Random images from a Friday morning.
Finally saw Startup.com last night.
I'm a huge documentary fan/voyeur to begin with, and the fact that I work for a rapidly failing dot-com made it even more germane. But as interesting as the subject matter was, I found the documentary process even moreso.
I imagine that going into this project, the filmmakers thought they were going to chronicle the meteoric rise of yet another dot-com; they ended up telling a story of profound failure, of both the company and its founders.
The way they ended up cutting the film was amazing to me, though: They almost completely ignored the business end of things — the hows and whys of its failure — and focused on the relationship between the founders and how it was torn apart. It was amazing watching these two men, who had been friends since high school, chuck it all in over this vision they had for this company. The fact that it failed so unspectacularly made it all the more poignant.
Among the other things that struck me about the thing: How junior all these alleged "executives" were. Jesus, 28-year-old kids really were running these outfits — and not well, either. At the beginning, Kaleil, the main CEO guy, who was going into these VC firms and asking for 50 million bucks, was a complete buffoon. Was overly emotional, presented poorly, and was just in completely over his head. I wouldn't have hired him as my accountant, much less made him my CEO.
But by the end he really did seem to have grown up and learned a bunch of stuff. As much as I wanted to continue to hate the guy (he was an arrogant bastard in the beginning), he really impressed me. We all make mistakes, and he really did seem transformed by his experiences. None of my mistakes have ever cost anyone 60 million bucks, but I should be learning from 'em nonetheless. Five pentagrams. ßßß
Plea for Peace/Take Action Tour, Great American Music Hall
Time sure does fly when you're having fun. And drag when you're not.
How else can I describe the perceived differences in the lengths of the 30-minute sets last night? One man's 30-minute set is another's excruciatingly long torture session. Case in point: Cave In's brilliant 30-minute set (actually, it was 28 — I timed it) was over in a heartbeat, whereas Thrice's set dragged on and on for what seemded like three or four hours. Go figure.
So we arrived early (before doors opened) in order to not miss Pretty Girls Make Graves, about whom I had heard good things. That Derek from Murder City Devils was in the band also piqued my interest. Sadly, he was about the only good thing about PGMG. If a pale imitation of Kathleen Hanna fronted a pale imitation of At The Drive-In, that would sound an awful lot like PGMG. OK, maybe they weren't as bad as all that, but they weren't that good either.
My old friend and former bandmate and roommate, Mike Park, was up next. Mike put the whole Plea for Peace tour thing together, and the kids obviously appreciated the effort, as well as his earnest acoustic song stylings. He managed to stay focused in spite of our incessant heckling from the balcony. I kept yelling out the most obscure Skankin' Pickle songs I could think of, but I couldn't rattle him.
Thrice were next, and either I'm getting old, or kids today don't know what the hell is up. I'm going with the latter. The kids dug Thrice, so much so that they started an old school circle pit. What I experienced was really bad, generic metalcore played by tubby, sheltered suburban kids for tubby, sheltered suburban kids. Since I am none of those things, Thrice were most certainly not for me.
Thankfully the Selby Tigers came on next and restored my faith in rock 'n' roll. Sounding and looking like a souped-up, drag queen version of the Cramps, Selby Tigers rocked the joint. Of course the Thrice fans didn't know what to make of it, this motley assortment of people in sailor costumes, jumpsuits, go-go boots, and tiaras, but it was all rock 'n' roll, and I liked it.
Oh, Cave In. How can I describe this to you? Consummate musicianship, imagination, courage, and energy. Four of the eight songs they played were from Jupiter, their latest release, and the other four didn't sound like the metalcore of earlier releases, so I can only imagine it was new stuff. I tried to record their set with my mp3 player, but to no avail. I think it's meant only to record you reminding yourself that your parked in section 3B, not post-metal bands playing at ear-splitting volumes. So no dice there. But I did snap lots of bad photos like the geeky fan boy that I am. Their 28-minute set was over in a hearbeat, and left me plenty hungry for more. If you care at all about rock 'n' roll and the future thereof, see this band at every opportunity.
The acoustic song stylings of Matt Skiba of Alkaline Trio were next. The 15-year-old girls in the crowd were really, really stoked, but I was not. I took this opportunity to catch up with Mike Park, buy lots of merch, and talk to my too-cool-for-school friends who were hanging out out front. As it was already way past my bedtime and 30-minutes-plus until Hot Water Music would take the stage, I bid the Plea for Peace peeps goodnight.
I have it on good authority that Hot Water Music were good, but I cannot vouch for this myself. Guess I'll see you all again at the Great American for Rocket from the Crypt and Murder City Devils. Until then ... ßßß
Maybe I'll take up a nice, quiet hobby. Like Ultimate Fighting.
So just when The Hills Have Eyes (and don't leave off the "The"; otherwise we become yet another post-everything-core band with a three-word name — thanks in advance), the new band project, seemed like it was getting some traction, Matt the drummer decides to go and break his leg.
Actually, I bet he didn't decide to break his leg; it was more an unintended side-effect of skateboarding. Matt wanted to practice the very next day (his rationale: it's his high-hat leg, not his kick-drum leg), but we talked him out of it. But the bottom line is that the band is on hold for the moment. We're actually gonna try and play on Sunday, so I'll let you know how it goes. Or doesn't go, as the case may be.
Feast or Famine
So after enduring an entire summer with no shows worth shelling out/staying up for, all of the sudden there's a deluge of incredible shows. Rival Schools just rolled through, and the Plea for Peace benefit is tonight. I just received my tickets for Rocket from the Crypt, Murder City Devils, etc., and then there's Sigur Ros, Blonde Redhead and Unwound,
Motorhead, The Damned, Phantom Planet ... the list goes on and on. If money and sleep were no object, I'd be overjoyed; but sadly, I've got limited supplies of both. So something's got to give. Luckily Nick Cave canceled his S.F. dates, so he doesn't factor in.
So I'm finally gonna get off my ass and do a new radio show. I apologize for being lame, but I really haven't been compelled to put anything together until now. I'm keeping it under wraps for the moment, but bring your ears and headphones on Monday. So you'll have them. That is all. Carry on. ßßß
Funny thing happened to me on the way to the yuppie clothing store. ...
So me and the little lady are doing the uncoolest thing imaginable on Saturday — that would be shopping for turtlenecks at Banana Republic, in Marin, no less — when Tracy glances across the store and recognizes someone from our past. Turns out it was Greg Behrendt, a comic we used to know.
We met Greg through some other comics we used to hang out with, but hadn't seen him in years. Turns out he had moved to L.A. and was in town performing at the Punch Line in San Francisco. He asked if we wanted comps to the show that night, and we said hell yes.
I have to admit, it seemed a little weird going to a comedy show just a few days after the incidents of September 11. I didn't know if we'd be the only ones there, or what. But it turns out we weren't. The place was packed, and we got special VIP seating, which was pretty damn cool. And Greg slayed. Oh man. I wish I could remember a fraction of the stuff he did — it was all quality — but my favorite thing he did was talk about his concept of the Adult Rock Show. Starts at 7, no opening band, no encore, one-hour set, and it's catered. Home by 9, in time to watch West Wing. Amazing. I couldn't agree more.
But the long and the short of it is that I didn't realize how much I needed to laugh. It was the best medicine, or some such thing. And go see Greg when he comes to where you are. He's boss. You will laugh your ass off. Promise.
Best Overheard Conversation of the Week
Two gay guys at my gym.
Gay Guy #1: I've got my first PTA meeting tomorrow.
Gay Guy #2: Really?
Gay Guy #1: Yeah, and I don't know what to wear.
Gay Guy #2: (pauses for a minute) Well, flats. And maybe a pantsuit or something. But don't wear any expensive jewelry, because they'll ask you for a donation.
God bless San Francisco. Wouldn't trade it for the world. ßßß
Burning Airlines, Rival Schools, and Actionslacks @ Great American Music Hall
Given the amount of hype surrounding Rival Schools, I was surprised that the place was only two-thirds full when we rolled up. I had miscalculated slightly — I'd timed our arrival to miss the generic indie-pop strains of Actionslacks, but we were too early. So we were subjected to their mediocre musical stylings for 10 or 15 minutes, and after a mercifully brief set change, Rival Schools took the stage.
Walter Schreifels and co. set the tone for the night with the first two tracks from United by Fate, "Travel by Telephone" and "Everything Has Its Place," both groovy midtempo rockers. At some point I figured out I've been watching and listening to drummer Sam Siegler play for more than half his life, since he was a wee lad of 12 or 13 and playing with Youth of Today. Weird.
At any rate, the material from "United by Fate" was as good or better live than on CD. Onstage Walter commands your attention, seething, projecting to the back of the room and beyond. It was when they veered off into what I assume was newer material that they seemed to lose me and the rest of the crowd. Not just because it was unfamiliar; it also seemed plodding and meandering. Hopefully this isn't a portent of things to come.
My only other criticism is that guitarist Ian Love seemed a little too enamored of his effects, especially his guitar synth. Occasionally he'd put it to good use, but at times it got to be too much. But all in all it was a powerful display of the potential of rock 'n' roll.
Needless to say, Burning Airlines paled in comparison. I'm not a fan of their musicianly math rock to begin with, but they lost me with their very first song, something that sounded like hardcore punk with bagpipes accompaniment. Strangely, their second song was a tight and quirky pop-punk number, but when the next song reminded me of George Thorogood crossed with Frank Zappa, I'd had enough.
Next stop: Great American again on Wednesday night for the Plea for Peace benefit. God bless Rival Schools and Cave In, saviors of rock 'n' roll as we know it. ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
heavy rotation
dack.com
memepool
mecawilson
shellen.com
a fire inside
sfgiants.com
kingfresh.net
