2 posts tagged “berkeley”
On the morning of this particular show, I was up in Marin, waking up in a sleeping bag that had done little to keep me warm overnight. Lots of activity and driving ensued. I went back to the South Bay as a passenger in the company van, ate a quick dinner, and drove northwards again.
I was damn tired. Good thing the show was at a coffee house.
The last time I saw Tim Eriksen, it was at the same venue but he was part of Cordelia's Dad. This time it was just him, but this proved sufficient. He made a crack about how it's hard to tour as a multi-instrumentalist (fiddle, banjo, guitar, jaw harp, etc.), but then admitted that he'd borrowed most of the instruments on stage (except for the fiddle, which had belonged to his grandpa, and the jaw harp, which fits neatly in a pocket).
The venue wasn't filled to capacity, and most of the audience was older than me, which is getting more unusual with each passing year. He started out with acapella song, and followed it with a hymn (if I remember right). He had a couple of cool old hymnals on hand, but I'm not sure if he was reading the words or holding them just for effect.
Audience participation was expected on many of the songs, with Tim singing through choruses at the beginnings of songs and making sure to point out that they were indeed the choruses. The last time I participated in this sort of activity at the Freight was when Odetta sang there. On that occasion, Odetta pointed out that "you can't almost sing" as she launched into a spirited version of Kumbaya. We sang then, and we sang for Tim Eriksen too. There really is something cool about a bunch of people who don't know each other all singing along to a song written a century or two ago.
Greg showed up about five songs in, so all of a sudden I knew at least one person there. He'd been to see the new Greenaway film at the Pacific Film Archive, electing to spend yet another evening rushing around in a panic to meet all of his entertainment needs.
As for the songs, Tim sang a bunch from his most recent cd, "Every Sound Below", including the haunting title track. He also sang the wonderfully absurd A Tiny Crown, a small song about sea monkeys. I'm also quite glad that he chose to sing the hauntingly sad Leave Your Light On from his first solo cd. I'm just a sucker for sad songs and ghost stories, and this song is both. He alternated between fiddle, guitar, banjo, and acapella singing, with the jaw harp making a brief appearance in the middle. This is the kind of music that works best in an intimate live setting with audience participation. Fortunately, this music seems to attract audiences who are willing and able to participate tunefully.
He did one encore, and then presumably rushed off to the airport to catch the 11:59 flight he'd alluded to earlier in the evening.
I dropped Greg off and went home to sleep for nearly 10 hours. It's nice when I can do that.
I mention all of this to provide context. Before this show, I hadn't been to the club in at least a couple of years, and before that, I probably attended a show a year, if that, for the last decade and a half. The eighties are long gone.
When I got there, I noticed that not much had changed. There were still tables of records and cds, as well as tables full of anarchist literature, dvds, and buttons. Only one bit of graffiti survives from the eighties, probably because it's more of a mural, and very nicely done. The basketball hoop is still there, as well as the store (or "stoar", as it is called) selling various food items. The sound equipment has migrated from the loft down to the main floor, where a new enclosed area has been built for it. The graffiti is still funny and inventive (I liked the "U.S. out of Iran" message over the men's bathroom - talk about a preemptive strike!). There was also a bake sale for the benefit of an abandoned puppy named Sprint. I bought cupcakes. The one familiar face appeared in the form of Eggplant, or Robert, who used to be in a band called Blatz and has been involved with Gilman since he was a kid. The rest of the crowd ranged from children (kids of punks!) to older people most likely there to see A.P.P.L.E., who were active in the eighties but had never made it out to the west coast.
The first band, Corprophagy, played metallic punk/grind. They had a female vocalist, but if you closed your eyes, you might not have realized this. They were pretty good, but definitely not doing anything original. They were followed by Surrender, who I think are comprised of people who work at Gilman. Surrender were more melodic, with male and female vocals. The female singer wore a black blindfold for the entire set, and the guitarist wore a black strip of cloth over his mouth. Seeing and speaking no evil? What about hearing evil? Is that still okay? I liked them well enough to buy their three-song 7". They reminded me a bit of bands like Dan and Sofa Head. They were followed by Armistice, who, in my opinion, were the weakest band of the evening. Like Corprophagy, they were more toward the metallic end of the punk spectrum, but the vocals were high and shrieking, like they were being produced by someone on fire. The vocalist kept apologizing for not being able (due to time constraints) to explain what the songs were about - so much that he probably could have explained what they were about in the time he took to apologize for not doing it. He also had a habit of ducking away from the mic as he introduced songs, so I never actually heard a complete song title. I love their shirt though, which was a parody of the Amebix "splathead" logo and their slogan, "no gods, no masters." They'd meshed the splathead with Winnie the Pooh, and changed the slogan to "no heffalumps, no woozles". Brilliant!
In between bands, I showed my support for Sprint by buying more food.
There was this one guy who spent a good deal of time on the floor due to his general punkness. He was always front and center or bouncing around in the pit. The problem is that he was wearing his pants low on the hip in that "show off my underwear" style popular with some segments of the teen population. An additional problem was that he wasn't wearing any underwear, and when his shirt rode up you could see his entire butt. Some exasperated attendee finally shouted, "PULL UP YOUR PANTS!" He didn't. At one point though, he was standing right next to somebody with a "Leftover Crack" back patch. Ha.
Greg joined me at this point. He'd put my name on the KALX guest list for the evening. It's good to have a brother working at a radio station.
Next up were Resistant Culture, who were reminiscent of the eighties/nineties Earache grindcore crowd - but with a twist. They added Native American flute and chanting to the mix. The vocalist started out the set with a positive message about how important non-violence was, and the band started out with a song called "Land Keeper", featuring Native American flute and a gourd rattle. Midway through their set, they brought some Indian activists up on stage to talk about the wall being built along our border with Mexico, and how it is dividing Native communities. One of the men let the crowd know about The Longest Walk, and received as much applause as the band had. It was good to see this. It reminded me why I spent so much time at Gilman as a young person.
A.P.P.L.E. were up next. I've liked them since the eighties, but had never gotten a chance to see them play. Unfortunately, their singer, Jae, had a case of chronic bronchitis, and her usually powerful voice was reduced to a rasp. This was the second date of their first ever tour ("too young back in the eighties, Jae explained - she was only fifteen when A.P.P.L.E. started) and already disaster had struck. Their guitarist picked up the slack a bit, and Jae did the best she could, but her voice was so damaged that she was reduced to belting out the words in a completely different style. Her voice was fading in and out like a distant radio signal, and it was proving frustrating for everyone involved. They did a few songs (If In Heaven, Peace is Possible, Rape Our Mother, Where Have all the Flowers Gone?, and maybe one or two more) but soon decided to pack it in. It's a real shame that this happened, especially since they were doing this tour out of pocket - a genuine D.I.Y. effort. Greg and I talked briefly with them afterwards. Jae and Chuck (guitarist) talked about how much they loved California, and seemed hopeful that Jae's voice would recover in time for their show the following night. Their bassist, Calum, seemed more doubtful. Greg had previously set up (with Calum) a radio interview time slot on KALX, and got phone number from everyone before we left (me dropping Greg off at the Starry Plough for another show on the way home).
Quote of the evening: "Did somebody lose their hair?" (Jae, after picking up a sizable chunk of hair from the stage).
As it turned out, they didn't get up in time for the interview (they were staying in Marin, and didn't really have a concept of the distances involved). I'm not sure how the next show went for them, but I'm guessing not well. The latest news is that the band has split up on the road, leaving Jae and Chuck stranded in Long Beach. It's a damn shame. Show your support by buying merchandise or dropping them a line.
