More Underground Than China

The All Ages Era

2009-11-23T09:19:00.000-08:00

With the cost-effectiveness of touring remaining up in the air, fewer bands are meeting the necessary requirements to hit the road. As a result, patrons and fans are less inclined to go out to shows, and venue owners are facing more dead nights. How to deal?

More than ever, venues are opening their doors to all ages. It’s not a mystery why, with the obvious fiscal benefits gained by doing so. But is it the best choice for underground music? The strategy for coping with hard-hit finances calls for change. It’s putting a mark on the face of live shows every calendar day. Early performances are more frequent as well as a surge of music that caters to suggestible minds. It’s an unnatural mingling of underground live shows with a young hipster coffee scene. Could it work? Yeah, but why? An alternative to this desperate solution would be simple — reduce cover charges, and advertise tactfully.

When a venue like Marilyn's -- a place marked by licentious behavior and good times -- opens its doors to all ages, it would seem that all hell would break loose. Underage drinking and jail-bait everywhere; things nobody wants to see. Instead there are more frequent patrols, with the Man watching much closer.

At this rate, the pride of live underground shows will only be found in ill obscure places, driven further into midtown and the back fringes of the capitol city.

Debut de Mondo

2009-10-19T07:40:00.000-07:00

Mondo Deco has a forthcoming debut, and it's approaching fast. The Sacramento-based band is anticipated to put on a great show, and to magnetize anybody who wanders too close to the speakers.

The group is made of true grit, persistence, and artistic vision between old friends. Jeremy Green, the singer and guitarist from Goodness Gracious Me, and drummer-extraordinaire, Billy Ewing, were batting around the idea of Mondo Deco for a long time. The dream had remained only a wistful back-porch musing until recently when they picked up bassist Steve Robinson from Matinee Idols, and Kolton Kammerer, formerly of The Order of the Golden Mirror. The rest is history -- or will be.

Friday, Oct 23 Mondo Deco, will be mashing out a delicious musical cuisine all night at Old Ironsides, along with The Parties and The New Fidelity. I wont miss a beat of it, and maybe for no reason other than to confirm what remarkable music I heard while screening Mondo Deco's sampler cd. This band is definitely going to draw a crowd with its Sacramento premier.

With the onset of their debut performance, Mondo Deco will also be unleashing a demo and unveiling a unique online profile. Keep an eye out for this band as it will soon be raiding the airwaves near you.

Lite Brite The Band

2009-10-10T00:40:00.000-07:00

Ludicrously fast drums, wailing electric guitar, and dynamic vocals allow a band to remain a secret for only so long. The gig is up for this one.

Lite Brite is a rock group from Sacramento that seems to be doing something remarkably right -- being genuine. Both stirring and contemplative, their music stands for the expansion of the indie rock genre.

This band has a talent for variety. Several of the songs, like Someone's Listening, pine in on a sentimental feeling, while other songs stick to a pattern of fast and heavily accented backbeats, true to the nature of rock. In many of the songs, with a more experimental guiding force, psychedelic waves make you feel like you're drifting through the cosmos. Complex, yet soothing.

A prevalent Led Zeppelin influence gives Lite Brite a diverse style. Some songs are solid and gritty with their hard rock while others place little emphasis on the back beat, maintaining more of a contiguous and flowing rhythm. Goodbye, a song featuring an acoustic guitar, merits mention on this point.

The song Big City has a hardcore rift, which is reminiscent of Rage Against the Machine. It is likely their most popular song, being performed at nearly every show. Syncopation towards the end of the song provides adequate panache, leaving you to realize that you had been unknowingly matching the beat with with your incessantly tapping thumb(s).

Lite Brite's newest EP shows promise and gives fans a feeling for a more experimental hard rock side of the band. This may be a result of the positive reception of Big City, and a continuing factor in the evolution of the band, and indeed the whole genre.

Enter Prieta

2009-10-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

Bands need recognition, and people want something to recognize. What distinct qualities in a band can make these common interests meet? It should be easy, but it isn't. For the unsigned artist, there seems to be no single niche left untouched, and no way to stand out. So it seems.

Prieta has a distinct quality. It's more than just a band with drums, bass, guitar, and vocals. They sound like a refined and well-performed rock group, doubtless, but even more. Their music commands attention -- steady and powerful vocals that carry the listener through rough-around-the-edge lyrics. Some of their songs are similar to Black Sabbath, but way tighter and less syncopated. Some songs are bluesy, especially the tracks on Sleep All Night. Very similar in tone to Chris Cornell, the vocals are like Soundgarden, with the exception of being less tinny and compressed. Prieta features a singer with an open throttle.

Comparisons vary between songs, but the overall feeling is the same one which makes guys with turbo-charged engines drive fast, and girls with little or no discretion dance seductively at front stage. It certainly is a kind of music to get your heart pumping.

Apparently, that's Prieta's forte, and being so well keyed in on their niche, they took the 2009 Sammie Award for Outstanding Hard Rock and Metal. The Sacramento Area Music awards ceremony (Sammies), which encompasses a wide array of talent, recognized the band for its distinct qualities.

After listening to the latest EP, I feel that Prieta is extremely deserving of the honor, and will go on to receive continued acclaim. Sleep All Night sounds great. The question is out, what comes next? Will there be a surge of creative energy released after being applauded in Sacramento?

Stood Up at Marylin's

2009-09-24T17:10:00.001-07:00

With the shadows of K street splayed across the sidewalk, and crusty vagrants glaring hungrily from bus stop benches, there was little hope for what I was doing. It was 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday and my friend, Ashley, had given me a summons to karaoke night at Marilyn's. It wasn't a thrilling idea to begin with, karaoke being my least favorite way to waste time, but feeling an eminent mugging in the works, I cursed under my breath. This had better be good.

Various reviews claimed Marilyn's karaoke was the best in Sacramento. Not that it made any difference, Ashley went with her friends every Tuesday. It was their thing.

I was only riding on the coattails of the princess.

Approaching the venue, I was slightly relieved in avoiding the unwanted encounter with pan-handlers and shiesty street scallions along the way. There was a time when I would have enjoyed meeting the extreme misfortune of society, but this was not it. I could finally hear the music, and really just wanted to see my friend.

As I walked through the faux entrance of the building, I hesitated at the sight of a concrete staircase, and a winding walkway leading down to an open patio between two buildings. Various large tropical plants lined the way; palm fronds dipping low, the occasional bromeliad sending little shoots in many places, and a ripening bunch of bananas forming with the signature red flower dangling below. Apart from the unusual tropical landscaping, which made the patio feel like less of a side-alley than it really was, I met the gestures of many gratified smokers. No Ashley.

The doorman asked for ID. Given.

"How's the night going?" I asked, in an attempt to break his hum-drum of idleness.

He appeared suddenly vitalized. "Actually, it's hoppin' in there tonight. Really, really good."

With a half-nod I continued into the building. Inside I could see what the newspapers had been talking about, and what the doorman confirmed. It was quite the popular place on Tuesdays. The bartender was running around, the barback was sweating, and girls were dancing suggestively before the stage.

I looked around for Ashley and caught some askew glances from people peering back. It was mostly dark, so from necessity I moseyed around, looking like a lost tourist. I circulated twice before I realized she wasn't there. I grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a Sierra Nevada. Then the stage began to fill up. There was about to be a live performance.

I suddenly noticed the instruments on stage. Obviously no karaoke machine. When the band was fully assembled, they called out someone's name and that person went up on the stage and began singing into the mic.

In seconds I forgot all about Ashley. Live band karaoke was unheard of! It sent me reeling against its functionality. How could these musicians know all of the songs people wanted to sing to? Was there a limited selection of songs, or were these guys absolute musical geniuses? I drank some beer and fell into the state of catharsis that comes from being presented with the unexpected.

My phone rang. Ashley. She's not coming. What, why? Baking cookies! Lame. . .

"I'm sorry. Go find my friends. You'll still have a good time," she chirped.

Miffed, I countered, "Why don't you tell your friends to find the one guy sitting at the bar alone drinking a beer and looking pathetically denied."

She stifled a laugh. "Okay, bye."

In less than a minute a high boisterous voice caught me off-guard as I was raising my glass to my face.

"Are you Chris?" questioned a sloshed curly blond.

She was so loud and drew so much attention that I had to hesitate and look away. There was a table of guys next to me who saw my expression and laughed. One of them, lured by the girl's beauty, drunkenness, or both, offered, "I can be Chris if you want."

She sneered at him with repugnance, and turned to address me. "I'm Ashley's friend, Emily."

Giving in, I shook her hand lightly. "Topher. Nice to meet you."

"Topher?" She squeaked.

I was tired of explaining it. "It's Irish for Christopher."

After agreeing that it was messed up to be stranded there by Ashley, the energetic drunk girl took my hand and led me to a group of girls sitting in front of the stage. Introductions were made, and names were instantly forgotten.

There amongst a litter of drunken chippies, I watched several inebriated styles of dance, and a flux of different singers take the stage. Looking beyond the flailing arms and slashing kicks of Emily and the rest of her pride, I witnessed a batch of very talented singers at their personal best. The ranges of the songs were as dynamic as the people who took the stage. Gnarles Barkley gave way to Johnny Cash, which turned into The Doors, Foo Fighters, and so on.

It was after a succession of several songs when I realized the musicians were performing with prompts, the same as the singers. They each had a small video monitor in front of them, beaming the notes straight across their faces. As soon as this registered to me, the magical veneer was washed away. These people were not musical prodigies, they were just musicians who could sight-read. What an overestimation on my part.

Actually, I still had to tip my hat to the performers. Some of the songs they were asked to play probably held little interest to them, and had never been performed by them before. They were playing remarkably cohesively, given the circumstances. Being adept at sight-reading is a generous gift by itself, but to do it with so many nonsensical songs, they had apparently mastered the skill. During the next break, I had to talk to them.

Seeing they deserved credit, I asked them their names. It was Adam Donald on acoustic guitar and backup vocals, Scotty George on guitar, Gerry Pineda on bass, Larry Schiavone on drums and backup vocals, and David Van Dusen on keys and backup vocals. An amalgamation of abilities and skill, they were also really nice.

After they played a few more sets, I had sufficiently been indulged with enough pale ale and dancing drunk girls to fill my quota, the night leveled out. I watched one more soulful performance from a talented singer named Aiesha, followed by drunken Emily's last-ditch effort to take the limelight. I closed out my tab, which was astoundingly less depressing than I had expected, and waved goodbye.

Stunned by the several factors that made my first time at Marilyn's a memorable one, I strolled home with a grin from ear to ear, repeating the question, Did that just happen?

Second Saturdays in Sac

2009-09-18T19:35:00.001-07:00

Every second Saturday of every month, art galleries keep their doors open late, drawing a slew of wide-eyed and gawking Sacramentans through a latticework of city streets. Brushing up against many musical performances and numerous easels bearing a dynamic range of paintings, it was easy to see why the streets were packed. Fine art, delicious food, and a feeling of organized chaos -- it's all at the art walk.

People were everywhere. With their attention focused on various displays, live bands, and the shear density of the throng of pedestrians, the masses were not hesitant at all to cross the normally busy and functional intersections of Sacramento. It was painful to watch the line of vehicles trapped at a crosswalk that was bottle-necked at both sides with an endless tide of pedestrians.

I had never understood this until last Saturday, and it filled me with an ironic feeling of what I'd been missing, right at hand.

Impressive to say the least.

The art-walk had an inextricable draw on the community. There was a buzz in the air, not just from the copious amounts of live musical performances, but from the chatter of many elated voices reveling in the night. I too felt like a part of it, as if inducted.

Was it really like this every second Saturday? A lot of artists were receiving attention.

One of the bands, Art Lessing, played some very captivating instrumental bits. Their experimental sound used strings to create an esoteric air, while the drums maintained a rocky garage-feel. They certainly had a style of there own, which seemed to carry an otherworldly feeling.

The most noteworthy band was Jazz Gitan, which drew a smaller crowd, but played a very stylized and characteristic set. The bass was punchy, carrying all of the fullness experienced in jazz, and the timing was perfect. It was a striking example of how to do a street performance right, transporting listeners where they stood, from a street in Sacramento, to a cobblestone alley in 40's Bordeaux, France.

The night steadily waned into a low hum, the streets opened up, and cars were able to continue on their routes safely without the human blockade. While it lasted, there were some very dedicated and gifted artists sharing their works freely. It was the way Sacramento did things on second Saturdays, and everybody benefited. Come hungry and bored, leave full and grinning. Just like that.

Burning Music

2009-09-11T15:07:00.000-07:00

Giant mutant vehicles crawling through the desert, stilt-walkers with cloven hooves lumbering through crowded streets, massive geodesic domes encompassing large rave parties, fiery gesticulating dragons, generous nudity, healing modality workshops, and best of all, a departure from absolute dependence on modern commodities. Such a description could only be fitting for Burning Man, a week-long wellspring of activity in the middle of the Nevada desert. It's the most eerily satisfying sensation, experienced in the midst of an ephemeral settlement called Black Rock City, wherein a massive effigy of a man is set ablaze annually.

This year, around the Man, a pilgrimage of roughly 50,000 people gathered and constructed an amazing amalgamation of community structures and art installations, in an otherwise barren wasteland. It was the most inspiring thing I had ever beheld and, accordingly, it formed a label in my mind as the best week of my life – if not for the music alone.

So many things to say… but the music was at the heart of the experience. Walking from one side of the two-mile diameter temporary city to the other, any of the thousands of awed pedestrians were subjected to a cacophony of multi-styled music genres, blaring from ridiculously powerful sound reinforcement systems. Amazingly, the relationship between each provocative installation flowed from one stanchion to the next without cluttered noise amplification. Moving between the setups was like performing a personal DJ mix-down. Just follow the sound you want!

Primarily, techno and trance dominated the theater of sound, which gave interesting merit to an ordinarily quiescent desert. But as I grew weary of repetitive kick-snare and looping sin wave modulation, I drifted toward the outskirts of town, seeking other audible flavors. There I heard Rage Against the Machine – at which point I witnessed several people rocking an old beater-car up and down by jumping on top of it. Awestruck, I gazed at the incredible scene, which until then had only seemed to prevail in movies.

Continuing my walkabout, I encountered a behemoth mechanical spider-like walker, resembling something out of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds. Atop the ferrous anomaly, amidst an array of base-mounted variegated lights there were people dancing and flashing reflections of different hues to the strobe and baseline of a trip-hop beat. The sheer engineering of this robot beast was phenomenal, not only in its ability to carry dancing passengers smoothly, but to contain such a powerful line output as to flood the desert with omnipotent decibels of enmeshing music. If I was any less possessed of my good senses, I could have gawked in awe until one of the massive steel legs would have simply replaced me where I stood.

Moving quickly to safer environs, I picked up a small black-and-green schedule which listed the events of the night. Amazed, I singled out the one that said “Daft Punk Headlining”. Supposedly they had played at Burning man five years previous, and a current migration was underway to see them again that night.

To my utter dismay, it was a complete hoax. Daft Punk didn’t show, and I was sorely let down.

As a sort of reanimation from the little death inside which I felt from such a letdown, I heard DJ Dan, as well as Carl Cox, and Armin Van Buuren were spinning at the Opulent Temple. So I headed for the bellowing flames at the intersection of two o' clock and Esplanade.

When I arrived early at the venue, the crowd was already gaining critical mass. There would be no luck finding anybody familiar, even with directions like, "let's meet at the back-of-the-crowd, stage left". In the center of the crowd there were tandem fifteen-foot tall flames spouting into the air, marking the location of the DJ. Above, there was an insanely cool laser show panning green and blue rays of light over the heads of literally several thousand people. The music was deafening, and I didn't know how to dance when I was shoulder-to shoulder with others, except for just jumping straight up and down. Feeling a little more than claustrophobic, I departed.

To my surprise and great relief, I witnessed one of the coolest performances in my life. It was at a random small venue that had an open bar with free alcohol, a decent amount of patrons, and a stage harboring several smiling musicians. Technically it was an open mike, but all of the instruments were provided, and people were called from the audience to play anything they knew. Not surprisingly, the same half-dozen newly introduced patrons kept taking the stage. The interesting part was that the performers continually exchanged instruments. After each set, and each subsequent beverage I consumed, I was stunned to see the bassist move to the drums, and the guitarist to the sax. Over a span of several hours, I was lost in the musical talent, and a plethora of well-performed cover songs. It was one thing to see musicians of the same band exchange instruments and play well together, but for complete strangers to tie it all together as such, was something intrinsically different. It went beyond entertainment, becoming more of an impetus for inspiring others.

With such musical wonders, the great gathering known as Burning Man gives much, and takes little. This is apparently the point of the festival -- gifting. In a place were purchasing things with money is not condoned, the greatest gifts, like music, are absolutely free. If I could recommend one thing to a first-time burner, it would be: bring an instrument.

Coping With a Dead Night

2009-08-21T10:16:00.000-07:00

On Thursday a crowd gathered at the Blue Lamp for the appearance of the Hollowpoints, a Seattle-based punk rock band in the midsts of a grandiose summer tour. The local Sacramento band Final Summation followed with a performance worthy of their conclusive name. These bands crossed the stage for a stellar night of performance, serving the needs of Sacramento's punk-loving community for several heart-racing hours.

That was what I had hoped for.

What really happened wasn't quite so lively.

I had to buy a rum and Coke. Several websites gave me misleading information, stating the Hollowpoints were playing at eight o'clock, followed by Final Summation at nine. In the natural order of how capricious the Sacramento music scene is, only a few people showed up to watch the performances at that time, so the bands delayed. No people, no play.

At nine-thirty I dully stabbed at the ice in my now nearly drained and watered-down rum and Coke. Where was the loud music? Where was the audience?

I nearly got up to leave just before a thirty-something-year-old guy in a yellow T-shirt began playing guitar and singing. It was an interesting form; the lighter side of acoustic punk rock.

The performer introduced himself as Danny from the band The Secretions, and the voice of Sacramento State student-run radio station, KSSU. He improvised some lyrics, calling out the fact that the only other people in the room were members of the bands.

Noticing me, he said, "I want to give a big thanks to the support we are receiving from non-band members tonight."

There were chuckles.

He was staring at me, and I was speechless.

In response to my taciturn expression, he asked me, "You're not with the band, are you?"

Silence. I looked over my shoulder. There was a member of the band sitting next to me at the bar, and he shook his head for me.

Was I really the only non-band-member?

The bartender kept attempting to make eye contact, pressuring me into another drink.

I couldn't relax. The attitudes of the others were demoralizing.

Between being called-out by Danny Secretion on the mic, and feeling hounded to purchase more drinks as the only paying patron, it wasn't exactly the type of blood-pumping fun I was expecting.

For twenty cantankerous minutes I listened to the music, imagining more people and a full band loud enough to drown out the awkwardness.

Instead, there was light acoustic punk rock -- solo.

Finally at ten o'clock, after mostly two hours in waiting, I rose from the barstool and walked out of the Blue Lamp.

In the air, there was a faint essence of overcooked brussels sprouts.

Sacramento's underground shows can be very capricious. It's hard to know what to expect when, even though the bands may be great, the entertainment-value of the show arbitrarily lacks motivation and an audience. It's a real hit-or-miss.

Even more striking to me is the demeanor of people in a nearly empty and restless venue. In my case, their attitudes expressed such a bizarre and craven need to pester me. I felt assailed, but understood that everyone in the venue was just dealing with the same thing I was, but in a different way. We were all coping with a dead night.

Interview With GGM -- Part Two

2009-08-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

Continuing a discussion with Sacramento indie band, Goodness Gracious Me, a few interesting topics were addressed Wednesday.

The band's vocalist and guitarist Jeremy Greene, bassist Sean Arrent, and drummer Skyler Henry shared what they knew from their success with performing and recording in the local area.

Their views on what may be necessary to make successful strides in the music industry consisted of bright ideas, enameled with constant humor.

The first thing a budding band needs is camaraderie with other local bands. This was the paramount theme and the pinnacle of our conversation, and it seemed to surface of its own accord.

Beyond networking with other local bands, a requisite for success was also placed upon accurate portrayal of style. Without focus, recognition is blurry.

When asked what other bands GGM has worked with, Jeremy provided a few examples, "Phantom Jets, Darling Sweetheart, Prieta, and Lite Brite. Good people. Stand-up people."

Apparently camaraderie among local Sacramento bands was high. The question then presented itself, "Why not just combine forces and rent a studio?"

In response Sean pitched the name of a local recording studio, The Hanger, and explained how they already record frequently at the well-known location. "There's a gentleman there, John, who has more gear than you can imagine. People are always going in and out. Other bands have come in during the course of our album recordings and helped us dial in parts, gave constructive feedback -- they've even sat in with us during mixing, eating our snacks."

Jeremy couldn't help but chime in, "Oh, yes, we have the finest snacks. We are into chips and dips"

I thought of this as I peered down at the Sierra Nevada I had been hospitably offered just prior to taking my seat.

There was too much kindness flowing through the air. Was there anybody Goodness Gracious Me did not like?

In a light-hearted sense of rivalry Jeremy declared, "U2."

Skyler followed with a jesting warning, "Wow, watch out. Bono is gonna show up at your door in the morning."

They of course were playing upon the notion of U2's uncanny success over many, many years.

All joking aside (for the moment), Jeremy offered a level-headed evaluation of the world's variety of genres and bands. "If it's something that you dig, it makes you happy, and you're making it, then it's good. To each his own."

That statement, shared by other local bands, has proven valuable in many situations. At The Hanger especially, members of different bands frequently lay aside individual tastes, in favor of a more appreciative sense of the overall artistic initiative involved.

Swinging back to the realm of wittiness, Skyler proposed the idea, "I think it's safe to say that if you put the names of, say, fifty emo-screamo bands up on a wall, and threw a dart, you wouldn't be doing the world any great disservice."

"They're all coming after you, now," Jeremy cautioned.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get marauded by a bunch a dudes with fucked-up hair cuts," Skyler replied.

Funny impressions ensued.

"... I wrote a poem for you ... "

" ... You make my soul weep ... "

Back and forth the guys volleyed the image of pissed-off emo bands whining at Skyler's door. It was the only thing that could balance out their otherwise saintly and benevolent camaraderie.

The benefits of working alongside bands who are in the same locale is obvious. People need each other.

The idea of refining style, however, is less aptly understood.

On that note, Jeremy advised, "It's important for whatever you release to have a general feel or an idea behind it. This helps balance out what you're doing. Early on, any budding band is going to have to deal with this."

Know Thy Self.

In Sean's words, "It's not like there are corruptible levels of cash laying around anymore. It's important for bands like us to find a solid way to present our music the best we can portray, with just what we have."

Back to Jeremy, "In every genre, there's a shining example of how to make that work. It's never just a bunch of songs thrown together."

Throughout the conversation, Skyler did a good job reminding everyone about the importance of touring and it became easy to see why stylistic consistency is necessary. If money is going to be spent for touring, it should be done so when a noticeable forte has emerged and been sufficiently developed. In that way, audience members and prospective fans may find what they need in order to latch on for good.

Recognition is the desired end result, and it's hard to be recognized without specific markers -- intellectual or aesthetic. That's why it's essential to take a stand and to maintain integrity. Equivocation and indecisiveness are the killers of artistic ambition.

Apparently finding a niche is just as important for up-and-coming musicians as finding companionship among coequals. These two aspects of massive importance, unearthed now, are relatively hidden from those who need them the most. Combined specialization and networking will obviously produce positive results in nearly every venture, but nowhere else are these factors more convoluted by tapestries of variety and the temptation of rivalry, as they are in the arena of upstart musicians. When life is all about playing music, who really cares about strategy? Goodness Gracious Me and the rest of the supportive Sacramento bands with refined styles care, and what's more, they're making huge strides in the right direction.

See GGM in the news: KCRA3 Concert in the Park -- http://www.kcra.com/video/20241458/

Don Carlos in Costa Rica

2009-08-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

Underground beats sound different in different countries. As obvious as that axiom may be, there is still room to be astonished by our world's variety. Nothing could prepare the audience at El Castillo Saturday night for a series of didgeridoo solos, accompanied by a guitarist playing Meringue rhythms and coaxing girls to Salsa dance. It was like many aspects of greater Costa Rica -- mottled with outside influences -- but that night's performance led the crowd into a hush. For me the experience was especially unusual. Instead of acting in my given capacity as an observer, I took up the challenge of analyzing the event from the inside. I was the didgeridoo player.

Five in the afternoon, Saturday the first of August, at a vacation home belonging to a very generous family:

I wandered into the courtyard performance of a talented Costa Rican musician playing guitar and singing. He was covering songs from across-the-board. With a perfectly acquired American accent, he seemed to emanate countless years of diligent rehearsal and performance. Around him towered sound-reinforcement equipment, loud enough to muffle the pounding rumble of a nearby shore-break. Plastered around a clear blue swimming pool, a gathering of diverse family members tapped out beats with their flip-flops and bare feet. I sat down and drank coconut water straight from the husk. Before I could fully kick-back and relax, I was spontaneously summoned by the organizer of the event.

"Get up there and play," he insisted. I had been spotted sitting prone with my didgeridoo propped against the table, and would have to pay the price for idleness.

Play didge with a guitar? How?

"Alright," I said diffidently, and walked up to the now quiescent performer. He shook my hand and humbly introduced himself as Don Carlos.

I admitted to him immediately that I had no clue what key my instrument was in. I just bought it a few days days before in Flamingo. He shrugged and asked me to play a sustained note. As I did, I could see his fingers working lightly over the guitar strings.

"It's in D," he revealed.

I had only a moment to nod and smile before he began strumming. It was go-time. I looked down sharply and concentrated on the rhythm, trying to match it while circular-breathing. Within a few measures I had found a beat which worked.

There was an immediate fusion of musical styles. The pool-side listeners had never heard it before, and they were silent the whole time, except for utterances of shock and the flicking of camera shutters.

As the performance progressed, Don Carlos suddenly ceased improvising, and began playing Pink Floyd's, "Another Brick in the Wall". It went well with the bass rhythm rolling from my didgeridoo. Those who were listening appeared to shudder with the intensity of the amplified beat.

At intervals when Don Carlos hit higher octaves I would produce my own high pitched trills. Each beat on cue, it sounded like we had rehearsed the whole song. Sensing the end, I watched Don Carlos for the finale. In a quenching surge, he improvised a new finish. With one accord, we halted on the same note. Stark silence ensued -- then applause.

I hastily bowed and slipped away, back to the coconut.

Later after the whole show was over Don Carlos was breaking down his setup and I meandered over to offer some help. Like most musicians with their precious gear, he was hesitant to have any assistance. I was hesitant to break his stuff, so we agreed on not helping, and he grinned heartily at the intent of my offer. Unexpectedly he countered with a new proposition.

"I'm playing a gig tonight, you want to go?" He asked.

I looked around. I needed some kind of way out. There was none.

"Ah, well. I should see what my friend's doing -- I'm pretty much only here because it's her family reunion," I stammered.

He shrugged. "The place is called El Castillo. I'll be there late."

That was all I would see of Don Carlos if I had really wanted. There was much more to consider; it was my last day in Costa Rica.

Eventually I found myself walking up to flashing lights and dancing figures, partially concealed within a hazy knot of chaos and people. El Castillo was a lively venue on Saturday nights. On the stage, I saw Don Carlos doing what he did best.

I had to wait until he noticed me; there was a crowd. I sat at a table near the front and propped up my didge. He would notice that. I ordered a beer and waited.

He finished the song he was playing and quickly introduced me as the Australian guy with an unusual instrument. Instantly we were back to the same groove as before, like we had never even stopped.

The song ended and I was assaulted with applause. I strode back to my seat, but wasn't there for long. . .

I was called up again, and this time given the mic. I introduced the crowd to an old creation myth of Australia which correlates didgeridoos with the origin of the universe. The crowd was listening intently as I finished. Then Don Carlos and I began to jam. Instead of playing something well-known like "Another Brick in the Wall" he began playing his guitar like a percussion instrument. Together we played a simple tribal drumming rhythm that evolved into a march, which transformed into Merengue. I had never heard myself play to such a beat, nor had I thought it possible with such an instrument, but when girls began Salsa dancing I knew it was happening.

We played for an indeterminate amount of time. It was only after a gradual decrease in the tempo when we knew we should end it. On the same note, we halted. I was out of breath and in need of liquid -- preferably beer.

Don Carlos went on playing until midnight, as he did every other Saturday night at El Castillo. When I turned to leave, he stopped me and asked if I would play again tomorrow. It was a painful question. I didn't live there, and I was leaving in the morning. I wanted to tell him the experience was beyond my comprehension, but I left things simple and just said thank you.

I walked away into the moonlight, playing a little more as I strolled down the beach. While playing, I was deep in thought. It was always great to mix it up with local musicians. It made me feel differently about traveling. I was no longer a tourist, I was a local from another location.

Infinite Playlists Kill the Concept Album

2009-07-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

What happened to sitting in a comfortably lit room, listening to an hour of music without interruption, knowing that the artist you so respected would be approving of your dedication to that style of work -- lyric-by-lyric and song-by-song -- in consistent album format?

At what point did the megalomania of endlessly shuffled playlists take over the experience of listening to music?

A couple of common and obvious answers are: the internet, mp3 players, and file-sharing. These interlopers have allowed endless playlists to take over. Such technology has carted away the power of the album format, devouring it wholly -- all but vanquishing the highly respectable concept album. Hence the ability of musicians to be heard exclusively for a duration of time, to the desired artistic effect, is now fully denigrated.

One solution, if not an outright return to album format, may be to set up a playlist as a sort of mixed tape, wherein meaningful connections can be made -- that is, if anybody endeavored to take the time.

There are emergent properties of the mixed tape which make it profoundly interesting. It's a classic case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. By selecting a meaningful sequence of songs, the creator of a mixed tape is able to form something entirely new, and to achieve a level of artistry on the same line as the concept album artist.

There is a place in this world where people still pay homage to the mixed tape; it certainly isn't in the great and free land of the Ipod. Take a journey to a distant latitude, where time is quite quizzically reversed, and experience what it would be like to sit in an old beater-car, with the faintest tape hiss dropping into a flow of artfully matched songs, the driver successively waxing inspired with each meaningful linkage. Possibly the notion of the mixed tape being a gift would be greatly significant to the driver -- as a present from a lover or a friend. The idea that someone had cared enough to make it could result in random smiles toward other drivers.

There is much to be said about the mixed tape, and about tactfully keeping a decent concept album together.

Thus, wherefore art thine playlists asunder?

Is it better to listen to a shuffled spattering of songs?

Answers vary, but the recommendation remains: make playlists that resemble mixed tapes, or that consist of one single album. Listen to music that makes you feel good consistently, and don't be a slave to the endlessly shuffled playlist.

Interview With GGM -- Part One

2009-07-24T14:35:00.000-07:00

It's a rare opportunity indeed to sit down with the members of a busy indie band, much less a far-sighted group like Goodness Gracious Me. To pick the mind of a talented lead vocalist and guitarist such as Jeremy Green, bassist Sean Arrent, and drummer Skyler Henry is a profound honor -- and that is exactly what happened on Wednesday the twenty-second day of the Babylonian year of our Lord, two-thousand and nine. It was a chat that this writer would be hard-pressed to deny as one of the most intrinsically amusing interviews in the history of Sacramento indie bands. Full of interesting quips and facetious humor, the trio of musicians had me struggling to keep my feet planted as a journalist. Yet despite the spattering of comical flavor, the group presented many intriguing and relevant observations about the current state of the music industry, and delivered some of the most valid points from an inside perspective.
This is how it went down:

When did you, as a band and individually, decide to devote your lives to music?

Sean: "Last Wednesday"

Jeremy: [concurring, with a malicious grin] "Wednesday"

Sky: "High school."

Have you experienced any setbacks?

Sean: "Yeah -- Goodness Gracious Me"

[Rolling laughter]

Jeremy: "Aside from being broke?"

Sean: "I think all of our projects have been failures before this one"

Jeremy: "Well, minor successes that didn't lead anywhere"

Sky: "We're always broke all the time. Sean's the only one with a real job."

What music has inspired you in your life, and more recently?

Jeremy: "Barbara Streisand, Cher.

[More laughter]

Jeremy: [With sudden conviction] "Rock 'n roll!"

Sky: "This band has a bunch of 60's glam kind of influence."

Jeremy: "Desert rock -- or even stoner rock. A lot of throwback stuff, pretty much across-the-board"

Sean: "It kind of doesn't matter, because at this point everybody's listening to a lot of everything."

Sky: "I actually get a lot of my inspiration, at least for my drum parts, from other local bands. I see Prieta every other week"

Sean: "Yeah, you start to take an analytical view of music in general, especially the musicians around you. You start to wonder, 'how can I do what he does' and not just for the pure aesthetic enjoyment of it."

Jeremy: "A lot of the people we play shows with actually push us to be better."

Do you find that there's more of a sense of camaraderie among Sacramento bands, or more competition?

Sky: "There are little crews and cliques, but I would say in general there's definitely a sense of camaraderie. Everybody's stoked for everybody."

Jeremy: "We all go to each other's shows. There's a lot of support."

Sean: "I can't even think of one person I don't like here."

Have Ipods killed the mixed tape?

Sky: "Ipods kind of are a huge mixed tape."

Jeremy: "I'm out of the loop, because I'm probably the last person on the planet who doesn't own an Ipod."

Sean: "More than the mixed tape, it's killed the whole album format!"

Have you thought of putting out a concept album?

Sky: "That's the thing, with everybody downloading singles, what's the point?"

Jeremy: "The internet has changed everything."

Sean: "That's a tough nut to crack. Just putting together this album [slated for late Fall] is difficult enough, let alone coming out with a concept album."

Jeremy: "But it is important for whatever you release to have some sort of general feel, you know."

Sean: "Yeah, like right now it's more of a stylistic mold we're trying to match -- nothing intellectual -- but the songs do flow into each other aesthetically."

Is it possible for a band to reach a level of financial success, yet still retain a genuine underground sound?

Sean: "Good Lord if I know!"

Jeremy: "Maybe not the point where you're buying your own jets, and gold toilets, but at least to the point where you get to go on tour -- and maybe see some money in the end-- yeah. Independent music is a lot stronger than it was ten years ago. There's a lot more of a need for it"

Sean: "If there's any revenue stream that's going to corrupt us, I think it's the other way around. We don't have enough money to make our sound exactly what we want, and we keep dumping everything we have into it. We need to be able to portray the music the best that we can."

If you had ten-grand to invest in the band, how would you spend it? Recording equipment, Sound reinforcement, cross-platform marketing?

Sky: "Recording equipment, and a large chunk would have to go into touring."

Jeremy: "Recording. That's the way you can reach as many people as possible, because not everyone's going to have a chance to come and see us live."

Are you planning a 2010 tour?

Sean: "We're hoping to start before then."

Sky: "As soon as we're done with this album -- late fall."

With the sun dipping behind the rooftops of the Sacramento skyline, the interview drew to an appropriate close. It was time to let the band members begin doing what they do best -- play music -- and to let the information they divulged find its way into the minds of astute readers. The views they presented, embedded in a sense of camaraderie and the good-natured need for entertainment, would certainly last for interminable lengths of time, as a kind of manifesto for the underground life of *not just* aspiring musicians, but those who have been down that sterling silver path of self-fulfillment, and who have waltzed headstrong into the full knowledge of what they are really doing. Thank you Goodness Gracious Me for being you, and showing us what it is like to be tried-and-true.