[Denmark] I was looking forward to seeing this band. I may get tired of rockabilly, but I have a much higher tolerance for psychobilly. Thanks to Rockboy’s tutelage, I knew this band’s recorded material and always enjoyed it. In fact, I thought I’d seen them but it was actually their cohorts I saw – Horror Pops, whom I don’t like as much, at least recorded. Unfortunately, the venue’s sound went kaput and I found this show completely unlistenable. I did enjoy seeing the suave lead singer of Skarnales show up and spill his beer, not even caring that it was in front of one of Houston’s hot alt Latina girls who was pining for him.

[Southern California] Rockboy had vague poor memories of this band – I’d never heard of them. The lead singer started the set by informing the audience that, yes, their sound was different, but that difference is what punk rock is. A fine sentiment, but, unfortunately, difference doesn’t always translate to quality. They were just boring – more hard rock than punk. They had a song about a mean guy in high school. As a rule, I hate songs about high school, but this was more pathetic than usual. The lead singer reminded the crowd that punk is about making life and the world better, which was so California of him, I got a little nostalgic for my favorite state. They ended with the hit from The Proclaimers – what? I kept waiting for the punchline, but, no, they genuinely thought this was a suitable ending. I even looked the stupid song (which is fine as a pop hit) up to see if it has a more complicated history than I realize –no. Their set wasn’t helped by the unpunkness of the venue. As mentioned before, it was a clubby set-up – but when a guy with a mop appeared to clean up a spilled beer in the middle of the mosh pit, we knew for certain this wasn’t Emos. Their moments of ska-ness were their best, but nothing to write home about. Luckily, the beautiful people kept me entertained. I feel conflicted about all-ages shows – an uncomfortable mix of annoying and entertaining. The group of high school age nihilists/punkers in front of us were full of exploits. We sat next to the two guys in the lounge between sets, and one very painfully took a call from his mother. It took all of my self composure to pretend not to notice. The fierce girl in the “DrinkSmokeFightFuck” left her pack of high school male buddies to slink up to the lead singer of The Nekromantix, who was loitering near the stage and probably 20-30 years her senior. She maintained her cool, until she got back to her boys, and screamed liked a girly girl, because she’d talked to him. Because the Houston music scene is that small, the extremely tall woman was there. Best of all, the boys who were falling out from drunkenness collected in the dark corner behind us. One of them, was trying to walk around a little metal gate, somehow got attached to it and impaled upon it. It was a sad sight. Another, who had made it clear earlier in the evening that he was a very gay boy, finally rallied, heaved himself up, and pirouetted into the mosh pit. It was a beautiful thing.

[Austin] This band was the reason we were there – Rockboy was always running into a member of this band at Freebirds and fiending to see them, but we just never had – and so it happened in Houston. Every time I saw this guy, I was uncomfortably reminded of my first math teacher mentor, who was always likened to Ozzy. I liked the politics of their name, and it played out in their show. The lead singer, a master showman, told the kids that if they’re pissed about what they hear on the radio and news, they should start a band now. Their 1995 origins showed, in their polish and crowd management. Initially, their sound wasn’t as danceable as the previous bands, but they convinced the crowd to jump along. Clockwork Orange is a major influence for them, but it wasn’t as evident at this show – although they did perform a song called Ultra Violence. I didn’t mind the lack of costume because I was happy with the one band member’s Johnny Thunders t-shirt, and another’s thoughtful nod to the band before with his Flatfoot 56 shirt. They had a song about being more addicted to Oi! than drugs, alcohol, and sex/porn. They did a cover of Mad Parade’s “Sex and Violence,” which confirmed Rockboy’s suggestion that there were similarities between the two bands. They ended with the first song from their first EP “Who Writes the Rules for Rebellion,” which I thought was a witty little song title. I spent their set consumed with a mad desire to run through the mosh pit in my bright pink dress and high heels – the image was hilarious to me until I saw myself getting pushed, slipping, and breaking my hip, like the old lady I am. In other crowd notes, I saw a Wu-Tang shirt, which pleased me mightily. I found myself wanting to hug half the kids there, and push the other half. An entirely respectable band.

[Chicago] This was a clean clubby sort of venue – with framed photos of rockers on the walls. It fit the unusually professional website (which I have to admit I enjoyed very much – clear details on each show’s start time…). Lots of young kids… There was even a mom there to monitor her kid’s moshing. The enthusiasm of the crowd did make up for the sterility of the overall atmosphere. For instance, 40 year old punks do not hop through entire shows. Jackets forecast the quality of the show, and Crass, Subhuman, etc. jackets forecast that I will like the show. And I did. The drummer playfully teased the crowd about their Texas pride, joking that the only thing they need to get rid of is Cici’s because all that pasta holds people down. I’ve never heard of Cici’s. They started with bagpipes. They had an electric mandolin. They played like a well-practiced band – clean and hard. They inspired the crowd into rambunctiousness, and encouraged the audience the mentor the more shy members in punk ways. Mosh pits are a happy thing – everyone rubbing up against each other – communal anarchy – who doesn’t like to see a punk smile? I also enjoyed watching the exploits of a dignified girl in a t-shirt that read “DrinkSmokeFightFuck.”

Amanda Palmer’s transformation into a balls out rockstar is complete. If her live show is any indication, the new album Theatre Is Evil (out in September) is going to be thunderous. There have always been hints of it in her past material (Leeds United which transformed itself tonight into a foot-stomping-dance-party-encore and the Dresden Dolls’ frequent cover of War Pigs) but we’re entering into new territory.

Leading the show with a raucous version of Do It With A Rockstar that brought down the house, the four piece band (including Chad Raines who opened with the Simple Pleasure, bassist Jherek Bischoff and drummer Michael McQuilken) then accelerated into a theatrical, jaw-dropping version of Missed Me. It was so audacious in its execution, I don’t actually want to tell you what they did just in case you get the opportunity to see it for yourself. The setlist was heavy on new material some of which the audience had never heard before and at least one Berlin that had been only played live one other time. There were some old favorites including the frenzied Girl Anachronism which fit right in among the new tracks and a scuzzy, grimy version (meant in the nicest way) of Astronaut launched to another planet by Raines’ guitar riff.

The four string quartet played during Trout Heart Replica and The Bed Song (arranged by Bischoff). Palmer introduced Trout as the saddest song ever, but it’s not. The Bed Song, however, is a strong contender. Arranged with the strings, the song catches in your throat. I hope the band records a version with strings and releases it for our consumption. A horn section was recruited for the tail end of the show. Olly Olly Oxen Free closed out the main set and I think once the song is better known, it will maintain its rightful place as a show closing singalong. Palmer dragged everyone on stage for one last time on Leeds United so we could party with a true rockstar.

Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra setlist
Do It With a Rockstar
Missed Me
The Killing Type
Lost
Astronaut
Trout Heart Replica
The Bed Song
Bottomfeeder
Girl Anachronism
Want It Back
Enter Sandman (partial)
Massachusetts Avenue
Berlin
Olly Olly Oxen Free
Encore
Leeds United

Tristan Allen fingers fly across the piano. His ability to create a cascade of sounds out of one instrument is sublime. He was invited to play a single piece tonight ahead of Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra’s headlining set. The piece lasted about six minutes and the melodies he created were truly like standing on the edge of the sea and being washed in the spray. Remarkable.

The Simple Pleasure’s Chad Raines is some sort of bastard child of David Lee Roth and Hedwig (Flea seemed too obvious). The trio launched their thirty-minute set with a throbbing beat and a breathless energy that was nonstop from the minute they walked on to stage in track suits and stretched out, right down to the last note. That Chad can sing, play guitar and stumble across stage like he’s going through withdrawals all without missing a beat is impressive (and apparently he’s played Hedwig before). He knocked over a mic stand (at one point, dragging it with him across stage) and tossed flowers out into the audience like bullets shooting from a gun. My favorite song of their set was We’re Copasetic because it perfectly captured their punk aesthetic over a thumbing dance track with a little bit of glam thrown in for good measure.

Jherek Bischoff hijacked a string quartet made of local musicians recruited to perform with Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra of which Bischoff is the bassist. Whatever. It worked brilliantly. He lead them through a short set of mostly instrumental songs made up of original compositions from his new album released last month, Composed. Bischoff pulled off a command performance with his back often to the audience, in order to orchestrate the arrangements with his new recruits. At one point, he traded his guitar for ukelele and plucked the shit out of it. The music was dynamic, fluid and utterly captivating. Bischoff has a somewhat understated presence onstage until he starts strumming and then he vibrates like an instrument himself.

The accordion player from Tim Gaitan & the Umbrella Man was in this band and I decided he’s converting me to the accordion one band at a time. The drummer may have also been from that band. Basically, the Houston music scene is incestuous, possibly more than the Austin music scene. They did the ‘beer in heaven’ song they did before, an old spiritual, and even some tejano (if I’m using the word correctly). I particularly liked their song “Bésame.” There were rumors floating that Electric Cheetah hadn’t shown and these guys were filling the spot – Electric Cheetah is not even a band as far as I can tell per google so who knows. They were enjoyable.

Really classic 50s. Has history with Sun Records & Motown. Way too Elvis for me. Enjoyed the dark edge of some songs, the down walking melody of others, and the one with a stray cat strut. Ended with a song called Long Blond Hair, and made it out to be a big hit – I didn’t recognize it. Overall, the show had a very geriatric feel to it, with comments like “You’re a wonderful audience, by golly” and silly jokes like “You should have been at my last show… somebody should have been at my last show.” Backed by the same drummer and guitarist as last few bands. In the meantime, we enjoyed the short man who was making his girlfriend take pictures of him next to the back of a massively tall girl.

High quality rockabilly, blended with rock and roll and spaghetti western (kinda). Country twang too. Tremble (sp?) from Austin was on drums. More refined guitar and drums, and well defined loops and ditties. Rockboy thought the vocals were the weak link of the band. We were exhausted by this point – Rockboy dealt by taking a little nap – I dealt by becoming a feminazi in my head. Hating on rockabilly girls who dress up like dolls for men, and alternative cultures that celebrate burlesque while all the time maintaining that they hold more progressive attitudes toward women. Amusing event #1: I walked by a group of greasers leaning against a pool table – a group of pinups walked by, and one of the girls turned to look one of the guys up and down. He was totally flustered, didn’t respond, and she sauntered on while all of his friends elbowed him and laughed. I felt like I’d happened upon a scene from a 50s movie. Amusing event #2: I went to the bar and ordered 2 PBRs – very drunk kind of scary pinup ordered a mixed drink with all sorts of side specifications. The bartender muttered to himself, “Some women are complicated, some women are not.” The pinup and I made eye contact, there was an uncomfortable pause – luckily, she laughed and changed her order to a PBR.

This band looked like your typical low-key rockabilly band except for the guy with a pleasingly sleazy 70s look (he turned out to be visiting from Austin). Nick Gaitan was on the upright bass, because Nick Gaitan is in every band in this town. Rockboy was overcome with joy when they launched into classic rockabilly (Setzer-esque, Reverend Horton Heat-esque), but was in the depths when they strayed into a more straightforward rock n roll sound. It was nearly southern rock. Some blues too. The bass was a beautiful looking instrument. As he does at many shows, Rockboy spent most of the time grumbling because they weren’t playing rockabilly and trying to determine whether the guitar was a Gretsch (per Rockboy, it was a guitar that sounds like a Gretsch but looks like a Gibson Les Paul – it was unclear to me why this was important information). Some bands can pull off a lack of identity, but this band didn’t.

Marshall Lytle, of Bill Haley & the Comets fame, is one of the originators of slap bass. He’s also famous for riding the bass. He was backed by the same drummer and guitarist, the manager of the Houston Continental Club (Pete) on keyboard, and a guy in a Houston t-shirt on the saxophone. He told a story about how the Comets and Alan Freed started the term ‘rock’ (“rock this joint tonight”). His legendary-ness was not enough to keep me from wanting my bed – no more all day music festivals.

They were 3 prepubescent boys in white t-shirts, jeans and chucks. They did covers of the Ramones, Cheap Trick, Nirvana… A mom with a stroller waved to one of them, and they left in a minivan. Sure, it was cute, but I felt like I’d seen it before. The mind-numbing heat did not improve my attitude toward them.

The lead singer of this band turned out to be the young investment-banker-looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt who had been standing next to us the whole time, way in the way back of the room (because we were exhausted). Someone might have actually told us he was an investment banker. He was from Chicago and traveled purportedly on the basis of his great voice. He was backed by the bassist, drummer and guitarist of The Don Juans. For a man hailing from Chicago and singing the blues, he was a major disappointment. His look didn’t inspire blues confidence, and his voice lacked depth and interest. He did play a harmonica. Maybe it was the venue’s sound. The sound swung from being fine to being shockingly bad – the screeching nearly drove me outside during the DJs-spinning-records-between-sets portion of the evening. This is when I decided that the Houston and Austin Continental Clubs had to have different managers. The old very Texan couple next to us whom we befriended, or rather who befriended us, proudly informed us that they were great friends with Mr. Chicago and that the guitarist was from Holland. The one standout in the group was Mossimo/Jerry on piano, of Austin fame – he is a dynamo. As the show progressed, Rockboy took another quick nap, and the Texan man next to us leaned back and said in a booming voice, “Man, I’m already ½ shitfaced!”

I go to a lot of shows I’m only minorly excited for, but this was a show I was majorly excited for. Roky’s music and I fell in love pretty much upon first hearing: dark, weird, and even supernatural but all with a pretty straightforward rock n roll foundation. In fact, I’ve come to realize that I may love The Hellacopters because they do a harder and louder version of Roky’s music. I wasn’t sure what to expect in a live show, though, with his long trail of mental troubles and advancing age. Well, he was awesome, awe-inspiring, and amazing – despite the fact that the only parts of his bodies that really moved were his lips and his strumming hand. Somehow he was able to emit the same raw rangy rock n roll voice with complete body containment. I almost cried when he opened with “Cold Night for Alligators” (a song that is covered magnificently by The Hellacopters). I hate fandom, but there are certain artists that I feel close to or whose music has spoken to me, and it’s so eerie to see them in the flesh that it makes me emotional. Or maybe I was overwrought from my mad summer. Or maybe it was because I was so happy to see a man with such a sad history able to be on stage doing what he loves. I imagine that a lot of his dark imagery (demons, vampires, zombies) is metaphorical for his mental troubles. Live, he sounded Texas garage sludge with a lot of psychedelia. The Hounds of Baskerville did a tremendous job backing him, in that their respect for him was clear, and they played without stealing the show. He was front and center, and they were clearly his backing band. The guitarist to his left in particular couldn’t seem to stop smiling shine on Roky. They were protective of him and made sure the progression of things suited him, asking him throughout the show if he approved of the next step. He closed with an encore – “You’re Gonna Miss Me” (one of the biggest hits from Roky’s band, the 13th Floor Elevators) – which was amusingly introduced as a new song none of us would know. Otherwise, he mostly played his solo material. It was amusing to see all of our freaky friends from the Roky signing earlier that day, milling about in the crowd, all freakily-like, and fittingly, when the crowd sang happy birthday to Roky (because it was his birthday), he looked more embarrassed than pleased.

I saw him years ago at Waterloo Records and did not enjoy the experience. I felt like we were all exploiting his mental illness as cool ‘weirdness.’ And the music was terrible. He was much better at this show – more melodic songs and a clearer voice. He had another guy playing guitar for him. Maybe because he’s developed tremors – his hand was shaking so badly as he read lyrics that he had trouble reading them. The place was packed but he only played two songs – without apology. His second and last song totally reminded me of our first experience together with lyrics in which he described himself as a monkey in a zoo, and reminded the crowd that they could be like him, if not for the luck of the draw.

We saw the band at Roky Erikson’s signing before the show. Among Roky’s motley crew of hippie, chubby, loony fans (who like him because they’re like him), they stood out with all their youth and cool. They were like Roky’s scenester wingmen plus one hot girl. It wasn’t clear whether they were backing Roky or if they were their own band – they were both. It was also confusing because there’s a band from the 60s called The Baskerville Hounds. They told us their music was similar to Roky’s to the extent that they were dark too. They were really good – had the spirit of a Jack White band but less minimalist. Keyboard, 2 guitarists, backup vocalist, drummer.

The best part of this band was the beautiful Latino guitarist with the sad eyes and the neck tattoos. The lead singer wasn’t bad but was a little over the top in a way that didn’t feel genuine – kind of Rage Against the Machine vocals, kind of one-with-the-audience with his long outstretched arms, and kind of straight disco drama. In a perfect example, he screamed “rock is dead” and threw the mic… but then he picked it up again. The lyrics were the worst part of this band. ShellFish annotated my notes to note that she ‘hated it.’

[Dallas, TX] So refreshing to hear some hard music (hand to throat). I may have been a little overexcited, but this band was great. Sludge punk, Mudhoney sound, rivers of melody with little blasts of speed metal riffs. Rambunctious lead singer. Also reminded me of Turbonegro.

This band goes back to the 80s and were described as being a mix of the Stooges, Cheap Trick, and every other great band out there. Not so much. It was just dull hard rock – particularly didn’t like the lead singer’s voice. Their music didn’t really vary and had an indescribable flatness. Our group was in agreement that they were the worst band of the night.

Their sound was about as diverse as their collection of instruments: a lapsteel, upright bass, accordion, and drums. And somehow it worked – it was some crazy mix of tejano, gypsy punk, rockabilly, 60s rock… sometimes they sang in Spanish. Nick Gaitan has a great soulful voice. It was all so lively, he had to tell the accordion player to “cool that accordion down.” There was one couple furiously swing dancing by the stage, the girl with a dagger tattooed on her upper arm smiled at me evil-ly, and the rest of the audience were wall-sized Latinos and gorgeous rockabilly Latinas. This show was about when I started thinking Houston isn’t so bad, and is possibly even rawer than Austin with its still burgeoning music scene, and all of the diverse people actually melding their music and making something new, instead of another rehash of the past.

This place was old-time Texas, a proper dance hall. It typically wouldn’t be for me, but having lived outside of Texas for the last year, I was loving it. I do generally enjoy the spirit and soul of the south very much. The best thing about Blanco’s was that there wasn’t a touch of irony – it was full of very very old people in sincere cowboy hats. Arty Hill hails from Maryland, writes his own songs, and had a backing band that seemed to be mostly from Austin. The band did everything from honky tonk to modern country to outlaw country (some very Robert Earl Keen songs). Some choice lyrics: “The Lord was Sunday, but church was Saturday night,“ “I get hungry for baby, she’s like a bourbon and red eye steak.” My favorite member of the band was the absolutely orgasmic drummer – even when he was playing a slow steady beat, which he usually was, he was throwing metal-ecstasy faces all over the place – we were pretty sure we’d seen him play with Austin bands. He makes me laugh one month later. Every drum stroke, a revelation. I was admiring all of the two-stepping ancient couples, thinking how sweet it was that they’d stayed together so long, and then one of the old men winked at me behind his woman’s back… It wasn’t a harmless friendly wink either. Our foreign-accented waitress (who did not fit the clichés of the place) was being hit upon by the ancient white-bearded professor looking fellow sitting behind us. All in all, we had a mighty fine time – maybe Blanco’s is for me.

Rockboy has been dying to see Junior for years, so ShellFish and I finally gave in. I had very low expectations, which was unreasonable since I have never seen a low quality musician at The Continental Club. Well, Junior was fantastic. He may have a lot of old-timey country stylings but, at heart, he’s a guitar nerd. It swiftly became clear that Junior is the party, and the rest of his band, including his suburban-looking wife Tanya Rae, were only there as back up. For instance, the drumset had two parts. Junior plays a bizarre ½ guitar – ½ lap steel contraption, and he plays it well. When he bent over, that’s when you knew we were heading for a fingering party. He managed to fit little speed metal riffs, and jazz loops, into pretty traditional country songs. I really liked his voice, a deep rumble, kind of like Bing Crosby, but Junior also played around with some silly voice tricks. The crowd was eating out of his hand and loved it all. I also liked his wise-guy stylings – he’s still got swagger, despite being 70, and a lot of his lyrics were funny. He also did a straightforward surf piece, and even slid in some bluesy and punky elements.

We needed a place to see friends, and ideally music, at noon on a Sunday. The possibilities were not endless. And so we discovered Papi Tino’s and the conjunto band Los Pinkys. All served with a fat dose of Austin hipsterdom – the little jar glasses, receipts in mini beach bags, the aged wood trim, and I still haven’t gotten over the perfect rickety wooden fence. I don’t know anything about conjunto music but the accordion wasn’t as frightening as I thought it might be and we all liked it! Even RightSide did. It was more cheerful and pleasant than oompah-y – maybe a little loud for the size of the place. The guitarist had one of the most beautiful guitars I have ever seen – pale wood with black inlays, and there was suspicion amongst Rockboy and ShellFish that he is a member of other bands around town.

The name of this band was familiar to me, but we actually ended up at this event (their CD release indoor picnic) as a way to fill time between other events. Their dress was moderately steam punk. There were three guys and one girl. The music was momentous, and they threw their bodies into poses that matched the grandeur of the music. They combined classical, prog metal, gypsy punk, and music that could be a film score. That’s when I remembered that I probably recognized their name because they provide live music for movies at the Alamo. “Phantom of the Opry” was an amusing song. The kids playing on the ground in front of the stage (this was a family event) with balls and hula hoops added an odd but entertaining dimension to their performance. Overall, none of us really liked them – I don’t think they’re meant for causal listening.