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 Li'l
Cap'n Travis
Continental Club, November 14, 2003
If you had seen me early Saturday night, I would have tooted
a horn with my mouth, ass and nose about the band Li'l Cap'n
Travis. I had not seen these guys in a long time but had been
following their progress through press, videos and show dates.
I was really into one of the videos, “Alone at the Drugstore,”
being playing by the Austin Music Network, mostly because
I used to work at a drugstore in Dimmitt, Texas where guitar
player Christian Braafladt and I went to high school. I wanted
to know if any of the vintage footage in their videos featured
his family. I was hyped about seeing my old friend and seeing
how the band had evolved since I saw them many years ago at
the Electric Lounge where Christian had dedicated the song
about Amarillo, Texas to me.
As soon as the band began to set up, I ran to the stage to
find my friend with a beautiful new black guitar and not more
than 4 words to say to me. No hug, no “How you doing?”
Like an idiot, I gave him five Texas Rollergirl guitar picks
I’d been hoarding for his band. Feeling more like a
turned-down groupie than a friend who had chosen to do this
review to support one of the few people who made it out of
Dimmit, I took a few photos and returned to the back to sit
by doormaster Rob Gasper who sang the praises of Li'l Cap'n
Travis. I have never heard Rob say a word about any band,
and he was even singing along with each song—a huge
compliment in my opinion.
 Li'l
Cap'n Travis had indeed improved and honed their music into
quite a tight set. I was pleased to hear the country Pink
Floyd-style of their videos was still present in their live
show. The steel guitar did add a little more of the country
flavor than I want in a night, but everything sounded great.
It was a lively set with a lot more organization than once
before. If I had not been brewing in the sulk of rejection,
I would have stayed afterwards to sing the praises of all
the great press I‘d read and the distinct style this
band has developed. I was secretly proud of them but my wounded
pride made me leave around 1:40 a.m. I was also secretly in
love with the red glitter drums of Mandon Malloney.
If you are into country or experimental music, I think you
will be pleased as punch to see Li'l Cap'n Travis. They definitely
flung their training wheels to the stage side long ago. You
can learn more about these fellows at www.lilcapntravis.com,
but if my friend did indeed snub me, I take back all the nice
things I said.
–Beth
Sams
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| Slayer
Austin Music Hall, November 14, 2003
It was indeed a packed house at the Austin Music Hall for
what is always one of the best metal shows you can possibly
see. Slayer has been around since 1982 and has stood strong
and true to what their original vision for what this band
has always been about from the beginning. No selling out here,
just pure unadulterated chaos. Too bad Metallica didn’t
follow their path we may have had a another three or four
legendary albums instead of the watered down corporate bullshit
that they insist is a progression in their sound but what
true metal fans consider a complete regression from what that
band said it would never do. Maybe that’s why Slayer
fans are among some of the most loyal and among other things,
the craziest bunch of motherfuckers you can possibly get under
one roof. It’s almost like spectators should have to
pay two admission prices, one for the band and one to watch
the craziness that goes on during a Slayer show. If you happen
to be amongst the crowd you pretty much better be prepared
at some point and time to push someone away from you and watch
your back or get trampled by flying fists and bodies bouncing
off of one another in the most severe mosh pit you’ve
probably always heard about but were afraid to ask. All this
and Satan!!!
When Slayer comes to town and I’m asked the question
“who’s opening?” it’s always followed
by “GO FUCK YOURSELF!! WHO CARES, IT”S FUCKING
SLAYER!!” and that was pretty much my attitude for this
show as well. I arrived just in time to get in and catch Slayer
just as they were going on. What I got was one of the better
Slayer shows I have seen, especially because they didn’t
play a lot of new material. Don’t get me wrong, I love
the new shit but tonight was all about classic Slayer and
some tunes that I thought I would never hear them play again.
They played an impressive hour and twenty-minute set without
leaving much time for silly “This next song’s
about EVIL” banter that Tom Araya is infamous for. Yeah
it’s funny and goes with the whole spirit of a Slayer
show but at some point – or, let’s say after 20
plus years - it becomes quite boring. It was all about business
this show. They played material from almost every record and
what really blew me away was hearing classics such as “Fight
Till Death”, “Hell Awaits” and “Necrophiliac”.
However, the coolest part of the evening was what they ended
the set with. Not just one or two songs but by playing the
entire “Reign in Blood” album from start to finish.
Truly an amazing set and still to this day one of the heaviest
bands you’ll ever see or hear. I ended the evening by
saying this to one of my friends after the show when they
asked what I thought and I replied with “It was a blasphemy,
was it a blast for you?”
–
Slander Bob
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| Thursday/Thrice/Coheed
and Cambria
Stubbs BBQ, Sat. Nov. 8, 2003
Stubbs was a haven for minors Saturday evening. The beer line
was short during the entire show and I personally felt like
I’d done some growing up since 1999 when I fell in love
with screamo bands like recent Island/DefJam signees Thursday.
Coheed and Cambria opened the show with a short and tired
set. I’m not sure how long these guys have been on tour,
but it definitely showed through lead-singer/guitarist Claudio
Sanchez’s failing vocals. These guy’s first record,
The Second Stage Turbine Blade, was a witty blend of pop-sensible
emo-hooks that captured Sanchez’s Getty Lee-esque wails
and moans formulating the storybook-like lyrics based on the
comic book of the same name created by the band before achieving
musical success. Their new record In Keeping Secrets Of Silent
Earth: 3, however, isn’t nearly as creative and seems
washed out with the same kiddy-rock that your little sister
knows and loves so much. These guys’ set included three
songs from their first album and the remainder from their
new, sub-par recording. The Austin Chronicle called this band
“a new wave of progressive emo, younger cousins to the
more adventurous Mars Volta.’’. Well, that is
just a flat-out lie and insulting to say the least.
Thrice, the So-Cal emo-metal four-piece took the stage next
and rocked louder and tighter than any band on the bill that
evening. Riding the success from their new Island release
The Artist in the Ambulance, Thrice combine technical time
changes with fluid guitar licks and melodic breakdowns that
could be embraced by Iron Maiden and Converge fans alike.
Their brand of hardcore was accepted at Stubbs with a fist
pumping mayhem that gave way to more than a few moshpits.
Lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue was able to swiftly switch from
his punk-driven harmonizations to the throat-wrenching yells
that have come to define many young bands today. Thrice, however,
keep their sound complex and precise without losing the emotion
and heartache worn on the sleeves of the teenagers in attendance
at all their shows.
Thursday took the stage last and the kiddos went ape shit.
Lead singer/screamer Geoff Rickly swung his mic like a helicopter
threatening to crash into the sea of youngsters pushing and
pulling in the front row in hopes of touching the petite,
skinny frame of the black-shirted emo star. His voice, cracked
and jaded at times, sounds similar to a young Robert Smith
in the studio, but seldomly holds up during the hectic and
physical live set. Overall, Thursday put on a show that was
energetic and heartfelt—the band ripped through songs
from the new and much anticipated War All The Time along with
a handful of songs from 2001’s Full Collapse. What made
this band so great in the past though was the crippled sense
of passion and intellect primitively interjected into the
hardcore skeleton left behind by seminal bands like At the
Drive-In. Now, this particular genre of music has simply become
wildly popular and therefore the artists slowly lose that
creative luster and charm (and sign to a major). Thursday
are not a terrible band, but their sound just isn’t
fresh anymore—the music falls into the mesh of every
Johnny-come-lately punk band that sing with tissues nearby
and scream a catchy hook. One of the last songs of the set,
Five Stories Falling, concluded with large confetti cannons
being shot into the crowd. I glared disappointedly at this
atrocity and knew that the ride for me was over.
-Smitty |
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|  Deftones
Austin Music Hall, November 6, 2003
Sac-town’s finest returned to Austin Thursday evening
and proved that there is at least one significant “nu-metal’’
act remaining from the slew of sub-par bands that began bursting
through the airwaves during the mid to late nineties. Deftones
are currently touring and enjoying the success of their self-titled,
fourth full-length release on Maverick Records.
The Music Hall was jam-packed for the No-Cal five-piece whom
have kept it real through a stark and defining brand of moody
metal, notably accented by the whimpering coos, spit-fire
flows and lofty throat of front-man Chino Moreno. When the
lights went down, the backdrop of the stage beamed bright
with a crimson red glare that contrasted perfectly with the
band members’ silhouettes. That initial guitar shred
and kick-drum sent a soothing wisp of air and noise through
the jubilant crowd—the sound was deafening, uniform
and full. The band opened with Minerva, the first single from
the new album and went on to play several tracks from their
first two records Adrenaline and Around the Fur respectively.
Highlights included Mr. Moreno dipping into the crowd during
the spastic hook of Hexagram, the opening track from the new
album in which Chino pleas for listeners to “…worship-play-play-worship-play-worship-play-play-worship.’’
 His
sequenced harmony coupled with the repeated alarming yells
where something easily done in a studio, but for him to pull
off the same vocal structure live was a persuasive point proven
by this determined vocalist. The light sequence throughout
the show was overwhelming--during Knife Party, an obvious
ode to heroine-use from the last album White Pony, Chino stood
still at front and center stage like a spider resting in a
web of vicious illumination and paralyzing white noise. About
midway through the set, lead guitarist Stephen Carpenter began
to play the well-known intro-riff to Bored, the band’s
very first song from the first record. However, his timing
was slightly off and Chino made a wisecrack about Carpenter
having smoked some really good shit before the show! They
still pulled off the song and the crowd was none-the-less
appreciative. The band also covered Duran Duran’s The
Chauffeur, a refreshing break from the bedlam of the rest
of the set and ended up closing the show with an encore of
Change (In The House Of Flies), the monumental single from
the White Pony record that really pushed the band into the
mainstream.
Mainstream or not, Deftones did not disappoint and will not
compromise their art for a label or the radio. This is the
only respectable rock band left with a DJ and a front man
that raps, screams and sings with his trousers hanging halfway
off his ass.
-Smitty
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| The
Ugly Beats/Malavista
Carousel Lounge, October 18th
Cameron Road's singular stage-less carnival bar has been rebuilding
their live music rep with weekend bills consisting of bands
that have made the junior varsity cut down at the Continental
Club. Six years ago, both places showcased the rising tide
of local surf and lounge bands, which happened to coincide
with Sixth Street's last gasp of gloriously filthy punk rock
dives. Then, the Carousel slipped back into neighborhood happy
hour coma, but today Sally the geriatric cocktail waitress
is back on her feet and ready for Saturday nite action.
Stepping to the beat of West Texas punks in Malavista would
have been cause for concern, however. Sally left the solo
slam dancing to a lone mohawked punk whose performance didn't
inspire surrounding spectators to even get up. Not exactly
the rowdy reception that punks are used to when they play
Austin, but the applause kept growing with each song until
eventually the whole room was won over. Thankfully, they stayed
away from pedestrian pop-punk and hardcore and played simple
straight-forward punk rock songs about skating, drinking and
givin' the finger to the man! Malavista temporarily bridged
the gap between wide-eyed punks at the show and low-brow bohemians
as their small group of fans stayed, got drunk and got down
before the pink elephant with the rest of us during the Ugly
Beats.
After several lineup changes, the suit-and-tie surf rockers
formerly known as the Sir Finks, made their return to the
Carousel playing fun and melodic frat rock. Jason is the only
original member of the band that began as a trio and has expanded
in the past few years to include guitar playing front man
Too Tall Joe and Dance Machine Jeannine on keys. The addition
of ex-Shakewell, Jake, on backup vocals, lead and rhythm guitar
has solidified their transformation into the Ugly Beats. While
I really liked the toughened up Ramones-by-way-of-Ray-Davies
riffs, what I was the most impressed with was the relaxed
three- and four-part harmonizing that permeated their set.
They still throw in some instrumentals, but this is a band
that has matured and is still evolving into something much
more than just another surf band.
–Dave
Roybal
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| Young
Heart Attack, Rockland Eagles, The Action Is
Hole in the Wall, Fri. Nov. 7, 2003
The attitude Friday night at the Hole in the Wall was nothing
if not badass. It was leather weather and the retro fashions
hearkened back to the glory days of Arena Rock, that era snugly
nestled between the death of psychedelia and the commercialization
of punk rock. And, looking at the banks of Marshall half-stacks
sprawling across the stage, it seems Arena Rock is the goal,
courtesy of Young Heart Attack.
In typical rock star time keeping, YHA took the stage nearly
an hour and a half after scheduled, using the time to schmooze
and drink. Then they took to the stage – and the floor
in front of the riser – like a stampede of bull elephants,
riffing like the house band at an Armageddon party. The overall
sound screamed 70’s; Frenchie Smith whirled and cavorted
like a deranged Ric Nielson, while the token chick beat her
tambourine to a pulp and wailed her tribute to both Grace
Slick and Exene, more than establishing her place in the band.
And the singer/guitar player. How does such a mighty voice
issue from such a diminutive frame? (I’d love to give
you names, but the website was blank when I went to it.)
The Rockland Eagles, as always, rocked despite some sound
difficulty.
Closing out the night was The Action Is, formerly Hot Wheels,
Jr. until a cease and desist order arrived from Mattel. Again
with the riffs! Adding a second guitar player has definitely
helped flesh out Action’s sound, making them even more
a tour-de-force in rock and roll than they had been previously.
Oh, how the ears pounded happily after the set.
A crunchy guitar freak’s wet dream was the overriding
theme of the night. Nobody left with dry pants.
–Trevor
Wallace
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