The Late-as-Usual News
July 2001
By Falling James
I promise to get to the Leaving Trains news first, this time, and THEN go into my usual digressions about other bands and bad movies and half-remembered dreams and prison reform and what do I really think about Britney Spears and how do we stop big business and a more-right-wing-than-usual government from destroying . . . everything?The big news is that the Leaving Trains have finally finished recording our new CD, to be released this fall on Steel Cage Records.
It's called EMOTIONAL LEGS.
Because legs have feelings, too. And as a nod to the Stones' EMOTIONAL RESCUE, maybe. And really because I was stoned one night, and it came to me that way.
Previous working titles had been A CHARLOTTE SPIRAL (inspired by this gracefully inverted, archaic figure-skating move that Michelle Kwan does) and MY LOST DANIELLE (after a song on the CD) and even THE ASSISTANT'S MAGICIAN (a reversal of possession from the popular novel). In my serene, clairvoyant haze, though, EMOTIONAL LEGS ultimately seemed a more . . . intuitive . . . compassionate . . . sexy . . . description of the album. Legs can talk. They have brains and memories and their own ways of communicating, of insinuating, of getting what they want . . .
Think of EMOTIONAL LEGS as the first new, full-length Leaving Trains album since SMOKE FOLLOWS BEAUTY in the mid-1990s (which was followed by our final release on SST Records, the greatest-hits CD, FAVORITE MOOD SWINGS).
In addition to a split 7-inch EP which just came out, the EMOTIONAL LEGS CD is our debut on Steel Cage Records, run by Larry and Leslie, who wrangle together CARBON 14, one of my favorite Philly-based lurid art, punk, wrestling, porno, freak culture magazines. Leslie and Larry and Steel Cage have already given the world some stompin' and rockin' discs by the trashy likes of the Chicken Hawks, Lime Cell, the 440s, Antiseen, Cocknoose and Rancid Vat, so how could we refuse their blood-stained invitation to the party? You can e-mail CARBON 14/Steel Cage at: carbon@voicenet.com or go to the Steel Cage Records Web site for further details: www.steelcagerecords.com
All I'm allowed to tell you about EMOTIONAL LEGS is that it has 12 tracks (not counting hidden extras), including some experimental Leavingly Train'd reinterpretations of songs originally by the Urinals, Eddie & the Subtitles, and Black Sabbath, of all people! As for our original tunes, they range from a jagged, wistful ("take me to the next place . . ."), funky lament about gentriputrification ("New York Is Gone") to a power-ballad tribute to the Kim Kelly character on FREAKS AND GEEKS ("Dumb as a Crayon") to a sinuously accusing rocker about the perils of dressing to kill ("Use Your Own Weapons Against You").
Indeed, EMOTIONAL LEGS is an undeclared rock opera, trance-engendered and psychedelic, about politics and sex and spying and justice and travel and health and ESP. Our heroine is mixed up in the Balkan wars . . . she's jealous that she's never been to a laserium show, not even once, and behaves badly . . . goodbye, Europa, we're leaving, we get the hint . . . it really has nothing to do with QUADROPHENIA . . . and ends with a swarm of bumblee guitars during the electric, sinking fields of the fadeout . . . alluring, allura, a lure oh . . .
That's my opinion. You'd have to ask the other Leaving Trains what they think. And who are the Leaving Trains these days? Well, there's me, Falling James, on lead vocals and guitar. And guitarist Melanie Vammen (Pointy Kitty, Pandoras, Muffs), who sometimes sings as well. And longtime Trains drummer Dennis Carlin (EMA 3), who sings lead on the bratty and thinly disguised "Judy Don't Mind." And don't forget new bassist Andrew Buscher, who produced the CD.
Jimmy Green and Miss Koko Puff, especially, also played bass, while Maddog Karla (Controllers, Legal Weapon) and Allen Clark II (Hot Damn, Fearless Leader, AC3) drummed on several tracks.
If you don't wanna wait for the CD's release this fall, you can already find "Capricious" -- a rawer mix of one of the fast punk-rock ditties from EMOTIONAL LEGS -- on the new KINGS OF L.A. ROCK split 7-inch EP, which comes inside (mmmm!) issue #18 of CARBON 14 magazine. The BellRays, B-Movie Rats and Texas Terri & the Stiff Ones also contributed cuts to this cool, jukebox-in-hell-friendly, Angeleno-themed collector's-item slab of vinyl.
What else is new in Trainleavingsville? People who read my Previous News column might have thought I was kidding around or secretly flattered that one of our songs was used in a hit teenybop movie. No way. I was trying to be sarcastic. We're still quite mad and disappointed and concerned that the producers of last year's Kirsten Dunst cheerleader movie, BRING IT ON, borrowed a Leaving Trains song, "Kids Wanna Know," for a scene in their bland film, without our permission. Nor have they even paid us for such degradation. Selling out used to be a choice!
"This Bud's for you." Not!
It's not our fault or choice. Don't blame us. I blame Kirsten Dunst. She's in the poster, ha! Bring it on? Bring it OFF! Take us out of the movie! Let our song go! Don't sully it any further with your context!
As for A DEAD MAGICIAN'S DIRTY TRICKS,OR PROBLEMS IN MODERY DAY GRAVE ROBBERY, that other flick I mentioned in the Previous News: We haven't heard anything from the creators in months, so we fear the worst. Too bad. They'd wanted to use an old Trains song, "Can't Afford To Die." That, at least, had sounded potentially intriguing . . .
Potential, of course, is a word that takes too long to talk about.
We played our first show with Andrew Buscher on bass, March 21 at Al's Bar in downtown Los Angeles, on a great and diverse bill with the OTHER band I'm in, the Helpful Nuns (!); as well as the Dagons, and their curled, black wrought-iron fairy-tale lamentations and dead-sea-captain soundings; the Beautys, all the way from Indiana, as fearless and funny and flat-out rockin' as an anti-cop, anti-boss, smart-ass surfy-punk trio can be. And should be. And they were. And are. My favorite Beautys tune that night was "Leakerville," a groovy instrumental from the new THING OF BEAUTY CD (see Previous News sections for more Beautys blathering). Lead singer Chica Baby sold me some more of their tastefully randy skull-on-a-shotglass-logo black underwear afterward. I blinked, and they were gone. But they'll be back in L.A. at Al's Bar and Mr. T's Bowl during the first week of August.
The Dagons were really on as well, in a much more mysterious and less overtly punk way, playing a serene version of "If You Kiss Me," a timeless folkie confession of romantically haunted country goth, one of my favorites from their second CD, MAKE US OLD. I also liked a brand-new chanson, with Drew's incantational drum slashings and Karie's plaintive, possessed melodies circling reproachfully above our heads like word wreaths, or wraiths.
The Helpful Nuns, in which I play rhythm guitar behind front man Fred Manchento, actually pulled off a good show during our opening set. With Katy in the band, we seem to be getting better and better. Now, if only we'd play more than twice a year! For me as Leaving Train, the highlight of that set was playing our FREAKS AND GEEKS-inspired "Dumb as a Crayon" live for the first time, especially with the power of Andrew and Melanie and Dennis' punked-out Who amplifications during the rave-up coda. "Dumb as a Crayon" kept expanding, beyond us, out of control, a Frankenstein monster. Smashing, I must say. I was dead chuffed by it all.
Even more smashing was meeting Busy Philipps a few weeks later at the Fold club at the Silverlake Lounge. She's the real-life actor who portrayed FREAKS AND GEEKS's Kim Kelly, the frequently pissed-off delinquent blonde who always wore the dayglo-bright sky-blue jacket. I admire the way Philipps hinted at this deeply submerged vulnerability and wisdom and empathy even though Kim was usually so angry and defensive and paranoid. Kim Kelly -- my favorite character on my favorite TV show!
I handed Busy a cassette with "Dumb as a Crayon," and she was quite charming and gracious and seemed curious to hear it. I told her to give it a chance, that the song starts out wimpy for a while, but gets better near the end. She chatted some about the punk rock episode of FREAKS & GEEKS, which was filmed at Al's Bar (although she pointed out that she wasn't in the concert scene), and described her role in an MTV movie about the tragic Matthew Shepard murder in Wyoming, and another film whose name I can't remember. She was kind enough to pose for a couple of pictures with us outside the club, including one where she jokingly got into character, sneering sullenly as Kim Kelly would. "You guys are in luck today," she said to photographer Bob Cantu and me. "I'm even dressed like Kim Kelly," since she was wearing casually '70s-ish attire. Of all the celebrities in the world, I actually ran into one of the few I wanted to meet, and she was, luckily enough, nice to me! Plus, she had a good handshake! The whole thing was so cool. Meaningless, I know, but it was also one of life's uncalled for grand surprises.
Afterward, I walked back to my apartment with Bob, who, along with Fold booker and real-life Michigan native Scott Sterling, first spotted Busy Philipps in the club, then called me from a pay phone outside (which gave me time to record that cassette and run down from my home nearby). Every time Bob said something on the way back about what had just happened, I replied, "Oh, totally! TOOOOH-TA-LEEEE!" just like Nick Andopolis would on the show. It was me as Nick saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Weir! You guys are SO cool." It WAS so cool.
Among other celebrity sightings: I spotted hard-throwin' Arizona Diamondbacks pitcher Randy Johnson one afternoon at the Silver Lake Blvd. 7-11 store, which made sense, since his team was about to play the Dodgers over the hill from here, in Elysian Park at Dodger Stadium. I've actually seen several celebs at that same 7-11, including separate appearances from two different characters on XENA, WARRIOR PRINCESS: Joxer the Mighty (a.k.a. Ted Raimi) and one of the miscellaneous evil warlords. What does it all mean? I must be some kind of human vortex. Or dreaming awake.
Besides playing in the Leaving Trains, I work at the L.A. WEEKLY newspaper, where my writing (including a piece about how California's energy "crisis" affects transvestites) appears just about every week, especially in the "Scoring the Clubs" section, at: www.laweekly.com
The other Leaving Trains have been busy lately, too, and not just seeing celebrities, although drummer Dennis Carlin did walk in by accident on a Stevie Wonder soundcheck in a Century City hotel last month, and was blown away. "There is superstition!" Dennis and the Helpful Nuns' Fred Manchento recently resurrected their synth-pop duo EMA 3 and have already begun playing live around town, with all-new songs and a chillingly strange version of David Bowie's "Ashes to Ashes."
Meanwhile, Dennis' OTHER band with Melanie Vammen, Andrew Buscher and Miss Koko -- Pointy Kitty -- seemed to go on hiatus when Miss Koko took a leave (or was that a powder?) from both the Leaving Trains and Pointy Kitty a few months ago. But there's already talk that Miss Koko might get back together with Pointy Kitty and finish recording their debut CD. Some of us are still waiting for Dennis and Miss Koko's previous band, Sluts for Hire, to find some label that'll release their great, lost second CD!!
What can you do?
When Dennis and Fred Manchento aren't too busy with their "more future now" music in EMA 3, Fred occasionally deigns to participate in his mere rock & roll band, the Helpful Nuns, along with bassist Katy Na-Na, drummer Chris Moore and guitarist Falling James. The Nuns already have two albums' worth of unreleased new songs as well. What can you do?
Other gossip about occasional and/or ex-Leaving Trains: Ex-bassist Jimmy Green just got out of prison for auto theft and is trying to make a go of it in Bakersfield . . . Allen Clark has been performing in the Midwest with his wife Zebra in the sleaze-punk group Hot Damn and with his young son Allen III in AC3 . . . Maddog Karla says she's retired from drumming after playing with the Controllers at the Dogs reunion at Bigfoot Lodge in Atwater last year . . . We haven't heard much from Whitey Sims lately. He had been playing in a sarcastic country band in San Francisco called the Southern Restoration Society . . . haven't seen former drummer Lenny Montoya in a long time, either, has anyone else? He does wander around . . .
. . . Bobby Belltower's living in Harlem with his wife, Lizzie, and there's rustlings that those ex-Piss Factory/Emma Peel/$1.98 Beauty Show types are writing songs again . . . former Trains/Nymphs guitarist Sam Merrick, now living in Boise, resurfaced a while back with a new band, Juan Fangio, and a cool, ghostly psychedelic/garage-rock CD, GIRLS JUST JUANA HAVE FANGIO (1724 S. Merrill, Boise, Idaho 83705) . . . Miss Koko hasn't been doing much musically lately, but she did go to Europe for the first time, on vacation with Melanie Vammen in May 2001. They were most charmed by Paris . . .
Me, I've been most charmed by Los Angeles, and that's cuz I've witnessed so many great concerts here lately. My favorite was the Tex & the Horseheads reunion in July, their first shows in almost 10 years. When they played "Oh Mother" at the Blue Cafe, I couldn't help but cry shamelessly, all the years tumbling back and out and in, triggering memories of lost friends and torn-down places and being connected to a mother, a family, strangers, new friends, dead friends, we were all punks, through blood and experience, and desire and desperation . . . who am I really . . . and where did everyone go, and why did it have to end?
I actually missed Tex & the Horseheads' show at Al's Bar in downtown L.A., arriving late, after the club was already too full. So shocked by the rare sight of a line at Al's, I didn't know what to do and, too impatient to wait, stomped off confused and drove home; too heartbroken to even listen from outside.
But I did snag a ride with the Pope and Dirty Ed down to the Blue Cafe in Long Beach the following Monday, where the Horseheads pulled off a really satisfying, extralong set, including "The Slip," performed by just Tex and Mike Martt during a break elsewhere onstage, and the determined stomp of "Short Train" ("I gotta leave right now!"). Besides "Oh Mother," I was thrilled to death that they played one of my all-time fave ballads, that heartbreaking elegy to the lost Cathay de Grande, early-'80s trash-rock scene in Hollywood, "Big House Part Three," as well as the classics "Bordertown," "I'll Quit Tomorrow," the junkie romance of "The Spider & the Peach" and, of course, "Clean the Dirt," Mike's grand kiss-off ("If you really love me, you'd just go away") anthem. The renditions of "Cloudia" and "Slip Away" were contrastingly pretty asides amongst all the electric barbwire caterwauling and mojave desert horsehead-lightning.
The Knitting Factory show in Hollywood (after a pretty fascinating comeback set by ahead-of-his-time '70s scuzz rocker Simon Stokes) a few days later was just as sentimental, and thrilling, even enticing seldom-seen L.A. heartthrobs Pleasant Gehman and Annette Zilinskas, ex-Ringling Sisters, to come out of wherever they've been hiding, which I interpreted as an unbridled good omen. Even afterward, when we were all partying backstage, I was too shy, just like in the old days, to tell Texacala Jones how much her music meant to me, blah, blah, was a major chunk of my emotional architecture during the '80s, from the beginning, when Jeffrey Lee Pierce was on guitar, all the way up to last week and getting ONE MORE CHANCE to hear the classic lineup again; how they were the permanent party soundtrack to my decadelong binge in the underground version of real Hollywood, that "Big House" was always the most reassuring and sweet-tempered and yet heartbreakingly wistful song to come down off bad trips with ("I had the same dream last night/the one where we're in the big house/and everybody was there/partying like we didn't care . . . the rooms were dark with trash"), how her brave and improvisational and mystically kooky persona, and absurdist onstage digressions about Felix the Cat and orange juice, had inspired me and cheered me up so much in bad times (and good).
The other fucking amazing thing was getting to see Manu Chao in concert for the first time, on Wednesday, December 13, 2000 in Tijuana. He'd only played L.A. once before, a decade earlier at Club Lingerie in Hollywood, when he was still with Mano Negra (and I was still clueless and missed it). This time, I was able to snag a ride across the border into Tijuana, Mexico to the sold-out show at the Auditorio Municipal. Making the long drive from L.A., we missed the opening band, who I believe were the Mexican Jumping Frijoles. Tijuana No's Teca Garcia, who'd come down from L.A. with a few of us, and Luis Guerena snuck us through the backstage of the big arena, and I watched Tijuana No's middle set from behind the stage, looking into the looming, crowded rows of seats. I was surprised and happy that keyboardist-singer Cecilia Bastida was back in the group after a long absence that included backing up provocative, languid chanteuse Julieta Venegas. I still loved Tijuana No while Ceci was away, when Teca and Luis shared the singing, but there's something extra magical about the band with the full triumvirate of vocalists. Ceci even seemed to pogo onstage much higher than usual, an unwrapped bundle of saved-up energy.
Halfway through Tijuana No's hometown set, I noticed a friendly, smiling man with a bandana 'round his head, standing next to me for a few songs. Manu Chao! I am a vortex!
I even got to chat briefly with Manu after his press conference at the 3 Clubs on Vine Street in Hollywood. He'd once said it depends on what country he's in when he chooses the language to sing in a new song, so I asked him where he was when he wrote "Out of Time Man," a really hauntingly insidious, buoyantly mellow number, a tune he sings in English. He said he couldn't remember where he was when he wrote it, but that "Out of Time Man" was one of his favorites. A funny and contrary man, he told the gathered press that he was only playing a show in Hollywood because it was near Tijuana! He poetically described Tijuana as something like the "fever at the heart of world." I wish I could remember the exact quote. He had interesting and passionate things to say, in several languages, about a lot of things, like his support for the embattled Zapatistas in Chiapas and why Maradona is a more important futbol player than Pele.
The already hyped up audience went totally bonkers when Manu Chao, backed by Radio Bemba, finally hit the stage in Tijuana. At times, it wasn't always clear which songs he was playing, since he'd take the lyrics from one classic off his first solo CD, CLANDESTINO, and use them against the music to another song. It was all inexorably danceable and rhythmic, with lotsa ska upbeat strokes and moody reggae insistiveness, and his reedy, distinctive, yearning voice calling out to us in the spaces of the beats. I couldn't believe I was actually hearing "Welcome to Tijuana" in Tijuana, even as Manu made the arrangement more outwardly defiant and angry, the beat faster, the song more revolutionary than celebratory.
The sound was really horrible and muddy in the high ceilinged arena, but the crowd went crazy anyway. In Tijuana, they do a form of crowd surfing where one or more surfers climb up on a large piece of wood, like a giant door, which is somehow held aloft by several people in the still-swirling pit (!), who then rock the plank back and forth to try to knock the surfer(s) off. It makes your average slam dance seem kinda plain. And actually, for all the frantic energy, the dancing wasn't malicious or intentionally violent like some pits get. People helped each other up and then ran back into the pit with its giant counterclockwise convulsion.
Next thing I remember, I'm eating little hot quesadillas and drinking a cool horchata on the sidewalk at a busy stand, my hungry eyes gulping down every passing car, every flash of moving light, the grand, courtly faces of older, European-style buildings, perhaps a different moon than the moon in the United States. I was relieved, however temporarily, however psychologically, however arbitrarily, to be in another country. The border could be anywhere. Or nowhere. The real California's really Mexico. There was a relentless hum of beguiling activity on the sleepless streets, in the bars, dance clubs and food stands, away from the tourist areas, as if Tijuana knew she was the center of the cosmopolitan world, wilder and more sophisticated than her homogenous, dullard stepsister city, San Diego. We weren't even hassled coming back over the border, which is a rarity for me, or at the INS checkpoint further up the 5 fwy., north of San Diego.
The sound mix was much better and the crowd only a little less over-the-top the next night, in another country, at the Palace in Hollywood. Radio Bemba were a perfect complement, with a trombone player furiously stabbing the air with his big instrument, percolating percussion and sharp drumming, an acoustic lead guitarist who unspooled some lovely Spanish solos, etc. They did a surprisingly straightforward rock-blues version of "Marijuana Boogie," but the rest of the set was a more seamless parade of progressively stranger and more alluring songs that blended and metamorphosed into each other, slinky, all with distinctly unforgettable melodies and subtle flourishes.
The music physically lifted just everybody in unison, dancing wildly but not destructively, from the stage all the way back against the bar, in joyous absolution of all the ways and times and days we or the world have been lonely and in jail. It was a release, but not an escape. Manu Chao was like his hero Bob Marley, just speaking for a different generation of the dispossessed. It might have been the best concert I've ever seen. A full brain and body and soul experience. "Por la carretera . . . "
"There's an empty space right where your soul should be," Beki Bondage intones during "Submerge" on the new Vice Squad CD, LO-FI LIFE. "Leftover lives, still in their cages." I know the feeling. That's why I slipped out of my cage long enough to steal away to Newport Beach on June 15, despite my aversion to Orange County, to catch Vice Squad at . . . a sports bar, Hoagie Barmichael's, after previous bookings were canceled at the Whisky a Go-Go in West Hollywood (immigration problems) and Club Mesa in Costa Mesa (the club shut down).
The Skulls went on before Vice Squad and managed to bestir some interest from the punks straggling in. Only singer Billy Bones remains from the original 1977 lineup, when the Skulls were truly one of Hollywood's best early punk bands, but his new, young lineup was pretty good, and it made sense to hear "Victims" again (but then it always does). The Skulls' drummer, I don't remember his name, not only understands the Dave Drive style of rolling the toms with deceptive heft and speed, he even looked a little like the old Gears drummer.
Despite the locale and almost total lack of publicity, a good-size crowd of loyal, frenetic and sometimes obnoxious (there's always a few macho louts) punks eventually crawled out of nowhere and coagulated on the concrete (!?) dance floor for Vice Squad, who were loud and pulverizing yet in control. Beki Bond starred as the superhero lion tamer/orchestra conductor, fending off those macho louts (admonishing them to let girls in the pit), sharing the mike with fans in the front singing along, and staying ahead of her steamroller group all at once. She even played mean rhythm guitar for much of the show.
Vice Squad ripped through "Coward," "You Can't Buy Back the Dead," "Stand Strong Stand Proud," a jubilant "Westend Stars," a fierce Motorhead cover and, of course, "Last Rockers," among others. I do wish they'd played longer; I've still never seen 'em crank out "Take Too Many E's"! What can you do? Is it blasphemy to say that the current lineup is an awesome entity in the hear/here and now, never mind the band's legendary famous historic classic history? Longtime guitarist Paul Rooney plays some really lovely, melodic solos (soul-ohs) and chiming octave progressions, underneath all the distortion and chunka-chunkas, while drummer Tony Piper and bassist Michael Giaquinto always hold down a requisitely brutal, solid and heavy bottom during both simple parts and explosive changes.
It also helps to have a baleful, spitfire lead singer who's still rebellious and angry (and why wouldn't she be? It's not like we won the revolution or anything) about big business and crooked politicians and how "the war machine still rumbles on." I admire the way she rouses a disparate crowd of misfit punks to collective inspiration and self-confidence, all with good humor and grace and self-deprecation. And on top of that, I have such a hopeless crush on her!!
I wanted to talk to her afterward, and even had my chance when she was all by herself, packing up her guitar case. Instead I stood nearby for a few daring moments, paralyzed, as stupid and geeky and useless of a fan as I've ever been! I stared quickly at her, unseen, mute, before trudging glumly outside to meet up with Eric for the long drive back on the flat freeway to L.A.
This was already shaping up as one of my life's all-time regrets! How often am I just a few feet away from Beki Bond? How often do I get the chance to say hello to my biggest idol? She seemed friendly enough with the other fans who went up to her, but I just couldn't do it! What's wrong with me? (This is a rhetorical question; no nasty e-mails, please.) And don't even get me started about how I unexpectedly had to work a 14-hour shift at work the following Sunday, past midnight, and thus was unable to get out in time to drive all the way to San Bernardino for the last concert of Vice Squad's American tour, where I was hoping to make up for my cowardly fiasco in Newport Beach by handing her a Leaving Trains CD as a way of saying hello. Oh, well. Another major tragedy! You can have your heroes.
"Leftover lives, still in their cages."
I think Vice Squad's LO-FI LIFE (Sudden Death Records) is another underrated, kickass rock, punk AND metal album. Although there are naturally plenty of rowdy and catchy shout-alongs like "Someone Else" and the rueful, sentimental slam "Where Are They All Now?" -- as well as some surprisingly successful updates of old classics "Last Rockers" and "Stand Strong, Stand Proud" -- two of the most mesmerizing songs turn out to be the least overtly punk rock in style. "Submerged" slithers decadently through dark, elaborate hallways, Bond's vocals veiled mysteriously in filters, while the anti-poverty invocations and accusations on "Lo-Fi Life" bump to a sinister, lurking heavy dub-metal groove. Look under the rocks, you'll see it.
I've been to so many exceptional shows, going back to fall 2000, it makes me dizzy . . . The Real Kids played at the Garage a couple of times in the last year or so. The Leaving Trains even got to open for 'em in October 2000, along with the Pinkz. I thought our set was really off, the sound crummy, and though we tried our best, our performance was a keen disappointment nonetheless. The Real Kids weren't at their best either (although they definitely blew us away, let's be real!), but still magical. They wove together a really clear and fragile and lovely version of their enduring romantic ballad about lost Boston moments, "Common at Noon," that sparkled in the murky club. We didn't deserve it, perhaps. The set ended prematurely because too many drunks were brawling, and intimidating innocents in the audience, quite a contrast to the music. The bouncers weren't doing anything about it, so singer John Felice finally gave up. The next time the Kids came through town, with the guy from the Groovie Ghoulies replacing the ex-Decals bassist, it rained, I recall. In front of a smaller, more benign crowd of hardcore fans, the Real Kids did a much better, unusual set with songs they hadn't played here before.
The Leaving Trains played with the 440s in October 2000 at the historic (and now rumored to close in fall 2001) Linda's Doll Hut in Anaheim, one of the few clubs in O.C. I've ever liked. Only the bartender showed up for us this time. Even Linda wasn't there. I suppose it had something to do with the massive construction repairs on the 5 fwy., which forced us to go through a labyrinth of detours to get to the small, red bar. Or maybe it was just typical Trains vs. Orange County mutual repulsion. Since the bartender wanted us to play for her, the 440s and Trains put on full-force, rockin' sets as if we were in sold-out stadiums, and turned up our volumes accordingly. I finally got to hear the 440s' version of the Trains' "Gas, Grass or Ass," which was hot. We had fun, and no one was mad at us, so it counted as a great time.
Somewhere in there I saw more than one set apiece by Saccharine Trust, the Dagons, Rilo Kiley, W.A.C.O. and Third Grade Teacher . . . Got in to see the White Stripes several times at Spaceland, before their new drunken-fratboy audience eventually drove me away. I still love Jack White's songwriting, whether he's doing raspy blues or these endearing Kinks-type pop tunes or a Dolly Parton cover or whatever's perversely appropriate that moment. . . The Dictators invaded Spaceland in September, commencing with Handsome Dick's boundary-defining warning to us all, that we were now in Bronx territory, before the onslaught and bravado of "New York, New York." And so we were . . .
Other legendary pageantry: The dark-haired, enigmatic Julieta Venegas at El Rey theater. She wrote one of my favorite Tijuana No songs, "Pobre de Ti" and her second solo CD, BUENVENTO, is a sublime, exotic pop reverie. Live, she was backed by TJN's Ceci Bastida on keyboards; in fact her whole band was sharp, while Venegas was an alluring, charismatic presence (click here for more rhapsodizin' about Julieta V.) . . . Hey, James, don't forget the Humpers' reunion shows with original guitarist Jeff Fieldhouse and bassist Jaybird Blake. I'd actually never seen those two live before, despite the dozens of times I've caught the later, still-great Mark "Anarchy" Lee & Mitch Cartwright lineups. Fieldhouse was fired up and amazing, whether desperately howling backups or pointing his guitar neck up and looking to the ceiling, giving himself over to the guitar strings, which jerked him and made him twitch like a demon puppet. The first show was at the big bar adjacent to Java Lanes bowling alley in Long Beach, November 3, 2000. When Jimi Silveroli dove into the audience to beat up some guy, the Humpers kept playing, with singer Scott Drake tapping along sardonically on drums, until Silveroli jumped back up onstage, waving his arms over his head like a goofy, triumphant boxer. The next night the Trains opened for the Humpers in Costa Mesa, which was a typically crazy, violent show.
Fieldhouse went back to Oregon, but the rest of the Humpers, with Mark and Jaybird, have already played more shows in 2001, and seem to be back together for real.
Even as the Humpers came back, Popdefect, of all bands, broke up. I caught their last two L.A. shows at Spaceland and Al's (they followed with two goodbye shows in Seattle). I can still see the crowd at Al's hopping madly to the infectious, circular instrumental "That Was It" at the end, people in the audience holding up little signs, each with a photo of one of the three Popdefectors, passed out midsong by FLIPSIDE's Gus Hudson, and the band staring back in horror and shock at a sea of their own cardboard-cutout faces.
Also in November 2000: those hot Short Fuses shows at Spaceland and especially Al's . . . some cover band in a bar in Monterey, California, playing Paul Simon and the Clash covers . . . the Controllers and Dogs reunions at the Bigfoot Lodge in Atwater. The Controllers were kinda off that night, but it was cool to see the Dogs for the first time. They were a band that had moved to L.A. from Detroit in the mid-'70s, kind of a link between the MC5 and early L.A. punk. The Dogs were already legendary when I began going to shows in early 1978, but I never actually saw 'em till now; hearing rants like "Fed Up" live in Atwater was like getting a clean window straight back to what started it all for me. They were totally rockin', as were the Skulls, in a surprise one-song appearance at the end ("Kill Me Kill Me Kill").
December 2000: an up-and-down and unfortunately Xmas-themed bill at Al's Bar, with members of Backbiter faring best in a hot set of Ramones and Sabbath covers. Donovan's Fairies did a fun show with stuff like with Melanie Bruck's winsome tuff-girl "Cherry Bomb" . . . Scott Drake kinda sucked in a one-time-only-let's-hope-appearance by the Kris Kringle Conspiracy, with Steve Reed on bass and Brick Wahl on drums. They hadn't practiced even once, and attempted to run through horrible Xmas carols like "Jingle Bells" and "Deck the Halls" without knowing the chords or words. It was so utterly bad, it was completely fascinating and hilarious . . . I caught another great White Stripes shindig at Spaceland, although it was too crowded and we weren't allowed in until after the BellRays' set . . . another Dagons show at Mr. T's, with one of my fave new bands, Project K . . . a great set by Humpers/Joneses spinoffs the Vice Principals at the Garage, along with Lazy Cowgirls, and the Excessories, led by Melanie Bruck (ex-Sluts for Hire, Donovan's Fairies) and Rich Coffee (Tommyknockers, Egomaniacs). The Excessories are very poppy punk, sweet-hearted and innocent, like a Ramonesy approach to Blondie. In fact they do a faithful, guileless version of "X-Offender."
Ironically there weren't any good shows in L.A. for New Year's Eve. I was very tempted to fly to Detroit, because the White Stripes were playing with the Come Ons and the Detroit Cobras. The latter two are kinda retro, but in superior ways. The Come Ons have this groovy '60s sound with ballpark and gospel organ grind, and a singer who's the queen of serene. The Detroit Cobras have a fireball vocalist who's like Little Eva and Martha Reeves and half of Motown and Phil Spector's girl groups all at once! But I finally realized I couldn't afford to go, and couldn't get off work anyway, so I reluctantly stayed in town. Both bands are rumored to be coming to L.A. for the first time during separate tours in late 2001. You have been warned . . . seriously!
The Cynics (a.k.a. Honeyburst) are supposed to return for the annual once-a-decade appearance in L.A. in November. We'll see if we're so lucky.
The hits kept coming in 2001: Singer-songwriter Eleni Mandell at the Silverlake Lounge . . . the Dickies (whose brilliant new song about Courtney Love has this really unique, jangly, distinctive guitar pattern) and Union 13 at the Troubadour . . . the Gossip at Spaceland, rootsy and trashy . . . and Slobberbone at Spaceland, and sometime last year in Culver City. They're a kind of countryish but rockin' Texan band in a Green on Red, Replacements, Soul Asylum style, perhaps, or somewhere between Dylan and Lynyrd Skynrd, harmonica woes and noisily strummed power ballads like "Give Me Back My Dog," which kinda sez it all about 'em . . .
Tammy Faye Starlite & her ace backup band, the Angels of Mercy, returned, to the Knitting Factory in Hollywood, with a few new jokes about giving the Middle East to the Southern Baptists. Miss Tammy symbolically married Jesus onstage, which was nice to make it official since they'd been living in sin for so long . . .
I walked like a zombie through Tongue front woman Liz McGrath's impressively detailed exhibit of of gleaming porcelain people, a horrific nurse, bats and other strange creatures locked up in glass box coffins, hanging on the walls at La Luz de Jesus gallery in February 2001 . . .
I was enchanted to see the debut of THE SELFISH GIANT, an original ballet by Steve Gregoropoulos, based on the Oscar Wilde story, performed by his mini-orchestra, W.A.C.O. (the Wild Acoustic Chamber Orchestra), with Jane Paik's dance group in March. The music evocatively accompanied the tale of a probably Republican giant who won't share his beautiful garden with the neighborhood children until he has a change of heart, with eloquent, sometimes unusual passages denoting changes of season and mood, more linear than W.A.C.O.'s condensed vocal songs. Some of the dancers were kinda amateurish, although the better ones were quite expressive. The story of THE SELFISH GIANT works well as a ballet, and Steve's music approaches beauty from unusual angles.
Then I saw: Ex-Girl (doing some great visual stuff with transparent plastic hats and unique a cappella harmonies), No Means No, the Evaporators (with the audience passing Nardwuar around the room like he was Peter Gabriel, and among all the silliness, some really great catchy punk songs like "Woof Woof I'm a Goof" that stayed in my head for months), OutKast (well I WISH I'd seen 'em ---sold out!), the Dogs and Bobbyteens, Chicken Hawks, Tijuana No on Cinco de Mayo at the Knitting Factory, Urinals and Human Hands at Spaceland (Urinals debuting some great new songs, some of their best ever; Human Hands doing a weird, acoustic-with-strings version of "Jubilee," Dennis Duck on vocals, before Possum Dixon's Rob Zabrecky came up for the rest of a short set) . . . catching the end of a performance by the Vibrators at Head Line record store on Melrose in Hollywood (like half the world, the Trains used to cover "Baby, Baby") . . . the Hangmen with a new bassist and a great new CD, METALLIC I.O.U., opening for Wayne Kramer on a Sunday night at Spaceland . . . the Bangs at the Silverlake Lounge in May . . . more Project K, Dagons and Urinals . . . Snap-Her at Head Line, one of the last shows before the store's landlord put on end to such live punk rock activity on the premises . . . the record store survives, like punk rock, however . . . climbing down the hill from the observatory to observe, through the fence, Spinal-Tap at the Greek Theater, and getting bitten about twenty times by mosquitoes . . . the Centimeters and the intriguing Nora Keyes (whose best songs go beyond the merely wacky into the almost-exotic) . . . the return of J.G. Thirlwell, a.k.a. Foetus, a.k.a. Clint Ruin (a master magician, but I actually preferred Foetus' pre-recorded parts and samples and technological flattery to the live accompaniment of his more jarringly ordinary band) . . . the Humpers with the one of my fave local bands, the Angoras, at the Garage , Tom Watson & Best of All at the Silverlake Lounge (Watson's new, SST-ish, Meat Puppets-ish solo CD is a bit different moodistically than his slightly more New Wave, poppy band, but both have Watson's classic, shimmering guitar licks), Backbiter (who finally have something out on CD again, an excellent hard rock romp that's a split Man's Ruin release with Elope, a cool Nordic band revamping a '60s Pretty Things vibe maybe, some great songs and playinng by both), EMA 3 at Mr. T's twice and a special, improvisational all-instrumental noisy synth dual by Dennis and Fred during a No Talent night at Al's Bar, when I was one of about three people there.
In April I flew to Italy on vacation and was lucky enough to catch Rappresaglia at Leon Cavallo culture center in Milano. Rappresaglia have been around in some disguise or another for about 20 years and don't play that often even in their Milanese hometown. They did most of their hits, like the classics "Attack" and my favorite "Distrugi L'Illusione" ("destroy the illusion"), and manic covers of "Viva la Revolucion," Stiff Little Fingers' "Alternative Ulster," and a Ramones song in honor of Joey Ramone, who'd just died. Other bitchen bands I saw on my Italian trip included the Crooks (scummy anti-dog rock & punk combo), Succo Marcio (poppy punk with a few especially melodic and memorable ravers), a rare rehearsal by Nearly Girls (who've never played live, so this practice was the closest thing to a show), Temporal Sluts (with a new lineup), and a couple more I'm spacing about right now. I wish I'd wandered around even more, but I was mainly marooned in the conservative towns of Como and Milano. I had the most fun in Bologna, which was more liberal and artistic, and stunning with its medieval architecture, stately squares and looming churches, elaborate doorknockers and grand porticos in the old downtown labyrinth of streets.
No one's reading this far down, but if they were, they'd know that I ALSO saw some other great entertainers back on this continent. Such as Barbara Manning & the Go-Luckys at the Silverlake Lounge in July. I was really captivated by their most recent CD, YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW (Innerstate Records) and especially excited when they played garage-punk rockers "You Knock Me Out" and "Don't Neglect Yourself" as well as folksier interludes, like "Time To B." and the imaginative, poetic evocations of "Rhombus." I also recommend Barbara Manning and the Go-Lucky's self-titled EP, with "Every Pretty Girl" and "Smoking Her Wings" on Stonecreek Promotions. Click here for more. Thanks to geography and coincidence, I walked quickly from the Silverlake Lounge on Sunset two blocks up Silver Lake Boulevard to Spaceland, in time to catch the last few songs of a set by Alejandro Escovedo, backed by a solid and sharp band, before rushing back down the street to the Fold to buy a Go-Luckys T-shirt.
In July, I also saw a bizarre, but great set by Cheap Trick (without Bun E. Carlos!) at House of Blues in Anaheim. A lot of weird things occurred at that particular show! Obsessive Cheap Trick fans should click here to find out what I mean . . . The Now Time Delegation is a collaboration between powerhouse BellRays singer Lisa Kekaula and noisy guitarist Tim Kerr (Big Boys, Poison 13). Their debut CD on Larry Hardy's In the Red Records, WATCH FOR TODAY, has some great covers and like-minded originals in '60s soul and blues-rock veins. Click here for more about Kekaula's superior wailin'. NTD's debut at Fais Do-Do was a bit of a letdown because of the club's poor sound system, and Kerr's severe tuning problems. I'd see 'em again in better circumstances, and in any event, highly recommend WATCH FOR TODAY.
Believe it or not, I'm leaving out descriptions of a lot of other shows, but you get the idea. I can't remember everything! Many of these concerts are happening in half-empty and empty clubs. Many are free. In 10 years you'll all be trampling each other to get in the general vicinity of these bands, like the way everyone's ready to kill each other now over the White Stripes. Well, I feel guilty that I've seen so much, not all of it on television, and kept it to myself. I feel redeemed now that I've trapped the outlines of some of it, at least, on paper. Er, computer screen.
Look for the final chapter of the Leaving Trains' lengthy GET LUCKY TOUR DIARY pages to appear elesewhere on this Web site soon, with the lowdown on the last two shows of that tour, in Columbus, Ohio, and Detroit, Michigan. Look as well for a merchandise page on this site where I'm getting rid of those damn Leaving Trains and GROUPIE SHOW (me interviewing bands like Hot Damn and Bimbo Toolshed, who then play a set, live in the studio) videos, among other ephemeral items. And I've still got some extra 7-inches by the Falling James Band (a.k.a. Temporal Sluts), which is not by me, but the band of the same name from Italy. It's great punk rock with a Johnny Thunder cover. Contact me at the Falling James e-mail. We'll make a deal. I'm really just looking for postage.
And, finally, what DO I really think of Britney Spears? I do make a lot of jokes about her. So many in fact that you have to wonder if I don't actually have a crush on her. Please! She's no Beki Bondage! Well, it is nice to see a celebrity who's actually foxy, with a tan. But Britney Spears has hung out with too many fascists, whether it's Bob Dole or Mickey Mouse. On the other hand, I love some of her music. Really. Not like the Ramones or something I'd go out of my way for, but enjoyable, guilty pleasure or not. The guilt adds to the pleasure. Disbelievers should check out the Shakes' new remake of "Oops! . . . I Did It Again," which rescues the inner Kinks song buried in Britney's modern technology hit. It's a cool arrangement by the Shakes' Peter Gilabert (Veg Ex) and Janet Housden (ex-Redd Kross, L.A. Times, Ex-Excessories, etc.) and, well, malicious: "I'm not that innocent." So there's hope for the ambitious cola peddler yet. Although Spears does use the word "Lordie" a lot without apparent irony. She'll have to act a lot more bad before she'll be considered good by me. Alright, maybe I'm a little jealous.
--Falling James
July 2001
Silver Lake, L.A., California
more stuff to check out ...
read a review of Johnny Thunders In the Flesh,
an article about the Devics,
and from Summer Unplugged 2001: Men Who Would Wear Dresses
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