November 5: B-Lines and Twin Crystals at the Biltmore. Matt Day guest MCs for B-Lines. Everything that can go wrong for Jordan’s drumkit does, Jesse doesn’t play synth. The guitar songs are the better ones anyways.

November 6: Born to Run (first show) and Needles and Pins (skateboards) write love letters to Jawbreaker at the El Dorado. Detention (not as shitty as their MySpace) accidentally / incidentally covers Damaged I between songs. Tons of feedback, Tom impatiently pounding at drums (“punk is the easiest music to make”), and Cheylene recovering from a car accident.

November 13. Someone boring at the Astoria by accident, but it definitely wasn’t Tight Solid. It might have been the Good News, but did anyone else play?

November 14. The El Dorado is too expensive. New Values covered the Regulator. Prison have a few awesome songs, and some filler. Daniel points out the drummer’s sex faces. B-Lines, y’know.

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Jay Reatard at the Biltmore, June 16, 2009. Shove at the Astoria and Sex Negatives at the Rickshaw, June 19, 2009. The Bloggers, Shipyards, and Chris-a-riffic at Hoko’s and Dozal Brothers and Twin Crystals at the Astoria, June 20, 2009. The Fresh & Onlys and Sex Church at Pat’s Pub, June 21, 2009.

Now I should stay in all week.

Tuesday was Jay Reatard and sneaking Pabst upstairs. He had a bass player, a drum-hitter, and they kept songs fast and short. Having only one guitar (sometimes acoustic) sounded wussy for the first half, but they pulled a coup with It’s So Easy and going through My Shadow they started to kill. I came out with a black eye.

I wasn’t convinced by Shove at the Astoria Friday night. They were too sludgy for my tastes, and then played an outright bad song about Matt Dillon. Daniel wasn’t into it at all, get prissy about the crowd. After that the chugging power-chords let up and you started noticing that Mish’s bass was spitting out some weird approximation of bubbly sixties pop under all the grime. I wasn’t thrilled, and it could still go terribly wrong, but there was promise if you looked in the right spots.

I got to the Rickshaw ten steps behind Justin Gradin and walked in on two Sex Negatives songs. Hopes for seeing Nü Sensae were dashed when the show was shut down. Everything had to be over by 12:30, unknown to everyone. A guy walked through a window and that was that.

Hoko’s Saturday night had fifty people inside, eating sushi, finding sasquatch, and smiling. I came just before Chris-a-riffic set up. I can’t recall ever being so eager to applaud. Read his name, it’s the real deal. His lyrics, the crisp piano tone, spirited vocals, never close to too long, it’s like hearing Charlie Brown, the same crushed warmth, except you’re not depressed by the last page. His cover of Satan’s Daughter (the Bloggers song, not Gary Glitter, not Cross the Breeze) was more enthusiastic than who-would-dare? and he’s the only guy in Vancouver pulling off two gorgeous a capellas in a row.

I wasn’t smoking during Shipyards, I think, and came back in for the last Bloggers set. ever.

Shit, it was perfect. Evan on third guitar was fantastic, everything was wonderful, even the fuck-ups that no one would have noticed if there weren’t confused faces on stage. Every song was a winner, but as much as I love the feedback and Adam F’s over the top leads, they were at their best when everyone was focused on the same end.

I’m so glad I got to play a part in such a criminally unappreciated band. Buy their CD, and then watch out for the 25 CD-R box set. In The Band that Would Be King Gerald Cosley says the only proper way to listen to Half Japanese is in several hour long marathons, with no distractions. The Bloggers are like that, except fun.

I’m sure someone can write a more eloquent eulogy, all I know is that I’ve caught myself singing Scared Away almost every day for months. I’m / Sorry I / Stuck a pig / In the mouth of an apple…

Without regret, I got to No Age too late and headed back up Main and found myself at the Astoria watching the last of Twin Crystals’ buzz-synth set. Everyone cleared out for the Dozal Brothers, who I wouldn’t have stayed inside for if I hadn’t just paid six bucks to get in and another few to split a pitcher. They were stupid typical dance music with heavily processed vocals. I didn’t hate them, they just weren’t that good, even with all that Texan enthusiasm.

Last weekend day I missed Mode Moderne but heard all of Sex Church, who I’ve been resenting for months now. They started out with a good washed-out pop song that jammed itself away from being good. The next few songs were more washed out, less good, boring. Then an outright bad song and I retreated to pinball. There’s some good ideas ‘n’ bits in Sex Church, but they’re burried in so much shit. I don’t mean sonic-wise, although that too, I mean there’s so much bad material drowning the alright bits. I’ll give them a huge commendation for keeping their set to a balmy 25 minutes. I can swallow 25 minutes; 45 minutes, you have to clean the mess.

They finished with another shitty song, but it was really loud. Is that a plus I guess?

I’ve been enjoying the shit out of the Fresh & Onlys LP. Live was a lot different. Ignore the garage tag, the guitar was pure late-70’s / early-80’s power-pop, bluesless, squeaky clean deliberateness. The piss-off was the lead singer / keys. The synths slide between unobtrusive and painfully dated. The vocals were worse. The singer had this stupid affected voice, the same voice of dried-out insecurity I’ve heard fourteen year-old boys put on, trying to be a character, some kind of re-invention that’s artificially distant. It almost mocks the music to cover its ass. Lyrics like “I don’t have many imaginary friends, but if I did I would live with them until the very, very end” work best with some degree of earnesty. (Fuck you the dictionary, it’s a word now!) It was still lots of fun though; they couldn’t fuck up Peacock and Wing.