Due to complications beyond my control I missed the first half dozen sets of 12 Galaxies A&R Open House extravaganza. I wasn’t too upset about that because there were still another half dozen bands yet to play that I knew I’d be able to catch. Plus, the main reason I was at this event was to see My Monster perform, and since they were the last band on the bill, I didn’t feel rushed at all.
Things finally worked themselves out and I met My Monster’s bassist, Shawn (who prefers being called Freak Monkey), outside of the club where he handed me my ticket. We exchanged pleasantries before I head inside to catch my first band of the night, Sand Fly.
It was my first time inside 12 Galaxies, and the crowd was a weird limbo between Punk and Hipster—A lot of tight jeans paired with burly leather jackets. For the most part, everyone there was pretty young—a couple of girls had large X’s on their hands and kept telling everyone that they’re under 21. With the venue being in San Francisco’s Mission District, it suffers from the all-too-familiar fashion affliction; everyone wants to look like they don’t give a damn, yet it’s more than obvious that they spent most of the evening in front of a mirror trying to perfect their apathetic, disheveled look.
Anyhow, Sand Fly were clean, composed and weren’t ashamed to admit it. The keyboards added a glossy sheen to their hearty Pop Rock. A bit too harmless for the dudes with tattoos and girls with lip rings, but the upper and lower ends of the age spectrum seemed to enjoy their benign style. An older woman (obviously the mother of someone playing in another band) standing next to me tapped her middle-aged friend on the arm during Sand Fly’s set and said in awe, “I like these guys!”
Sand Fly |
Next were the Luxury Suites. They looked like wannabe high school rebels and they probably would’ve been the hippest thing in homeroom if it were still the ‘60s. Unfortunately it’s 40 years too late. The vocalist—who I like to call Baby Mick Jagger—led the pre-pubescent quintet well as they bopped through upgraded Beach Punk with tons of energy.
After them, Shawn Brown swooped in. For their three song set, a guy looking strikingly similar to Papa Roach’s Jacoby Shaddix led his evangelical band on a soulful crusade that made the idea of actually following God sound not too terrible. It kind of worked. Their Urban Gospel style didn’t cause too many ugly sneers even when their first song repeatedly chanted some uplifting line about how Jesus wants us all to be awesome. I was surprised at how much of an applause they got since hipsters tend to think that organized religion isn’t that cool.
Planting Seeds followed. Okay, let’s not beat around the bush-these guys like Sublime. They probably have romantic fantasies about the members of Sublime. There was probably at least one Sublime tattoo on stage when they played. Now, we can argue forever about which album of theirs was better, 40oz To Freedom or the self-titled (I personally prefer the latter, and anyone who wants to debate, feel free to email me). Planting Seeds is like a compilation of Sublime B-sides—stuff that true fans would buy out of obligation. PS were good, and very SoCal, but didn’t have that addictive hook that’s indescribable. A reggae core solidified the smooth vocals and decorated with the extra pizzazz of an alto sax.
By this point I, and the rest of the crowd, were more than a few drinks into the night and were getting restless. I could feel the pent up energy simmering behind the eyes of everyone I looked at. Scraping For Change helped alleviate a bit of that tension. More Hard Rock than anything previously heard during the show, their little spackling of grit was exactly what we needed, yet somehow, it seemed a bit too manufactured. All of the usual suspects were there: frustrated lyrics, driving bass, and a pulsing undertone of angst. But again, like with Planting Seeds, that spark wasn’t there. They sounded like they were made for summertime radio singles that would be forgotten as soon as the leaves change (remember Cold, anyone? Adema?). The end of their last song “Contact High” was the electric shock that primed everyone up for the last two bands, Suffocate The Creep and My Monster.
Ahhh, Suffocate the Creep, the poor man’s Incubus (although I think that poor man can afford Incubus by now). They cranked everything up to 11, much to people’s delight. The night was gaining noticeable momentum with each new band. The scrawny frontman of STC bellowed in the audience’s face with pure emotion, unleashed. They had the energy, but the guitar was turned way too low—it was essentially a bass and drum with crooning vocals. Had the guitar been audible at all, I think they would’ve been killer, but the small amount of riffage I did hear sounded promising. Blame the sound guy, even though STC made a special mention to thank him.
Suffocate the Creep |
Finally, a little after 11 pm, My Monster was set to play. This was why I was there, the reason I sat alone through band after band sweating hard from the tight quarters and trying not to let the screeches of all of the under-21 girls make me stab myself in the chest. I wanted My Monster to deliver just so my Saturday night wouldn’t have been spent in vain.
For some reason, the crowd had thinned out considerably which made no sense. Who blows out before the headlining band, especially when the previous bands had been getting better and better? Damn hipsters. Probably think it’s not hip to stay for a whole show.
Still unclear why I had room to move, My Monster rocked the hardest, hands down. I could feel the floorboards flexing under my feet as the remaining fans jumped to the crunch of each song. Before they played, I thought they’d sound either like Lacuna Coil or The Pixies because 1) they had a female vocalist (the very intimidating Joyce “Statis” Kuo with a wicked shaved head), and 2) the lead singer looked a like Frank Black (big white guy sans hair as well). Neither assumption was true. They had their own rocking sound that was enough to shake 12 Galaxies to the foundation. Like all of the other bands, they only had the chance to play three songs, but their potential definitely shone through during their much too short performance.
Overall, an enjoyable night in one of the grimier parts of San Francisco. I left zigzagging down the sidewalk, a bit confused, and slightly deaf. Now that’s a good concert.
