Punk show in Sac-Town
Aug. 23rd, 2003 11:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gordonzolaI gave up on Law and Order week, sorry. I just haven’t had time to work on the more serious things I wanted to get into and I realized I’m still not quite ready to write about the court-mandated "Scared Straight" program I went through in 1987. I should probably just take an LJ week off, but I’ll write some more fluff instead.
It’s been a summer of saying yes. In recent years I’ve had health problems, breakup depression, and too much work to really get into having a fun summer. I had thought that since I’m a long way past school, maybe summers just don’t matter anymore. Especially in San Francisco where the weather isn’t usually very warm, it’s often September before I start thinking about fun things to do in the sun and taking stupid road trips for no real reason.
All of which is to explain why I went to Sacramento last Wednesday to see The Husbands . I mean, I can see them in SF every couple of weeks. I can see the singer at work whenever I have a POSS question. But when I heard they were playing a Sacto punk house, and realized that it was at the same time one of my housemates had a sublet a few blocks away, I decided I’d drive the hour and a half to check it out, spend the night, and drive back to SF for my next morning shift.
I also knew it wouldn’t work out that easily.
Supposedly the show was going to start at 8 PM and end by 11 so the neighbors in the dense residential neighborhood wouldn’t complain. Like a sucker, I believed it and rushed my housemate to the show at 9. Of course there were no bands playing yet and barely anyone there. The Husbands were on their way out to the liquor store. They asked if they could bring us anything. Housemate took a look inside and said, "Yes, please bring more women."
It was us and a bunch of dudes. Like 15 dudes, all crammed into the kitchen and playing a full sized arcade video game that I never got close enough to see. Notably, there were used to the oppressive Central Valley heat and were all wearing long pants and shirts with sleeves. I sat down in my shorts and sleeveless shirt and tried not to melt into a sad little puddle. I wasn’t built for this weather.
It took more than an hour for the first band to go on. I thought they were The Shruggs but I guess they were just using The Shruggs’s drumset because they don’t look anything like that website picture. Not-The-Shruggs set up in someone’s empty bedroom, taking up about 2/3 of the space. The rest of us crowded in as well as we could, against the walls, looking in from the hall and between the band members. They were surprisingly good, if a little underpracticed, sounding like they wanted to be kinda like Black Flag with Beth Ditto on vocals. They even opened their set with "Thirsty and Miserable". During the set I stood next to some woman with a Sparkly Kitty Sticker (you know, big in gumball machines in the early ‘90s) kitty smoking a cigarette tattoo. I thought it was great and I would have told her so except that she disappeared immediately after the Not-Shruggs set.
Next up was some band from Texas (I think) called White Heat (I think). They had that ‘70s rock retro look going on in a studied way, bushy sideburns, bad big colored sunglasses, and tight blue jeans. They rocked hard, doing a really good cover of "Raw Power" actually. Thankfully, they sounded less ‘70s rock than they looked.
But of course they were too loud and minutes after their set the cops pulled up. Shit, here comes the man busting our music! Fuckin’ pigs always harassing the punks! Nazis trying to stamp out our political resistance! The single police car stopped in front of where I was standing outside. The pig spoke, "Hi. Excuse me, but could we please talk to whoever’s in charge here? We’d really appreciate it."
Because of course it’s ridiculous to host a show with bands from out of town, that you know will get shut down if it runs too late, and not have the bands start playing until after 10 PM. After a quick discussion with the police, a conference between the remaining bands and the locals was held. Should the show go on resulting in expensive fines for the apartment renter? Should we call it a night? Was there somewhere to move the party? Finally some people who worked in a Café in the downtown mall volunteered to open it up so we could continue.
I was recruited to drive The Husbands van because they were too drunk. And of course it was dead. After much stressing and a jump start however, we were on our way downtown. I drove very carefully, not wanting to get stopped by the cops with a car full of drunk punk rockers. The fact that the steering wheel had so much play that I could move it a quarter of the way in either direction with no effect made me cautious. As did the incredibly soft brakes and the fact that I had to drive with the high beams on or without any lights. I lent my car to an acquaintance since my Hungarian housemate has no US license to drive.
Unfortunately, a number of the members of White Heat had taken a fancy to my housemate and her friends. Two of them got a ride in my car. One tried to fondle Housemate while another tried to flirt with her by telling her Hungary had "No culture". He knew because he had been there for two days once. Housemate had originally thought one was cute until she saw him come out to the porch and casually piss off of it despite the presence of an empty bathroom a few yards away.
Meanwhile, we got lost looking for the café. I pulled the van over and got out to look for it in the pedestrian mall while the soberest Husband pulled into a parking spot. Unfortunately, she decided to find the café herself and drove through the pedestrian mall and onto the light rail tracks right in front of the lurking cops. Immediately she was pulled over. Fucking police oppression! The van’s occupants burst into spontaneous laughter and the driver said, "We’re not from around here. Can you tell us how to get to the Espresso Bravo Café?" The
minion of the Police State gave them good directions and no ticket.
After a long set up process and more pathetic aggro "flirting" by one White Heat boy, The Hospitals finally played. They are notable for their singer looking just like the Ironic Trucker Hat guy on that "Hipster Bingo" thing that’s been going around the internet. I went to the bathroom during their set and found someone had puked all over the floor and the side of the drinking fountain. I assumed it was the singer of the Not The Shruggs because she was standing there amidst the nasty smell calmly drinking water. Evidently it wasn’t because I when I asked her if she was OK, she replied, "Are you OK?" with a sneer.
I saved the moment by responding, "I really liked your band."
She broke into a wide smile and said thanks.
The Husbands finally went on around 1:30. I won’t lie to you and tell you it was a great set. They were aiming to play at 9 PM and the drinking, tiredness and stress of a broken van had taken their toll. The fact that the singer’s microphone kept moving away from her mouth in the crappy mic stand didn’t help. Nor did that fact that there were only about 10 people left inside.
When the concert organizer starting playing with his non-euphemistic banana, squirting it on his friend and leaving part of the rest on the guitar player’s microphone, it was a telling metaphor. The Husbands wrapped up a short set and started packing up for Reno, the other stop on their two-day tour. I hadn’t been to a small town punk show in years and it was everything I remembered.
It’s been a summer of saying yes. In recent years I’ve had health problems, breakup depression, and too much work to really get into having a fun summer. I had thought that since I’m a long way past school, maybe summers just don’t matter anymore. Especially in San Francisco where the weather isn’t usually very warm, it’s often September before I start thinking about fun things to do in the sun and taking stupid road trips for no real reason.
All of which is to explain why I went to Sacramento last Wednesday to see The Husbands . I mean, I can see them in SF every couple of weeks. I can see the singer at work whenever I have a POSS question. But when I heard they were playing a Sacto punk house, and realized that it was at the same time one of my housemates had a sublet a few blocks away, I decided I’d drive the hour and a half to check it out, spend the night, and drive back to SF for my next morning shift.
I also knew it wouldn’t work out that easily.
Supposedly the show was going to start at 8 PM and end by 11 so the neighbors in the dense residential neighborhood wouldn’t complain. Like a sucker, I believed it and rushed my housemate to the show at 9. Of course there were no bands playing yet and barely anyone there. The Husbands were on their way out to the liquor store. They asked if they could bring us anything. Housemate took a look inside and said, "Yes, please bring more women."
It was us and a bunch of dudes. Like 15 dudes, all crammed into the kitchen and playing a full sized arcade video game that I never got close enough to see. Notably, there were used to the oppressive Central Valley heat and were all wearing long pants and shirts with sleeves. I sat down in my shorts and sleeveless shirt and tried not to melt into a sad little puddle. I wasn’t built for this weather.
It took more than an hour for the first band to go on. I thought they were The Shruggs but I guess they were just using The Shruggs’s drumset because they don’t look anything like that website picture. Not-The-Shruggs set up in someone’s empty bedroom, taking up about 2/3 of the space. The rest of us crowded in as well as we could, against the walls, looking in from the hall and between the band members. They were surprisingly good, if a little underpracticed, sounding like they wanted to be kinda like Black Flag with Beth Ditto on vocals. They even opened their set with "Thirsty and Miserable". During the set I stood next to some woman with a Sparkly Kitty Sticker (you know, big in gumball machines in the early ‘90s) kitty smoking a cigarette tattoo. I thought it was great and I would have told her so except that she disappeared immediately after the Not-Shruggs set.
Next up was some band from Texas (I think) called White Heat (I think). They had that ‘70s rock retro look going on in a studied way, bushy sideburns, bad big colored sunglasses, and tight blue jeans. They rocked hard, doing a really good cover of "Raw Power" actually. Thankfully, they sounded less ‘70s rock than they looked.
But of course they were too loud and minutes after their set the cops pulled up. Shit, here comes the man busting our music! Fuckin’ pigs always harassing the punks! Nazis trying to stamp out our political resistance! The single police car stopped in front of where I was standing outside. The pig spoke, "Hi. Excuse me, but could we please talk to whoever’s in charge here? We’d really appreciate it."
Because of course it’s ridiculous to host a show with bands from out of town, that you know will get shut down if it runs too late, and not have the bands start playing until after 10 PM. After a quick discussion with the police, a conference between the remaining bands and the locals was held. Should the show go on resulting in expensive fines for the apartment renter? Should we call it a night? Was there somewhere to move the party? Finally some people who worked in a Café in the downtown mall volunteered to open it up so we could continue.
I was recruited to drive The Husbands van because they were too drunk. And of course it was dead. After much stressing and a jump start however, we were on our way downtown. I drove very carefully, not wanting to get stopped by the cops with a car full of drunk punk rockers. The fact that the steering wheel had so much play that I could move it a quarter of the way in either direction with no effect made me cautious. As did the incredibly soft brakes and the fact that I had to drive with the high beams on or without any lights. I lent my car to an acquaintance since my Hungarian housemate has no US license to drive.
Unfortunately, a number of the members of White Heat had taken a fancy to my housemate and her friends. Two of them got a ride in my car. One tried to fondle Housemate while another tried to flirt with her by telling her Hungary had "No culture". He knew because he had been there for two days once. Housemate had originally thought one was cute until she saw him come out to the porch and casually piss off of it despite the presence of an empty bathroom a few yards away.
Meanwhile, we got lost looking for the café. I pulled the van over and got out to look for it in the pedestrian mall while the soberest Husband pulled into a parking spot. Unfortunately, she decided to find the café herself and drove through the pedestrian mall and onto the light rail tracks right in front of the lurking cops. Immediately she was pulled over. Fucking police oppression! The van’s occupants burst into spontaneous laughter and the driver said, "We’re not from around here. Can you tell us how to get to the Espresso Bravo Café?" The
minion of the Police State gave them good directions and no ticket.
After a long set up process and more pathetic aggro "flirting" by one White Heat boy, The Hospitals finally played. They are notable for their singer looking just like the Ironic Trucker Hat guy on that "Hipster Bingo" thing that’s been going around the internet. I went to the bathroom during their set and found someone had puked all over the floor and the side of the drinking fountain. I assumed it was the singer of the Not The Shruggs because she was standing there amidst the nasty smell calmly drinking water. Evidently it wasn’t because I when I asked her if she was OK, she replied, "Are you OK?" with a sneer.
I saved the moment by responding, "I really liked your band."
She broke into a wide smile and said thanks.
The Husbands finally went on around 1:30. I won’t lie to you and tell you it was a great set. They were aiming to play at 9 PM and the drinking, tiredness and stress of a broken van had taken their toll. The fact that the singer’s microphone kept moving away from her mouth in the crappy mic stand didn’t help. Nor did that fact that there were only about 10 people left inside.
When the concert organizer starting playing with his non-euphemistic banana, squirting it on his friend and leaving part of the rest on the guitar player’s microphone, it was a telling metaphor. The Husbands wrapped up a short set and started packing up for Reno, the other stop on their two-day tour. I hadn’t been to a small town punk show in years and it was everything I remembered.
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Date: 2003-08-24 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-24 09:45 am (UTC)