Indian Jewelry (photo Carol Sandin)

The music of Indian Jewelry is often called psychedelic but it’s hardly the kind that looks to the 60′s for inspiration, instead it is largely built around a cold detached electronic soundscape that looks more to post-punk, no-wave, industrial and just about every substrata of electronic music that has come around since Robert Moog first began selling his modular voltage-controlled analog synthesizers for inspiration. Yet, the third eye that psychedelia tries to engage looms high above their work and no more so than in the pulsing hypnotic affairs of noise, flashing lights, and pounding rhythms that is the Indian Jewelry live experience.  The band rides a singular orbit that lies at this odd equilibrium between the pull of the Houston’s Noize/Experimental and Indie Rock scenes and the newest album, Peel It, continues on that decade long journey.   For fans who’ve been waiting for a new album since 2024′s Totaled,  the release couldn’t have come soon enough and they’ll be happy to know that it stands with the best of their previous albums and bring back many of the elements that made them so extraordinary – tracks like “Eva Cherie” and “How Long” trod melodic echo drenched vocals across cold soundscapes that are as dense as they are sparse while tracks like “Guns” pound layers of guitar riffs like relentless krautrockers, and others like “Freak Pride” and “See Forever” slide-in dance inducing post-punk.   With the release of the album looming this Friday, we got a hold of Tex Kerschen to discuss the band and the new album.

You guys moved to New York for a while this year.  Can you go into the reason behind that and how that experience was?

Tex – By now everyone who knows about us knows that we get around. We have never waited for a reason to move anywhere. Life is short; filled with stuff, etc.  Anyhow, New York was great. We saw a bunch of shows, played a few shows ourselves, and finished a couple records.  Also spent time with some good friends, ate a lot of terrible pizza, and visited the La Monte Young Dreamhouse.

How was the recording of this album and has the personnel changed any?

Tex – We have had the same people in the band, namely Erika, myself, Richard Durham, and Mary Sharpe, for almost five years now.  We were also able to persuade Brandon Davis to move back from his four year stay in Europe to help us make the album. And he’s been a member of the band since the get-go.

We’re not a very orthodox band. We rarely practice, so playing with the same people has helped us to sound tight without having to work too hard.  We make all our records ourselves. At least we have so far. Our only ethos is to do whatever it takes to get a song recorded. We had a little apartment, an even smaller rehearsal space, and a few multi-track recorders. Sometimes we arrange to get the whole band into one room at the same time and hit record. Often Erika and I recorded many of the parts ourselves. Just the same, we are a band, and each member has an influence on what we do and how we do it.

We started writing these songs in late 2024 right after a series of long tours. There was no down time. There was also no forethought to what we were going after. We were just writing songs, because that is you do. I was in a terrible state of mind, in part because I was broke and my prospects for improving my position were grim. I was working a soul-destroying warehouse job and dreading each day more than the one before it.

That wasn’t the worst of it. The experience of parading our little record around the “indie” circuit had made me too aware of the kind of shitbags that ruin everything. I don’t mean bands; I mean the middlemen– booking agencies modeled after the corporate style, trend-riders, moron bloggers, bad promoters, they have cooked up a fake indie culture that co-opts every good and bad idea.  It is a crappy bush league for cultural capitalism. It doesn’t matter, not really. Except that as I am by nature very sensitive and at the time I was driving too many miles and sleeping too little, I was starting to spoil. I wasn’t doing too well, and my initial burst of songwriting produced a lot of ugly and depressed stuff.  Then Erika and I found out that she was pregnant, and slowly everything changed. My mood lifted. I got back some of what I thought had been stolen from me. I don’t recommend everyone get knocked up, nor is it really necessary to making records, but it has been great for us.

A lot of the new album uses a lot of 80′s post-punk and new wave sounds like electronic drums, flanged guitars, and retro-sounding keyboards.  What is the appeal of those types of sounds to you as opposed to more say organic sounds?

Tex – My grandmother once turned to me with a pan of cinnamon rolls in her arms as we were leaving a grocery store and said, “Isn’t it funny how we pick up things we like.” We all have our ideas about the way things should sound, and the right equipment to play, but it comes down to taste. I don’t care much about gear. It’s fine for others to be picky about guitars or synthesizers or whatever.

The idea of “organic sounds” stumps me. What makes a mass-manufactured drum kit or a fender guitar and amplifier more organic than any other piece of technology?    All of these instruments have been around a fairly long time, and all of them are inexpensive by now.  We’ve always used drum machines. In the old days, people associated drum machines with some sort of techno-conspiracy to rid the world of drummers. I reckon it’d be pretty cool to be part of a global techno-conspiracy. That must be invigorating.

Despite the fact that the sounds vary somewhat between albums – sometimes things get more drony, or noisy, or melodic, or rhythmic - it’s always clearly IJ.  What is that common thread in all your work and how does this album fit into the whole Indian Jewelry journey?

Tex – We don’t do genre. We’re not a psych band nor an industrial band nor what have you. Never were. This album is mostly the sound of electric guitars running through amps, but we’ve done shows without guitars too. We’re barely a band by the usual definition. We just write songs and try to make them sound cool and loud enough using whatever is at hand. We don’t own that much stuff. But we are dedicated people and we have ideas about music and we’ve been working to realize those ideas for years now.

The only metaphor I can come up with for the Indian Jewelry journey is that big pile of spiraling trash in the Pacific Ocean. Surely we must also float back and forth.

You guys always put on a crazy strobe light filled live show.  Have you ever had anyone in the audience get sick or badly affected by them?

Tex – It is possible that earlier on our intentions were a little nastier than they are now. We’ve sickened many people with our lights– which are nothing but store-bought cheapie strobes– but we’ve never caused anyone to go into a seizure.  Some people can’t handle the lights. Some leave. That’s part of doing things in the dark.

You recently became rock-and-roll parents.  How has that changed the way you approach your music, touring, and the general issues that come with being in a band?

Tex – Our daughter has been immersed in music from the start. I tend to think of it as a good thing– babies love noise; children love music. The first thing for any parent is to be a good parent. Obviously, we’ve had to make a lot of changes. The baby doesn’t care if you’ve gone out dancing– she’s waking up at dawn. When we book shows we have to get a babysitter. When we tour we bring a good friend of ours on the road as a nanny.  And for the first time, as parents and as band members, we have to steal time, and this means actually thinking about what we are going to do, which is some kind of change. While you’d have to ask the rest of the band what they really think, things seem to me to be going along about as well as usual.

Isn’t this your 10th year of making music?  When you started Swarm of Angels did you think you’d still be doing this for so long and how was the reality different from those original expectations?

Tex – One way or another Erika and I have been doing this band the past ten years. Ten years ago we started the Swarm of Angels. At the same time we released the first proto-IJ releases. Before that it was all something else. I’m a ridiculously loyal friend. I would have liked Swarm of Angels to last forever and to take on many forms. But bands are bands. They come and go. I used to think it mattered what I thought. Now I know it only matters what I do. So I do this.

What’s one experience from being in Indian Jewelry that makes you smile the most?

Tex – Every night I get to burn the flag and scare the church.

[vimeo]http://vimeo.com/36676928[/vimeo]

Friday, November 2  - Indian Jewelry (record release), The Wiggins, Lowlife, Her Body @ Walter’s

Weird Party. Lords of the Fog Machine!

That fog, That accursed fog.  It was everywhere.  Nobody could escape the heated glycerol mist that enveloped Mango’s on Friday night.  I know you don’t believe it, but I tells ya I saw it with my own two eyes.  First a band from Washington state, Christmas I believe their name was, went on the stage.  They were a female fronted post punk affair, and quite good really but no match for the fog.  It’s seemed that no amount of jagged bass lines or reverb washed guitars could hold back the mist and they were the first to disappear.

Weird Party, followed and unlike the first band, they seemed to welcome the fog.  In fact, guitarist Keg Noisily seemed to be summoning it up with his voodoo makeup and hollow body guitar as singer Rowland Blackout shook in shamanistic fits to the driving pounding Rock and Roll.  Excellent rock set one of the best I’d seen all year…but the fog it summoned was ungodly as it reached past your throat and into the your lungs.  Where this fog takes you, nobody knows. Even old sailors and lighthouse keepers who’ve survived it can’t say but they speak of ungodly screams coming from the other side.  Indeed, it seemed, hopeless – there was nothing to do but wait for it to take you.  Then, out of nowhere, Indian Jewelry appeared from the midst, and with its strobe lights, ritualistic drumming,  swirls of guitars, and eerie keyboards, they drove it back.  Molecule by molecule the mist was pushed back to the cheers of those present and surely it have seemed as if they were saved but then, the unspeakable happened – they arrived.  The Lords!  The Lords of the Universe!

The Lords arrived angered by Indian Jewelry’s insolence and descended with a fury that no man or woman had ever witnessed on this planet.   Mere mortals attempting to have sway over their domain?  This would not stand.  No, the mortals must pay and so, the fog returned more powerful than ever as the Lords sang over us.   People in the audience were Snowblind as they were hurled Into The Void. Those remaining made foolish attempts to appease the Lords by singing along and bowing their heads repeatedly to the beat while raising a Satanic fist but these were not kind Lords.  No, they sang of War Pigs and the NIB. Indeed, they came seeking souls for their Black Sabbath and as they played the fog took those remaining.  Their shouts and screams spoke of unspeakable horrors as it took them…it took them all…but for me.  Now, I hear and do strange things in my sleep, and awake with a kind of exaltation instead of terror.  I hear its call and stupendous and unheard of splendors await me below, and I shall seek them soon. Iä-R’lyeh! Cthulu fhtagn! Iä! Iä!*

Christmas' Emily Beanblossom screams as the fog approches

Weird Party's Keg Noisily summoning the fog

Indian Jewelry holding back the fog, if only for a short time

Image believed to be that of one of the Lords of the Universe. Possibly Ozzy Osbourse or Jeff Poppe

*apologies to HP Lovecraft.

Conservative talk show host, former Houston City Councilman and Mayor Pro-Tem Michael Berry opened his mouth and, once again, hurt the image of the City of Houston. On his show last week Berry was answering a caller that he described as “belligerent” who asked about a planned Islamic Cultural Center that was recently approved for construction near ground zero.

Instead of responding that he feels that opening a Cultural Center so close to the site of the World Trade Centers might allow for dialogue on Islam, the perceptions of Islam in the west as well as extremism and fundamentalism in faith; Berry, in his continued attempt to elevate American discourse, responded to the caller by saying,“I’ll tell you this — if you do build a mosque, I hope somebody blows it up.”

He went on to contribute to the ongoing debate about where this country is headed and what it means to be an American by adding, “I hope the mosque isn’t built, and if it is, I hope it’s blown up, and I mean that.”   Berry’s comments have, of course, generated heat from the progressive community. However,  Geoff Berg, host of KPFT’s Partisan Gridlock, has taken a different approach.

Berg is stating that Berry is only cynically portraying a bigot in order to boost ratings. I’ll leave whether or not Berry is portraying an ignorant racist simply to increase listeners alone, I will remind readers that this isn’t the first time that Berry’s big mouth has gotten him home water. In March 2024, when he was still a sitting City Councilman, Berry decided to wade in on the rights of Native Americans.

With his trademark nuance, Berry decided to resolve the vexing problem of what should our role and responsibility to the Native Americans be by saying, “We need to stop wasting all this time and energy apologizing to the American Indian, which we continue to do…we give them casinos, we give them special licenses, we give them special scholarships and why I don’t understand.”

He went on to make his case as an indigenous rights reformer by adding, ” we conquered them, that’s history – Hello ?  You got to be against giving welfare to the American Indians because of the fact , that 200 years ago they were whipped in a war. Lets just call it what it is, they lost a war.” The scary part of Berg’s theory that Berry isn’t a racist and that he only makes racist comments to attract an audience is that Berry is rewarded for this and that people actually agree with him.

New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg is in favor of the construction of the Cultural Center. New York Magazine even found the idea of Berry advocating for the destruction of the cultural center to be humorous its idiocy. All I can offer is this: Mr. Berry please keep your mouth shut from now on. You are making the rest of us look bad. Here we are trying to make Houston a place that people want to come to, a place where people from all over the world and from every faith will feel welcome and want to spend money.We’re trying to make this city a place where cool people will be able to do cool things with other cool people without getting any shit for the way they look, who they want to go to bed with or who they voted for. And then you go and say something like this. Something that makes us all look bad and now the cool kids in NYC or LA or Portland will go on thinking we’re a bunch of rednecks.

Thanks Mike, no really. I mean that. We’ve worked so hard to be taken seriously as a civilized city. We have our own indie rock stars with Indian Jewelry, we gave hip-hop the idea to chop and screw the music,  we got a music festival that doesn’t feature Clint Black, hell we even have a lesbian mayor.  All of which will mean nothing if people like you keep shooting their mouths off about things you know nothing about and have no business commenting on. If the people in New York want an Islamic Cultural Center next to ground zero that’s their business.

Hell, if they want to build a 20-foot-tall, red, white and blue dong in the middle of ground zero and cover it wit a banner that reads: “NYC home to more sodomites than the rest of the country put together” that’s their business too. Stick to talking about Houston so the rest of the country can stick to ignoring you and we can stick to improving this city’s image.

See here is the thing about SXSW, sure you have all the issues revolving around this big overblown marketing beast where small independent bands scream to be heard above the fray, but forget that. Put that aside and what you have at SXSW is this crush of humanity descending on our proud state capital every year to hear some great music and have a great time. I mean look at this fellow below.

Chris Gray – Responsible Writer
Yes, that’s our dear friend Chris Gray of the Houston Press working hard like the excellent writer he is. He’s got his press badges, his wristbands, and he blogged extensively throughout. Well, not us. No sir we are down in the trenches with you plebeians. While Chris was jumping from show to show in the evening, we had to pick our shows*, pay for each one, and drink like fishes at our homebase bar on 7th. While Chris was blogging extensively we were either too hungover to type in the morning or threatened with death for typing too loud at the early hour of 1PM. While Chris was bringing you the latest and greatest bands, we were discovering new uses for Guideon’s Bible that probably would fall under sacrilege in most denominations. So, no, you are not going to get the full SXSW musical experience here. Neither will you get a run down of all the silliness, weirdness, drama, and genuine party call me insanity of the weekend – this ain’t no personal blog. But here is a quick recap of what I got to see from Thursday and Friday. Blogger is being weird right now so Saturday’s recap will have to wait.

Thursday 19 April

Consider this a stand-in for all lame SXSW bands
Let this band take the place of all awful and middling bands of SXSW. Ya see, for all the good that you can find at SXSW, you can find something terrible. Now granted, the “Texas Rock” stage on 7th street is the worst crap you will ever hear at SXSW no matter what year it is and even these guys above couldn’t hold candle to that shit but in their own bar band/blues rock tropes kind of way they were pretty unbearable.

Elaine Greer’s death metal set at Casa de Gallo
Next stop was Casa De Gallo and when I got there I had JUST missed Giant Princess play. The setting was pretty nice – a small little home in an obscure street on the east side and there was a good representation of all your music friends relaxing while enjoying some food and music. Elaine Greer played a great set with Travis on bass being his usual jovial self and Austin lending his skills on guitar, accordion, and backing vocals. The room sounded great, the band delivered, and Elaine’s voice carried all the melody, wit, and intelligence of her songs with a charming grace. Of course, if you’ve read my columns or blogs, you’d know that this is nothing new. Buxton was to follow Elaine Greer but I had to leave to catch an old friend from Austin. No worries, you know as well as I that it’s an easy bet that Buxton would take no prisoners. Need proof? That new single they have coming out KILLS! When it comes out buy a copy, then you will truly know of this band’s might.

Friday 20 April

Friday ended up being my Battan Death March. Let’s just say, I paid for Thursday all of Friday and leave it at that but, using every possible method available to me, I plugged through. Still we did see some good bands along the way.

Jana Hunter
After that is was a race across town to see Jana Hunter at Domy books. I’d missed her Tuesday so I was glad to find that Domy was running a bit behind schedule. I mean c’mon you know Jana: that singular phrasing, that jangly guitar, the slow spacious emotional songs. Much like Lou Barlow’s set the prior night, Jana hailed in the cooler evening weather playing her haunting music as the sun began to fall and birds flew across the sky overhead. I couldn’t have asked for better.

*My band didn’t apply this year and so I didn’t ahve wristbands like I did last year.

The unbilled El Orbits opened up at the Continental and were clearly acting as the warm-up band before the headliners whom they would do an expert job of backing-up throughout the evening. The band plays a solid enough selection of rockabilly, lounge, and early Rock and Roll hits – in essence a cover band – but that’s not a bad thing. There is something to be said for hearing a classic like Fats Domino’s Ain’t That a Shame played straight by live musicians in a club that brings a smile to my face. The band plays great songs with enough skill that it’s garnered them the recurring Monday night slot at The Continental so if you ever want to kick back on a Monday with some straight up early rock and roll, you may want to swing by – after all it’s free.

Things really kicked-off with Texas legend Miss Barbara Lynn. Once you walked inside you immediately felt the breeze of sass and grace from Miss Lynn. Lynn may be up there in her 60′s but she can bring the room down with her expressive voice and smooth bluesy guitar work. Songs like her signature You’ll Lose a Good Thing, still pack a punch when she delivers them in person especially since her delivery has a bit more grit and immediacy than her slick latter day recordings would suggest. Particularly amusing was her guitar work which alternated with a loose strummed rhythm style with a much more precise finger picked style when she played lead. It may not have been virtuosic arpeggios but within the blues idiom, her guitar was as distinctive as her voice. The audience was clearly energized by her and it took some effort to pull myself away to run to the Mink for Dizzy Pilot.

It’s tough to bring out what Dizzy Pilot do on stage into a recording studio which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they are fun, wild, and woolly (definitely woolly) live but, on the other hand, Dizzy Pilot for the most part seems caged-in on their recordings. Consider guitarist Bill Kenny’s guitar work on stage – it’s like watching a gymnast on speed and while the songs are clearly structured there is this wild and frenetic quality that jumps from the dirty garage looseness of say Mudhoney to the more epic melodic precision of the best Flaming Lips lines. Vocalist and guitarist JJ White is no small shakes either as he belts his lungs out and flails on stage – he just doesn’t do it under the attention grabbing mountain of hair Kenny employs. It’s an energy that’s contagious. Take the one fellow in the audience who was clearly waiting for his jam. When Heart of a Hurricane‘s notes rang out, the guy immediately began thrashing, hanging from the rafters, and bumping into people who easily forgive his enthusiasm. Who could blame him? Heart of a Hurricane is, after all, a kick-ass song.

Back at the Continental Club, The Mighty Hannibal was taking the stage with a sweetness in his voice and presence that lifted the crowd into a swoon. I’m going to assume that in his younger days the Mighty Hannibal may have been a much more spry performer but even though he largely stood in a very small area of the stage – which may be more of a practicality issue given his blindness – he clearly knew how to command the stage. I mean, you try to look cool wearing a skimmer hat on your head and see what it gets you. You really want to know how you have someone who can sing R&B;? Have them do Mustang Sally. I freaking hate that warhorse of a song to the point where it’s become synonymous with tired boring bar bands. But here is the thing – Hannibal made it work! That’s something I thought was impossible but his voice was adept enough to make it swing along with everything else that night be it get up and dance funk to the more heartfelt couples-only soul. Regardless of the style, it was pretty hard to resist the urge to move and I’m glad that my posse stayed at the Mink because otherwise I may have had to hit the dance floor which is something nobody should be subjected to. Thankfully, the crowd had much more grace than I would have had on the dance floor and as I left the couples were dancing wrapped in the Hannibal’s voice. Clearly, The Mighty Hannibal’s work here was done.

Back at The Mink, The Wiggins was running through his weirdtronic one-man show. That’s being a bit silly as the Wiggins’ weirdness is less about the elements and more about how they are assembled. Imagine an 60′s garage and psych song structure, throw in a Johnny Rotten nasal delivery, a distorted drum machine straight out of an 80′s dance floor, drop a post-punk guitar style that’s angular yet melodic like say Wire, and you might get an idea of what makes the Wiggins so clever and fun. Those elements aren’t much in and of themselves but it’s John Read ability to join those elements into something fresh and droll that tickles it’s audience to no end. In fact, I can’t think of anyone who has ever seen the Wiggins play who has not left with a smile and this was no different.

Closing the night over at the Continental was Archie Bell. Bell’s a pro who knew how to work the crowd in his white suit – getting people all up and dancin’ , singing along, and, of course, inciting the occasional request for Tighten Up. Bell knows that, despite his decades old catalog, people want to hear his signature song – Tighten Up – and demands for the song were met with a gracious and jovial “Oh you know I have to save that for last.” that kept the audience on his side. That’s a pretty sweet skill to have and it all comes from Bell’s demeanor which invites the audience to have a good time with him. Be it engaging audience members directly, throwing down some sweet (if not so limber) dance moves, or just allowing the music carry him, Bell is clearly a veteran of an old school – one that just wants people to put aside their pretensions, feel good, and just enjoy themselves. And yes, Tighten Up closed the evening and the response was exactly what you’d expect – dancin’ dancin’ dancin’. Well, except for me of course. When I left, the bartender (knowing I’m not a regular) asked “D’ja have a good time?” I believe my response was something akin to an enthusiastic “Hell yeah!”

Finally, over at the Mink, Indian Jewelry took things in a totally different and trippy direction from Archie Bell but one that was no less raucous and joyous: drums machines crashing, guitars screeching, electronic sounds swirling, and a crowd that loved every second. Some songs – like say Temporary Famine Strip – are much better live than on CD but that no complaint against albums like the exceptional Free Gold but more a compliment to the band’s loose and fluid live performance. The songs have structure but they are also open enough so as to leave room for the unexpected and allow the players to be in the moment. That kind of interaction makes their performances unique enough where no two are alike but it also leaves the albums to be merely a static snapshot – a single possible universe out of many. Regardless of this kind of penny-ante comparison between the recorded and the live – it should not be lost on anyone that Indian Jewelry are and have been one of Houston’s most challenging yet accessible graduates of the Houston experimental community. They get trippy and noisy but the tribal beat that accompanies most songs is undeniable. One fan even took it upon herself to join the band on stage and start dancing. I ask you, how many experimental bands inspire that response? So dance on Indian Jewelry girl we totally know where you are coming from!

Barbara Lynn shows us why they call her
The Queen of Gulf Coast Soul Blues

Dizzy Pilot’s Bill Kenny –
“Dude how many times do I have to tell you!
This is not the donut shop!

Happy couples dancing and
a satisfied Willie Nelson fan
- The Mighty Hannibal’s work here is done!

Bobby Dj (Tense), Tex (Indian Jewelry),
and Omar (Caprolites) diggin’ the Wiggins!
No, Tex isn’t on a cell phone – he’s singing along!

The Wiggins Crowd:
Tex (Indian Jewelry), Omar (Caprolites),
a very stern looking Erica (Indian Jewelry),
and Cley (Young Mammals)

Archie Bell Tightens It Up at the Continental Club

Links

More Pictures on My Flickr (Link)

(all the following myspace and in order of appearance):
The El Orbits (Link)
Miss Barbara Lynn (Link)
Dizzy Pilot (Link)
The Mighty Hannibal (Link)
The Wiggins (Link)
Archie Bell (Link)
Indian Jewelry (Link)

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.

The McKenzies drew me in with their upbeat drums, organ, and poppy melodies. For me, they were my happy pop “discovery” of the day complete with bubble machine. What can I say, I’m a sucker for the well executed pop song. Sadly, no releases yet but they say they are working on it. Highly recommended!

Defenestration Unit were missing a guitarist yet, no offense to Jim Otterson’s skills, you never missed him. The band filled in the gaps beautifully and Charlie Ebersbaker’s work on the Korg was a great addition to the band’s palate.

Come See My Dead Person were a complete surprise. I walked in and there was this big dude with a small-scale acoustic guitar, a mandolin player, and a violinist, atop the usual drums, bass, and guitar. The singer was singing like some gypsy Tom Waits while the whole place was whooping it up. It’s probably the only time I’ve seen a band have this infectious a “drag you in” live performance since the last time I saw the Sideshow Tramps.

Antarctica Starts Here played one of the best sets I saw on Saturday. Oh, this is a band that loves a wash of echo, reverb, and delay ON EVERYTHING. Add the shimmering guitars and their patient buildups leading to some gorgeous crescendos and I’m mainlining.

Sideshow Tramps make it look so easy! I caught a bit of their set and there is the drummer throwing his stick around like some Bennihanna chef, the washboard bassist is taking a solo to hoots and hollers from the audience, the cigar box guitarist is sashaying across the stage like he’s Jimi Page, and the singer is making you buy whatever they are selling. Now, that’s all fine and dandy but I’d gone to see Perseph One and that stage running late so I headed back to Avant Garden then, sure enough, when I get back, the goddamn stage is filled with people dancing and singing along! Goddamn it, I can’t leave those Sideshow Tramps alone for five minutes!

Basses Loaded also fall under the category of bands that make it look easy with their cool bass lines, clever arrangements, and unstoppable skills. Fine cool I can deal with that and the fact that the whole American Sharks thing is also kickin‘ but I didn’t know until later that day that 1/2 of the band was in The Fucking Transmissions. Fuck that! That’s Bullshit! Attention Basses Loaded members, you have exceeded your cool band quota! Cut that shit out!

Buxton is a band I’d been curious to hear live since hearing them on Myspace and they did not disappoint. There’s a lot to like about them, strong songs, engaging vocals etc. but for me the thing that put it over the top was the lead guitarist. Here was one of those bastards that had an insane control over what he was doing – it was enviable. He’d constantly punctuate the songs with these little guitar lines and phrasing that added texture, nuance, and weight to an already heady brew. One of the best performances of the day!

The Fucking Transmissions‘ set was hip hop at it’s most musically witty. Ben (he of too much talent and too many cool bands) played guitar and bass simultaneously while the vocalists played off each other like droll school kids trying to outdo each other. Jovial and sharp, The Fucking Transmissions should quiet any naysayers who claim Houston Hip Hop is all out of tricks.

The Wild Moccasins got everyone in a tizzy. John Sears turned to me and said “Oh Shit they’re the new De Schmog!” We’ll, maybe if De Schmog was a bit more rootsy but, yeah, in terms of being upbeat, fun, and getting the crowd all nutters, they had it in spades.

I closed it off with Austin’s Death Hell Battle Tank upstairs at Avant Garden. The singer (is this the dude from Fuck Emos by the way?) sure had sass. He got on the balcony and began, with his voice running through an octave divider, to taunt the people below to come upstairs all the while addressing the Houston crowd as “Hey Dallas” and telling them how much they sucked. The band – dressed in military headgear, fully in character, and with fog machine in hand – then charged through a really fucked-up version of The Immigrant Song. It was refreshing to see someone just be purely stupid and silly. Now I’ll grant you, the shtick may get old but it was worth rolling this one at least once.

The Punk’s Not Dead Award though for the day has to go to Cop Warmth and Blackie‘s guerrilla performance outside the bike shop. If you missed it like I did don’t feel to bad; it was thrown together on a whim after the band’s performance at Numbers . Cop Warmth are like excitable chimps and – fuck stages and set times – it was time to have some fun and fling some poo: get the equipment, set up by the bike shop, play, make some noise with Blackie, and hope it’s all done before the cops shut you down. Just looking at these pictures by Brent (Link) and listening to what people said, Cop Warmth may just have topped everyone else and brought some much needed real chaos to an otherwise orderly event. Amen!

Here are some snapshots:

The Defenestration Unit’s Mike Switzer
has come to kick ass and chew bubblegum
and he’s all out of bubblegum!

Generation Landslide
plays an exclusive set for Indian Jewelry

Skyblue72

Team Death Trap

Come See My Dead Person rips up Mango’s
and that’s without their entire line-up.

Swans Will Attack

Antarctica Starts Here lay down shoegazer
shit that makes your hair stand on end!

News On the March

Sideshow Tramps!!
I left for five minutes.
When I get back everyone was on stage.
Typical!

Mistress Green

Ill Advisory – the one man supergroup!

Basses Loaded!
Asses Kicked!
Mission Accomplished!

Lovie

Buxton! Holy shit they are good!

The Fucking Transmissions dropping some cognitive
dissonance on that one dude who writes-off Houston as
“a talentless hip hop sewer of uncreative ass clowns “

The Wild Moccasins
wowing an enthusiastic crown outside Mango’s

Piano Vines you got that one dude dancin‘!!

Death Hell Battle Tank!
Because sometimes you need to get your stupid on!

Cop Warmth & Blackie
proof that punk’s not dead!

More:

Blog Reviews:

Breakfast On Tour review and pictures by Cereal (Link)

Handstamp (Chronicle) review and Pictures (Link), more pictures (Link), and Video (Link) by Sara Cress

Houston Calling Review By David Cobb (Link)

Houston Press review by Chris Gray (with link to a slide show Link)

Impose Magazine review and photos by David deLeon (Link)

Pictures:

My Pictures (Link)

Brent’s Pictures (Link)

Groovehouse’s Pictures (Link)

William Cordray’s Picture’s (Link)

Send me you Flickr and other related links so I can add them, eh?