Noise Pop is a bunch of bullshit. The company behind this stupid festival, Noise Pop Industries, makes a big event of having a few good shows, which should be happening all the time anyway. No, wait, what am I saying? It already does. A lot of these bands play the San Francisco Bay Area already, and pretty frequently — the show I went to featured two S.F. bands on the bill, one of which, the Oh Sees, was the headliner.

The show was my first Noise Pop show. I had two spots on the guest list because I wrote a preview for what-shall-be-an unnamed publication. I was forwarded an email from the publicist, or more specifically from a co-worker of the publicist (important later on) saying I had a +1 on the list for the show.

Around the same time, Dean, drummer for the Unnatural Helpers, gave me permission to record his band at the show. I’ve acquired more recording equipment over the years and this was a great opportunity to try it out so I planned on bringing my equivalent of a mobile studio to the show. (Thank god I had a +1, though I don’t think Rob, my guest, appreciated having to carry two 10-pound microphone stands around Market St.)

This led to me making my first mistake — actually looking forward to going to Noise Pop.

From what I understand from other music writers is that when it comes to guest list spots for Noise Pop shows, nothing is guaranteed. (It sounds like an administration problem at Noise Pop Industries* and I wouldn’t expect them to fix it any time soon.)

So, it’s the night of the show, and Rob and I are hauling armloads of my equipment through the Castro after taking 10-15 minutes looking for a parking space. We arrive at the front door of Cafe du Nord just as the doormen started taking tickets. I walked up to the doorman with the guest list and told him that I was here to record the band the Unnatural Helpers, hence why I had tons of equipment, and would it be alright if I walked in now so I could start setting up.

“You’re not on the guest list,” the bouncer with a fisherman’s hat informed me.

Soon after that wonderful announcement, some short indie kid in with cropped blonde hair and a t-shirt walks up to me and says, “You’re hear to record the show? Oh, there already is someone recording the show, so you can’t do it. Sorry. You can still come in and watch the show, if you’re on the guest list.” This jerk then ducked under the velvet rope and went inside, never to be seen again (which was lucky for him.)

I called up my middleman for this ordeal and he yells at me for not printing out the email. So I head over to the internet cafe next door and print out my email, the one item of physical evidence I have that shows I’m supposed to be on the list. With my equipment still shoved under my arms, I walk over to the doorman again, who at this point stood by a skinny blonde that dressed like a demented peasant with a cell phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I handed the man my email and he passed it over to the peasant.

“She’s the one you have to talk to,” said the doorman as he handed her the paper.

She scanned the email a little bit and then asked, “So what is this?”

“This is the email that shows that I’m supposed to be on the guest list.”

She scanned over the email again, this time pointing at it. “So Grace gave you permission? I don’t know Grace. She doesn’t have anything to do with the show.”

“So you don’t even know the company she works for?”

“Well yeah, Tell All Your Friends is who we hired to do our publicity. And I see on here Kip’s name, the person who we hired, but still, just look at this. Anybody could have written it. It’s just not good enough for me.”

“But Kip’s name is on there,; doesn’t that mean anything?”

“No. But if you want to, you can get a hold of Kip and he knows how to get a hold of me,” and then she handed back the paper, turned around, put out her cigarette and walked up the stairs of the Swedish American Hall.

(Before I continue on, I have to ask: does anyone ever actually sit down in front of a computer and a fake forwarded email, full of sideways carrots and email addresses, just to get into a show for free? Also, the show was sold out — tickets were $12. The show already made thousands of dollars — are two people getting in for free going to make a dent in their profits? Not to mention the fact by keeping us out, she’s preventing potential profits from reaching the bands (merchandise) and the club (alcohol.) Smart lady.)

Rob and I continued to stand outside the club with the equipment as we waited to see if someone contacted the publicist. Thanks to Kimberly of the Unnatural Helpers, we had Annie, the talent buyer for show, trying to get a hold of Kip too, which boded well for us. So as we waited to hear our fate, we caught up with old friends from Seattle.

We were not only at the show to see bands — we were also there to buy their records. Tyvek sold all of their copies of their Sub Pop Singles Club 7″, but the Unnatural Helpers still had plenty of theirs. Mitch Cardwell was awesome for he went inside and bought the 7″s for us.

Lo and behold, on the cover the record was a picture I took of the band playing in Seattle (you can see the picture [url=http://www.lemon-session.com/more.php?id=36_0_1_0_M]here.[/url] My picture is on a Sub Pop record, the label that revolutionized popular music for a decade. Awesome.

Then I turned around the record to find the photo credited to someone else.

After we heard the first band, the Fresh and Only’s, finish their set, I saw super bitch standing outside again, smoking and talking on her cell phone. I walked over to her and waited for her to finish her call.

“Should we give up all hope?” I asked in a gentle tone.

“What?”

“I’m just wondering if we should give up all hope. I don’t want to be standing her all night.”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything back from Kip. And what are you from again?”

I told her the name and about how we wrote a huge write-up for the entire festival. I added the fact that my co-worker does a ton of work for Kip and that she could talk to my “Kip connection” if she wanted to.

“I don’t NEED to talk to your “connection, I need to talk to Kip,” she said before turning around and walking off again.

Maybe a minute or two afterward, Annie came up to inform me and the doormen that I am on the list. When I ask about Rob, she informs me that they could only squeeze me in.

I was about to just say, “fuck it” and drive Rob home when Kimberly came up the stairs with a guy who had an unused +1. Huzzah!

We got our stamps and wristbands, walked downstairs and saw that the club was far from being full. Big surprise — it was all bullshit!

Unnatural Helpers
The Helpers have two new members since last time I saw them — Brian Standeford and Leo Gebhart from the Catheters and Tall Birds. These guys are serious shredders and have brought more of a garage meets stoner rock sound to the band. They also play more covers now, including She Must Be A Witch by Lollipop Shoppe (and the Lost Sounds.)

Along with my camera, I brought in a hand held recorder, a device I grabbed just in case they didn’t let me record. It records stereo 24-bit WAV files and the mic uses a U87 emulator. Sadly, I stood to close to the stage when the Helpers played, so my mic barely picked up the vocals.

Tyvek
I had heard that Tyvek hired a new bassist and she doesn’t look older than 15. But I don’t think there’s any gross reason for why she’s in the band.

This time I was lucky and stood at the perfect spot to pick up the vocals. I thought they played and sounded 20x better than the last time I saw them. I also enjoy the fact that they are willing to experiment on stage now, letting three minute pop songs turn into 10 minute jams. Good stuff.

*Industries? Really? What the fuck. You want to be corporate? So then this is much more about the money than the music. Wow, I really want to support that.

Who here first saw Times New Viking after hearing “Dig Yourself” and thought “Thank God they delivered!” I bought my wife “Dig” when it first came out for a Christmas present and by God I had to suppress the urge to steal their riffs because they were that good, goddamn it (though I couldn’t help thinking that “Skull Vs. Wizard” was just a new take on songs like “Santa Monica” by Everclear and “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit.) “Presents the Paisley Reich” took some getting used to, but it was the last thing I listened to before I got married and listening to “Hiding in Machines” really did make everything look like it was going to be alright… (you would need to know the back story for that shit.)

I knew I was traveling to Seattle that week they were touring but I made arrangements with some great friends to go straight to Portland so we could catch their show with the Hunches. Sure, we couldve flown directly to Portland, but adding a road trip to the ordeal made it more exciting.

I would’ve enjoyed TNV more if I didn’t have so many technical difficulties with my recorder — borrowed from UC Berkeley, it was set to record MP3s using the internal mics, which meant I was going to get shit sound until I adjusted it. Strangely enough, it sounds just as good as TMV’s albums, so I’m not that embarrassed.

The Hunches headlined.

I remember the first time I saw the Hunches (imagine me on a wooden porch and you’re sitting cross-legged in front of me). They were this unknown band that seemed to be playing the “rock and roll punk”-thing when it had already gone out of style; any band that released something on Junk Records seemed to sum up the numerous amount of crap bands that toured through Seattle.

Yet I couldn’t help but get into the Hunches. The guitarist went ape shit the entire time and the singer, when he got really screaming, sounded just like Tomata du Plenty. With their two LP’s, they proved they weren’t like the other “punk rawk” bands that made me never want to listen to the Heartbreakers or the MC5 ever again. They were a hell of a lot noisier, but that may be partly due to the fact both albums, “Yes.No. Shut It.” and “Hobo Sunrise,” were recorded at the Distillery in Costa Mesa, CA, a studio with a reputation for bringing the noise (Lightning Bolt and Le Shok are just two examples of the noisy bands that recorded there.)

At this show, the band still brought the same energy, except it sounded like they hadn’t practiced much before the show. They gave us a set with a bunch of new songs, including one, “Your Sick Blooms,” that singer Hart needed a lyric sheet for. When I got the guitarist Chris to sign the release form, he didn’t seem very pleased with the set and didn’t give me any information so I could send him a copy of the show. Too bad; I think the recording came out great.

According to their MySpace page, these are the Hunches’ last days; they’re recording one more album and maybe doing a West Coast tour. Maybe it’s for the best, since they’ll be quitting while still at the top of their game.

I’ve always appreciated the idea that punk music was created by people who couldn’t play, which inspired other people to start their own bands. It’s not necessarily true — members of the Ramones, Sex Pistols and the Clash were all in bands before they started punk bands that made them so famous — but I always liked the idea.

Little Claw is a prime example of how basic chords, noisy guitars and the absence of desire to challenge one’s talents can still produce music that sounds new and exciting. Think a combination off-kilter female vocals, mixing UT with Bikini Kill, backed by Pussy Galore’s early desire to destroy rock and roll with rock and roll.

Sure, Heath from the Fells and Tyvek is one part of the trio, but the rest of the members even admit they didn’t know how to play before the band begun. Because Heath knows his way around a guitar, he acts more as the rhythm section than the drummer does, providing both momentum and a steady hand in the songs. Really, everything else in the band is just color.

The crowd was sparse for their show at the Knockout (I think the set from my band, Red Nurse, might have had something to do with it) but those of who stayed did get into it. Obviously it wasn’t pit music, but four dudes in the front seemed to nod their heads the entire time; a pretty good response in San Francisco.

My one complaint was that almost every song seemed to be building up to something great. Sure, the build up turned out to be a great song, but I thought that the climax would be some real fucking ROCKING! Yet, like a pot of water when it boils over, it just produced a mess. (But maybe you like that…)

I believe all of these songs except Moss Has Fangs are going to appear on their upcoming album on Ecstatic Peace, Thurston Moore’s label. I personally think these recordings are better than those that are going to appear on the new album, but make sure to check that out for yourself by going to the band’s Myspace page.