You know, I hate going out in LA after an earthquake. Everyone is just really weird. Listen Old Cloven G grew up in San Francisco and has been in the state of the Kaliyuga (look it up, google it... it's a pun based on the dance of Shiva) for almost 50 years. Yes, almost 50 years. Unlike most LA posers, not that I'm posing, I have no issue with my age. Mostly because I refuse to grow up, let alone grow old.
Anyhoo, these boomers and shakers (earthquakes, not marketing demographics) really don't rattle me much. I mean, what can you do? It's like good sex, if you think about it. Dig your claws in and hang on, baby. After all, in the end we're all screwed, Right? I can only trust it was as good for you as it was for me. Want a ciggie?
But no, not in the land of the imperial consumptive hipster. Nope, most of you are transplants and don't understand the ground moving. I suspect it's for more reasons than one. Maybe you're faking it? If that's the case you ought to get an owner's manual or take some lessons. Like the Joy of Sex or maybe that ageless classic the Kama Sutra. Come to think of it, I had the pop up version for laughs! Ah, but I digress.
So when the old terra firma starts moving, the peeps start freaking and its effects seem to last for days. Ye Olde Earthly Hoofed One just had a feeling about this B Bash, and she was right.
The night was, um, uncovered with the Stellar Owls. Not sure what to say about these guys. There's a funny "It's my uncle's garage band" charm to them. They were really happy to have anyone listening to them. But you know, a little graciousness and gratitude goes a long way. So the goddess blows a kiss to these guys.
Next up was Flake. These guys had me when they unloaded the drum kit in the parking lot. Double bass! I had a flashback to my “Butthole Surfer Days”. No, Flake is not the Buttholes. In fact, far from it, and that's just fine.
However they were crazy intriguing with a funky bass thing going on and that darling little troll of a lead singer screaming bloody murder in the most metal of ways really had me. It was really, well, it was eclectic and interesting and sometimes just plain strange. But it worked and worked well. Like those crazy food hybrid things you know you'll never admit you eat.
Thirty Round Clip (the house band) delivered another tight set of crunchy goodness. And surprise, surprise, back up vocals! Nice. Mike Anderson performed like the rockstar he knows himself to be, and you know, it was a delight to watch. Speaking of Mike, we wondered who the enthusiastic fans were in front of the Goddess crew. Low and behold, it turns out Mike was ambushed by a familial surprise. They were cousins he hadn't seen for 20 years. Pretty cool. Boom the drummer for the band and co-conspirator of the event was in on it surprise. Nice one Boom.
The Leisurelies pulled in a huge crowd and delivered a popalicious set. Not my vibe at all, but you know, for what they do, it was perfect. Love the violin, really adds texture to the sound. However, I hate the middle aged hipster idiot that kept shoving me into the table against the well. I guess the idiot was so drunk he didn't get the fact that I couldn't move. Sigh. Anyway, the Leisurelies give their fans what they want, and like that billionaire baby Martha says, "It's a good thing."
The biggest payoff of the night has to have been Hawkeye and the Rollers. Not formally a band, more an art project or experiment. When they went on stage they blew us out with what was a 70s jazz rock fusion set, not corrupted by the conventional lovey dovey or hate 'em all lyrics. In fact, to our delight, no singing at all. They really were way too sophisticated for most of the drunk ass idiots that had been there moments before. But for those of us with an actual ear for music, this was just what the evening needed. Hats off to Hawkeye and the Rollers.
I won't bore you with the other shit going on in the bar, like the re-visitation of poppers by some old creep trying to pick up on one of the local drunk chicks. Can we all stop trying to be 70s porn stars. (Especially if we were there, rode hard and hung out wet to dry. Ugh!)
Or the fact that other midlife chickadees tossed themselves at the feet of their worshiped male idols with absolutely no dignity, like THAT's going to impress them. Maybe for a booty call, Stella, but that's about all your groove is gonna get. Dig?
Or that someone bought a ticket on the silly train and thought I was from Salt Lake City? Salt Lake City? Get a rope! Everyone knows I'm NOT from Salt Lake City. But I couldn't stop laughing when he asked me such an absurd question. Then he threatened to take me to the Commie line. I think he meant the county line. I like Commie line so much better. I think it's between LA and Orange County. Will have to check the Thom's Bros. and see if they even acknowledge such a thing.
Heck no. None of that. Like I said, after an earthquake the city rattles my nerves. Not because the ground moved, because the people are just way too weird for this cave dweller. Or maybe I just need to slam dance more. Perhaps it's time to shop for some shiny steel-toed go-go boots.
If the last Bash wasn't enough to rattle my cage, October's Bash is completely messed up; Latin Acoustic Folk to Killer Clown Metal with a twist of Punk on the side. Don't ask, because we aren't telling how or why this happened. But it does promise to be a heck of a lot more fun than aero-hunting for endangered species in the Arctic Circle with John Insane and Caribou Barbie. And speaking of Barbies, this one's hosted by the Long Beach Chapter of the Plastics. Not quite the Suicide Girls, but we've never been known to turn down desert.
See you there lovebugs!
The Boom Bash 6
Friday, October 3, 2006
14 Below - 1348 14th Street
Santa Monica. Doors Open 8 pm/ $10 pm
Tix and info (310) 203-1527
Line Up features:
Fifi Larue
Thirty Round Clip
Positive Approach
The Remotes
The Monster In Us
With DJs spinnin' your fave ROCK 2 Hip Hop all night
DJ Funky Monkey and DJ Raspberry
And a very special Guest DJ from El Paso, DJ Stilletto
