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Live
reviews - February, '07 __________________________________________________ |
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Thee Emergency and
Hell’s Belles
Seattle’s Thee Emergency is set to hit the stage just before Hell’s Belles. I’m so stoked about this recent revelation that I call Sleazegrinder. Below is a mostly accurate transcript of said conversation: DJC: Hey! SG: Yo. DJC: I wanted to tell you that Thee Emergency is opening for Hell’s Belles tonight! SG: So, will you be covering the show? DJC: No. I’m taking tonight off. SG: So you will be covering the show. DJC: Okay, but I’m gonna get really drunk! SG: Okay, bye. DJC: DRUUUNNNKKKKKK!!!!!!! Woman: Bee-Boo-Bee. Please hang up and try your call again later. DJC: Fuckity-fuck-Fuck. Sleazegrinder always wins. But that’s good for all of us. Yours truly included. Looking and sounding like the MC5 meets The Stooges with a tasty side of Napalm Funk is most definitely a good thing. Thee Emergency’s front-woman, Dita Vox demands your attention. Clearly, there is nothing wrong with being demanding when you sound and look like Dita does. Add Sonic Smith on guitar, Nick Detroit on bass (both sporting the barber shop MC5 “special”) and Tom T. Drummer on (surprise) drums and we got a band that just won’t quit. Dita Vox joins the ranks of the many forcefully talented female musicians from the West. Other luminaries include Rachel Flotard (Visaqueen), Carrie Akre (Goodness, Hammerbox, The Rockfords (with Mike McCready of Pearl Jam) and a damn fine Solo career) and Diana Young-Blanchard from the DT’s. With a stage presence reminiscent of Hendrix coaxing the hell-fire upwards, Dita is completely entrancing. The audience loves her and she knows it. Hell, if I looked like Pam Grier as Foxy Brown and sounded like Aretha Franklin I would too (Not familiar with Aretha? Download “Dr. Feelgood” take two aspirin, or Vicadin, Percs some Oxy, whatever your poison is, just don’t call me in the morning. Us Rock Chicks need way more sleep than you mere mortals). At times Dita’s vocals are lost to the earsplitting noise of Sonic and Nick. Not that I really mind but my ears just stopped ringing. And it’s Sunday. At any rate, we are all completely seduced by Thee Emergency and you should be too. It isn’t often a band like this comes around. Anyways, if your gonna be Austin, Texas on March 13th catch them at Mohawk. (with Iceage Cobra). Headlining tonight’s bill is the all girl AC/DC tribute band Hell’s Belles. New vocalist Jamie Nova takes over following the departure of original HB vocalist Om Johari. The comparison on the HB’s site that Jamie takes both Bon and Brian “by the balls” is right on. Girl’s got Rhythm and she will Walk All Over You. Of course, let’s not forget about Adrian Connor, the dreadlock queen of the Night. She’s got Angus down chop for chop. Although when she does her regular striptease during “Whole Lotta Rosie” it’s a little too much like Angus up there in a lace bra and tartan mini. The crowd however, loves this and why not. Okay, I love it too and Angus himself personally endorses Adrian’s Wild-Girl strut. The floor is throbbing as Hell’s Belles performance lovingly smashes it’s way into your heart via the 500 or so amps on stage. The set includes super-rock girl infused versions of “Bad-Boy Boogie”, “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be”, “Back in Black”, “Highway to Hell” and a blistering version of “The Jack”. Jamie Nova is in her own vocal league. Prowess like Jamie’s should be against the law. However, to my boozy happiness, everything is legal in Seattle. Well, for my own protection, let’s pretend like it is.
DJC |
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The Vipers Piled-up in a higgled, piggled bill The Vipers waste about as much time as Napalm Death did writing ‘You Suffer’ in discarding the shamefully trite Gallagher-isms of some dismal opening band with merely a shrug into the side-barrier of their crash course for the sages. Plugged into the effulgent drool that drips deliriously from Manchester’s damp patches every so often front-fellow Nathan stands back arched before slamming the nail-gun three-for-the –price-of-two grebo-garbled-garage-blues- boogie grunge of ‘Josef K’, gargling astutely belligerent poetry like TV Smith directing Ramblin’ Jack Elliott into his own ‘Final Destination’. With a sound only enhanced by a splendid sense of sobriety (full marks to the sound lady whose name escapes me) they manage to get around the old ‘let’s join several songs together and be really cool and disregarding of the audience’ ooo-eck factor with sheer frenetic talent and passion. A nonchalant guitar mangler-deluxe matched by lead bassist (sssh, don’t mention Ned’s Atomic Dustbin) Johnny stomping on Eighties Matchbox’s unmarked grave Nathan bludgeons the slight traces of the angular indie-punk popular with music fans of these bygone days between beauty and untreated schizophrenia. Seasoning weeping wounds with saucy creations recalling the literate gas-guzzlings of pre-grunge grifters Gaye Bykers on Acid and Crazyhead’s rockabilly thrown off a motorway bridge, the ace in the f-hole is drummer Ral, hauling the juddering beast from its own jaws, causing shuddering cataclysms that could fall apart at any minute to soar, strike and, yup, viperise the quickly convinced crowd with the brontosaurus boot-print of whoever drummed for The Sonics. ‘Temperance Street’, by the way, rather rivals Black Fiction’s ‘Groupies For Jesus’ and Kid Voodoo’s ‘Weird Scene Addict’ as an anthem for Manchester’s betterly-plumed youth.
-Stu
Gibson |
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The Earaches Today, I received a “Cease and Desist” order from my liver. It’s times like this I really wish I had a lawyer. Or a good doctor. Or a spare liver. Maybe I should just become a Vampire. Instead of surviving on the blood of the living, I will survive on booze. Hell, I’m up all night anyway so what’s the diff… It’s the beginning of the month so in addition to having a few more duckets in my pocket, the High Dive is hosting it’s monthly broadcast of KEXP’s Audioasis. First, out in support of their 3rd record, “Time On Fire” it’s The Earaches. It’s great to finally hear The Earaches new material performed Hot, Fast and Live. Front man August Henrich’s turbo-charged vocals and radical energy makes me want to run around the block at full speed. Of course, I never run anywhere unless someone is chasing me and lets face it…I’m generally too drunk to do much more than stumble so it’s a good thing nobody’s chasing me. If I were a B Movie Starlett (and I verra well might be) I would be the first one axed in the skull because I got high, had unprotected sex and couldn’t get away from the Manic Ax Murderer because I kept running and falling. The Earaches pull out a few numbers from “Fistfights, Hot Love” and then nearly every cut from “Time On Fire”. You can’t miss the Social D vibe. Even August’s hair has a Mike Ness-ness to it. Bassist Oni Timm never stops grooving and for all I know, he might be related to Flea. The Earaches set is deliciously boisterous. When it’s over, I’m left with a sweet little ring in my ear and the happy feeling you get after sex. Know what I mean? The answer should always be yes. If it’s no, ring 36-24-36. We’ll have ourselves a Ball. After the set, I have a great conversation with August about where his inspiration comes from (bluesman Buddy Guy), the bands commitment to DIY (crediting their super DIY abilities to new drummer Steve Jones who’s studio was where “Time on Fire” was recorded) and how the fuck he actually sings like he does (ancient punk rock secret…besides, if he told me he would have to kill me and I suck at running away from people wanting to kill me). There’s also the fact that between the two of us we have seen “We Jam Econo” like 10 times. And that was just last weekend. Thanks August, your band rocks, you’re a Reckless Bastard and I’m pretty sure I love you.
Unfortunately, SNB’s vocalist (and part time Dungeons and Dragons Master) Neil of Steel looks like Phineas T. Freakears and sounds like Bon Scott if a hooker was squeezing his balls real tight for $20. Mr. Steel’s vocal mission steers SNB slightly off-course but there’s some potential there. Thankfully, SNB’s music makes up for this loss of direction and in some cases, covers it up. Definitely a band to keep your ears on. The night ends with a balls-out performance from Shim (for those of you keeping track that’s the second time I used the word “balls”) that comes complete with 80’s style dry-ice-smoke and flashpots so bright they melt your eyebrows. And, after rolling out of the gutter, Feral Children close the show with a set that includes making noise with two empty kegs. It also might have introduced a new music genre, low-budget hobo rock. And people say the scene in Seattle is dead. Not by a long-shot baby. - DJC ________________________________________________________ |
Tonight
we invade Capitol Hill and Neumos. If there were such a thing as the Drinking
Olympics, my girls Miss M, Ms. E and The Divine Ms. J would all be Gold
Medalists. True Rock and Roll spirits, I am in good company tonight. Although
I’m no longer apologizing to my liver as I really don’t mean it. And he knows
it. 
Next up is Sunday Night
Blackout. SNB’s music has a powerhouse arena rock sound. This is due much
in part to Miss Simona’s un-fucking-stoppable skin skills. SNB drummer
Miss Simona (the lovely and Hotly Italian Simona Bressi) also plays in an
all girl Black Sabbath tribute band
