L.A. RECORD » gab chabran

THE SAMPS: THE SAMPS

Intern — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 05:57:22 +0000

christine hale

The Samps “Peppergood”
(From the self-titled LP out now on Mexican Summer)

Listening to the Samps is like going on a mystical odyssey in a lowered Care Bear cloud car accompanied by Rick Ross and back-lit by the California sunset. The band directs as many nods to J Dilla as they do to Ariel Pink. The music is both chilled and hyperactive in its attitude towards its own composure. The opening track feels like delving into a pool of your own sonic confusion; submerged in the abstract texture of the music’s own forces. The sound emerges effortlessly with its own groove, touching on the finer bits of disco and house such as on “F.N.X.C.” The overall feeling of the record is radiation from all directions. It highlights both the high and the low, the retro and the futuristic, the self-styled and the reconstituted. All of that aside, it’s an unmistakably fun record with enough bump for your next deck party.

—Gab Chabran

JAVELIN + MAUS HAUS + 60 WATT KID @ BOOTLEG THEATER

lar_import — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 17:18:48 +0000

60 Watt Kid’s opening set at Bootleg felt like a fast forward animated short of the history of human evolution. The songs built to climax, earning their legs, eventually learning to crawl and then walk, developing form as the audience watched. Their body of music, with its shoulders pointed up right and high, screamed in its own celebration. SF’s Maus Haus delivered a blistering set of superfluous kinetic intensity. Armed with a brigade of instruments at each member’s fingertips to bang, blow, tap, whisper, and toot—the rhythm section took command. Dropping double floor toms coupled with dueling keyboards, the band was led by two vocalists followed by guitars, bass, one dude playing the fiercest set of sax and flute I’ve ever seen. The vocalists provided shimmery pop sounds as the songs exploded onto themselves. MH’s sound manifested itself as a sprawling musical journey like an adolescent discovering their parent’s mixtape collection from when they chased each other through dusty tree lined pathways of Golden Gate Park, stumbling into a puddle of post punk moss that sticks to the joints on their limbs, never bothering to wash it off. Headlining that night was Brooklyn via Rhode Island’s duo Javelin with its white kid bedroom ghetto funk. Javelin seemed intent on making sure the audience got their weekly dose of ass shaking. The duo encased themselves in sandy beaches of wires and cords, electronic drum kits, sequencers, samplers and whatever else it took to craft their bright toy-ish sounds of sunshine tinted jamz for the audience to shed our winter overcoats and crew neck sweatshirts—as it felt time for summer. The result got our hips to shake, rattle and dip downwards to the floor space as we bopp-ishly grooved to the pre-programmed sounds of vintage keyboards and the jumpy sounds of the drum cadence. Javelin brings sounds of familiarity, something you would find blasting out a car window along a main drag of Whittier Blvd or the most eastern park of Sunset. This feeling made the audience comfortable enough to dance and sway together in a converted warehouse off Beverly Blvd. full of strangers, as we imagined the sun hitting our shoulders.

—Gab Chabran

THAO NGUYEN WITH THE GET DOWN STAY DOWN @ THE ECHO

lar_import — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:03:05 +0000

San Francisco (via PDX and Virginia) singer Thao Nguyen was like a gleaming ball of light onstage, backed by her band the Get Down Stay Down, who were shimmering independently behind her. Although they were situated tonight on the relatively small Echo stage, there was nothing small about the performance that night: it was smart and jazzy pop/rock with a kind of sweet and sexy cowgirl sadness that matched welcome roughness to wild beauty. (Think of a piece of unpolished gold.) Nguyen is radiant—almost spilling into you as she plays, a glorious mess of hair, skin and technicolor dress—and a particularly young front row cooed approvingly up at her as she played. Though she’s only 24, her lyrics dispense an amazing amount of truth and wisdom and walloping wit—songs so sharply observed that it’s almost as if she’s telling your future. Her voice seems to slip through the octaves, as if she’s splitting every syllable in her lyrics, and live it’s like watching bubbles fill up a bathtub. When she performs, it’s raw interaction between elements, and as the sound of her words hit you, you’ll see stars.
—Gab Chabran

SHARK TOYS + CHRISTMAS ISLAND @ L'KEG GALLERY

lar_import — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 03:08:57 +0000

Another faithful night at L’Keg beckoned me. First up was the Inland Empire’s own Shark Toys, who have made the switch from two piece to four since they last graced the pages of this glorious rag. Their attack on their set rings true, brought forth by lead Danny, who, with a vacant stare, cries out to the chorus during their opening number, “There’s somewhere I want to be but it’s definitely not here,” a declaration to and from all suburbanites who vacate the outer echelons of places such as our own great city. Shark Toys tends to defy any type of decade, testified by their cover of the Tronics’ “Crush on You,” with warbly attentiveness and youth-like tendencies. The band channeled the proto-punk gods—wildly yielding their instruments, Danny (guitar), Kyle (bass), and recent addition Matt (drums) provide the perfect yin to the yang of keyboardist Rena’s cool meditative state. It’s almost as if she is harnessing all of their creative energy to output her own. The dynamic between Danny and Rena while on stage together is like watching a younger version of John Doe and Exene, even sounding like them as they trade off vocal responsibilities during duets. The group’s jumpy raucousness presents the perfect kiss off to summer.

Shark Toys were followed by San Diego’s Christmas Island, whose brand of gangly sounding ode to rock-ism pays proper dues to its garage roots and admits a traditional California sound. The band’s guitar driven riffage transmorphs into a proper bit of mellowness, taking a robust sound and making it a deep groove. It’s lo-fi, but it’s not, in the sense that C.I.’s sounds tend to pre-date themselves without relying so much on effects but rather taking a more minimalist approach to song composition, such as on “I Don’t Care” and “Doin Swell.” I found myself dancing to the drums provided by drummer Lucy, who hits all the right toe-tapping beats. Her exploits occur while singer Brian’s vocal pattern takes you on a heartfelt journey through tone and force. That aspect followed by Craig’s blues-tinged guitar bits create an acute sense of wonderful joyousness, putting a smile on the face of every band member as well the audience. The beautiful bouts that make up the interludes create a perfect sounding music to skateboard down a pier with on an old school board—the clay wheels pop and drop below your feet on the sun-drenched wood.

—Gab Chabran

BEST COAST + PEARL HARBOR @ L'KEG GALLERY

lar_import — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 21:59:57 +0000

Best Coast and Pearl Harbor wrapped up their city-wide tour at L’Keg in Echo Park. Best Coast played first, fronted by one-half of Pocahaunted, Bethany Cosentino, along with local hero Bobb Burno. Cosentino has diverged from the gloomy drone of her other project, opting for a more sun-tinged meets fuzz-pop orientated sound. Best illustrated on such jamz as “Sun was High (So Was I)” and newest addition “Something in the Way”—Each song represents BC’s approach, by defying space and time, sounding as if No Age wandered into the studio during a Connie Francis recording session. The band tends to highlight Beth’s vocals, which seem to shine in their truest sense. That doesn’t mean that Bruno’s musical presence ever falls by the way-side.—No, it’s the wave underneath Cosentino’s surfboard. It’s the driving force. Opting for a cover, an obscure Lesley Gore tune, “That’s The Way Boys Are,” Best Coast gave it a dingy pair of wings. It might be easy to describe the band’s sound as minimalist. However, when the music itself peaked it filled the hot crowded space that night with summery goodness.

Pearl Harbor continued the mood for the evening with its washed-out California sound. The combination of distant and dreamy vocals provided by lead singer Piper, whose lyrics seem to exude a kind of melancholy despite her cheerful banter with band members and a select few in the audience. Warm guitar riffs accompanied her voice, provided by her counterpart Skylar. The riffs themselves represent a deconstructed surf-pop sound, slowed to intoxicate you. Pearl Harbor’s music is one that connotes taking the most awesome sailboat trip of your life in the marina where Dennis Wilson drowned. Somehow his spirit floats to the top and incarnates itself into these rather young-looking purveyors who have based themselves upon that familiar sound.

—Gab Chabran

BOWERBIRDS @ THE ECHO

lar_import — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 15:07:23 +0000

North Carolina’s Megafaun took the stage with a geeky sense of bravado and whimsicality, as their opening number spilled out into a wispy jangle. Their harmonies confront you like a cloud that comes into your bedroom and sits in front of your face waiting for you to awake. Suffice to say, there is a quaintness in the group’s approach, with their smiling faces and familiar banter, that seems to go beyond our jaded L.A. standards. Megafuan wants you to share the experience, even walking out into the crowd during the end of one of their songs. There is something innately communal about these guys that one cannot escape.

Bowerbirds enter with a palpably different aura. If Megafuan is the hyperactive child of the family, then Bowerbirds is the introvert. Their lyrical output is deep and heartfelt, like two lovers who are comforted only by the fact that each other exist. Their music is slow and could perhaps resemble the wind as it brushes across your face. Theirs is music to sway to. This is perfectly exhibited on the song “Northern Lights,” where singer Phil Moore softy strums his guitar as he sweetly sings of love weighted upon the soul. A soft sonic brick opens up under the feet of his listeners, pulling them into the church of loneliness. His sound is pro-founded by his partner Beth Tacular’s fingers on the keys, serving as the perfect companion to his willowy-ness. On songs like “House of Diamonds,” along with “Chimes,” Tacular captivates us with her accordion, which takes on the role of a living entity, breathing on its own, laying the groundwork to construct a type of haunted jig, together with the tune of Moore’s voice. Each note follows you like a ghost, tunes that resonate with your entire being, replaying in your soul as you slowly rock yourself into a cold, dead sleep.

—Gab Chabran

THE VERY BEST + RAINBOW ARABIA @ THE ECHOPLEX

lar_import — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 16:18:26 +0000

“Everyone listens to everything now,” L.A. Record editor Chris Ziegler said recently in an interview about the Los Angeles music scene. I’ll paraphrase the rest. He goes on to state that from that fact comes a fear of limits—and yet, how inspiring for others. I witnessed the personification of this idea Wednesday at the Echoplex. First, exemplified by Bersa Discos’ most spaced out sounding experimental cumbias. Using these tactics, the duo seemed intent on getting everyone to dance. Next, Rainbow Arabia’s drippy African sounding rhythms translated into sheer ecstatic joy. R.A. is the combination of water and sand at the beach sticking to your skin as it glimmers in the sun. On “Holiday in Congo,” wild sounding keyboards magically open up into a wonderful blissed jam. A perfect introduction for The Very Best, made up of Malawian singer Esau Mwamwaya and UK’s Radioclit. Serious uplifting music. When Mwamwaya took the stage, it was almost as if the universe itself showed up simply to sing to us and smile back. Mwamwaya was accompanied by two female counterparts, one dancer and a backup singer supplying the show with enough vivaciousness to keep that shit popin’. The whole thing felt like an old school block party, just in time for summer—with dancing in the streets. The music sampled bits of tracks, such as on “Chalo,” which uses Van Halen’s “Jump,” looped to form a whole new beat, and creating a frenzy every time. What followed seemed to be an eruption for the duration of the show. Jumping, hands raised in the air, asses shaking beyond control. And before everyone knew it, the group had brought the majority of the audience on stage and was passing out drinks from backstage.

—Gab Chabran

DIRTY PROJECTORS @ THE TROUBADOUR

lar_import — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 18:09:41 +0000

Almost perfect, the remnants of smoke from an earlier brush fire hung eerily across the sky, illuminated, as if a harbinger of things that awaited that evening. The Dirty Projectors took the stage, opening with “Two Doves,” a tune sung solely by one-quarter of the band’s female vocal arrangement, Angel Deradoorian—serving as a perfect swan dive into the band’s repertoire—softly savoring each note as it left her lips. If there is a breakout year for the DPs, it’s got to be 2009. It feels in part due to fact of the critics who, en masse, tend to pigeonhole the group’s recent release, Bitte Orca, as the band’s “most accessible” to date. However, if you were in the audience on this particular Wednesday, the body of work performed indeed struck me as nothing more than the most natural evolution for the group. What occurred that night can best be described as an explosion of complicated beauty that unfolded before us like watching fireworks poolside from the international space station. I had every intention, with notebook in hand, of paying close attention to each technical detail, to every riff tinged with worldly sounding roots employed by Dave Longstreth—echoed by Amber Coffman’s own accompaniment to the vocal gymnastics she put forth along with Deradoorian and recent addition Haley Dekle. I wish I had better words for each member’s abilities, truth be told. But I ended up completely losing my shit that night as the band seemed to strike the main vein. I was overcome to the point where all I could do was bust into my best truffle shuffle and badly sing along with each harmony. It’s what I’d imagine Grateful Dead fans felt like in the ’80s (no irony). I was nothing but powerless.

—Gab Chabran

GRIZZLY BEAR @ THE WILTERN

lar_import — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 18:34:08 +0000

First, a disclaimer: I’ve always been a sucker for harmonies. Can’t say where it’s originated from, but it’s built into these bones. Goes back to the Beach Boys and Spector’s female vocal arrangements. That being, I swooned for Grizzly Bear, whose voices build into beautifully complicated contraptions. The four-part harmonies are their strong point, and each member somehow holds their own. Take Ed Droste: soft yet strong, with almost heavenly tone running from a rich vibrato to something high and light. Or Daniel Rossen: a sweet strong voice that settles deep within your ears. Or Chris Taylor, working not just vocals but an arsenal of instruments, and still supplying the high vocals on “Knife,” which gives the song wings to fly or maybe fins to swim. It all meets in a strange but perfect place. It’s simple to see even in the band’s stage position: they gave spectators a feeling of community by standing in a shoulder-to-shoulder line instead of the traditional lead singer in the front and bass, guitar, etc on either sides, with the drummer in the back. It’s diplomatic and self aware, like watching a movie where every character gets equal amounts of screen time, and it matched the harmony that was the hallmark of the show.

—Gab Chabran

SLEEPY SUN + THE ENTRANCE BAND @ EAGLE ROCK ARTS CENTER

lar_import — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 17:12:12 +0000

It was a surprisingly good-sized crowd for a Wednesday night at the Eagle Rock Arts Center, which played host for the record release show of SF’s Sleepy Sun, a band whose music takes on a strong mystic tone from almost the get-go, facilitated by its male and female vocal counterparts. The two trade off singing duties by fleshing out the band’s sound using different effects, however still sustaining the distinctiveness of each individual’s tone. The music takes turns sounding heavy, almost ogre-like at times in its instrumentation with the proper bits of buzz and drone, to the opposite extreme by sounding light, airy, and at times almost elfish. Sleepy Sun’s approach to music is a completely fresh take while still owning up to previous purveyors of a similar sound. Headlining that night was The Entrance Band. Not missing a beat, their set seemed to explode from the moment the members took the stage, with a fierce combination of psychedelic, blues, and rock. It almost feels like a martian attack on your soul, especially as Guy Blakeslee’s vocals reach their coda—like watching the sky opens up for the birth and death of an actual star—accompanied by his beyond stellar, words fail me, wicked-sounding guitar, giving proper due to Steve Vai and Zappa for us youngins. Bassist Paz Lenchantin’s thunderous sonic mind fuck comes via a much needed catharsis by her instrument. She maintains the same amount of attention as the rest of the heavy elements, while the orchestration still makes you feel cleansed and free. Please do yourself a favor this summer and get lost in this band’s mystique.

—Gab Chabran