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Gong / Kevin Ayers / ZmrzlinaSan Francisco 9.9.00Date: Sun, 24 Sep 2000 10:44:37 -0700From: Dan Sullivan Hi Jonny, I banged out this review for Aymeric Leroy of Calyx, and Martin Wakeling of Why Are We Sleeping, and send it to you as a small token of appreciation for all of your efforts, and for a wonderful night in San Francisco. Hope this finds you in good cheer, and that the rest of the US dates went well. Still buzzing here... Dan It's Saturday night in San Francisco's seedy Tenderloin district. Me and the Dutch Guy have arrived early for the much-anticipated gig featuring the latest incarnation of Gong, supported by Kevin Ayers and a mysterious local band seemingly in need of a vowel or two. Lining up outside the Great American Music Hall we meet the most interesting people. A homeless fellow serenades us with classic soul tunes, then hits us up for some money. Old fashioned winos stagger past. Yuppies with too much dot-com disposable income head out of the million dollar condominiums across the street for a night on the town. Three children, none older than eight or nine, skip past us on some unknown mission. A street dealer offers skunk bud ("two toke weed!"). A stripper getting off work at the neighboring X-rated Mitchell Brothers Theatre hails a cab. A group of wild-eyed young women wander in and out the door of the venue and through the queue, all floppy hats, piercings and chemical energy. As the doors close behind them we hear Kevin sound checking Here Comes Johnny. Behind us in line is a friendly American Gong freak, his brand new wife (three days off the plane from India), and wife's best friend, who has come along from India for emotional support. Both women are seriously underdressed, as first time summer visitors to San Francisco tend to be, wearing sari and sandals and shivering in the foggy breeze. Both are in major culture shock. This is their first rock show. They are skeptical, and wide-eyed at the street scene unfolding around us, but good sports about the whole thing. We discuss how long it will be before the big cities of India have X-rated theaters. We try to describe the music they are about to hear. We wonder about this Zmrzlina thing. Who are they? Will they be supporting Kevin, as another local band did last time he was in town? Will Daevid join Kevin for Lady Rachel, as he did in Montreal back in '93? Will they dust off the old 70s reggae arrangement of Clarence in Wonderland? The anticipation builds. The doors open again and we hear Gong sound checking "Magdalene," then watch as two Japanese acid heads, one wrapped in a blanket and the other with yellow wraparound shades, peer inside while hopping about anxiously on the balls of their feet. A 20-something fellow dressed in zoot suit, porkpie hat and Flying Teapot badge, joins the queue. I say hi and he smiles broadly, but seems incapable of forming words to respond. No problem, the vibe is good. Half an hour later and we're all freezing. The doors open yet again and a mysterious person emerges. He walks past the rest of the queue, comes right up to us, peers straight into my eyes, and says "It was a great show, you're really going to love it" before disappearing into the night. The Dutch Guy and I decide he must be a time traveller, an emissary from the future. Things are getting strange. Finally they let us inside. D.G. and I sit down. To our right are our new friends from India. To our left is the table at which the beautiful and charming Cecily (The Famous One) is selling CDs, shirts and posters for Zmrzlina. She's on her own and business is brisk, so I offer to help out. This turns out to be a great thing. The Famous One introduces me to Mark, Heather, and the other Zmrzliniacs. I learn that their name means ice cream in Czech, their new EP is #1 on KUSF (excellent local college radio station), and that tonight we will see a transitional line up and hear some brand new tunes. They take the stage and play a great mix of structured songs and jams, and everyone is Very Pleasantly Surprised by the sounds we hear. These folks have great chops, the rhythm section is amazingly tight, and they really listen to one another. The two bass players (one playing lightning fast riffs on a Rickenbacker, chimey with overtones galore, the other holding down the bottom with a Clevinger upright electric) sound particularly scrumptious. Heather the drummer, all Maureen Tucker punk rock trixy pixie energy, sings her first ever lead vocal and leaps off the stage to dance wildly through the crowd. The core group is augmented by a second bass player (soon to replace the current one), as well as various guests on cello, strings, vocals and horns. Later Mark tells me they played: Papa Buzz Supermarket Radio Sutro Tower School Girls Kentucky Soul Desert (the Can tune) Genealogy Cecily and me sell a ton of gear. I meet Mark's parents and some other band members. These are some seriously nice people. Check them out online at (http://www.zmrzlina.com/). They are currently touring the Pacific Northwest so catch 'em if you can. OK, now it's just about time for Kevin to go on, but I am still selling CDs and Cecily is busily signing posters and fitting people with t-shirts. Everyone is pumped up by Zmrzlina's set and the anticipation of music still to come. It's getting seriously social now. Excellent tunes are spinning over the sound system (from Gabriel-era Genesis to Rachid Taha and System Seven). Strangers are hugging strangers. I check in with our new friends from India. They are getting into the spirit of cultural exchange by gleefully tucking into huge plates of classic American junk food: nachos smothered in mystery cheese, and french fries smothered in ketchup. One of the Zmrzliniacs, who has spent some time in India, goes over to say hello and compare culture shock notes. Numbers are exchanged and reassurances offered. All will be fine. I meet a couple who came from Tokyo for the show, and an English fellow who just happened to be in town on business and can't believe his good fortune. I finally get to thank Gong Appreciation Society majordomo Jonny Greene for his work over the years, and score a copy of Glo's "Even As We" which Jonny says he considers a secret gem of a recording. I have to agree. In the midst of all this merriment, Kevin takes the stage, supported by some mystery musicians (local? or up from Los Angeles, where they'd played last night?) on bass, drums and lead guitar. He seems mellow and reasonably comfortable with the scene, smiling and happy, and not too drunk to cope. The vocals are too low in the mix at first but the lights are suitably dim, and slowly it all comes together. Kevin plays a too-short but still quite lovely set: Here Comes Johnny Super Salesman Mr. Cool When Your Parents Go To Sleep Champagne and Valium May I Lady Rachel Stranger In Blue Suede Shoes Shouting In A Bucket Blues encore: Thank You Very Much The Zmrzliniacs have not heard Kevin before and are amazed by his voice. The band sounds great...they play beautifully and allow Kevin's vocals -- and the songs themselves -- to shine. I tell Cecily that he's one of my two favorite lyricists of all time (the other being Lou Reed). She listens to When Your Parents Go To Sleep and says she can relate. During Lady Rachel Kevin brings things way down, and soon has the whole crowd in the palm of his hand, entranced. He pulls the same trick during the encore, but after one final sleepy refrain is, sadly, gone into the night. All cheer wildly. No collaboration with Daevid, but that's OK. The night is young and my musical cup already floweth over. More socializing and flogging of gear ensues. Finally the tape loop craziness of Gongwash Indelible pierces the room and the electric cheese rock begins. Towards the end of the night Daevid will say that Bert Camembert has been in the house, and it's true: the energy is high, bordering on manic at times, throughout what turns out to be a long, long show. The set list looks like this: Zero To Infinity Radio Gnome Invisible Yoni On Mars Bodilingus Zero The Hero and the Witch's Spell/I Am Your Pussy Magdalene Mad Monk You Can't Kill Me Flute Salad/Oily Way/Outer Temple/Inner Temple/ She/IAO Chant/Master Builder encore: Tropical Fish/jam/Selene/Diana/Selene It turned out our emissary from the future had been dead right. This band is tight as can be, and the show is fantastic. They play for well over two hours, and there are so many highlights. All the tunes from the new CD are done beautifully. Daevid is in rare vocal form on Bodilingus and Magdalene, and the range and intensity of his guitar playing is something to see. Gilli seems to be having the time of her life singing Yoni on Mars, and Theo Travis plays shimmering waves of flutey delight on Magdalene. Chris Taylor and Gwyo Zepix are locked in tight with Mike Howlett, whose bass playing never ceases to amaze. One of the wild eyed young women we'd seen outside before the show spends much of the evening dancing in an ecstatic trance, on stage and in the crowd. I run into the zoot suit guy right up front, and he gives me the high sign. The band play a very heavy You Can't Kill Me at light speed, and the concluding couplet ("Your finger on the trigger and your body burning up/Camembert Electrique!") lands like a bombshell, leaving us all gasping. Our new Indian friends can't believe how loud and heavy it is, and one has a headache. I go in search of earplugs for them, which a friendly bartender is happy to provide. That and some aspirin do the trick. Daevid berates the high tech San Francisco crowd for apparently spending too much time in virtual reality, and not enough in his reali-tea, when we fail to sing along lustily enough to please him. We respond with a roar. At one point (memory fails, but I believe it is on You Can't Kill Me) Daevid is joined by one of the guitarists from University of Errors, and much squealing and reeling ensues. The final jam of the set begins with a fresh take on Flute Salad from Theo, and then the band drop into full Trilogy mode for a good hour or so. It's quite different from the last time they were in town with the so-called classic lineup (and Steffi on lead guitar and synths). Daevid plays everything -- leads, rhythm and glissando -- with fire and conviction and the vibe is much more masculine than before. Things come to a crashing climax with Master Builder. We are considerably pleased and not a little bit amazed. How do they top such a set? With a generous Tropical Fish/Selene encore jam during which Mike Howlett, grinning demonically from behind oversized yellow sunglasses, teases us with hints of Isle of Everywhere and seems to take control of my body. Gilli weaves her spell one last time, invoking the Goddess through incantation. Daevid prances about in his polka-dotted jumpsuit. I can't stop dancing either. Finally the night ends, and the Dutch Guy and I stagger out into the early morning chill. We drive across the Bay Bridge in a bit of a trance. I take him to his friend's place in the deepest East Bay suburbs, then head back home to Oakland. Sleep proves well-nigh impossible after such generous evening of musical magick. I chill out to Glo, and eventually do manage to slip off to the land of Nod, only to dream about the Famous One. Life is grand. Wish you were here. |
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