14 posts tagged “my photographs”

Mali and I attended the Air Guitar Regionals for San Francisco last night, and before I get into the sheer lunacy of the spandex and huge balls I saw last night, can I gripe for a minute on how high the minimum for opening tabs at bars seemingly is now? At du Nord Monday night, where we caught a local show (Tartufi was awesome), the min was $25; at 111 Minna, where I went for a happy hour last week, it was $20.

Now, I guess these places are trying to encourage you to drink in pairs? Groups? Or are feeding on people's low self-esteem and alcoholism? Because I know I am in trouble if I spend $25 on booze, just for me. I bring this up because at the Independent last night, the minimum amount to open a tab is $30 - holy shit! In my case, I like beer most of the time, so at $5-6 a piece, four beers is sufficient enough for me to be wasted. I'da been slinging back six beers if I wasn't with Mali drinking to our hearts' content up in the balcony. I know there's a thing about fees and charges through credit card companies to even have the machines in the bar blah blah blah, but that's when you make that shit cash only. $30. Wow.

Anyway, I'm recovering from the air fiesta that was last night. Today I bring you three wonderful clips in their annotated glory that I've been meaning to post. Enjoy!

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Live - Flight Of The Conchords @ Davies Symphony Hall | SF

Who are Flight of the Conchords? Who the hell are you if you are not acquainted with this fictional-but-they-do-exist in real life musical duo, who have a wildly successful show on HBO and now are somehow touring for fake songs about doing foreplay with toothpaste and fake peg leg cannibalism, complete with making lasagna for one and time-traveling to meet David Bowie to tell him how to make iconic music? (more...)

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Live - Lightspeed Champion, Explorers Club @ The Independent | SF

"I'm drinking in the middle of a lake on a rowboat," my friend Kim greeted me on the phone as I answered her call in between bands at the Lightspeed Champion show. Really? Could I get in on that brown-bagging action too?

It was a hard time last week in Jenzland, dear Tripwire readers. Ain't nothing like making an ass out of yourself in a drunken-yet-sobering confession to a guy you want to be make-out partners with, and ain't nothing like getting beat up by a makeshift loft bed the previous night while trying to put a high friend to bed after mischief in the cab that included the driver cussing us out for being obnoxious, but hey - it's all in a Good Samaritian's work, no? (more...)

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Live - Frightened Rabbit @ Independent | SF

I have a smattering of fears that rear their ugly heads when I attend shows. Lest be ridiculed for all of them - in particular the very dumb and the very scary ones - I will only share my main three.

One is that I will find myself in a boo-hoo situation and not be on whatever list to actually get in the show, hearing the music woefully from the outside. It's embarrassing and sad and very pathetic to argue, "But I am on the list!" with the box office person indignantly before getting promptly denied entry, and therefore stuck on the sidewalk. But because I'm an easygoing girl, my remedy is to smile and then seek out the nearest bar for a whiskey ginger ale and a text message to a BFF to trek on with the rest of my night. (more...)

Um, hell to the motherfucking yeah. It's what you've allllllllllllllllllllllllllll been waiting for...I'll the let the words speak for themselves...

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Interview - Wallpaper

Eric Frederic has problems. At least, I think he does, and he won't admit it.

For one, I don't believe some crazy guy named Ricky Reed, who is Frederic says is supposedly in his band, is real - but Frederic isn't willing to divulge anything else at first regarding his group composition. The recent UC-Berkeley graduate sits in front of me in a sunny café in the East Bay as we talk about his involvement in synth love-and-lust outfit Wallpaper, a dance party project carbonated with some of the best electro hooks I've heard in a long time.

But Frederic insists that Reed is indeed real and separate from him, someone that exists and breathes life into this fabulous clusterfuck group getting known for having a mouth permanently suctioned on an autotune. Frederic says he takes a backseat for more "behind the scenes" work.

"He's everything I'm not, essentially. He's nothing I really stand for," he says of his other (fictional?) band member, who rounds out the lineup alongside drummer Arjun Singh. Frederic taps his fingers on the marble table before continuing.

"Let me say, I totally would not want to hang out with Ricky Reed if he was a real person," he says. "If people could relate to this person this character...that makes me feel kinda weird." He cites obsessions with AIM and text messaging as activities of abundance, pitfalls for a lot of his peers and Reed as a character, and a little of Frederic himself too.

So why use Reed? Wallpaper comes from the cusp of Frederic's mental genius and insanity levels. Originally created to shoot the shit in between shows from his other gig, alternative band Facing New York, Frederic conceived Reed, dreamed to embody a side of Frederic that needed escape with a good dose of humor. Reed, the ambassador Frederic appointed to seduce women, wear tight jeans, and talk shit through, ends up being a very precarious and yet loveable figure with an upshot. While it's not a secret that Reed acts like an asshole on stage, there is still something weirdly endearing and heartfelt about his attempts to win the crowd over. When I ask how seriously Frederic takes the project and all its egos, which all only started to gain momentum in the past year, he stops to look me straight in the eye.

"Very seriously." Frederic pauses to adjust himself while maintaining our eye contact. "I do think Wallpaper is dealing with some serious subject matter in a way. There's excitement and fun, but there is a composition process that is very serious to me. You never get any filler, and that is important."



Frederic once released a record six songs long, each clocking in at two and half minutes; even if a single track seemed like it would go longer, it would stop in lieu of the rule. "It turned out to be 15 minutes total, like 15 minutes of fame," he says with a hint of amusement. "That was totally unplanned." The songs Frederic is talking now about being no filler and all killer are sparkling ones off new EP T-Rex released a few weeks ago, in addition to some older floater material. These babies have the air of being both carefully crafted masterpieces, polished for maximal dance and groping, but also feel rushed. There seems to be an exact science to the way the songs play out and at the same time carry a weird sense of disregard. Both weeklies in the Bay Area have branded Wallpaper to be a party band, but for a duo (trio?) being solely about getting funky, there sure is a lot of work that goes into the act. Frederic describes how he and Home Depot became friends after he built a portable kit from the store's materials that he, Reed and Singh used to crash this year's Coachella and play in the festival parking lots, risking arrest. He also describes how heat exhaustion almost consumed him in filming the video for "T-Rex," the single his label Eenie Meenie put out off the EP, nearly melting off his face while he wore a rubber dinosaur mask in 85-plus degree heat on the streets of downtown L.A.

Wallpaper spectacles that occur mid-show don't come on a silver platter, either. Specialty videos are created that correspond in time to verses in each song, and include random splices of footage like Lindsay Lohan's DUI picture and YouTube videos of black women on a digicam in their lingerie to pique the audience's attention. Reed recounts stories built on outrageous multipart elements and wild anecdotes each show, the crowd hearing a new tale nearly every night. But the superstar of the whole she-bang is in the wardrobe Reed has taken as his own and that comes in its own duffel bag: the apparel fit only for an R&B singer stuck in 1994. The culprits in the fashion entourage include a white sequined Chanel blazer, short silky gloves, a Price-Is-Right satin bomber jacket, a Justin Timberlake fedora, a gold chain that has been spray-painted with its signature hue for longevity - Frederic even has his own sort of jeweler, a guy who pops into shows every so often to upkeep the goods. Ask him what his favorite part of the get-up is, though, and Frederic will pin it up to the sunglasses with the neon arms that he got in a gas station in Texas.

"It's a great personal disconnect when they are worn...you're pretty much blind on stage," he says, describing an incident at a T-Rex release show in Sacramento where a girl in the front of the audience pulled off the shades while Reed was performing.

"I was like, 'Fuuuuuck,'" Frederic recalls, lingering on drawing out the curse word; his eyes grow huge with both fear and distraught, like a little kid gravely concerned about missing Saturday morning cartoons.

"Were you afraid you would be exposed, or that your cover was blown?" I ask.

"A little bit of both," he admits, demonstrating the way he awkwardly froze - eyes darting and all - after the girl snatched the shades before returning them shortly after trying them on. Crisis adverted, but he looks pretty anxious still even after explaining the story.



Frederic grew up in Pinole, a suburb tucked up in the northeast part of California's Bay Area. The 25 year-old credits his mom with first exposures to funk and soul, and being around the hyphy and new jack era of music in the Bay of the late 80s, "That one [Keith Sweat song] 'I Want Her,' it's such a terrible song if you actually listen to it but the aesthetic is so there!" he says. "Right now I'm listening to early 80s, actually, DeBarge, the Thriller album once a day. Sometimes twice."

Although the idea of Reed is only in stages of infancy, he was assigned a name and a personality face only at the beginning of this year, Frederic shields him much like a mentor does for his disciple. But the question gets begged on where Frederic ends and Reed begins. A comparison of videos of the Wallpaper frontman stemming from June and December last year show a decidedly different man in each. The June recording presents what feels like a fresh-faced kid covering tracks like BelBivDevoe's "Poison," it's pretty "aw"-worthy. None of the wardrobe specifics has even come into play. But fast forward to a Rickshaw Stop headlining gig six months later, and the guy on stage now belting out a song called "Every Time We Do It" has no qualms about using sex and swank as tools on stage, an air of confidence and debonair surrounding a now self-assured Reed that yes; the appeal is there.

This evolution from nerd to suave is also evident in the direction the band is currently facing. Early tracks like "Rich Bachelor" carry a strategically placed throwback to dance music, boiled down with simple hooks and the distortion mic. "T-Rex" is the crossover tune, Reed murmuring "While I'm waiting for this alcohol to settle into my veiny veiny veins, get off your seat while we flip it for you" before diving into how big he goes on weekends. It's newer gems like "So Wasted" and "The Remix" that carry and ultimately shine the light on what Frederic and co. are doing properly: crafting catchy-ass beats, coupling them with lyrics of subject matter Frederic both hates and loves but pens, and sautéing them to electronic perfection. Lyric "This cell phone is lifetime/This cell phone is free" from "The Remix" sounds like a clause in my Verizon contract, and I think that's what Frederic intends. It's so funny, it's not. And then is. And I'm dancing the whole time.

The deal breaker, though, is the stage persona that cultivated and is now peeking out. Reed now has been perfected and has teamed up with hysteria to deliver comical storylines that gives both The Young And The Restless and Monday Night RAW a run for its money. Wallpaper shows are full of amusing and exaggerated fibs that permeate the room. At the San Francisco EP release show in May, Reed talks about he dated Jessica Simpson (not true), her dumping him, and asking someone in the room who had her phone number to have Simpson "text him her love." At the Sacramento show the following week, he debuts a story about cannibalism at the end of "Rich Bachelor" since the song ends with "I'll eat you alive," recalling how he couldn't eat this one girl that was on the island with him because he was in love with her.

The antics don't stop once the live set wraps up anymore; the band has now taken to YouTube to construct blog entries that brink on the crest of hilarity and lunacy. In the first blog Reed announces a world tour only to retire the music business the following week in blog two upon discovering Grand Theft Auto IV sold more than the T-Rex EP. He then takes off to the Amazon and sends another blog to say he's OK. Singh, however, being the victim of public Reed terrorizations, decides to move forward with the band without Ricky Reed and brings on a Reed cousin who happens to look suspiciously and exactly like Ricky, but is named Robbie, who works at the Bayfair Mall in San Leandro. Robbie played with the band two weekends ago at a show in L.A. and comes off as being a small-town kid in a big pond when interviewed on camera, in comparison to Ricky's cocky manners. Singh says in the same vlog that Wallpaper may more on without Ricky, if need be.

Thinking "what the fuck" right about now might be a suitable reaction to the soap opera dramz. So what of it all? Are we onto the next saga of larger-than-life chronicles, R. Kelly caliber? Does it even matter, if it provokes a good laugh of appreciation?

"In an interview, you mentioned that Wallpaper was created during a time of hyphy and a re-emergence of 'musicians representing that Bay Area sound,' which made you want to pay tribute," I ask back at the coffee shop. I'm about to meet Ricky Reed after I finish with Frederic, and I want to know what I am getting into. "Do you think you are successfully doing that instead of being a cover band?"

"Oh, wow...that's a really good question," says Frederic. He looks thoughtfully out the window at the joggers and cars that pass by before delivering an answer.

"I really think the answer is in the eyes of the beholder. And, it comes down to authenticity, which is a dangerous term. For a long time, people thought things like jazz and white rappers were cheap shots at people's nostalgia, but both of those things proved longevity. When people see the passion for a project [such as Wallpaper], I think that is proof. I think there is a big difference between irony and satire - 'Oh yeah, here's this white guy singing,' but it is serious. I think developing something like this is incredible and super funny, and honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this record gets canned."

"But what happens when people don't get what you're doing?" I press. "Are you a joke band? Are you making fun of yourselves, others?"

"Either you get it, or you don't. I think that's what it comes down to," says Frederic with a grin.

Now it's time to meet Reed.



I'm guided to a small, undisclosed location far from the place I originally met Frederic. I mean, really, really, far. The Amazon, to be specific. When I approach closer, I signal my presence to the man, and Ricky Reed casually glances towards me as I sit down next to him and flip out my notebook.

"People can't do without my wisdom for too long," says Reed as he reclines in his seat. He speaks with a slow cadence, half lazily, half sexily. It carries a tinge of "Oh, you like this?" attitude. I smirk. There is no undeniable joke in Reed's attire; the man really does look like if Run DMC had sex with a New Kid in person. I was warned by Frederic that interviews with Reed are notoriously hard to score and survive. A video diary with Filter the previous month had caused the interviewer to nearly break into tears at the end. I braced myself and politely asked what it has been like retreating into the depths of the Amazon.

"I got my WiFi, so it's okay," Reed says. "I got my own personal satellite up in space. But I mean, I'm kind of roughing it. I only got 25 of my closest entourage with me. I can't ride with my fleet of jets too much. I'm only importing fresh sushi from Shibuoa only every five days." I stifle giggles, but continue.

"I'm safe, you can still make funky music in the jungle...but I don't have plans to come back right now. There's not a lot for me in the U.S.," he admits in a moment of rare honesty.

Wait...did I just say Ricky Reed had a moment of rare honesty? Really?

After a few more small chat questions (the Pope was disappointed Wallpaper canceled the Vatican show, a secret love of Nelly's Apple Bottom jeans is discussed) it's photo shoot time. I was under the impression Frederic would be my subject, but scoring Reed is like Christmas in July. I watch him adjust his specs before I settle him into greenery as a lush backdrop. He even lets me accidentally graze his face with my fingers as I try to frame shots tightly around his bomber jacket; he acknowledges he is particularly nice to me since he likes me.

"Wait, before you start, can you grab my gloves?" he asks before I commence shooting. I lean over to pick them out of his bag, and joke that he should stitch up one of the hands that were fraying at the fingertip seams.

"Uh, no, they're supposed to be like that," Reed deadpans. "It's so I can snap along to my own music."

I turn my back to laugh and laud the dude in secret without him noticing before we begin the shoot.

"We're going to announce tour dates when Ricky gets back," Frederic informs me before we part ways. I'm back from my Reed session, and I smile. Yeah? Would Ricky be back by the end of summer? Did Robbie replace him for good? Would GTA IV ever be stopped? Will there be more pool parties? What if Ricky's Santa Monica house has foreclosure; would he still be a rich bachelor and have a million dollars?

"Awesome," I say. "I'll fucking be there."

Photos and words by JENZ

MySpace

Jun 16, 2008 in FEATURES

What a cool gent, especially when I made him wear those glasses...I love dudes in said eyewear like so...

Apparently, last night while I was napping before trekking out to popscene, an electrical fire consumed the depths of the Fillmore during the Dethklok show and peeps had to get evacuated. How fucking deth is that, I can't even tell you. I am way bummed I couldn't attend last night, lest my personal safety have been compromised, but hey - Brendon Small, I'm all yours forever...

This weekend is gonna prove boss: tonight is our free Whigs show at popscene, which I've been stoked on for weeks. And tomorrow, of course, is the actual Saturday fun day with lots of beer and bands (no backstage basketball this year, unfortunately), the sweet afterparty at Mezzanine, and then some Leisure throw in for good measure.

Good lord...no...sleep...

Anyway, to end the week of hard weeks (work totally fucking kicked my ass), here is my Ed Harcourt feature I ran; I really love our impromptu photo shoot, and I love the interior of Cafe du Nord to the max. Yay!

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Interview - Ed Harcourt

"Would you like some coffee, love?"

Ed Harcourt is on the phone with his manager when he greets me amidst unassembled gear and tangled wires at Café du Nord Monday, but it still doesn't stop him from offering me a kiss on the cheek and a cup of joe offer. Politely, I decline and wait for him to finish. It's been frenzied since Harcourt and his backing band arrive at the San Francisco venue - the sound guy is seemingly way stoned, and some of the wires combusted en route to merit an emergency Radio Shack run. Harcourt takes a deep breath before we sit down in the green room to discuss getting inked, his sweet sideburns, and the album The Beautiful Lie, of which he is on a mini power tour.

"I love pop, I love fucking underground weird stuff," says Harcourt as his drummer starts sound check, a thin wall separating him and us. "I get bored of one thing really fast, and I like approaching music and most everything in a curious way; I think I get more out that way."

"But really, why would anyone listen to my musical whinings?" he muses with a grin.

The Beautiful Lie is his masterpiece from two years ago seeing the light in the States just now, a record full to the brim of cinematic escapes and forthright rock anthems. Harcourt describes the layout of the record as "schizophrenic" and when he asked one of his friends for feedback on it, the answer was surprisingly candid.

"He said, 'It's like one half anthem-like, one half anti-social," Harcourt says with a laugh. "And I thought, 'Perfect.' I was working on two albums at the time with both different feels, and [this album] is a blend of both of those sounds."



Harcourt's open nature and heart translate to both stage and in person. Mid-song during his set, he jokes about bearing witness to a Girls Gone Wild bus at his hotel, and "some of these [people] had butts like shelves...you know, where you could just set a drink on." When I ask him my ever-imposing question about his side burns in the green room, he takes it with a shred of amusement.

"Oh really? Thank you," he says before mock yelling at the drummer through the wall to shut up. "I've had them ever since I was 18. But I am shaving off this caterpillar [points to his mustache] next week. I realized my wife will kiss me more." He then pulls up his pinstripe sleeves to display some stellar tattoo work on his forearms and biceps. We compare ink jobs before our time is cut short; he has to do that pesky sound check too.

The hard work pays off, as the show later that night is near impeccable, minus a short delay in initially starting. Ballad "Rain On The Pretty Ones" is a strikingly crisp and soft-hearted song live, the timeless feel of love forlorn punctuated with Harcourt's pangs of piano. And while the show overall emits a more hushed and gentle sound with tracks like "Until Tomorrow Then," which provides a platform for a lounge feel, Harcourt still shows that he can rock with the best of them with tunes like "Alligator Boy," electric guitar wails to no end.

"We're gonna be on the Tonight Show on Friday," he says to the crowd, who applaud approvingly. But even as he announces this monumental occasion to happen to him and his band, he still looks lovingly at the audience and smiles his appreciation. It's been a long road, yes, but he's finally making it.





Photos by Jenz

Ed Harcourt
MySpace

Jun 06, 2008 in FEATURES

What a wonderfully weird and a weirdly wonderful show. I have more to say on this night, but it'll run for tomorrow's second half.

Also, in WTF news, I didn't know these two were married??

JEALOUS

Hott. With two T's.

Linky for the show review here.

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Live - Destroyer @ The Independent | SF

Most material was centered off new full-length Trouble In Dreams, a record we called a "surreal, poignant, and artfully-crafted album," and Wednesday night's show promised and delivered just that. Backed by a supporting band, Bejar flipped between acoustics, straight rock, and folk with the breeziness of ease. "Foam Hands" and "Introducing Angels" were a quiet punch of love and angst rolled into a powerful ball, Bejar standing still on stage with his eyes closed to nail the choruses for both. "Shooting Rockets (From The Desk Of Night's Ape)" was a cinematic glory if we had ever seen one; the overwrought and sharp guitar overlaying the soft distortion and reverb gently in the distance was a delight. Crowd and personal favorite "Plaza Trinidad" was punctuated by sweet and tart piano with a jab of guitar intertwined, building for mini-epics of crescendos and peaks. I so wanted to be sitting on the venue floor listening to Destroyer on worn-in carpet and space pillows, daydreaming off to my heart's content while being cooled with silk fans, instead of standing in the balcony - but alas...

In between songs, Bejar talked about being Canadian, how particular meals sucked ("Man, fuck dinner" when he asked the audience if they'd eaten), and flashed awkward grins into the crowd of thanks and appreciation. Needless to say, we walked out of the show with smiles on our faces and happiness in our hearts. Thank you, Daniel.

Photos by JENZ.

Destroyer
MySpace

By JENZ May 27, 2008 in NEWS

My very, very first concert was when I was in third grade. Eight years old, 1993, and somehow I convinced my parents to take me to the Hot 97.7 Summer Jam concert series at the Redwood Ampitheatre in Great America. Oh yeah, that Great America. That decision I think was later regretted by my mom, who I remembered being hellishly horrified that  one of the opening acts did a dance move that was reminscent of this. On repeat. Continously.

The bill included Soul IV Real, Mint Condition, and Keith Sweat, the latter who canceled that morning. I remember standing line near the bumper cars and feeling crushed. I would later go on to wear the concert tee to bed and inwardly curse the show gods from taking away my opportunity to see Keith Sweat. Fifteen years have passed, and I am still bitter I never got to see the man in person. How much would "I Want Her" ruled live?

I mention this because I'm going over some notes I took during the Wallpaper. interview from Friday, and Eric mentioned "I Want Her" and how aesthetically pleasing it is despite the ridiculousness of the lyrics. I couldn't agree more. I wonder if we both listened to the late night love jams on KMEL with Chuy Gomez considering we both grew up in the Bay Area...it is a little funny the night I went to see them at Rickshaw in March was the same one as Keith Sweat and BelBivDeVoe in Oakland. Who knew?

Oh, and whoever RnBClassix is on YouTube, YOU ARE A FUCKING GENIUS AND I BOW DOWN TO YOUR NEW JACK THRONE. SRSLY. I need to write a post dedicated to my obsession of Jodeci and 112...among others...

Wendy - we have to finish our mixtape...

On a different note, a nice surprise logging into the MySpace today was seeing my pictures I took for the Tripwire Morning Benders feature up on their MySpace. Thanks guys! Burritos and playgrounds forever.

Monkeying around

1 - I am sort of ridiculously obsessed about the new Kanye video for "Flashing Lights" - I already think he's innovative as it is, but for this video he went David Lynch on our asses:

Holy shit. This would have been something I would loved to do in my Noir class if I had $800,000 to blow that semester. (And for the record, "Lost Highway" still gives me the shivers. Every time.). The Kanye video has everything I love in photo shoots: lingerie, fire, bondage, shovels, a beautifully color-saturated landscape in the desert. On the Universal YouTube page (which wouldn't let me link directly to the video, sadly), it even has a disclaimer for how graphic the video is. I can't wait for part two...

2 - I had to take the day off work on Friday not only for my brother's WVC graduation, but to travel to the Amazon for a very rare and very special Ricky Reed from Wallpaper photoshoot. My trusty machete that I always carry in my camera bag definitely came in handy. When I came back, I was able to track down Eric Frederic and try to absolve all the noise about Ricky being missing...it will be covered in a feature I am doing for the Tripwire next week, so stay put. But for now, here is first proof that Ricky is okay:

"Doodoo face" pictures to come later

Thank the lord the man is alright. I don't know what I would have done without my fingersnappin' booty jam crooner.

Also, I need to make sure I get tested for malaria on Monday, too - just to be positive I didn't contract anything. Those jungles are a beast.

3 - The Langhorne Slim review and photo gallery I did went live on Wednesday; what is it about guys in suspenders? Swoon swoon swoon...article link is here and C&P'ed below.

4 - Next week is busy: trying to crash the Beirut and Flight of the Conchords show, bowling with Ladytron, "getting hot" with Jaguar Love (as Kristin would say), hugging my friendies on Memorial Day...I feel this is the start of a beautiful summer!

Now, to call Kaiser...

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Live - Langhorne Slim @ The Independent | SF

The Independent was full of kids doing various jigs by the time I arrived, and I got a few elbows in the ribs while trying to snap around. It was easy to see why the running man was in full effect, though. Tracks like "In The Midnight" and standout "Rebel Side Of Heaven" encompass rooted melody surrounded by a great guitar and rhythm line, with Slim's voice sounding like he's carrying a smile the whole time: "No, we ain't going to hell, we're going to the rebel side of heaven," he sang with such conviction and airiness, it was hard not to believe him. In tow with backing band the War Eagles, the threesome employed the use of a guitar, stand-up bass, and drum kit alone to belt out alterna-folk-indietastic tunes without being pretentious. "Diamonds and Gold" has the old-time, dusty folk I have come to be so fond of from Slim, a sleeper of a ballad that is both dainty and dirty with encouraging lyrics like "It's alright to smile, it's alright to get a little happy along the way." Slim also delivered some well-humored commentary in between songs; when a chair was pulled out for a quieter track, someone yelled from the audience "Lazy!" to which he responded, "This is not lazy. It's acoustic."

The encore found Slim and co. personally pulling up people from the audience onto the stage for a full-on dance party, the front man himself running around kicking up his legs, too. I am only bummed I didn't find myself in these guys' presence sooner.

P.S. Dear Ferraby Lionheart: I am very sad I missed your set before Langhorne's. I was too busy stuffing dinner sushi down my throat. Next time. XOXO

Photos by JENZ

Langhorne Slim
MySpace

By JENZ May 21, 2008 in NEWS

My family and I went down to L.A. over the weekend to see my brother compete in the state championships for his division in track and field; more later on how I was the best (worst) beaming big sister ever, and his crowning moment in receiving his medal.

The biggest part in traveling so far is obviously the road trip soundtrack you're going to listen to, and are supposed to prepare for beforehand. So, imagine to our great distain and amusement that both my dad and I forgot CDs. This is very, very bad since on trips like this we get voted to be up front because we both can stay awake for long periods of time, and have the same taste in music (therefore not arguing with each other). In regards to that latter, I credit my dad for a lot of the music I grew up listening to and still listen to, particularly in the classic rock and alternative rock vein. He is largely responsible for my love of Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, the Eagles, Stone Temple Pilots, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Guns'n'Roses, Van Halen, and tons more. He's seen some rad shows over his lifetime and has some incredible stories to boot (his friends getting arrested, bumrushing the stage, tailgating et al). This was the father who used to wake up my brother and I when we were kids early on Sundays when my mom was at work so we could go stand in line at the Ticketmaster outlet in the Wherehouse for first-come, first-served hard concert tickets fresh off the print (those were oh-so the days).

The only thing that saved us this weekend in terms of tunes was using the 'scan' button on the radio and finding a classic rock station that promised "5,000 songs, all in a row!" (we calculated this to be 13.89 days, which is based on each song averaging four minutes and also just plain ridiculous). But before we found said station, and I was scanning to my heart's content, my dad stopped on a station where a piano-based song was playing and started humming along. I stopped to listen to what he recognized and proceeded to laugh my ass off:

Love song? No, really

"Seriously, Dad??" I asked incredulously.

"They play this all the time at work! And it's really catchy!" he defended, but it was obvious he got caught. And he still continued to hum along...

Silly dads...

My South review ran live today; I'm lukewarm about the pictures but thought the review was a tad funny. Link here.

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Live - South @ The Independent | SF

The one thing I wish tourists would figure out, though, is when to visit. San Francisco's summer is actually in September and October. I see people every year in July in cargo shorts and Hawaiian shirts freezing their collective asses off trying to smile for the family portrait. One of the best kept secrets is to track the weather in the middle of May and June for our annual heat wave, which coincidentally is happening now; the weather beautifully slathers everyone with a nice aroma of salt air, sunscreen, pot hole exhaust, and bum pee, not to mention our world-famous clam chowder. More importantly, though, who doesn't love introducing a girl from Montana to the madness that is Bay to Breakers?

I mention this whole spiel because I really feel South is one of the U.K.'s best kept secrets - or worst kept, if you think about it. Wednesday night the outfit was in town for their second-to-last show on this tour leg supporting newly released You Are Here; as I perched in the balcony watching the show like a sniper, I wondered where the hell everyone was as I looked down at the thin sea of audience below me. It had been 86 degrees in the city that day, and my dress had stuck to the backs of my legs all day, but I still was there to witness an incredible band.

It's an unfortunate predicament for a band that is so gifted; lead singer Jaime McDonald has the chops to both rock the house and lull into dreaminess, a rare talent I see in singers these days. McDonald's voice is both tender and soothing during softer parts like in "Colours and Waves," tinged with sweetness and harmony. And while You Are Here is a quieter record in terms of acoustics, tracks like "Lonely Highs" deliver a pure alternative sound live, and find the band strutting out the rock star as a result. During "Motiveless Crime," a sense of urgency and a beguiling bass line captivated the mood, McDonald totally wailing it out during the bridge with sharpness and precision. Collectively, the band seems to know their material like the backs of their hands, which is a seemingly given but is something that is only obtained through hard work and practice.

So why has the band yet to catch on in the States? It's a question I still ask myself. It's not like they lack any sort of craftsmanship. South is seriously an honest-to-God, great Britpop band with grand hooks and wonderful rhythm. And I as sat with my feet dangling over the side of the balcony lost in the daydream of their melody, I hoped Britpop was still alive and well in my neck of the woods to recognize these blokes.

Photos by Jenz

South
MySpace

By JENZ May 19, 2008 in NEWS

These guys are so rad, I only wish the best for them. The offical 'photo essay' pictures are in the article that ran this morning, but I am sort of in love with the outtakes more...

Monkeying around

You can see more at my Flickr for both the publication and behind-the-scenes shots.

Maybe Oakland is for the Morning Benders now instead...oh shit...

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Ah, Saturday...full of booze, dancing, and tears. Just what the doctor ordered...

Night numero quatro wasn't a giant bust; I did meet my future boyfriend.

Original clip here!

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Live - Noise Pop Day Four | SF

Still in recovery from Friday's night of illegal activity, I slept in Saturday, unfortunately missing the chance to rub elbows with industry folk and get my learn on at the Noise Pop Expo, where workshops ranging from how to break into the industry with your blog to success stories of local kids (Scissors For Lefty, The Lovemakers). I tried so hard to peel my ass out of bed, but alas, the only thing that could motivate me was sushi with my BFF Alli, who just moved back to San Francisco from NYC. We stuffed ourselves full before heading out to the Diesel happy hour again; this time I wanted to be coherent, so I swore off double fisting drinks.

Two minutes after we arrived, the plan was shot, and I held two vodka Red Bulls in hand and sat down to sip and observe. The crowd was much thinner this night, but the alcohol was somehow stronger. It took me some willpower to pull myself up from my comfy plush bench to watch the morning benders play their set. The Berkeley outfit had both Alli and myself bobbing our heads and wishing we could actually see above all the giant hipster hair in front of us. Their sweet twiddly indiepop sound is paired with a soft yet sturdy voice on account of singer Chris Chu, and I'm just a sucker for local music in general. San Francisco is my city, my heart, my boyfriend; anything related around, across the bay, or associated already has my attention. Call it biased or retarded, but it's true. The boys have such an air of "Hey, let's chill and drink beer" I can't help it.

After the benders did their thing, we continued to let the booze flow and took advantage of the bar until after we came back from a cigarette to discover the bar closed and staff beginning to clean up; it was 8:30! What the hell was this noise? Some general schmoozing and hugs happened before I met my friend Becca at Bimbo's for Monotonix. We'd received a report from our friend Jerry the previous night about the Israeli band setting their drummer's kit on fire and raising him into the air while he still played, so we were pumped to see what the hard rock group could deliver. Unfortunately for us, we got there just two minutes after the band finished, so we decided to shake our depression by checking out Oakland's Wallpaper opening for classic indie kids Panther. I'd found some stuff off their MySpace that afternoon pre-sushi, and I heard enough to merit me being way interested in their set.

Becca couldn't find her car around Bimbo's after we emerged defeated from Monotonix; having taken the bus to meet her up at the North Beach venue, I felt helpless trying to assist her and suggested taking a cab down to Rickshaw for the Wallpaper show before coming back up to try and find her car. We were also still inebriated.

"Dude, it'll totally work out," I slurred as we flagged down a cab on Columbus. "We'll go see the show, come back into North Beach, and then go down to MSTRKRFT," which was the crème de le crème of the Saturday night shows; Port O'Brien, the Mountain Goats, The Virgins, and Mark Lanegan's new band Gutter Twins were all playing this night, but yet everyone we talked to talked about ending up at Mighty for the former Death From Above 1979 outfit, of which from the ashes arose one of the best electronic guys around. Becca agreed and we barreled down Van Ness in one of the fastest cabs we've ever been in.

We dashed into the Rickshaw right as Wallpaper took stage, and I can honestly say it was one of things where you go Fuck dude, where have you been all my life? I have to tell you a disclaimer about me before I launch into the part of this story: before I started writing for the Tripwire and getting into the music I write about now, I used to be really into teeny pop music; I saw the Backstreet Boys three times between the ages of 12 and 17 (judge all you want, I don't care; it was a glorious time). Prior to this, however, I was heavily into R&B, rap, and hip-hop, primarily between the years of 1994 and 1998. This is when I used to make mix tapes of songs I heard off the radio and save up precious dollars to buy the latest Boyz II Men single. I'm not kidding. New Edition, Tupac, Keith Sweat, SWV, 112, Bell Biv Devoe, Ginuwine - you're shuddering in horror right now, aren't you?

So imagine my great delight that the former front man from local SF rock band, Facing New York, Eric Frederic is now on stage in a patterned hoodie, stunna shades, some gold chains, and fly sneakers singing R&B booty jams with an electronic twist? You know I pushed my way up to the front to dance.

Let's take newest single, "T-Rex," by these guys. It's E-40's "Tell Me When To Go" backing synth coupled with an R&B slant; I feel like it's Fischerspooner meets Blackstreet circa 1997 if they were both in existence at the same time. It's also about the same six lines and fairly simple beat patterns, but I don't care - this shit is catchy, and I am so falling in love. It's a curious match for an indie music festival hosting an act like Wallpaper, but it's a great addition. I don't care he sings stuff like "I have a million dollars/Give me a million dollars" or that most of the vocals are done with a distortion mic. I don't even care that Frederic is drinking a glass of red wine on stage like he's at some Harvard brotherhood meeting albeit looking like he's dressed for a Three 6 Mafia CD cover. The duo, with drummer Arjun Singh rounding out the rhythm, knows a hook, knows a beat, and knows intimately what works, and I have not seen that in a long time. I'm gushing, maybe, but out of all the shows I've been to this week for Noise Pop, this is the one I feel most comfortable and most inspired at.

We meet Becca's friend Taylor front and center and proceed to go insane to Frederic's killer cover of Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison," Taylor at one point grabbing my face and running his fingers through my hair maniacally as I scream "Can't get her out of my mind/Miss her kiss her love her/That girl is POIIIIIISONNNNNNN!" Epic, truly. The set ends the slow jam/body grooves with "Every Time We Do It," incorporating what made R&B so successful when it was and bringing it into 2008.

We caught our breaths after the duo finished, and my friend Nick found us up front; Frederic had thrown his cell phone into the audience and Nick had caught it. Becca and I, feeling particularly bold, decide it's our mission to give this phone to its proper owner, and bust our way backstage to find Frederic. After some direction from roadies, we find him upstairs and tackle him (well, I did) for a picture, of which he kindly obliged to, I obviously look terrible here.

He's playing another show on March 9 in SF before releasing a full-length this spring. I'm pumped.

Unfortunately, this is our high of the night. Becca's jacket is stolen, and after 40 minutes of looking for it everywhere at the club, we cave into defeat and take a bus up Van Ness as close to North Beach as we can to then take another cab over the hill to find her car. Two stressful hours later, and I'm no longer blissfully drunk anymore and am now standing on the corner two blocks away from Bimbo's in tears partly because I'm so frustrated and partly because I decided it was a great idea to text message my ex-love, who lives a few blocks from where we are. Becca is running up and down the streets of North Beach in vain to try and find her vehicle as I'm just pumping cigarettes in. We finally pay a cabbie to drive us around and find her car so much farther than when she remembered, and as we hopped into her car to catch MSTRKRFT with time to spare, her clutch became stubborn as all hell, and we couldn't get it out of park. Finally at 1:30 AM we throw in the towel and call AAA to help us. The bright side is that her 'stolen' hoodie was actually recovered in the trunk of her car, and that I got home in one piece after everything, which I really was indeed thankful for. On the bus ride home all I had to do was think of everything pre-car situation, and it made me smile. All I hoped was that Sunday was going to be a strong finish.

Noise Pop

By JENZ Mar 04, 2008 in NEWS

I have to say, out of the whole NP week, Friday night was my favorite by far. Below you can read what very naughty things we did on then, but I have to mention two other sidebar stories that didn't make it into my story simply due to space:

(a) After the DJs finished spinning and everyone I knew was on the dancefloor just hugging each other out of sheer drunkeness, Danielle came over to me and was like "Hey! Let me give you some chapstick" and proceeded to make me pout my lips while she layed on mad chapstick and then chapstick'ed my nose. We also talked about Seamus's mom making her own chapstick, which made me laugh really hard but also have mad respect for her.

(b) Nat had text messaged me earlier in the day asking if I was going to go to happy hour since I missed Thursday's installment; when I replied "Who's asking?" he responded "Natty Hays" to which I demanded "The only way I'm coming tonight is if you have a can of Natty Ice for Natty Hays." I got a text message back that said he was going to make a special trip to get some, but I brushed it off. So, imagine to my great distain/delight/amusement when he found me at happy hour and waved a brown bag in front of my face. I totally knew what it was and kept screaming "You are so amazing!" while hugging him. Ashley said they went into the TL to find me some ass beer...this is why I love people I know...

Anyway, it's Monday and I am in recovery. Saturday and Sunday's installments of NP 2008 coverage will run tomorrow and Wednesday...so many memories, so much booze...also, not all of the pictures from Friday ran in the story, so more shenanigans can be found at my Flickr.

Original clip is here!

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Live - Noise Pop Day Three | SF

I love you guys a lot! I do it for the kids, you know.

Night three of the Noise Pop party week promised some epic times, and I thankfully was not disappointed. As I was ready to depart from my humble abode to the FADER happy hour at the Diesel store in downtown SF, I discovered my digital camera was broken - not even turning on despite my desperate cries and screams of anger. I threw that shit across the room before calling everyone on my speed dial in a panic. No drunk pictures at all were not acceptable, especially since the happy hour was going to feature DJ sets by local superstar Omar and indie darlings Scissors For Lefty, stellastarr* and Film School. Rock star central, hello.

Here is my path for the night (not even including going to any shows just yet):

After several attempts for others, my dear friend Stuart was able to provide me with a point and shoot camera, so I swung by his digs before finally sailing to the happy hour. Four buses, one cab, and 140 minutes later, I finally was able to step down the Diesel stairs relatively unscathed.

It was time for some drinks. Namely, some neon colored drinks.

The thing about Noise Pop is that the happy hours are either only for badge holders or out in Potrero Hill, which can either be a bummer and/or tiresome to drive from a non-central location to your venue of choice, especially if you don't have a car (raising hand). The FADER party was open to the public and on multiple transit lines, thus explaining why there were a shit ton of people crammed by some jeans, chugging vodka. I was so in love.

All the hipsters were out to play, and at one point I realized I knew nearly everyone in a 10-person radius of me because (a) I'd worked with them, (b) or worked with someone they knew, or (c) totally thought they were hot at one point. Too many indie boy crushes in one room can kill a girl, but totally made up for the fact I missed Port O'Brien's acoustic set. I was so bummed, but the DJs provided said hipsters out with a definitive collection of their greatest hits, ranging from The Sounds to Calvin Harris, and at one point me and my crew and my friend Kristin's crew all made it out to the dance floor to shake it, everyone grabbing asses and hugging each other and pumping fists in the air and me somehow kissing both my friend Joy and Jerry back to back.

Fucking vodka. (Thank you friends!)

After the booze stopped flowing, it was time to get to business - music business. Hipster cigarettes in hand (Parliaments, to be sure), we decided to hop to one more bar to argue whether or not we were going to see Working For A Nuclear Free City, or A Place To Bury Strangers. We stumbled into a Union Square joint where we then invaded the bathroom for some illegal activity...

Drunk food needed to be had, so we barreled into a pizza joint with a Chinese wing attached. Somehow I thought it made sense to get chow mein instead of a combo piece of pie, and we all sat down at the bar schlepping food into our mouths. It was only the next morning when I retrieved the receipt in my coat pocket I saw the place we went to was named Sega Chinese. I mean, really? I don't like to associate Sonic the Hedgehog with eggrolls, but now I will forever. I don't think I'd ever go there sober...

Dinner time enabled us to make a decision, so we had to say goodbye to Nuclear due to us crisscrossing across the city (again, with the car thing...). My friend Becca picked me up to zip down to Bottom of the Hill to catch the last part of A Place, and to ready ourselves for Holy Fuck. We drank and smoked legal and illegal substances both in her car before heading in, which made for an epic dance party. Holy Fuck again delivered the electronic jam band component, opening their set with my favorite, "The Pulse" and conquering more ambient tunes like "Lovely Allen," which has a very sweetly crafted synth as a main hook, and !!!-meets-LCD Soundsystem tune "Royal Gregory," pulling out the rhythm section for a spin. These know what the hell they're doing, and nail each twist of the knob and pound of the keys with such precision it's hard not to move.

The only thing I could have done without were these core group of kids who were half-slam dancing, half-spazzing out behind me, pushing everyone in sight and screaming "Ho-ly Fu-ckkkkkkk!!!" in between every other song. Even in my inebriated state I wanted to punch 'em in the babymakers. Every last one of 'em. Such a fantastic dance party wore us out, and we headed to a late night taqueria on our way home to devour some taco and burrito goodness. I made it home in the wee hours of the night only to pass out on a bunch of stuff on my bed and wake up the next morning hungry for more carne asada. My weekend was only getting started.

Noise Pop

By JENZ Mar 03, 2008 in NEWS