? OK! The Wild Moccasins played a great show outside Mango’s on a rickety stage that seemed to be on the verge of collapse from all the hopping and general Moccasins shenanigans. The added amusement for me was watching as my very serious and artistically minded six-year-old tried in futility to find a spot on stage stable enough for him to draw the five popsters. Damn it, how can I express myself artistically if you guys keep hopping around up there! Hearing Paul Winstanley and Lucas Gorham perform outside La Strada was wonderful too. I hadn’t heard Paul take a bass guitar to the edge like that in ages and it was wonderful and challenging to hear it again. Also fun was the (this time official) Cop Warmth and B L A C K I E gorilla set. Cop Warmth, for the uninitiated, is the musical equivalent of children running around the playground in pure chaotic frenzied joy. My favorite moment of the set was when Craig, running into the audience, made a woman squeal in fright. B L A C K I E meanwhile doesn’t so much a rap as spout words like a steel-driver laying down iron with every ounce of energy at his disposal. Balaclavas, at the acoustically pleasing space behind the Austin Layne Hotel, performed one of the best sets of the day as they kicked-out amazing new material that reminded you just how unique their sound is and how furious their shows can be. How they are not one of Houston’s biggest draws, I’ll never understand. Over at Mango’s, as we were waiting for Tambersauro, we got some drama as some drunk Asian woman was challenging another woman to some fisticuffs. Unfortunately, the fisticuffs did eventually occur outside but while no one was getting hurt, it was pretty amusing theatre of the absurd. Tambersauro though wasn’t about to be upstaged by a lone drunk and proceeded to tear into a raging set that almost made me forget that I was trying to see five bands in that time slot. Luckily a friend who knew this, poked me and pointed to her watch. Thanks mon ami! The McKenzies were quite a sight surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd of fans who had joined them on stage. Ah, those Houston pop bands sure know how to work-up a crowd. Buxton closed out the outdoor shows with an amazing set that had the entire crowd at the Austin Layne Hotel enraptured. After the first set, the audience clearly wanted more and thankfully JD (Secret Saturday Shows, Guitars, Lenny Briscoe, etc) demanded they play a few more and Sergio Trevino somehow agreed to it in his typical sheepish manner then proceeded to treat us with a work in progress that was much better than I think they realized. I think Trevino and company work their music with such expert care that they seem a bit worried about showing some rough edges. That’s OK because there is a bit of excitement about seeing a band not exactly knowing where they are going with a song and that vulnerability – that putting yourself out there with no net – is charming when you are as good a band as Buxton. Now for me that was pretty much the proper end of the Block Party for me. I was pretty tired by then but, like the Terminator, the Block Party just wouldn’t quit. Don’t get me wrong, I saw some amazing sets afterwards like Something Fierce laying down some serious and furious pop-punk and Satin Hook’s Lucas Gorham using a Tuvan throat singing technique for backing vocals but by the time the Jon Benet plowed into their set, I was physically fatigued. I’ll admit it. Another Block Party has left me beaten and bloody on the canvas. So, what’s new? At least I had fun getting pummeled.

Now one last thing before I get to the photos: Kudos to our heroic and fearless FPH leader Omar. Omar is the general behind all these operations; he books all the bands and gets everyone involved to little acclaim. That’s largely because he’s not one to self-aggrandize but, instead, seriously believes in the community of artists and people that live in this city. I for one, seeing a small bit of what he does behind the scenes, am always impressed at how the guy pulls it off twice a year. Of course Omar can’t do it himself and it’s only because of the efforts of all the local businesses, bands, artists, and the community in general coming together that makes these things so special. That’s also because, unlike the latter years of the wholly unrelated Westheimer Street Festival, this event isn’t just about attracting sponsors but about building and celebrating a community. That’s the way these things should be. So thanks everyone who helped and came out. I don’t know about you but I’m ready for another round next Spring.

Links:
Complete Sets on my Flickr.
* Westheimer Block Party (Link)
* Bonus: B L A C K I E & Cop Warmth’s Guerilla set (Link)

Oh and look:
Breakfast On Tour posted some pictures on their Flickr too (link)

Well here it is, Monday, and not only did I survive the Hootenanny (link) but I also survived the Houston Press Music Awards. Having these two things back to back, admittedly, is pretty rough. So Sunday, being a bit worse for wear, I stayed away from the free booze and stuck to the vitamin water. One thing I have to say about the HPMAs this year is that the venues seemed farther apart than in previous years. Whereas last year you could step out of the Rice Hotel and immediately walk across to see say Insect Warfare, this year you had to walk a few blocks to get between venues. That may not seem like a lot but, if you try to navigate at 8PM between say The Poor Dumb Bastards at Rocbar then run over to see Hearts of Animals at NOTSUOH then run down to see Buxton at Butterfly High, that’s quite a little run and you can forget catching any more than two songs per band. So, I wonder what’s at play here. Did a lot of the venues on Main close or did many of them just not want any of the riff-raff that attended last year? I don’t know. The second thing that I didn’t see as much of was the hustle and bustle of music fans on Main that I saw in previous HPMAs. Was it the heat, the distances between venues, or something else that made the streets seem relatively barren this year? Again, I’m not sure. Nevertheless, these issues aside, it was still a good time for all performers and attendees so why worry.

Me? I arrived in time to see The Wild Moccasins who somehow still had a ton of energy even after their Hootenanny set. What I love about the Wild Moccasins is that they just put it all out there – they go for it with every beat and note – and it makes for electrifying and fun shows. This show was no different- tops! 7 O’clock hour was a nutters triple shot dash. Over at Venue, The Tontons sounded simply massive. Kudos to the venue with it’s weird over the top stage and sound and the Tontons wore it well by completely commanding the stage. The Born Liars over at Butterfly High are somewhat analogous to The Wild Moccasins’ in terms of energy except that while the Moccasins have a fresh youthful energy, the Born Liars have the energy of drunken sailors who are on shore leave and don’t give a fuck who gets in the way. Then you’ve got The Wiggins (at Deans) whose personae is akin to that black sheep weirdo cool uncle in the family whom the older family members wince at in disdain publicly but secretly envy. One woman at the bar, who clearly didn’t know what to make of it, had the best fish out of water look of confuddlement I’d ever seen. Awesome!

The 8 O’clock hour was the afore mentioned race. Now, the reason I went out of my way to Rocbar was because of the Brian’s Johnston story. To paraphrase, Brian’s Johnson played Rocbar just after Whorehound. Toward the end of the set, the band played “Have a Drink on Me” and made a joke about free drinks at the bar. Then Jeff said “This is the first gay bar we’ve ever played – the Cockbar.” Well that didn’t endear them to the venue and the band was told “That’s it, you’re done!” Some person saying that they were the GM, expressing his displeasure at being called the Cockbar and a gay bar, told them that they were probably disqualified while big gorilla bouncers got in the bands’ face. No amount of “Hey, it’s a joke!” would suffice and the band was forced to leave via the back exit. Naturally, when some place called the Rocbar – whose idea of rock and roll is (well to borrow from a review in the Houston Press) as rebellious as Applebee’s – gets their panties in a wad it’s asking to get fucked with. And perhaps smelling blood in the water Byron of the Poor Dumb Bastards said “Ohhhh! Game On!” upon hearing the story! So, of course, we were hoping that Byron would pull this year’s Insect Warfare show and give this bourge venue a show they wouldn’t forget. As Steven Garcia put it, “If they don’t get shut down in five minutes, I’m gonna be so disappointed.” Of course, this raised the bar and while the Bastards did put on the punk rock side show we’ve all come to expect – which is always great – it never reached the level of challenging the Rocbar’s management and staff. Total psych out!

From there it was a quick run to Notsuoh to see Hearts of Animals (Thanks Dan Castillo for the suggested short cut through the car park). I only caught two songs but it was exactly what you’d expect from Mlee – the distorted guitar, the loud beats, and the nuanced vocals. In other words, worth the run that left me dripping in sweat. But from there it was off to see Buxton over at Butterfly High whose musicianship and emotive vocals are always a joy. One of the high points for me was when Sergio Trevino suddenly said, “Hey, here’s a little song about Transformers.” and then proceeded to sing this hilarious and sweet song about how much cooler the world would be if were were all Transformers. It had this off-the-cuff Daniel Johnson kind of innocence and, while obviously done with a sense of humor, it never stopped to the level of being smug or smarmy. Later Trevino told me (seeming somewhat embarrassed) “I wasn’t sure if that was going to work or not.” to which I replied, “It’s a song about Transformers! How could it not!” It’s always fun to see a band (especially one as impressive as Buxton) not worry about being the cool kid on the block and let their goofy side out. Probably my favorite small moment of the night.

Finally, the 9 O’clock hour came on and I was going to go for 4 bands in one hour. This started with Sharks and Sailors at Notsuoh which was, for me, hilarious. See, I kept wanting to leave but they would play another song that would leave me shouting “Gawdamnmit! Now I have to stay!” So one song turned to two, which turned to three and, by the third one, I knew to leave before the first note rang of the fourth one. Phil, Mike and Melissa are just unrivaled as a powerhouse and…well, you can read my description of a show at Rudyards in this August’s issue and you’ll get the idea. From there, it was off to see Bring Back the Guns next door at Dean’s but the door was a too crowded to make out much. Still, the band seemed to be doing what they do best – spazzing out. Well, Matt Brownlie was spazzing out. That’s not a put-down, that’s a compliment as, when Matt Brownlie spazzes, it’s high art. From there, it was off to see the Young Mammals which probably had the biggest crowd I’d seen all night. It was pretty hard to get up front but I eventually snaked my way up to see Iram playing like the brilliant drummer he is. I’m not sure if this or the upcoming Saturday Secret Show Fest is going to be his last show but I cannot stress enough how great a drummer he is and how the Mammals are a world class act. Again, most of Houston ignores bands like this while some writers complain about the state of the scene. To all you who will have missed the Young Mammals with Iram, all I can say “You missed out!” and you will get no sympathy from me. Go pay for your $8 beer for some big label crap at the Woodlands – you deserve it.

In that light, the night for me closed with the oddest pairing of the showcase – Indian Jewelry at the Hard Rock Cafe. You could just smell the incongruity of the band and the venue. Sitting eating their hamburgers were couples and families who seemed oblivious to the fact that Indian Jewelry was there playing a strobed-out set of brilliance. It was as if on stage stood a portal between two parallel universes – one strobed and noisy and the other milquetoast and orderly. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect analogy to Houston’s indifference to the amazing music that grows in its own backyard. Perfect!

(Thank you Chris Gray and the Houston press for the passes. Very Much Appreciated.)

And now, photos (more on my Flickr)

The Wild Moccasins still alive after Hootenanny!
“…And so the bouncer gets in our face like this!”
Trevi Biles of Whorehound gives his
account of Brian’s Johnson vs. The Rocbar.

The massive stage couldn’t
dwarf the Tontons’ talent.

The Born Liars – making sure that
Rock and Roll never gets respectable.

Death to poser humorless bars.
Jeff of Brian’s Johnston may have lost
the battle at the Rocbar but he left
with the best story of the evening.

Hearts of Animals
Can I have a more jarring juxtaposition of images?

Fuck yeah, Buxton!
You fly that Transformers flag with pride!

Sharks and Sailors -
Try to leave during one of their sets. I dare you!

Bring Back the Guns -
Ben Murphy (left) ponders
the awesomeness of Matt Brownlie’s ass shakin’!
Indian Jewelry playing in a parallel world
while the Hard Rock Cafe goes
about it’s business unawares.

It’s a Monday night at Francisco’s on the east end of downtown. Inside Bring Back the Guns are rehearsing as a German cockroach overlooks the proceedings from an electrical conduit over the door. It’s a week before their record release at Numbers for the new album Dry Futures on Feow Records and guitarist, singer, and principal songwriter Matt Brownlie is busy playing conductor with some new material he’s written. As Matt and the band bounce ideas, drummer Thomas Clemmons sneaks potato chips from a bag between runs, bassist Ryan Hull fiddles with his ubiquitous baseball cap, and a yawning Erik Bogle tries to extract some insect from a guitar pedal only to crush it inside for all his effort. It’s a pretty brutal process and my notes read as such; “8:15 same riff. 8:23 same fucking riff 8:35 Oh god just kill me they are still at it.” Then something happens a bit over an hour from when they started and around the same time that I start thinking of a way to politely excuse myself – the pieces falls together, the song works, and it’s incredible. Suddenly the room is alive and even the formerly fatigued Erik Bogle is grinning ear to ear. It’s a perfect example of what people never see when they go see a show or buy an album. To a fan, it’s as if the previous hour of work didn’t happen but the fact of the matter is this painstaking chiseling of marble happens all the time in music.

Bring Back the Guns know all about chiseling; it’s taken three and a half years to release Dry Futures – one year to record and another two and a half in the dubious limbo of record label shopping. You’d think after such a long incubation period, not to mention a decade long career, they’d be tired and dreading an upcoming tour yet, when we meet at Rudyard’s, Ryan is actually excited. “As much as we’ve done it, I never have a bad time on the road. At times on the road, yeah, it gets rough but then I think, here I am with my friends on the road having a good time…I’m not at work. Oh wait, this rules!”

Erik expands on the typical band hardships, “You deal with the crap because there’s no other option. You deal with it because the music is worth doing. It all starts as a 20 year-old’s dream of being a rock star…”

Matt interrupts, “The idea of a rock star was more plausible when we started than it is in 2024. The game’s changed so much. When we started-off, a weird and singular band like the Pixies could get national exposure but now the national scene is so flooded that the playing field has leveled.”

“Well,’ says Thomas, “I don’t think we knew what we were doing back then. We had a five year learning curve.”

“If I could go back,” says Erik as he sips on a beer, “I would tell myself to do two things – tour and hire a publicist. If you are gonna be a band that sits in the armpit of America you need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Matt sighs, “It’s unfortunate that any band worth its salt has to buy publicity – it’s a goddamn shame. You’d hope that a band making awesome music wouldn’t need to but if a tree falls in the forest…”

“…if a band plays in Houston!” exclaims Ryan to great laughter.

Erik elucidates, “Any band working through a real label has PR. A label not only has to facilitate production and distribution but also has to coordinate with people to get them heard above the fray.” All right fine, but what about the punk rock kid who says having a publicist ain’t DIY or punk?

Brownlie responds, “First, we are doing it ourselves it’s our money being put into this album. Secondly, [in response to why a band needs a publicist these days] years ago there were like 50 touring bands touring the country…hell, I know 50 Houston bands alone.”

Meanwhile, Erik isn’t standing for any claims of punk purity, “Hey, the Sex Pistols were a put together boy-band assembled to make money from dissent.”

So if you are doing it for yourself, why not just stay in the garage and what do you want from listeners? Erik expounds, “It’s just natural…if you love something you want to share it. The reaction I want from people is the reaction you get when you listen to an album and you can’t let it go or the reaction of that guy sitting at the bar, turning his head slowly, and saying ‘Wow!’ Some of my most exciting times of my life have been attending concerts. Get drunk with me and I’ll tell you all about it!” As Erik says this, I sense Charles Bukowski nodding and nothing more needs to be said on the matter.