This was an all-day affair at Thee Parkside, an old-hat venue for some of you, I’d imagine. I like a good and greasy dink, tho, and whenever a performer busts out the Mitre, you know it’s gonna go off
faithfully, like a skypiece from a tonsured Monk.
Olivia from Wiretap did a great job collecting myriad habits for this marathon ball. Most notable among those assembled was Sean (the Pope) of Pope of Yes a.k.a. El Papa, who changed out of a boy’s
technicolor dreamsweater into a very strange poncho for his set during which he plied everything under the sun–melodica is a ridiculous instrument, lemme borrow that thing–and sang mostly indecipherable, perhaps neo-impressionistic lines over synth weirdness, picking up an acoustic, banging a chunky tom, playing also the rapt attention of his audience. The Paranoids were another vicious delight; so too, the newly formed Bjornstad, and Pidgeon as well
The Paranoids will impress, I found. Bassist and vocalist Damon Larson lays down serpentine bass grooves with “uncommon smoothness” while not just carrying, but driving the vocals (and thinking up Miller slogans to sell to the babies). He’s now running with a man called Lennon, guitar, whose offerings are heavy, whose parents were Beatles fans, and who seems plenty comfortable undergirding Damon’s lines with straightforward vox. (Just the write amount of dirty!) If they can make it up north to the state of Jefferson on that tour they’re talking about, they’re sure to meet their fair share pairs appreciative ears there, dears.
Look out for Ian Bjornstad’s new project, as yet sur-titled, which incorporates the rhythm section from Caves. Despite being underrehearsed (two run-throughs, bare minimum), the trio sounded great, owing to the songster in question’s penchant for funny, money little timetraps, honeyglazed changes and top-notch lyrical content. Fun stuff to play, I’m sure, when you have the chops for it.
Pidgeon came thru with a stripped-down, two-person set, leaving vocalist Valerie decidedly more audible. Liked it a lot without all the fuzz. Does that make me gay? Like, oh, and maybe I will buy the
But El Papa a.k.a. Sean (the Pope) of The Pope of Yes was the thing for me. Probably be headed to the Maus Haus CD release Oct. 29 at the Rickshaw to see Sean on keys. Funny thing: I’d met the guy just the night before at a friend’s party. Call it a gathering, really, because, remembered as such, for its size, it will suck less. I was binge-eating, grazing the countertop–cold macaronis, plantain chips and what-have-you–and countenanced a skinny young man in queerly overcolored boysweater. After all, this is a small town, great for mancrushes or didn’t you know? Now it’s howdy do, buddy, and a borrowed mouthful, err, tip of the, um, yeah, thanks, dude, that was wonderful!