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.