beerland, TX

Kevin Fowler
Feature by Tammy Moore
Room 710
RnR Benefit
Red Eyed Fly
Matt Mastrud Art
Rock 101
Chopping Block
Wendy's WWAD
Grub - Guide
Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
Usual Crew
Chump Change
Off the Street

Jackie Ono, the Mood Killers, the Winks, the Applicators, the Ends
Beerland/the Capitol, Fri., Feb.6th

Big night downtown. Two places to be, five bands to see. Unfortunately, my lady friend and I arrived too late to catch the opening act, Mishka somebody-or-another from New York, but Billy gave me a fairly positive review, so there you go. Next, Jackie Ono. Why had I never seen this band? Quirky, arty, and more than a bit rocking, these gals had me bouncing around like an epileptic in one of those kiddie moon walk things. Jackie Ono? Jackie, oh yes.

The Mood Killers attacked next, proving that good punk rock does still exist in this town, and furthermore, hot chick drummers are really cool to watch. And, as a three piece, they come off more bombastic and powerful than many five-, even six-pieces I’ve seen.

But, the Winks were due up at the Capitol so Courtney and I ran (yes, ran, it was fucking cold) down to the Capitol, situated next door to Coyote Ugly at the White Rabbit’s former location.

OK, here comes the bitch fest. First, a $7 cover. $7??? Come on. Second, the only affordable beverage was $2 Lone Star. Cool, you say. In 12 ounce plastic cups? Not so cool. Third, the bar itself smelled like puke. It was in my olfactories anywhere I stood to order. But wait, there’s more. The bartenders are all really attractive women, which is usually a good thing, but there were so many idiots ogling them, it was almost impossible to belly up to the sweet smell of vomit. THEN, the Winks went on, and Amanda Garret got to dance around and yell impotently. I mean, the sound sucked like $2 strawberry tart. Well, the band sounded good and I discovered a new personal preference of my own. Rocker chicks in big hoop earrings….meow.

The sound wasn’t much better for the Applicators, and while I was enjoying their new found harmonic sensibilities, we decided to go back to Beerland and see the Ends. An amped up, pissed off Texas version of Elvis Costello and the Attractions. That’s my comparison and I’m sticking with it. Hey, singer guy, what happened to the Buddy Hollys?

–Trevor Wallace

Caprice’s Birthday w/ the Fuck Emos
Fri, Jan. 30th

Caprice was sober on her birthday. That’s right, sober. Hanging out with her family sober. And having a blast. Good for her. So I decided to drink enough for the both of us. Double-fisting Lone Stars, I wandered stageward to watch her two younger brothers’ band, the Panic Attacks. They were the first act and what they lacked in skill, they more than made up for in spirit. The more it sounded like everyone in the band was playing a different song, the more energy and enthusiasm they showed. Perhaps Dallas is the next bastion for a new no-wave movement. The Faceless Werewolves are, after all, just down the street in Denton.

The Prickies were up next. Another punk rock band. Woo-hoo. Don’t get me wrong, I love punk rock, but as an aging-badly genre it doesn’t lend itself to a hell of a lot of originality.

Finally, the moment we’d all been breathlessly awaiting had arrived. Yes, it was the Fuck Emo’s in all their glory, though sobriety seemed to be the theme this evening (which, in the case of my friends gracing the stage, is probably a good thing). All the hits, baby, all the hits. They even did “I Can’t Smell Giuseppe Anymore,” a personal fave of this writer for reasons I can elaborate upon in person should you wish.

Scatological, perhaps. Juvenile even, it could be argued, but if you can’t see the inherent humor in a band with lyrics like “80 sailors went out to sea / 40 couples came back” then your funny bone is in need of a good round of slap and tickle.

-Trevor Wallace


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