4/22/10 2:00 am.
Never mind the time imprint on the monitor. That would seem to be incorrect.
Before I launch today’s post, I will mention that the gremlins took ahold of the reins Friday so I wasn’t able to publish this, so Friday’s post is now Monday’s post. We’re living in the past.
Now then, let’s continue.
The location where the above photo was taken is a spot in San Francisco in the district that is South of Market street, or SOMA as it’s known. The name of the place always escapes me but I make do by simply calling it ‘All American Burger’. It was quiet on this night, but on any given weekend in the wee hours of the morning it resembles less of a 24 burger/Chinese food and donut place and more of an Al-Anon meeting of tranny hookers, bridge and tunnel tweekers, a random bicycle messenger and The Village people.
However, what led up to us being there is actually what’s noteworthy. On Wednesday my better half and I made our to the big city to cross paths with some friends and ultimately to take in the long anticipated Bronx show. What resulted was a blur of musical mayhem that could only be categorized as one of my top twenty favorite live musical experiences to date.
Before we went to the venue we had planned to meet up with Duncan at a nearby bar in order to sufficiently lube our brains, but as soon as I walked in, I was pleasantly surprised to see Ryan and experience a whole lot of weird six degrees of separation upon finding out that he was friends with Tara from Crumpler, who I hadn’t seen since our meeting in Minneapolis, proving once again that wherever you go, there you are;
After putting a few beers and two half-pints of Jameson’s away we sauntered off to then meet up with Jmac and get our rock and roll experience on.
We arrived in time to catch the headliner’s acoustic incarnation, El Bronx Mariachi which didn’t disappoint in the least;
Photo credit ©Little Pants
The second band was an Australian four piece by the name of Violent Soho who had I seen in 1991 would have utterly blown my mind, but then again, it’s been nearly 20 years since grunge broke, so I suppose it’s about time it had its resurgence;
Photo by Duncan Davidson
After putting away a couple extra beers, and then a few more, the main attraction took their place on the stage and proceeded to absolutely blow the roof off of the venue. I would like to note that I’ve been seeing punk bands since the early 80s, and in that time very few acts have equalled the power and sheer grace that this band had a seemingly effortless lock on.
Photo by Duncan Davidson
I would also like to say that I have skanked and slammed in four corners of the world, but I have never, nor will I ever mosh. In fact, I absolutely loathe the term.
That being said, as I strained the get down muscle from one end of my body to the other, I found myself suddenly on stage, and then upside down, flying through the air in my first stage dive in 15 years. Ironically, (or not) it was at this very venue nearly as long ago that I slipped through the crowd and landed squarely on a pile of broken glass, opening up my back across my right shoulder blade. As is sometimes said, you’re only as good as your last fight, and I’ve long lamented the occurrence. It seems as though now, closing in on 40 years old, I still have the knack, and for that I am thankful.
Old punkers never die. They just limp alot more.
Cranking through one song after the next, the level of energy on stage was matched by that of the audience, confirming that the quality of a band’s performance is generally only equal to that of the crowd’s interaction.
Photo by Duncan Davidson
Everyone in the place, with only a few exceptions, seemed to be on the same page, and the air in the room was electric.
Photo by Duncan Davidson
Once the house lights came up, members of the band milled around with people on the floor and everyone in attendance seemed to agree that something spectacular just took place.
After the show, we adjourned outside to buy the final hotdog from the street vendor, then wandered off in different directions to find new bottles or strange beds to fall into.
That my friends was the night in a nutshell, and what a brilliant nutshell it was.
Now, onto other matters. The come-up-with-a-contest-contest to win a signed copy of J.P.H.N.H’s new book is coming along nicely and I have received an assortment of fantastic concepts, nearly all of which I’ve decided to use at some point. I have yet to pick a winner for this contest in particular, but it’s comforting to know that should I end up with more goodies to give away in the future, I now have a stable of ideas from which to choose.
It’s with this that I suggest we dive headlong into the mail bag and see what’s what.
From Sargent Carlos Alberto Del CAstillo Cabeza De Vaca I was included in this bit of news sent while he’s tripping around across the pond;
“Saw this today at the big Vans superstore, in a fancy shopping area of London. I’m certainly not surprised by the use of the band or its imagery…
I just hope Mike Muir is getting something out of the deal. Knowing the type of business savvy that most hardcore/punk dudes have, however, I have a feeling that all he got was a 20% discount on a pair of shoes. Oh well.”
To which The Bike Snob responded;
“You know you have made it when you got a pair of “collabo Vans.”
That Robert Trujillo guy did do pretty well for himself, though I’m not sure jumping up and down with glee when Metallica offered him the job was the world’s best negotiating tactic. Once you scream, “Woo-hoo!” you basically lose the ability to make a counter-offer.
Ian MacKaye is also a savvy businessman, he gets a 5% royalty on all the self-righteousness in North America.”
Beyond all of this, regardless of what Mike got in compensation, personally I can’t say that I would be terribly comfortable with a giant poster of the inside of my nose being spattered all over creation.
From Dpow! I got this correspondence that should be of interest to any Juggalos in the audience, though I’m not lying when I say I hope there are none.
“Re: Perhaps the most important thing I’ve ever sent you.
Have you seen the new Miracles video from ICP? It is incredible. You just have to see for yourself. This shit is real, and I’m pretty sure I’ve watched it 50 times now. How these guys make money is miracle.
In response to this I can only counter with this not-so safe for work clip of the Juggalo News;
All of this begs the question.. Would you rather spend six months on tour as a member the Insane Clown Posse (sans make up, but you have to wear a huge bee hive wig the whole time), or be forced to go about your daily life wearing the ICP make up for an entire year?
I think I’d choose the latter, though I would really be bummed about it.
Now I know this is a bike blog, so I will conclude today’s post with some news from that end of the spectrum.
Ryan from Go Means Go sent me an email that should be important for anyone looking to ruin races this coming winter, which included the flyer for an event concerning a race that’s tailor made for just such an activity;
“Single Speed CycloCross World Championships will be taking place in Seattle this October. If you are able to get here, you should. It should not be missed;
Next Thursday we are having a party announcing the dates, venue, sponsors… all that stuff.
If you wouldn’t mind posting about the event on your blog, we would greatly appreciate it.
There is going to be loud music, cheap beers and good times.
“Loud Music, cheep beers and good times.”
In the blog world, that is what we call ‘full circle’.
The sun is shining, and the roads and trails are calling. You know what to do.
The clouds parted, the unicorns, pranced, and Stevil is back. Must be Monday.
Two things. First, is that second picture from the top a photo of the ’94 Annual Beard Convention? If so, where’s Steadman Graham?
Second, if you see the SSCXWC, please tell it that we’re totally cool with it coming out and can tell it about some support groups that will help its parents deal with it.
It’s ALL STARS DONUTS, the traditional stopover between the Covered Wagon Saloon and jail.
As a long, long, long time Vans wearer, I have to register my increasing unease with their “band” merch. I surely do love some Bad Brains for example, but why are Vans selling Bad Brains shoes? It’s selling rebellion to the kids at its worst. I hope, at the very least, that the dumb bastards who made the music are getting paid their due, which would be every dime made.
It’s enough to drive you to not smoke, to not drink, to not fuck, or something INSANE like that.
The SSCXWC people have gone too far! Gay sloth’s are where I draw the line.
Now I’m totally ruined. All my life, or at least since 1982, a guy on the drillfloor of the oil rig I worked on called me Bozelleo. He told me it was the Latin for clown. I never questioned it until today.
So because of you and the interweb I looked… he lied. The measly prick. The Latin for clown as far as I can figure out is… fossor, which means of all things, Gravedigger. Not a hole lot, so to speak, funny or entertaining about that?
Where’s my book?
This weekend was truly one replete with some serious ass kicking music…While the Bronx rocked SanFran, Buffalo had it’s ass handed to it by the likes of Dead to Me and Against Me!..Fuck the spring classic, the real tours are just starting.
Pedalman, I am sorry to inform you but it isn’t a gay sloth. It is Chewbacca and he is coming out in favor of his gay/bi-racial relationship with Han Solo.
Isn’t it obvious? Only a gay Wookie could pull off a bandolier with a brown leather purse attached to the bottom and nothing else.
I don’t think it’s a gay sloth or Chewbaca. It looks more like Quatchi, one of the olympic mascots from the five ring circus that just took place here in BC.
It’s a Sasquatch. Sally has a thing for them.
It’s a death metal koala. Obvious.
“F#ckin’ magnets: How do they work?” “There’s miracles everywhere in ‘dis bitch!” True songwriting genius!!!
Where’s my black-n-white makeup?!?