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Notes From The Underground
Force Was With Them:
By Matt Koumaras
I HAD A DREAM last week that the Huxtables and GWAR were on tour. The bands became inseparable, constantly eating day-old meat-filled donuts and even papier-mâchéing Jabba the Hutt in the van. I woke up in what appeared to be a pool of sweat but fully understood the fact that I had to see the Huxtables opening up things Oct. 8 at Skinny's.
My dog, after my painful taxidermy mistake, is still kibbling his bits to Colt's harmonic squeals during "She's S.A.F." (stupid as f*ck). The dramatic key change lift to the chorus of "Around" had nerds uniting and executing themselves out on the patio. "In a Little Room" featured on-the-money drum fills from James and guitar hooks from A.J. and Matt so electrically lethal they're being used as capital punishment devices in the Bible Belt. Colt is seriously giving Tom Collins of the Lee Maverick Band some serious competition for best local vocalist with the most self-inflicted bruises per song.
Soba constructed rich, funkified dance-rock opuses propelled by a mouthful of awesome tenor sax licks and rambunctious bass shivers. The lead vocalist's soul-styled rendition of "Purple Rain" would have even the most stubborn Cyclops crying one-eyed tears. "The Arcade" was catchy and Bungle-worthy. Soba's polished set began with a bang, but their venture through AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" was a dissertation on realism lasting all night long.
HBA had the late slot but planned ahead for Halloween by dressing up as Bad Religion. It disturbed me so much that I was tossing and turning in my futon wondering if these musical hacks really played the Warped Tour--or did they just buy tickets to attend the Warped Tour?
Zine Review
William Taylor, Jr., I Gave My Heart to the Hawks and They Ate It: This is the latest batch of poetic pastries cooked up by the writer of last year's brilliant The Sad Dumb Beauty of Everything. Take the eloquent insights of Holden Caulfield and match them with the simplicity of Saturday Night Live's Jack Handy poems, and there lies the heartbeat of Taylor's immense talent. "The Man With the Sad Eyes" shifts from rays of childlike innocence ("I love your eyes, she said/They are so big and pretty and sad") to a David Lynchian mind-screw ("When he touched her body, his fingers left little stains of sadness that would not wash off for weeks and weeks/Before long she did not think his sad eyes to be so pretty.") I loved the conceit behind "Moved," about a jilted individual who commits suicide on his ex's doorstep but didn't realize she had moved away--come on, everybody, be sure to fill out those change-of- address forms at the post office.
These intelligent poems are Velvet Underground songs that have just thawed out. Plus, Taylor shows a humorous side in "If I Speak Again Let God Remove My Tongue": "Lately every time I open my mouth, I want to slap my face even more than you do." Classic stuff here that will make you scribble B.S. over T.S. Eliot's name in your trusty Norton Anthology because there's a new kid in town. Pick this up at Logos Books & Records, or contact him by writing to 217 Berry St., Apt. R, Santa Cruz, 95060, or emailing [email protected].
Upcoming
Burlacticus Undertow plays the Catalyst atrium Wednesday; IQU, the Lowdown and Jason Traeger play Pizza Junxion, Friday at 8:30pm; Salmon, the Lonely Kings and CONDITIOn play the SC Vets Hall at 8pm Friday; Meat Pizza Sandwich plays Callahan's Saturday.
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