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A couple days before San Diego's GoGoGoAirheart (GGGAH)were
to embark on their third
tour up the West coast, I ran iton them at a local music show at the
Backdoor
(generously put on for free by KCR, SDSU's college radio station [website:
kcr.sdsu.edu]). They needed a photographer or "tour historian" and
asked me
if I'd like to come along. Since my part-time joby job hadn't been
scheduling
me that much, I almost immediately accepted the offer. Basically, if
they had
the film, I had the time. Right from the start, there were stories
formulating between all three camps—GoGoGoAirheart, Syncopation
(formerly Los
Cincos) and Kammo (with members of Heat and the VSS). Before
we left, some of
us watched the hardcore rap parody movie Fear of a Black Hat
and from then on
much of our laughter was dependent on citing memerable passages like,
"It's
our civic duty to bang the booty." By the time we had reached the Northwest,
we had discovered a great malt liquor called Steel Reserve (a
24 oz. can for
a buck!). I've heard malt liquor described as "liquid crack" by authorities
(heard on NPR) on the subject, but I've never smoked crack so I wouldn't
know
and ... anyhow. Other stories are too extensive and convoluted to be
mapped
out right now, but I promise to have more for ya in the upcoming full-scale
new issue of Titanium Exposé, out soon. Until then, enjoy.
—Chris Woo
Tuesday, September 14, 1999
After a 10 hour drive to Chico, California from Portland, there wasn't
much
time to spare before the show. No Tourist traps, no window shopping,
and
barely enough time to get a beer at the larger and better publicized
university pub venue a block away from the Blue Room Venue/loft. It
was $1
pint night and Darren was sent to get a second round of drinks for
the table
and came back with a Pabst Blue Ribbon for Hash, which didn't really
fit his
dark beer tastes. Kammo's performance was one of their most
compelling yet,
with a shirtless Michael Zimmerman showing off his military ID tags.
The
ensemble was complete with droopy aviator shades, making him the spitting
image of Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now!. GGGAH set up
and began playing in
typical aggressive mode, much like they had a couple nights previous
to a
packed house in Seattle. This time, however, there were only a few
girls who
wandered in off the street out of pure curiosity. One of them was named
Crystal. Or at least that's what people were calling her since she
seemed so
high on ... life. Hash and Mike were working the floor, deliberately
playing
in front of the stage in the vacant space and invading the aura of
a few
lucky individuals. Three or four songs into their set they began playing
"Golden Sundays," tapping into some of that nihilistic showmanship
that made
them such and exciting and unpredictable band to watch. GGGAH
is a punk
band. They may not look it, but they don't need to because they show
it. In
the heat of the moment, Hash forcefully kicked over a lone microphone
stand
sitting on the stage, knocking over Jay's ride cymbal. The music doesn't
stop. "That's coming out of your paycheck," snarled Mike, blending
the
improvised response into the melody. Hash antagonistically bumps into
him,
but keeps playing. Next, Mike unplugs the bass pedal connection and
throws it
at Hash, who retaliates by hoisting his bass upon the insipid singer.
Fists
are thrown. Although it takes a few moments to realize that they're
actually
hurting each other, Darren runs out of the darkness in a desperate
attempt to
break it up but gets stuck in the strength of the muscle. The remaining
band
members slow their instruments to an awkward silence as more bodies
begin to
dogpile. I take a few pictures and jump in the mountain of bodies,
managing
to grab Mike out and get in between the two opponents. Hash grabs his
bass
and is still into finishing the set, but the rest are completely beat
and
unwilling. Jeremy from Syncopation was apologetic to the few
who were there,
announcing, "It seems the stress of touring has taken its toll." In
spite of
his words, the two college girls were outta there (who could blame
them?). In
spite of it all, Syncopation still played. Their set gradually
mutated into
an all-out cathartic free-for-all jam that seemed to never reach an
end. Mike
felt like his nose was broken and the Syncopation guys were
bummed and wanted
to go home, but Hash insisted that we stay on course making the brawl
look
like a minor technicality—which, since nobody went to the hospital,
I guess
it was. Love my life, hate my friends ... indeed. |
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