Reports from the scene

Locals Only

Despite not yet having played a live show, The Nervous Wreckords have booked an eight-date tour opening up for The Killers, including a Sept. 13 stop at Viejas Arena. Things have been happening pretty quickly for the new band, which includes Brian Karscig of Louis XIV and Anthony Saffery of Cornershop—they’ve already signed a record deal with Hi-Speed Soul. They make their debut live appearance on Monday, Sept. 7, at The Casbah with Apes of Wrath and Republic of Letters.

Legendary mod-rockers The Shambles are getting the tribute treatment with Forty One Sixty: The Songs of The Shambles, a collection of 24 new and previously recorded covers of the band’s songs. Set to be released digitally on Sept. 5 (the physical copy is already available at M-Theory Music), it includes national and international acts such as The Kingpins, Afterglow and Eva Braun, as well as local acts like The Truckee Brothers, Rachael Gordon and Static Halo.
Blues-rockers Lady Dottie and the Diamonds have been invited to showcase at the CMJ Music Marathon and Film Festival, the annual trade show and conference held every year in New York City (this year Oct. 20 through 24). The band has not yet confirmed whether they can play the conference.  

View from a Stool

Guy in audience: “What are you listening to these days?”

Billy Corgan: “The voices in my head.”

Guy: “What are they telling you?”

Corgan: “To kill you.”

You might be tempted to read that exchange as typical, prickish behavior from the Smashing Pumpkins frontman, but as the 200 or so people at Che Café last Sunday night will tell you, it, along with most of Corgan’s banter, was surprisingly comical and harmless. Playing a mostly acoustic show with Spirits in the Sky—the band Corgan assembled in July to play a tribute show for late Seeds frontman Sky Saxon—Corgan seemed in good spirits.

“Shit, man, that’s not gonna get me back to the arenas,” said Corgan, chuckling after the band flubbed the beginning of the new song “Widow, Wake My Mind.”

And although the atmosphere was loose, the rest of the band’s 16-song, hour-and-a-half-long set was impressively tight. A mix of originals and lucid covers of Saxon, Anne Briggs and The Velvet Underground (a haunting, reverent version of “Femme Fatale”), anyone who showed up hoping to hear “Today” or “1979” would have left disappointed had the band (which included new Smashing Pumpkins drummer Mike Byrne) not sounded so lovely. All requests were muttered under the breath.

And after between-song rants dealing with everything from Green Day, Nickelback, Shia LaBeouf (“Why is that guy a movie star? Why am I watching him kill Transformers?”), Eddie Vedder and, naturally, Che Guevara, Corgan finally broke out the electric guitar for the last four songs, a mix of Pumpkins-esque hard rock and solo-laden psychedelic jamming. During the last song, Corgan raised his arms to the sky. A cynic might have taken it as rock-star posturing, but given that he’s the last remaining original member of the Pumpkins, most just took it at face value: a guy who was simply happy to still be playing music for people.

Scenes from Street Scene

OK, first the bad news: Street Scene didn’t sell out. Ticket sales were fairly weak. There were no big-name headliners on par with Beastie Boys, Tool or Coldplay. And it was hot as balls.

So what’s the good news? All of the above. Yes, while all of these things may have been bad for concert promoters, it made for a much more pleasant and less-crowded experience for those who were willing to brave the heat.

Local lo-fi hero Nathan Williams of Wavves has been hit or miss on the festival circuit this summer, but he sounded pretty great to me on Friday evening. Amazing what a little sobriety and a new drummer (the awesome Zach Hill) can do.

The sole metal band of the weekend, Mastodon, satisfied the crowd with badass performances of songs like “Oblivion,” while over at the Green Stage, electro-rockers Holy Fuck were having a “holy fuck” moment when their sound kept cutting out.

Kids go crazy for the emo goodness of Matt & Kim, who sounded like a church youth group band gone wild. Meanwhile, the more-adult crowd was over at Conor Oberst, who has ditched the Bright Eyes persona altogether for Grateful Dead-inspired tunes, faux-beards and horrendous tie-dyed shirts. One surprise was the guest appearance from Jenny Lewis, who sang with Oberst on an underwhelming version of Rilo Kiley’s “Portions for Foxes.”

Theme of the night? Black Sabbath! Cake, in between frontman John McCrea bitching about headliners Black Eyes Peas’ stage props, played a Cake-by-numbers version of “War Pigs” (lots of horns, lots of call-and-response), while, later, don’t-call-him-a-DJ Girl Talk got the crowd nuts with mash-up mixes that included “War Pigs” mixed with Ludacris. Meanwhile, aging hipsters cried in their $10 Dixie cups of microbrew as Calexico played what I can only describe as alt-country opera.

Friends later told me they could hear Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow” all the way in upper North Park. Fitting, since you could probably see Fergie’s gaudy dominatrix outfit from space. The highlight of Friday night, though, came courtesy of Deerhunter, who blew the crowd away with a healthy mix of harmonies, psychedelic guitars and distortion. It was enough for one shirtless guy to exclaim, “Holy shit, man, this guy can shred.”

Crocodiles didn’t exactly reenergize the crowd on Saturday. Whether it was the idea of “leave them wanting more” or because they just didn’t fucking care, they played only 20 minutes of their scheduled 35. I saw sad little hipster kids, too young to get into The Casbah, leave with a really bad taste in their mouths.

Here’s hoping those youngsters caught Public Enemy. Even though the legendary rappers went on 20 minutes late because of, uh, money issues (read: promoters were having some trouble paying bands), Chuck D. and company played as spirited and as volatile as they did in 1989. Even Flava Flav, who turned 50 this year, leapt into the pit to be amongst the fans.

The Knux did a cover of “Hip Hop Hooray” while No Age started what looked to be the only mosh-pit of the night, complete with a guy in a dreadlocked yeti costume. The Dead Weather were a massive disappointment, unable to keep my or any of my compatriots’ attention for long (Jack White on drums equals boring).

M.I.A. saved the day for many, playing an elaborate headlining set, with pyrotechnics and crazy backup dancers. Some might call it over-the-top, but how lame would it have been had it just been her up there? M.I.A.-as-headliner was a stretch to begin with, but if you’re like me, the whole weekend was filled with low expectations. And given the state of things, the outlook is pretty grim for next year.

The Enrique Experience

Along with umlauts, fast cars and the most flattering active wear (lederhosen) the Germans gave the world Hostelling International, a nonprofit worldwide budget-accommodation service that celebrated 75 years of American hospitality last weekend with an array of special activities that included a late-night barbecue on Friday at its Point Loma locale. A faint techno beat pulsated in the background as foreigners and locals alike were welcomed and treated to burgers and a tour of the dorm-style lodging.

Nati, a pink-dreadlocked front-desk attendant led a group through the digs, communal kitchen and media room—the hub of the Hostel, where Terminator 2 was playing on the big screen, much to the enjoyment of a slew of Austrians, one of whom asked me where he could find some “good wagina.”

Outside on the open patio, a smorgasbord of oddball characters awaited, including a pet psychic from Arizona who’s communicated with everything from Bichon Frisés to humpback whales using what she calls “the bridge of light.” Also on hand was local author Christopher S. Blin, who was hawking personally autographed copies of his travel memoir Swimming to Angola… And Other Tips for Surviving the Third World, a book that prompted The Washington Times to call him a “real-life Indiana Jones,” and Frank Paiano, a full-time business and information-systems teacher at

Southwestern College and part-time cheesy-joke teller.

“What did the pervert that slept with his parakeet get?” he asked. “Chirpees—and apparently it’s un-tweetable,” he responded, cracking himself up .

Inspired by the professor, Blin, the book-peddling Indy, chimed in and told his own thigh-slapper: “What do you call four wetbacks drowning in the river? Cuatro sink-o,” he squealed.

Apparently, Blin is preparing for his upcoming flick, “Raiders of the Lost Pointy White Hood.”