Drunken Show Report #?whatever – Babyland
Babyland, Replicator, and some guys named Casy and Brian from Seattle at the 12 Galaxies, SF, Feb. 17, 2007
I am so exhausted and sweaty after this show that it is an extreme show of endurance just to write this crap at 2:18 in the morning. But you guys know the drill; it’s not really a “Drunken Show Report” if you sober up and wait until the morning to write it. So here it goes.
The Venue: 12 Galaxies in the Mission District:plenty of room, no jocks, good bartenders, an upper level to survey the scene with lofty abandon, a small, bar-sized pool table that sucks and a decent PA system. All things considered, a really decent place to see a show: nothing made me angry at all. Don’t bother though, with the $6 pseudo-slice of pizza from the so called kitchen: go outside and get a $3 bacon-wrapped hotdog from the El Salvadoran “Sausage Man” parked outside on the sidewalk. From strict experience, I know intimately that this is the way to go.
The openers: 2 guys who just moved down from Seattle (“and this is our first show in San Francisco.” woohoo) One guys smacks away at a drum kit while the other yells crap in a mic while pounding away at a $14.95 keyboard from the 80’s: “Revolution Now!” sez Casy/Brian? over some atonal caterwauling. Initially, it was particularly and scientifically engineered towards annoying the shit out of me: I yell to my pals and anyone within a 12.5 foot radius – “It’s like a seminar in how not to make music!!” They won me over though: what they were doing took a lot of balls and I liked their intentions, just not the tonalities, rhythms or sentiments coming out of their monitors. Yeah! Rock On, Brosephs!! Just do it for a short period of time at a comfortable distance, please.
Replicator: if “power trio” is an over used phrase, I still really don’t care; these guys bring a lot to the table: songs about robots, time travel, machines and encryption from WWII. Totally dork-tacular. The bassist and lead guitar/singer had the square glasses and all I was wondering was “Which one onstage knows FORTRAN?” I was screaming “IF THEN, GOTO, REPEAT % END STRING !!” to egg them on. In the middle of their last tune, “Log In With My Fist,” dork #2 (who we learned after the show while chatting with them, goes by the name of “Conan” while in the analog fleshly realm) finished most of the verses while jumping off the stage and milling throught the proto/mill-about pit in front of the stage. Go to their shows and give them something: at least a handshake and a “thank you.”
Ok – motherf***ing Babyland –
I don’t know if I should even try to describe their music and the experience… They are 2 guys who who make music with “instruments” made out of 55 gal. drums, power tools and computers that they have found mostly in the trash. And they are two guys who are so in tune with each other they barely have to make eye contact to whip some seriously percussive electronic junk punk straight into our joyful faces.
Imagine grabbing a 200 amp electrical service and holding on for the ride. Imagine a punk rock communion where you jump and pogo to give praise. I’m 38 years old and they never fail to propel my body into the pit and my head into the showers of sparks flying from their “drum kit” and grinders.
Their show are so cathartic and joyful, let’s put it this way:
Babyland shows keep me out of jail.