(via new fashion blog Haunted Luther King Day)

I’ve been trying to stay diplomatic, ‘cuz playing shows is so fun, and hitting a keyboard, explaining how everyone sucks, isn’t the best way to get shows, but I just showed up at work two and a half hours late and got sent home, so fuck it.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles played at the Biltmore December 16, and so did Student Teacher, Manic Attracts, and Tranzmitors. I can’t remember Student Teacher, but I’ve spent the last minutes and years enjoying Pink Flag. People forget how to be punk like Wire. They were urgent and minimal, and with the exception of 12XU it’s not loud, tough, or that fast. Ex-Lion Tamer and Pink Flag feel just long enough, too short, and long at the same time and then you realize they’d be short to average-length on most records. Forget the truth in it, please retire the “Wire plays like Ramones go to art school” phrase. On top of art school shit, it’s fun to listen to.

The first Manic Attracts song was better because Clint dropped his guitar. The bass was melodic, Clint’s nasal vocals pass, they’re an opening band, same as Timecopz (who keep getting better, but still feel sheltered post-Reatard). There was tension between Clint’s wiry In the Red angle and Nat’s (I think?) “reclaimed sexuality” shtick, faux-fallating the mic and moaning. I recoiled at the chauvinism of it, clashing both with Clint’s contributions, and the way that other bands present themselves. Congratulations, you’re different than White Lung. You also played five too many songs and started struggling to keep up halfway through the set.

The pizza was decent, just a lot of garlic.

All the piss on stage during Tranzmitors was healthy. There’s nothing like being friends to ruin fun. Sticking to the singles, whistling out of tune, and insulting each other and everyone else worked.

I threw up at the Biltmore on New Years and don’t remember the bands. Now it’s 2010. My turntable is on my desk and I can hear thudding keystrokes syphoning through Exit Dreams.

I caught the last few songs from Moby Dicks at this month’s pizza party. Their lead singer plays floor tom and snare, they’re unoriginal, and they’re super fun. Don’t know why they played before Black Lips number 3 / Indian Wars. Vancouver already has Dead Ghosts, why distill it further? Their set was bland, even with pizza.

I thought, “I’m tired, they aren’t great, I’ll see Myelin Sheaths Saturday.” January 23 came to Zoo Zhop and I still didn’t care. B-Lines put on a better show after I thought I was making fun of Moby DIcks by singing I Can’t Wait They actually were playing it, and I love them for it. B-Lines made it through Busy Man, Houseplants, Hastings Strut, and 2Nite before someone in the packed hallway knocked into / disintegrated the bass. People screamed, swore, threw money, hit shit, threw cans, but the riot didn’t precipitate thankfully / no fun.

Moby Dicks had better sound in that hallway than at the Biltmore. They sounded better than Nobunny at the Rickshaw. Compared to Pat’s, that set had a few misses, the guitar playing was cute shit (bring along a guitarist next time Nobunny!), and the Rickshaw sucks unless the Ramones fill it.

I took my brother to see Magik Markers and Sic Alps. He’s 13 and drums in a band that kicked out their lead singer for not liking Minor Threat. Their first song is a minute long and it’s about time travel. Shearing Pinx played a long set without a Black Flag cover, but with those corrected it would’ve been good.

Every Sic Alps song sounds like it was run through Devo-Satisfactionizer, disjointed as shit and lovely. Dominic didn’t dig it, but he bought a Shearing Pinx CD.

I believe the girl in Magik Markers doesn’t know a single chord, but she has a great ear. The feedback was controlled, but unrestrained as she staggered around the enormous stage.

Make a mixtape. Please.

Timecopz and Sex Negatives played together in a dream, just a dream that didn’t make any sense. Timecopz pulled off one perfect skate pop song before sounding too close to budget Jay Reatard and, somehow, Vapid. A generous gloss of reverb is standard these days, but three sets of vocals bouncing around the hollow distance of Honey matched weird with the intravenous immediacy of the music.

Sex Negatives have blown and they’ve kicked everyone’s ass. At Honey they came out with under ten minutes of an aborted Ennio Morricone overture, rebuilt at the crudest angles, naturally tense with inhumanity, missing pieces and gaining from it, but losing craftsmanship. When it finally snapped, it didn’t pay off. They couldn’t make enough noise to fill the room, until Vecker put down the sax and started mumbling through effects looped beyond Fucked Up’s disco David.

The spaghetti drops and Cary Grant is going for another altered state joy ride. This time he’s breathing dementia and enjoying it. The third spaz went straight rock, almost worked, but the guitar needed to be turned up to reach cataclysmic.

The next non-traditional show day, I opened an unmarked door on Main and Hastings and found Terror Bird playing where I outlined Waldo’s torso.

I heard them forever ago, I still lived with my parents, and thought this girl singing and playing piano is pretty great and went back to listening to Daniel Johnston. Then I forgot about them.

They played Hotel like there were bodies in the wall, doors rusting shut, and pathetic crime being committed in the corner while Nikki’s deep-voiced refugee-from-1980 synth pop lurked on-stage. Behind her, Jeremiah plays drums with the deliberateness of a drum machine, calm and still, calculated fills that drop with clinical toughness. None of the songs stood out, but the atmosphere was tangible, only discordant with too preset keys.

Talk Normal started with Andrya Ambro keeping time with her shoulders. Then she played drums really fast and kicked effects while Sarah Register used a guitar. There was some yelling and singing, and then Andrya put a guitar on top of the drums and started hitting it.

That was pleasant enough, but when she stops and moves to the cymbals you realize this is life-affirming grime that’s been hiding beneath pop music since the 50’s. Ambro starts to mumble and a tape is playing. You almost forget… something… and then Register slides up her guitar, more macho than anything on No New York. Accompanying, that mindless / rad “beat” from The Lion Sleeps Tonight on whatever drugs you feel like. It’s brilliant tones, reverse dance music, Jesus and Mary Chain without the decades worn chord changes and pop beats, fading away into bird song.

Wet Hair got me to leave before Shearing Pinx. Frivolous loop of “pop” without any teeth or fizz, no earworms or anything else worthwhile. Repetitive without being captivating. The vocals was uninteresting,the drumming was , and every tone sounded a factory preset.

Two shitty songs and I split a cab. Thursdays and Sundays, can’t live with/out them. Monday morning, 8AM, somehow I got to work on time.

Oh where did I run to? I worked thirty evening shifts in six weeks. I wake up whenever I want, but still catch the SkyTrain home. I wrote some stuff, and didn’t finish anything. Boo hoo hoo boo. Now my uncashed pay cheque attests that I haven’t been working enough, but I’ve been just as busy. Where is 2009?

I saw some bands and music. But not like synesthesia.

“There are so many skinny teenagers doing weird dances, why am I even here?” B-Lines fought the audience at the since defunct Peanut Gallery for attention and everyone won, as I was introduced to all the kids who are suddenly everywhere I go. As annoying as they are, I love them. They’re so fucking enthusiastic, and if you punch them, they punch back!

Maynards stuck to the audience with some infectious hooks and then fell asleep on me during our detour to Pizza Garden. That made up for Die Rotzz playing their How Long? set that eliminated SkyTrain as a viable option.

Next week I saw Vacant State (typical 80s hardcore, but not bad), Healthy Students (shows promise), Gone But Not Forgotten (as forgettable as every other straight edge band that’s not Minor Threat or the Modern Lovers), Dichotomy (I had to explain to a friend that it was on purpose), and Shearing Pinx (finally).

Next week was a high-school throwback. First school night, B-Lines antagonizing those kids, and Box Elders not getting Little Mountain shut down, and being super fun and cheesy anyways.

Thursday night I went to for real high school and saw You Say Party! We Say Die!, B-Lines (again?!), Hard Feelings, and GSTS (being watched by a member of the.WPP). Even with my brain scrambled by overdrive nostalgia, the show was mediocre. Friday night I caught GSTS again at the Cobalt, with Punk Rock Caricature Night, featuring unbearable ensemble Stooges covers.

That weekend was back to the Peanut Gallery. I left before Vapid, even though Do the Earthquake was spinning in my room all week, and I wish I had missed Sex Church. Twenty minutes would be fine, but stretching it into forty turns ambivalence into active hatred. Sub Pop Singles buddes Tyvjk and Unnatural Problems each had a lot of charm, although some people were disappointed by some missing sparked in their fuzzed out set.

Next Tuesday Vacant State didn’t play Boosh, leaving me with two boring punk bands that at least didn’t play forever, and Staring Problems’ first set, which I liked, especially the drummer’s IAMPLAYINGSOHARD / IAMHAVINGSOMUCHFUN face. Deklan’s growls were a bit too much though.

Saturday the Peanut Gallery shut down. Hard Feelings are decent, but didn’t need to play that long, especially since they were told that the show had to be over quick. Despite B-Lines trying to jump on after them, Defektors closed the Peanut Gallery in style, with a slim, aggressive set, saturated with hooks. It was a highlight of the year so far, even with Jeremiah’s vocals sounding a little off.

Olympics.

Last night GSTS poured their hearts out (or at least the.WPP’s hearts) for a little too long. I did my best to ignore Werewolf Whatever and stuck around for one beyond-sloppy (nothing wrong with that) song from Golden Touch

Good. I just needed to get that off my chest.