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Surfdog Records: How One Indie Label Came to Be
As the locals relax inside the Java Hut storefront in Encinitas, California, sipping their coffee, stocking up on their stash of dirt cheap surf wax, and soaking in the perpetual morning mellow, Surfdog Records silently buzzes behind the wall. From the converted surf shack offices in back of the label’s own hotspot coffee shop, a mere seven employees passionately handle endless phone calls and emails, stress, deadlines, paperwork, and client problems as they manage a roster that includes Dave Stewart (Eurythmics), Dan Hicks, and Brian Setzer among others. The fast-paced, sometimes frantic energy generated by the staff is in stark contrast to the sun-drenched picnic table set out in the grassy courtyard for business meetings and the surf-inspired murals of blue waters and ocean inhabitants that swim along the building’s walls. It’s a hive of activity on the coast of a sleepy little surf town, moving as rapidly and forcefully as the waves are crashing outside the window.
At the heart of it all is label boss Dave Kaplan, a man with a deep-seated, lifelong love for music who used to spend his days as an accountant, crunching endless numbers that meant absolutely nothing to him. While he left college with bright memories of playing in bands and going out to see endless shows, he also left with a business degree, “… and the natural thing you did after you graduated and took the CPA exam was go and interview with accounting firms.”
The Mighty Boosh at 4th and B, San Diego and Jay Brannan at Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco
The Mighty Boosh
July 24th at 4th and B, San Diego
“San Diego, you cheeky bitches!”
The Boosh boys have officially begun their invasion of America and it was my pleasure to witness one of their first, in what I am sure will be many, hilarious takeovers: A performance done by way of Comic-Con in a small club in San Diego last Friday.
The entire core cast of the highly acclaimed British comedy phenomenon was present, as well as each of their alter egos, for the introductory show/DJ set: Creators Noel Fielding (aka Vince Noir) and Julian Barratt (aka Howard Moon), Michael Fielding (Naboo the Enigma), Rich Fulcher (Bob Fossil), Dave Brown (Bollo), and, of course, the Moon. There were classic crimps and guitar tracks, many beloved characters, stories, jokes, a piece of “serious” theater about an old Russian woman, and a sinister white rabbit lurking and ready to pounce at any moment.
The Horrors: May 21st at Glass House, Pomona, CA and A Place to Bury Strangers: May 22nd at Music Hall of Williamsburg, Brooklyn
The Horrors
May 21st at Glass House, Pomona, CA
Alright, I will admit it. Like many long-time Horrors fans, I was quite disappointed when I heard the band wouldn’t be playing any material from their debut release, Strange House, on this tour. Sure, I want to be behind them in their efforts to progress and let their new musical chapter, Primary Colours, shine on stage, but I wanted that same visceral energy I saw the band perform with last time. I longed for more of that driving, pulsing feeling and those spontaneous stage outbursts that their previous work lent itself to so perfectly. That’s not to say I entered Pomona’s Glass House on Thursday night with low expectations—I was still very interested and excited to see what the group of rail-thin Englishmen would do with their new material. But I wasn’t expecting the onstage antics or unpredictability of previous years, guessing that those had been left at the door along with their alter egos—Rotter, Spider, Furse, Von Grimm, and Coffin Joe.
But among a crowd of mostly entranced, and some slightly puzzled, audience members, I was surprised to find myself hit with a feeling of equal intensity as that of before… only this time it came from a completely different, more deliberate form of emotion and energy. Instead of the short, sharp shock of their previous shows, the band produced a rich, passion-driven set of heavy, synthed-up sounds that lingered and built on each other. There was a jubilant spirit about the tapestry of music they were creating: Former bassist Tom Cowan brought his Entwistle-esque calm to the synthesizer, and combined with the buzz of Joshua Hayward’s guitar, the two filled the smoky air with texture and brightness that was further suspended above the crowd by the rhythmic basslines of Rhys Webb and held in place by the solid drumming of Joseph Spurgeon.
Bauhaus
Bauhaus
Go Away White
(Bauhaus Music, 2008)
I invite you to step into another world, an alternate dimension full of dark soundscapes, eerie trips through pearl corridors, and a vapour dog barking at the moon. I invite you to step into the reinvented world of Bauhaus: 25 years anticipated and just 18 days in the making.
Go Away White is a beautifully-crafted moment in time, and a true testament to Bauhaus’ creative prowess. It was recorded in less than three weeks at Zircon Skye in Ojai, California and, according to the band, no extra mixing or additional production took place after that. Instead, the album remained untouched and includes a diverse mix of songs complete with an intricacy of different sounds, voices, moods, styles, and instruments. None of these pieces detract from or overcrowd the music in any way. Instead, they all meld together to create a complete and other-worldly experience for the listener. This is definitely one of those albums that you can stick on, turn up, and get completely lost in.
Through the Looking Glass: Wire’s Culturally Distorting Image
On a clear night in Los Angeles, at a rather large table in the center of a rather small restaurant, no tea was being poured and no biscuits nor scones lay on people’s plates. But it was no matter. This was still very much the scene of a tea party—and a mad one at that.
The affair was hosted by Colin Newman and Graham Lewis, the frontman and bassist of the seminal minimalist outfit Wire, and only those of a certain musical pedigree had been admitted to join the goings-on.
The Clash weren’t invited and there was no room for Muse, R&B divas, pseudo-obscure influences, or emotional indulgence at the table of this Mad Hatter and March Hare. They were running the show, and those around them were an elite group of art school experimentalist dormice and forward-thinking, crafty Cheshire cats with cleverly worded lyrics and a certain disdain for stale trends and tradition in culture.
Punks in the Beerlight: Nuggets vs. Pebbles
I used to have a very certain idea of what punk was. For a while there, I had it in my mind that real punk rock was a particular sound from a particular era. It was the Clash, the Sex Pistols, and the Stooges, with their pinned on patches, military boots, and slightly intimidating form of musical expressionism and political activism.
I took on the attitude that the “punk” bands of today may sound punk-ish but that no one will ever be a real punk again because that was a time, a sound, a movement. Joe Strummer is gone so punk is, too. However, quite recently I found myself re-examining this ignorant viewpoint. A man by the name of Tomethy Furse had me take another look at it and caused me to realize what superficial rubbish this thought pattern of mine really was.
Furse is the bass player for the Horrors—one of these modern day bands I had deemed punk-ish. During an interview I conducted with him and his bandmate, Joshua Third, we touched on his first run-in with punk. Furse told me that he too had once harbored a certain notion of the word. Before being exposed to a lot of punk music, he thought it was all bands fronted by spiky-haired guys with torn up shirts like Richard Hell and had the early electric and psychedelic sound of the Electric Prunes, specifically their one hit, “I Had too Much to Dream (Last Night).”
Live Show Review: The Residents at Henry Fonda Theatre, Los Angeles
by: Emma Dennis
January 30th at Henry Fonda Theatre, Los Angeles
“I believe in ghosts!” a man’s mouth croaked in a strained syrupy-ness, as the rest of his face hid behind the exaggerated wrinkles of an old man’s mask. Standing in a striped robe, oversized polka-dot tie, and clown shoes, he made himself at home before continuing with his story; taking a seat on the coach, staring into a fireplace’s artificial light, and glancing up at a static television set.
Whilst he rested, two identical counterparts (one with a guitar and the other behind keys), dread-locked, sequined, and hidden beneath reflective goggles, created sonic pages of wavering frequencies and piercing sounds from either side of the stage: The perfect stock on which to scribble a twisted tale.
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by: Emma Dennis
published: February 1, 2010
in column: What Goes On
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