Music[email][twitter][facebook]Tony Kay, the SunBreak's Music Editor, has been slugging it out in the journalistic front-line trenches of the Northwest music scene for over two decades in various websites and periodicals. In addition to covering music, arts, film, and whatever else strikes his fancy for the SunBreak, he also writes about film for City Arts magazine, covers live music for the Seattle Concerts Examiner, and periodically hosts Bizarro Movie Night at the Aster Coffee Lounge in Ballard. Tony was crowned Ultimate Film Fanatic of the Pacific Northwest on the Independent Film Channel game show The Ultimate Film Fanatic a few years ago, and he's got the wacky stories (and the rump-end of a trophy) to prove it.
There’s no denying how hot it’s been around these parts all summer long. Overcast days and random spits of rain have done little to stave off the beads of perspiration popping from the brows of even the most composed Seattleites. And there have been days where the humidity’s been, well, pretty oppressive by our temperate standards.
It’s a condition that’s pretty novel for Northwesterners, but it’s a state of physical and emotional being that feeds, and feeds off of, the works of Tennessee Williams. If the collective oeuvre of twentieth century American theater’s most iconic playwright possessed a physical body, its garments would be clinging to it in a hothouse-summer-induced sweat.
That environment would seem a fertile clime for the bump and grind of burlesque performance, and the folks putting on Tennessee Tease (opening at the Theatre Off Jackson tonight) know it.
Co-produced by Sailor St. Claire (a key mover at Sinner Saint Burlesque company) and writer/choreographer/burlesque performer Fosse Jack, Tennessee Tease promises a genuine narrative in which Williams’ memoirs are wedded with burlesque enactments depicting his indelible fictional characters, his real-life friends and loved ones, and his lovers. Sinner Saint’s presentation from last year, Inheritance: Maiden, Mother, Crone, impressed our own Chris Burlingame greatly, and like that work Tennessee Tease is aiming for something more ambitious than your typical burlesque revue. And there’s no denying that the tensions and passions threaded throughout Williams’ writing and private life will provide ample fodder.
Several established local burlesque performers and actors will join St. Claire and Jack onstage, including drag king Al Lykya, Diva le Deviant, Jesse Bell-Jones, and legendary Seattle-based ecdysiast Eartha Quake. The jury’s still out, however, as to whether or not TOJ will be providing bourbon, mint juleps, silk kerchiefs for mopping sweaty brows, and/or handheld fans.
Tennessee Tease plays at TOJ August 13 through 15 at 8:00 p.m (doors at 7:30). Tickets, $20, can be purchased here.
The thin line between abrasion and accessibility is a hard one to straddle for any band utilizing industrial electronic sounds. Seattle duo Ever So Android pull that balance off big-time on their debut full-length Disconnect, an epic rock record whose industrial backbone never comes at the expense of its soul.
The band’s two members, vocalist Hope Simpson and multi-instrumentalist Drew Murray, generate one unholy and ravishing racket. It’s temptingly easy to compare ‘em to early Nine Inch Nails—Murray’s clattering, throbbing, grinding mix of electronic and natural percussion definitely plants some of its roots in Trent Reznor’s rhythmic approach—but once Murray kicks the guitars in and Simpson opens her mouth, Ever So Android becomes an earthier animal.
The synthetic back-masked whooshes that form the intro to Disconnect’s first track, “Moment,” rapidly give way to a concise guitar riff that alternately follows and jabs at the drums, and Simpson’s drama-drenched windstorm of a voice counters the spiky directness with a tribal trill that’s disarming in its primal sexuality.
The rest of Disconnect’s tracks rarely let up, with Murray’s rhythms bashing and burbling while his axe kicks up mutant variations on swaggering hard rock (“Cradle Robbers”), blues stomping (“Leash”), greasy Zeppelin mega-riffage (“Don’t I Have a Say”), and driving pogo-ready new wave (“Learn to Crawl”). Simpson, meantime, fronts the songs with the kind of pipes that send music scribes burrowing through their verbal file cabinets for superlatives. Her voice soars over, growls at, and encircles the tunes with astonishing power and total abandon, without ever losing velocity or veering off-pitch. When most modern rock fuses electronics with organic urgency, the results usually reflect artists struggling to maintain their humanity in the face of the machinery: Disconnect is the exhilarating sound of two human beings (three, if you count veteran producer Bill Rieflin and his punchy, expansive production) resolutely making technology their bitch.
I suppose the relentlessness with which Ever So Android pile-drives their music could be perceived as a liability in some corners: Even “Dirty Fingers,” with its skittering introductory dance shuffle and some of Simpson’s most nuanced vocals, shifts into high tribal-goth gear within twenty seconds. But in a world where electronic music is dominated by ice queens and incalculably arch hipsters, Ever So Android’s in-your-face approach feels refreshingly visceral and immediate. Rage on, guys.
Ever So Android play their CD release party for Disconnect tonight, Friday August 7, at the Crocodile Cafe. Show begins at 9:00 p.m., withTen Miles Wide (formerly The Mothership), The Mama Rags, and the Hollers sharing the bill. Tickets available at thecrocodile.com, or at the door.
If you’re a sci-fi fan but were put off my the megalithic crowds that jammed into Emerald City Comicon earlier this year, Galacticon could be just the intergalactic ticket.
Beginning today and stretching through to Sunday, this fourth iteration of Galacticon includes luminaries from over 50 years of genre TV and film. The convention’s very much a grass-roots affair run by the Battlestar Galactica Fan Club and a ragtag volunteer team, but even with some guest cancellations and logistic hiccups, it promises to be a great time for this ‘burg’s sizable geek contingent.
There’s a guest or panel to scratch almost every sci-fi or fantasy itch. Are you a boomer who grew up with the 1960s family space opera Lost in Space? Cast members Mark Goddard and Marta Kristen are in attendance. Couldn’t get enough of the kids-and-dinosaurs antics of the 1970s Saturday morning show Land of the Lost? Feel free to hang out with Kathy Coleman (pigtailed moppet Holly), Wesley Eure (earnest big brother Will), and Philip Paley (lovable missing link Chaka).
True to its name, Galacticon’s also showcasing a strong contingent from both incarnations of Battlestar Galactica. Several actors from the 1970s original (Richard Hatch, Terry Carter, Anne Lockhart, Jack Stauffer, and Sarah Rush) are in town to reminisce and meet fans, while Leah Cairns (AKA the new Galactica‘s character, Racetrack) represents the new show’s contingent. The designers responsible for the immersive universe of the 2000s reboot will be also on hand to hang out and discuss creating a new Galactica for a modern audience.
There’s plenty more, too, including Jewel Staite–spunky mechanic Kaylee from the Joss Whedon cult hit Firefly–and Farscape‘s playful fan favorite Chiana (AKA actress Gigi Edgley). Plus Klingons, Borg, Mortal Kombat fighters, and more. All told, it’s a broad expanse of personalities from a lot of great science fiction.
Galacticon takes place in the open environs of Seattle Center, with panels and events taking place in the Center’s Armory as well as Marion Oliver McCaw Hall. Tickets are available at the door, or at the Galacticon website, here.
What’s better than a great live music show? A great, free live music show. And what’s better than a great, free live music show? An entire series of ‘em.
Downtown Seattle’s providing just that with its Out to Lunch Concert Series, a sizable handful of free live gigs going on for the remainder of the summer. The lunch party begins this afternoon with a set by the Seattle Women’s Jazz Orchestra, playing at noon today at City Hall Plaza.
Out to Lunch shows are taking place from noon to 1:30 p.m. throughout Seattle on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays until September 4, at a variety of locations including Westlake Park, the aforementioned City Hall Plaza, the IBM Building, and Westlake Park, among others. The series has been going for a few years now, but this year’s lineup looks to be its best yet, making ample use of the surplus of local music talent and touching on an impressive variety of styles.
You can find the full schedule here (and yeah, there’s not a bum act in the bunch), but enclosed please find our list of the ten acts we’re most excited to see during the Out to Lunch series, in chronological order.
The Maldives (Friday July 10, Westlake Park): Seattle’s most durable roots-rock act also happens to be a rock of consistency live. I’ve seen at least ten Maldives gigs over the last five years, and every set’s been nothing less than full-on.
Craft Spells (Friday, July 24, Westlake Park): Their name says much, if not all. This band’s dreamy, British-inflected guitar pop should be a great, shuffling lilt of a soundtrack to an extra-heady summer afternoon.
Greta Matassa and Friends (Thursday July 30, City Hall Plaza): Nimble, playful traditional jazz and big-band sounds from 2014’s Earshot Jazz Vocalist of the Year, backed by an impressive instrumental ensemble? Yes, please.
The Staxx Brothers(Friday July 31, Lake Union Park): The Staxx Brothers are what that poseur Kid Rock desperately aches to be—namely, a double-barreled shotgun of steamy velour soul grooves and deep-fried southern rock that fires on all eight cylinders, with a charismatic court jester of a frontman who counters his spirited pipes with showmanship to burn.
Naomi Wachira (Thursday August 6, City Hall Plaza): This African ex-pat’s earthy variety of folk embraces her heritage while still connecting on a universal level. And she’s a riveting presence live.
Radiation City (Friday August 7, Westlake Park): In case you haven’t gathered here, and here, and maybe here, we at the SunBreak loves us some Radiation City. As amazing as this Portland quintet’s merger of chamber pop, new wave, lush vocal harmonies, and shoegazer atmospherics sounds on their recordings, though, they’re also able to deliver that mix to stunning perfection on a concert stage.
Fly Moon Royalty (Tuesday August 11, IBM Building): The alchemistic combo of DJ Action Jackson’s beats and melodies with singer Adra Boo’s siren vocals is as close to a two-person summer jam factory as you’ll get. If you ain’t moved to shake your ass, check your pulse.
The Dusty 45’s(Friday August 14, Harbor Steps): ‘Rip-snorting’ is the one adjective that most readily applies to this veteran Seattle rockabilly act. It’s likely way too dry and hot for band leader Billy Joe Huels to set his trumpet on fire onstage (as he’s done live numerous times in the past), but I wouldn’t put it past him.
Shelby Earl (Wednesday August 19, Two Union Square): Earl’s pipes–think Patsy Cline, channeled through roots-rock earthiness–makes magic from heartache and thwarted romance, so it’s a given that her dusky jewel of a voice will make even the most sweltering summer day a little more bearable.
Eldridge Gravy and the Court Supreme (Friday August 28, Lake Union Park): Again, we’ve sung the praises of Gravy and his gang of funketeers repeatedly over the years. It’s a side effect of them being sharp as hell live. Like Fly Moon Royalty, ass-shaking should be gloriously unavoidable.
If, like a lot of genre fans and straight-up geeks, you revere the first two Terminator movies, it’s a strong bet you’ll dislike Terminator: Genisys, the fifth film in the Terminator franchise (it just opened today on a metric crap-ton of screens). And if you don’t give a proverbial rat’s ass about the film series that made Teutonic cyborgs and the one-liners they spout an indelible pop culture fixture, it’s a strong bet your already-low expectations will still take a nosedive.
Let’s amend that. Hatred should be reserved for something that’s at least vigorous enough to arouse a polarizing extreme reaction of some kind. Terminator: Genisys, by contrast, runs its course with such rote apathy, it makes that ‘samba’ rhythm setting on an old Casio keyboard sound like gritty, to-the-bone Delta blues.
The movie’s opening minutes essentially replicate the 1984 original’s setup, in case anyone needs the catch-up. It’s the post-apocalyptic future, and the Earth’s ruled by Skynet, an implacable computer network whose army of machines have all but crushed mankind. John Connor, leader of the last ragtag vestiges of the human resistance, sends one of his lieutenants, Kyle Reese, back in time to protect Connor’s mom Sarah and to—ideally—destroy Skynet before it’s created.
The world Reese slingshots back to, though, doesn’t quite skew to expectations. The Sarah Connor now occupying the year 1984 isn’t a victimized, uncomprehending normal mortal: She’s a fully locked-and-loaded badass who’s already been on the run for years from Skynet’s Terminator cyborgs, her only companion being a benevolent Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) who’s become her de facto father figure and protector. From there, it’s up to Sarah, Reese, and ‘Pops’ Terminator to hopscotch across time to save the world.
In a bit of irony surely not intended by its makers, Terminator: Genisys plays like a Skynet computer simulation of the first two movies. That lingering feeling’s telegraphed almost from the get-go. Virtually shot-by-shot recreations of the 1984 original drive the early portion of the movie, only with every trace of the first Terminator’s visceral, grubby immediacy antiseptically smoothed out.
Along the way, plenty of Big Action Special Effects setpieces surface: A T-1000 played by Korean actor Byung-hun Lee gets all liquid-metal stabby and smashy. Numerous cars pursue each other and crash with numbing regularity. There’s a big helicopter chase, and the apparently required-by-blockbuster-law trashing of the Golden Gate Bridge occurs twice, sorta (only the 1950s Tokyo of the Godzilla movies has been abused as relentlessly by filmmakers). It’s all bigger, louder, and explodier than any of the preceding movies, but there’s precious little inspiration or soul inside the threadbare screenplay. Yeah, picking on a summer popcorn blockbuster is like lifting a Tootsie Pop from a 4-year-old, but Mad Max Fury Road proved that an action movie can be as smart and resonant as it is exhilarating. The stakes on this type of movie have been raised, and as a result Terminator: Genisys feels like a factory job through and through.
Most of the human components in Terminator: Genisys just amplify the movie’s sense of mechanical indifference. There’s a feral intensity in the eyes of Michael Biehn, the original film’s Kyle Reese, that clearly betrayed the frayed edges of someone who’d spent their entire life fighting and running. The Kyle Reese of Terminator: Genisys is blandly acted by Jai Courtney, whose straight-arrow earnestness runs totally at odds with his guerrilla resistance fighter character (has this guy ever experienced anything worse than maybe losing his starting place on his high school football team?). And the grunting, earthy, no-bull Sarah Connor represented by Terminator 2’s Linda Hamilton has been replaced by Game of Thrones’ Emilia Clarke, who looks like a more superficially-pretty computer sim of Hamilton and acts like a CW TV version of a living, breathing Female Action Hero. The attempted chemistry between these two feels clunky and rushed, as though director Alan Taylor couldn’t wait to get past the mushy stuff and straight to the explodey bits.
Not surprisingly, the only figures in this movie possessing staying power beyond a wet napkin are the old guys. Character actor J.K. Simmons lends rumpled believability and charm to his role as a cop whose path intersects with the Terminator twice in three decades. And Schwarzenegger proves to be pretty damned terrific. His features weathered to bracing distinction, he plays Sarah’s guardian as equal parts Pinocchio and protective papa. His awkward reconciliation of paternal love and conventional human behavior with his programming comes agonizingly close to giving this big, loud, explode-y assembly-line movie something resembling a heart.
After nearly a month of doing nothin’ but eating, breathing, and dreaming movies, it’s high damned time for me to take care of a serious live music itch. To belabor the metaphor, this weekend’s a Supermall-sized drugstore, and below you’ll find just a few of the dozens of brands of sonic itch-reliever at your disposal. Yeah, I’m reaching for metaphors, but I (and you) won’t have to reach far for a great music show. Or two. Or more.
Friday, June 19 (tonight!):
Kairos, Maiah Manser, Blush Cut @ Chop Suey. 21+. $10 at the door. Doors at 9:00 p.m.
You can hardly throw an empty coffee cup over your shoulder in Seattle without hitting multi-instrumentalist/singer Lena Simon, who plays with garage-surf goddess collective La Luz, groove-rock dynamos Thunderpussy, and dance band Pollens. In Kairos, her solo project, Simon wraps her coolly alluring croon in gauzy synths, textured guitars, and a percolating bed of electronic and live percussion. Some of it’s insidiously danceable, some of it’s as dreamily pretty as anything you’ll hear, and all of it’s, well, amazing (see Chris Burlingame’s great, in-depth interview with Simon on this here website for more).
Tomten, Rare Diagram, Boat Race Weekend, Hellbat @ The Blue Moon Tavern. 21+. $5 at the door. Doors at 8:00 p.m., show at 9:00 p.m.
This bill at the U district’s venerable Blue Moon runs roughshod all over the map. Hellbat‘s unusual configuration (bass, keyboard, drums, and wonderfully alien-chirp vocals) and joyously trashy art-punk sound never neglects the fun factor, while Boat Race Weekend plays chunky and careening indie rock that borders on nu-metal. Portland’s Rare Diagram and local boys Tomten both round out the evening on a lush pop note: The former updates Pet Sounds-era Beach Boys and Harry Nilsson with 21st century oddness, and the latter put out one of my favorite local releases last year—The Farewell Party, an unerringly gorgeous and lilting collection of baroque pop tunes that translate faultlessly in a live setting.
Cockney Rejects, Angry Samoans, 13 Scars, guests @ El Corazon. 21+. $15 at the door. Show at 8:30 p.m.
Looking for a fix of old-school punk from both sides of the pond? Look no further than El Corazon this evening. Cockney Rejects sprouted from English punk’s restless late1970s loins, bashing out a blue-collar variety of punk that owed as much to traditional pub-rock as it did to the spiky-haired three-chord bursts of their peers. California’s Angry Samoans, meanwhile, represented the funnier, less-angry flipside: Their two-minute epics sport a snarky sense of humor and a streak of garage-rock seasoning to go with the ripsaw energy–it’s genetically impossible for me not to appreciate a band sporting song titles like “They Saved Hitler’s Cock” and “You Stupid Asshole.”
Saturday, June 20:
De La Soul, Brothers from Another @ EMP Museum. 21+. $25 members/$30 non-members advance. Show at 9:00 p.m.
For a couple of months last winter, De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising maintained virtually exclusive residence on my iPhone. Its psychedelic playfulness, densely intricate samples, and wonderfully out-there sense of humor informed an entire New York contingent of outside-the-box hip hop (A Tribe Called Qwest, Queen Latifah, The Jungle Brothers), Outkast, local acts like THEESatisfaction and Shabazz Palaces, and current hip-hop It Boy Joey Bada$$ (who, coincidentally, plays across town at the Showbox tomorrow night). 3 Feet showed hip hop to be as infinitely expansive as any other sub-genre of popular music, and damned if the record doesn’t still sound daisy-fresh today (their two Prince Paul-produced follow-ups, De La Soul is Dead and Buhloone Mindstate, kinda rule, too). Show up to pay some respects, and congratulate ’em for successfully funding their first new record in over a decade. Make sure you get there early, too: Seattle three-man crew Brothers from Another share De La’s propensity for bluster-free, fun rhymes–albeit with a less-trippy backdrop of minimal funk beats–and a reputedly-jumping onstage presence.
The Draft Punk Festival with Girl Trouble, The Fucking Eagles, The DT’s, The Tom Price Desert Classic, and loads more @ The Swiss Restaurant and Pub (Tacoma). All ages. Free until 8:00 p.m/$10 after 8:00 p.m. Show begins at noon.
Great, no-bull garage rock crawls from the soil of Tacoma like some undying monster, so it’s worth considering a trip to T-Town for this free-for-most-of-the-day music festival. You’ll get local craft brews, a lovable 1913-vintage venue for the paid evening portion of the fest, and a dozen local rock outfits. There doesn’t appear to be a weak act in the batch, but make it a point to catch two of The City of Destiny’s most durable bands. Girl Trouble are Tacoma’s Garage Rock of Gibraltar (they’ve been carrying the torch for over thirty years now), and The Fucking Eagles thrust some roadhouse soul muscle into their muscular garage rock. Both acts belong on anyone’s local-rock bucket list of live bands.
Eldridge Gravy and his band of funky misfits the Court Supreme remain one of this ‘burg’s most reliable purveyors of deeply booty-shaking soul, so they’ll fit right in amidst the parades and naked hippie cyclists that’ll be overtaking Fremont during the Solstice Festival this weekend. Expect the likely-warm temperatures to increase by at least ten degrees once these guys get down to business. For reals, cousin.
I haven’t been to Narwhal (AKA the basement of Capitol Hill’s Unicorn bar) for live music yet, but this bill could change that, largely on the strength of Seattle band Charms‘ reputation as a potent onstage act. Their frantic music throws rapidly-strummed guitars and perpetually rolling drums into indie rock tunes that sound sort of like a super-caffeinated Modest Mouse gone new wave. It’s quite the contrast to the other three bands on the bill (Eight Bells from Portland and Seattle ensembles X Suns and Panther Attack), all of whom proffer largely/fully instrumental, complex-yet-heavy space-rock sonics in the spirit of Earth and early Kinski.