Live Report: Grass Widow at the Cyclone Warehouse 9.10.10, Amoeba Records 9.11.10

I’ve pestered my local readers and friends about going to this show. I’ve come up with reasons for why “it’s going to be amazing”, but I can never express the subject of Grass Widow without adding what sounds like illiterate strings of “so good” with lots and lots of emphasis. It’s because they are, and there really isn’t any other way to describe it. Ok, besides a 750 word album review (see post). What I call “conquering” or “tackling” the sound that Grass Widow are able to make seems almost impossible, so, instead, I just walk around bellowing that they are “so good” (with about ten hundred other o’s), as my shield for any further verbal explanation. If someone asks the genre, I might say “you know, like, straight up indie rock” or my common last (and first) resort of lo-fi, which I feel tremendous guilt for saying soon afterwards. Come on kids, think of some new vocabulary that music writers can use to define your distinctive shared aesthetics. It can’t be lo-fi anymore, because lo-fi just becomes redundant. My mind blanks every time I’m assigned to write a profile of a band that writes two minute, simple structured (Grass Widow are multi-structured for such a simple band) pop songs with a lot of glitter, tape hiss, feedback, or all of the above. It’s unfamiliar for me, I find it much more comfortable when I’m writing about something more experimental (needless to say that nothing we have here is an experiment) with a little bit more obvious substances. But with lo-fi music, I have to dig deeper into my vocabulary and feelings, which I have a terrible time articulating. There is a distinct feeling I have when I listen to a garage rock song, and it’s always countered and proved with something new. I’m going to shut up now, and carry on with Grass Widow, but expect this topic to be a recurring theme until I finally have the guts to sit down, assemble an essay, and write the goddamn thing.

I will note, none of the people I mentioned went to this show, except for my friend Canada, whom by my recommendation was admitted into the all-female backing choir (you’ll hear more about this later).

I arrived around 8:45 at the Cyclone Warehouse, which is in one of the most barren and obscured regions of San Francisco. I can’t really define it as Mission Bay, since it’s past the ball park, the Outer Mission, since it’s across a freeway, Potrero Hill, because it’s flat, or Bayview, because it’s too north. What I can describe is that it’s in a location I never really go to, and neither do most San Franciscans, unless they need paint supplies, contracting, or work in a warehouse.

Located on 23rd street and Marin Street, the Cyclone Warehouse is a communal space. It’s all ages, serves no alcohol, although the people are welcome to bring their own. It’s the coolest, most liberating way of doing a show. You pay a donation between 5 to 10 dollars (your call), your hand is stamped, this time not to distinguish 21 from under 21, but to just say you payed for the show (isn’t that how it should be?). There is no liquor license, so I’m sure if you’re on the brink of 21 as an eager college undergraduate, I’m sure you could sneak a few drinks down your stomach, that is, unless the ABC arrive (in which they are famous to do so).

The Cyclone Warehouse, however, doesn’t have a lot going on usually. People who attended mentioned to me that they hadn’t been to a show here in a long time. The people that own it, also live here. In fact, directly above the balcony there is a rickety flight of stairs that leads to a loft, and a white sheet that looks like a resident’s sleeping area. Not recommended for one who’s afraid of heights, I’m guessing. The Cyclone throughout the venue, has a very home-y feel. It doesn’t have the presence or feeling of a grand venue, neither a dinky and 150 capacity strictly 21 bar. It has it’s unique feeling. Behind the black curtain of the stage, there is a kitchen, with stacks of unwashed dishes and a myriad of food both in the refrigerator and sitting around on the counters. The stage is a triangle tucked to the side of the venue, and above it dangles several lightbulbs. Adjacent to it is a wall for which Grass Widow used as screen projections and to premiere several of their music videos before the music began.

However, the Cyclone, if you’re looking for a state of the art experience, is not welcome to the best footage in photography or  videography, needless to say, sound. Several times during Grass Widow’s set, there were a few glitches with the sound, and the audience had the job of pointing them out, with commands such as “more vocals” and “more guitar.” The acoustics may not be the best for performances, however, their live sound was certainly aesthetic fitting: unfocused, gritty, intermittent and raw. As described above, the Cyclone has a lot of kitsch and atmosphere to make up for shitty photographs, dim lighting, and lack of professional sound ware.

Before Oakland queercore band Shannon and the Clams took the stage, the room was full of chatter, with the liveliest of the bunch compacted towards the front of the stage. Couples were dancing erotically and ecstatically to the hipster cred worthy playlist, which included soul revivalist, old time-y, chill wave, and just about any other sub genre that worked as a perfect mix of unknown and known gems. I spotted several people I knew at the show, Grace Cooper from the Sandwitches was there, along with Justin Carder from the now defunct Strip Mall Seizures. I tell you, these people are just too connected that it’s hard not to run into them for something like this. I spotted Shannon from Shannon and the Clams, with a gold dress and heavy makeup, talking with her bandmates and friends. I turned around, and heard her shout something along the lines of “you’re fired!” in a pitch perfectly flamboyant manner. I knew it was her.

Shannon and the Clams came on around 9:30, later than scheduled, for a great 35 minute set displaying the bounty of their work. From the cracked, smoky girl-group revival soul of songs like “Paddy’s Birthday” to the edgy and frantic repetitive shrieks on “Hunk Hunt”, Shannon and the Clams played an energetic set, one that erupted strong sensual feelings in the crowd, nonetheless the best of all hair swaying, shaking leg, but overall stature and confined hipster dancing (there’s a difference). Shannon and one of her male bandmates dueted on slower tracks, but sped up in loud, wailing contests on heavier ones. Her guitarist was excellent; for he seemed to be hitting the chords with synchronized calibration, but managed to reveal showmanship of energetic, frenetic and sloppily badass technique. Shannon’s voice is a powerful one; it’s meant for a loud and somewhat joyously uncomfortable effect, but is also interchangeable for a generic crooning vibe, one that doesn’t require her special effects of ferocity in some songs, and can just stand on it’s own as one of many elements that make their music worthwhile.

After Shannon and the Clams ended their set, there was a fifteen minute break before drumcore duo STLS (also signed to Kill Rock Stars with Grass Widow) took the stage, or better yet the floor, pretty much in the center where I and others were standing for Shannon and the Clams. I didn’t catch a lot of STLS’s set, and instead used this time to inspect the venue and take in the vibes, this meant snacking on the myriad of food in the kitchen and talking with members of Grass Widow’s backing choir. But what I heard of STLS’s set was nothing less than impeccable. Drumcore, as foreign as it sounds in a music world that seems to be encompassing of so many weird sub-genres, is not common, nor is it easy to master. STLS were a shuffle of adrenaline, pounding, banging, and handing out rhythms like clockwork. They were visually interesting to the eye, watching their hands grasp their instruments and drumsticks, however, just as good behind several sound walls, such as the kitchen, which was behind only a curtain.

And now, for the moment of the night. Grass Widow took the stage around 11. They were tucked into the far left corner of the triangular stage, where their gear was placed for the whole night. Guitarist Raven Mahon stood on the left, with drummer Lillian Maring in the back and bassist Hannah Lew to the right. Hannah was probably the closest to the audience, as my videos have a hard time getting a good image of either Raven or Lillian. I had seen Grass Widow once before, at probably their biggest gig yet, an opening slot for Thao and the Get Down Stay Down at The Great American Music Hall. When I saw them there, they opened with “To Where” and pretty much sailed right through their self titled album with little breaks and a lot of pacing. At this show, they opened with a slower, but equally exciting opener, also from their self titled album called “Out of Body Experience.” They then segued into “To Where”, picking up the pace, delving right into one of their most beloved songs. “To Where”, the first Grass Widow song I heard (I first heard it rendered live) and probably the most remembered one up until Past Time‘s release, is a simple listening song. At two minutes and thirty seconds, it’s complex and beautifully and perfectly off kilter (an acceptable oxymoron). Starting with a drum shuffle, it cascades into the melody that the song sticks with for the remainder. It’s great for that offbeat effect, something Grass Widow are champions at illustrating.

Grass Widow’s set consisted of dancing, taking videos, and lots of sound commands (as mentioned earlier) and cheers. “Tattoo” from their EP garnered a lot of audience praise, as did “Celebrate the Mundane” which elicited some drunken college cheers and murmurs from a group of girls behind me. From Past Time, Grass Widow played “Landscape” along with the final track on the album “Tuesday”, which I mentioned in my review, sums up the instrumental and technical terrain on the album, as well as my personal favorite, “Fried Egg”, which sounded loose, jangly, and ever so exact in harmonic precision. Grass Widow are great at illusions, they can possess this aura of sounding messy, but deep inside their composition and live skill, they seek absolute precision with their voices and chord work. My friend, a musician, pointed out to me that their chords are so strange and unknown, so unique and creative that one has a hard time identifying at what time what fingers go on what fret. Surprisingly, Grass Widow don’t seem to use a lot of effects in a visual sense. There weren’t many pedals or capos or other engineering shortcuts yet aesthetic mechanisms lying around.

After Fried Egg, Grass Widow played “Lulu’s Lips”, a charming lullaby like upbeat lament (which was dedicated to Hannah’s niece at the Amoeba show) and “Rattled Call”, a storm of almost anthemic like progression with an incredible a capella vocal break arrangement, before the moment of glory happened. The band helped welcome their all female backing choir, along with the great use of a sliding pole from the balcony, for which members of the choir slid down on accompanied by audience cheers. Among them was a friend of mine, who I mentioned earlier, that I had contacted when Grass Widow sent an email to me asking if I had any female friends who wanted a spot on the choir. The choir was one of the most diverse projects I’ve ever seen implemented in the independent music realm–more so in the live performance realm. The choir featured an elderly lady in a bright gold dress, an Indian lady dressed in a bright yellow sari in a wheelchair, several middle aged women with the mom-rock look (the jeans, the short hair), along with several five foot tall brace-face middle schoolers, and a few young, skinny, and glamorous lofty, thrifty freelance hip girls with their cat eye glasses, nose rings, and tattoos, and my friend Canada–who is neither a middle schooler nor a twenty-something (but has the physique and essence of the latter), and I can’t create a group for high school kids, since she’s the only one. But, Grass Widow seem to be advocating for an ideal communist identity as a band, not only through their independency of technique and style, methods of distribution, their compassion and integrity, but their integration of backgrounds. Their politics may not be blunt or articulated on the surface, but they seem to be rooted in their minds and hearts.

While the choir took their place, I cheered with excitement, because I knew that something awesome was just in it’s stages of developing. The choir fidgeted for a few minutes, talked to each other, and made eye contact with their audience friends while they were applauded and while Grass Widow were working on tuning their guitars in their unique tuning habit. Along with the choir, Grass Widow’s string trio also prepared for the four songs for which they would accompany the band on. In the center of the stage to the right of the little corner where the band was positioned stood a cellist, and to the left of the band in the dimmest of all lighting stood two other string instrumentalists, one of them who was definitely playing a violin. They were shadowed by the screen projections above them, and tucked into the narrow plank on the edge of the stage which made it hard to video record them, nevertheless notice them from your own eye. The choir and string trio began their rehearsed parts as Grass Widow began their short, swampy and surf-rock song “Give Me Shapes.” This is one of several songs on Past Time where the band broadened in their instrumental and sound range, straddling away from just bass, guitar, kick-drums, cymbals, and snares (which is a steady diet of simplicity in the lo-fi field—however, there are probably is another bunch if you count recording qualities as well). It sounded brisk with it’s fast tempo, displaying Grass Widow’s ability of harmonic restraint (this song contains little bellowing or full on cohesion) and ability to sing and play their instruments with delicacy and clockwork; it’s a very sprawling track.

Then came “Shadow” which was when the choir really kicked in, belting out the chorus with unison–it really did start to sound like a bunch of people of all vocal ranges and ages with different backgrounds getting together to make music. Their imperfect sense of tune and key really did have an impact on how united it felt—while it may not have been the best vocally arranged suite ever performed–it’s unpolished sense of coordination really gave it it’s character and grit. “Shadow”, which is one of my favorite songs from the past year, was delivered live with the equal weight of greatness, probably even more so than the studio, although I find the recorded version to be a near-perfect pop song itself. The choir swayed back and forth in a cute way, all of them nearly falling on each other, many of them smiling. I was making eye signals with my friend, we were both laughing, I was laughing about how cute the choir looked with their body language and little gestures, she may have been laughing for a different reason, either way, “Shadow” elicited a great crowd response. It capped the night, however, there was still time for the final two moments of amazingness to steal the show.

“11 of Diamonds,” the third track on Past Time was invigorated live, and I appreciate the song even more after having heard it. Notecards depicting pencil drawn apartment buildings we’re scattered using a fan of some sort up from the balcony. They flew into the audience, some landed on the stage, a lot into the hands of quizzical looking show attendees and a lot on the floor. The choir used not only their voices this time (which were used mostly for harmonic purposes and not for chorus or melody) but their hands. During the guitar build up in “11 of Diamonds”, each choir member would raise their hands higher after each chord was played until they finally broke loose with their “aahhs” and wiggled their hands in the air, way above their heads. Grass Widow then went on to play “Uncertain Memory”–which was one of the best ending to a live show that I’ve ever seen. After a minute long string laden build up, the band, a long with their strong energetic choir belted loose with the first verse, shouting “Memory….” and so on. The elderly lady in the front had her hands to her side, and raised them a tweak before she began singing, her mouth wide open, chin upright, and eyes gleaming into the audience, as if it was Broadway and we were doing singing directions and stage choreography. The strings on the album that were also used live brought the songs to life–”Uncertain Memory” wouldn’t have been the same without the violin(s) and the cello exhibiting their power in the song. It’s a very dark exploration, kind of like a miniature cacophony that illustrates a more complex, both lyrically and structurally, Grass Widow. That darkness and raw power was definitely translated in an accessible and beautiful mean live, with emphasis on the grit of the vocalists in the choir, and the humility and pure transcendent passion of the band themselves.

Video shot by me (Gabe Connor)

Brief Note: I saw Grass Widow the following day at Amoeba Music on Haight Street, and in a different light, or time of day, or space, and they delivered with sheer incredible live skill, flattering the crowd with the appearance of the choir, their unique chord structures and overall headbanging-friendly live orchestration of their songs. It was as equally good as the previous night, being the same set in terms of songs played and choir parts, and in some aspects, I enjoyed it more. I was able to loosen up, let my hair run wild, stumble onto the railings of the walkways in the store, and just dance around, reaching and associating with the spirit of the band on stage, which is the definition of enlightenment and awe-inspiring presence, and a model for how live performances should always be.

Shannon and the Clams

Grass Widow–Amoeba

Grass Widow–Cyclone Warehouse

Last 4 songs of setlist were performed with string trio and choir.

NOTE: Shannon and the Clams play the Rickshaw Stop on Sunday, October 10th. Most folks have the next day off as a holiday, so it’s a fun and rare late Sunday night occasion. Also on the bill are fellow local queercore trio Hunx and His Punx (opposite lineup of gender from The Clams–two girls and a frontman), and prolific King Khan and BBQ member Mark Sultan (who, is at least associated with those of risque behavior, touring and playing with King Khan, as well as infamous homo-erotic closet cases The Black Lips). $10, 8pm, All Ages.