Years ago, when I was sluicing off layers of the ooze of deep irony in which I and many other older millennials were minted, I started thinking about the effects of that caul we were born and burdened with. One of the defining qualities of certain seers of my generation is a bitter clarity that is not polluted by the leaded gasoline and TV youth culture rainbows of the Me Generation, or the cloistered and quarantined internet poisoning of Gen Z. We came up in the twilight of boomer idealism and in the emergence of new forms of communication. We were allowed to both touch grass and gleefully shitpost in the early days of the web, which gave us access to a crystal ball of information that provided no instructions on its social or moral utility. We were watchers and commentators in a wilderness of violence and pornography that hadn’t existed so casually since the age of the Caesars and had never been broadcast so widely. Surfing a wave that carried the detritus of the underground into the same prominence as mainstream culture was wild, particularly since it was powered by a new system of communication that eclipsed everything before it like a global tsunami. We’re all living in the wake of the internet apocalypse, a swamped backwater where collective meaning is a forgotten gem in a sunken temple too far below the rising waters to retrieve. There’s no prize for shredding gnar on the early waves of this drowned world, only the infamy of memories of better times and the danger of being permanently poisoned when irony becomes purely cynical.
However, the human spirit still prevails, even in the worst of places. For instance, there was a dude out there for a while who balanced performance art and music production with such a provocative and goofy aesthetic that he was allowed to spend as much sincerity as he liked in the transactions required to realize his dreams. A human meme, a stuntman with an Agnès Varda bowl cut to match his Angès Varda face and low art/haute culture wardrobe. I’m not going to pretend I was a fan of Oliver Tree — I wasn’t born at the right time for that — but I was sad when he died in a helicopter crash last Sunday in Brazil while kicking off his first worldwide tour. I have come to understand that his chaotic and surreal music videos meant a lot to the lockdown generation who got chained to the screens during their formative years in the peak of COVID. Other people liked him, too, of course. He’s been eulogized by everyone from the cast of Jackass to Maasai tribesmen, so he must have been doing something right. I learned about him from my girlfriend because apparently her ex loved his stuff. That might sound weird to some, but I figured out a long time ago that romantic rivalry is stupid, and if someone who you haven’t even met loved someone who you love, maybe they have other interests you might dig. Life is already too short, no need for rutting and headbutting. Anyway, I asked another friend who is closer to Tree’s age what he thought of his stuff, and he was not a fan. Which makes sense, too. I said Tree’s whole deal “was like if Santa Cruz was a person,” and my buddy laughed because it was true. But I wasn’t being derogatory. Far from it.
His art wasn’t for me, but he wasn’t poisoned, and I love the sincerity of his vision. I’m sorry he died; this drowned world needs more people like him. Mutants who can bask in the radiation of mass appeal while cloaked in rare gems retrieved from the slithery deep that flash wonderful colors we have all nearly forgotten.
Have a great week.
Thursday
Moss Oak Commons is the place to be yet again if you are looking for some good rock of many flavors and colors. Sacramento’s shoegaze and noise merchants Quinine are headlining a show at 7 p.m. tonight featuring the amazing Presence from Open Head Records. Also on tap for this all-ages wingding is Litter, featuring Brent from Velvet Worms. The cost to get in is a suggested $10, which is very negotiable if the economy isn’t favoring you at the moment.
Friday
How about some golden-era hippie revival music? I can think of far, far worse ways to spend the kick-off to the solstice sabbath, so if you are game, roll by the Logger Bar around 9 p.m. for the music of Cassidy Lyn & the Ramblers. As is the usual state of things, there’s no cover charge.
Saturday
Local rapper Hiway is about to be local no more, so his friends are throwing a going-away party tonight at Humbrews to let him know he will be missed. Producer and DJ GMG will be providing the beats and ambiance for rappers Nac One, Flo J. Simpson, Cali Los Mikyo and company to weave a wordstream encomium for their adventuring fellow mic-smith. The doors open at 8 p.m. and tickets are going for $10 advance, $15 night of.
An hour later at the Miniplex, the doors will be open for the Juneteenth festival afterparty ($20, $15 for early bird presales). The event is mainly burlesque — although there will be line dancing and karaoke as well — and is officially titled Club Anti presents: Cuntry Cowgirls. There will be many performers and, as is the case with burlesque, the stage-names are a big part of the art. The top of the leaderboard as far as I’m concerned is Clair Fuxabull. Bravo.
Sunday – Summer Solstice
It’s the longest day of the year and also the pinnacle of Pride month because visibility matters in measures of sunshine and human dignity alike. In that spirit, go enjoy another installment of the Outlaw Jamie B and DJ Thornestar curated Sanctuary Sundays at Six Rivers Brewery from noon to 4 p.m. You don’t have to be anything other than yourself to enjoy this free, all-ages event, but if you are old enough to drink, there will be an all-day happy hour in effect and food available for purchase by Los Giles and Cruz’n Kitchen.
Monday
Monday is on its summer vacation.
Tuesday
I’m going to send this out again for those who may have missed it. Strange Meeting is one of the finest local groups we have, a collective full of some of the best jazz musicians in the area, unofficially helmed by savant trumpeter Nicholas Dominic Talvola. For some time, they have used the closed Tuesday off-night at the Basement for a practice session. They have very recently opened that session up to the public starting at 7 p.m. for a suggested donation of only $5. You are missing something quite fine if you don’t have a gander, I assure you.
Wednesday
Finally for this week, here are two shows on either side of Humboldt Bay, both full of different types of soul. If you want something dirty boots, nitty gritty and country, head over to Siren’s Song Tavern after 8 p.m. for a local (and formerly so) match-up of sounds courtesy of Gunsafe and Idle Spurs. This one’s free, but the other will cost you.
The price ain’t bad for some fiery southern soul, tire-squealing, roots-rock roadsters, though, because for only $25–or $20 if you bought a ticket in advance, you can enjoy the searing sounds of Austin, Texas’ Nik Parr & the Selfless Lovers. The dancefloor at Humbrews is a roadhouse tonight and the doors open around 8:30 p.m. Viva.
Collin Yeo (he/him) is placid.
This article appears in Miranda’s Rescue Under Scrutiny, Part 1.