I have a cut-up style I use when I want to get into a certain way of thinking. I’ve arranged my room around this practice: Pacing between my bookshelves and wardrobe, music blasting out of a speaker somewhere in a low corner behind me, cats lounging in various windows. I use the clutter of books and notes to cut through the jumble of anything else and they become ledges and vistas in the head, with rocks to hurl into the space below. The crash and the bang kicks out disruptive thoughts and echolocates a new idea, some kind of synthesis cut from the jagged chaos of the landscape. Ah, here we go. I grab Shrovetide in Old New Orleans off a shelf, a collection of essays from the 1970s from the great (still living) mind of Ishmael Reed. Sketches of Spain by Miles Davis soundtracks a page I have dog-eared from years ago for reasons I can’t recall. I read until I find what I’m looking for — oh, there it is, a perfect quote, aged like a crystal since 1971, nestled in a passage bemoaning the empty obsession with academic credentialing among the dispossessed strivers, a regular gripe of Reed’s.
“There aren’t the frequent white mobs roaming the streets as they did during the Phoenix Riot or the Atlanta Riot of the kind who would drag a black college official from a train to administer a severe beating to him. No. The mob has gone indoors, where they await the pollster who conveys their grunts to the spineless robots referred to as ‘political leaders.’ Nowadays the lynchings come in the form of Omnibus crime bills.”
Perfect. My brain starts kicking out images and memories. I recall balking at the cynicism of a Latino Democratic operative who, one night years ago in a bar conversation, used his “lived experience” growing up in East Los Angeles to defend the hideous ’94 Crime Bill instituted by rightwing, third-way creeps in the Democratic Party to incarcerate a generation of (mostly) minority men. I see visions of one its chief architects, Joe Biden, whose sclerotic zombified presidency, literally propped up by the worst liberal servants of the robber baron class as a weak, sandy levee against the coming tide of barbaric grift, led us right to this horror, without anyone from that robber class being inconvenienced by their money ticker going down. There’s something to write about here, surely. Oh, but shit, I’m out of space and time. The record has changed, The Rubáiyát of Dorothy Ashby is playing. That’s very nice. I’ll save that writing for another time. I have still made an intro out of this mess. Maybe I’ll do the unthinkable and create a Substack, like a few of you have suggested, to pollute a different venue and clear some space around here.
Speaking of venues, check out these below.
Thursday
The Outer Space is hosting Portland acts Fry’d — a solo acoustic adventure — and Just Nick, who are both promoting a split record called American Progress. They will be joined by local acts Bleater and The Guiding Water for an evening of relatively easy-listening summer vibrations. The music starts at 7:30 p.m., there’s a $5 suggested donation at the door, but no one will be turned away from this all-ages gig if they don’t have the money.
Friday
Modesto’s Valley Wolf packs a whole lot of party punch into its amplified output, making massive psychedelic and cumbia overtures out of the instruments of a humble quartet. It’s great fun and a perfect way to kick off a midsummer weekend, especially with local DJ scramblers Hispanic! at the Disco onboard at their home turf at the Miniplex. Doors and music around 7:30 p.m., Humboldt time ($10).
Saturday
Cellist Rebecca Roudman leads Dirty Cello, a San Francisco band that kicks out the jams –from funk to Americana and all points in between, with the titular instrument providing the filthy and slick lead work where one would more commonly find an electric guitar. This globetrotting band is doing something right, as it has gotten the word out and secured a decent following from the strength of its formidable live shows. It should be a dirty good time. To find out for yourself, show up to the Historic Eagle House at 7 p.m. with $20 in hand.
Sunday
New York-based Jalopy Records act Jackson and the Janks are a garage band who pump out rhythm and blues motion under a gospel spell to make a fine night of dance floor ecstasy for all comers. Extra icing on the show is local band The Cowtown Sound, who will make it shake, rattle and roll while you boogie, baby. Beloved Eureka artist residence venue Synapsis is the hot spot tonight at 8 p.m., and a sliding scale run of $10-$20 at the door will secure your spot in the lodge.
Monday
Mondays are great for hidden gem shows and tonight is one such perfect jewel. Animal Piss, It’s Everywhere from Western Massachusetts not only sits on the shortlist for strangest band names to ever grace this page, but the band is also fantastic, with an outsider country sound that is so far beyond it should be considered trans-dimensional. Speaking of names, pay no mind to the seasonal dysphoria behind Winter Band, this local collective of outré musicians is fantastic in any form, and tonight’s chrysalis will include Ben Chasny from Six Organs of Admittance, along with Donovan Quinn, whose recent group Western Extra just recorded some excellent work you will be hearing about in these pages. Where else but the sonic cavern of the Miniplex would such a treasure be found? An early week show has an early start time of 7:30 p.m., with tickets going for $15 — perfectly reasonable for what glitters tonight.
Tuesday
One more shout out to the Outer Space, with an all-ages alt-folk show, featuring Autumnal from Colorado along with tourmate Public Diary and the dream-folk stylings of local band My Ex-Wife. It’s $10 for this one, with the usual caveat of no one getting turned away because they don’t have the dough. 7:30 p.m.
Wednesday
Two great and disparate shows tonight, spanning a wide enough margin of style and price to have something on offer for quite a few. First up at 7 p.m., Northtown Coffee is hosting an all-ages punk show with area maniacs Image Pit joining up with Cheshire High to represent the local scene and welcome L.A. pop punk touring act Pelo Grande to the 95521. $5-$20 sliding scale covers a lot of financial wiggle room.
An hour later at the Arcata Playhouse, fantastic post-prog trio The Stick Men will be back in the house. Featuring composer and studio ace Markus Reuter, King Crimson — and too many other acts to name — drum master Pat Mastelotto, and usually helmed by world-class bass and chapman stick virtuoso Tony Levin, this trio is a must-see for fans of finely crafted, avant garde sonic maneuverings. A slight change in the menu tonight: Tony Levin is unfortunately sick and can’t make this wing of the tour. While I wish him a speedy recovery, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ecstatic about his replacement, guitarist Reeves Gabrels, whom I have seen live as a long-time member of one of my favorite bands, The Cure. He has also ripped it up with the late David Bowie and many other amazing musicians. Should be a classic night. It’s $30 at the door, $25 for advance tickets.
Collin Yeo (he/him) sez: “Cats Rule Everything Around Me, C.R.E.A.M., pet the kitty, she got a fuzzy little head, Yeo.” All apologies for that one.
This article appears in The Conductor.