Local bastard

While the rat is away… Believe it or not, your Local Bastard does take breaks. And, with the homestead to hisself for a whole week off, L.B. lined all the windows with foil and spent his empty days catching up on Internet research and inhaling burritos al pastor de Crazy Taco for every meal.

So, with a white and hairy belly full of beans (and seven-plus months of Heartbreak Kings on the horizon) the bastard is primed for the fall bitching season.

Tap that amp. L.B. and his much-better half Lady Bastard did manage to get out of town last week for the Download Fest at Shoreline on Saturday. This was the first U.S. version of the U.K. gaming/internet/technology branding ceremony, and online gaming site Gametap was the main sponsor of the hip succession of bands ranging from the “love metal” of HIM (playing on the parking lot stage) to fashion-plates-of-the-moment, headliners The Killers.

I won’t spend a lot of time on the empty cool-technology vibe and its ham-handed attempt at piggy-backing the style and scene of this particular hipster music community, except to say that the Gametap DJ Performance, booed off the stage before Modest Mouse (best comments: “Get the CD player off the stage!” and “Where’s that big hook?”), was a particularly confusing display, with remixes piled upon remixes and accompanying cheesy computer graphics projected on the big screens.

Manchester’s Doves were swirling and great, and British Sea Power before them was a nice nostalgic bit atmospheric new wave, but L.B. was definitely in the house for Modest Mouse … until Arcade Fire ruined it for every band on this or any bill. L.B. already loves the Montreal multi-instrumentalists’ acclaimed Funeral, but live the band takes things somewhere else.

Some of the thickly arranged atmosphere that permeates the recording was dialed down in favor of letting the eight members (playing the basics, plus violin, accordion, French horn, extra drums and more) just completely go apeshit. From the soaring “Woah-oh-ooooh” chorus of the opener “Wake up” to the closing fist-pumping “Rebellion (Lies),” the band sweated blood for 30 minutes straight before falling in a heap with help from the big S.F./Oakland-based Extra Action Marching Band, adding their Rocky Horror-ish burlesque to Arcade Fire’s populist revival.

Stealing from the church of rock. It’s been more than six years since the evil heist of all of the beautiful one-of-a-kind, re-wired, broken-and-taped-back-together gear belonging to L.B.’s favorite band Sonic Youth. But just last week, L.A. City Beat reported that the uncle of some freaked-out kid in Hollywood is the one who stole the gear, and that the kid is slowly giving the band back its lost treasures—so far, two guitars have been returned.

From S.Y. drummer Steve Shelly on the band’s message board, www.sonicyouth.com/gossip/: “They were both guitars formerly used by Lee—the ‘bullseye’ Travis Bean and Lee’s first Fender guitar which pre-dated Sonic Youth. It seems that some or most of the stolen gear might still be in California. Nothing else has been recovered other than the other Travis Bean that was previously purchased off of eBay.”

TO DO:

If you like your live music to be a sweaty mix of barroom country, blues, punk and frequent nudity, do not miss this long-overdue reunion show of Redding’s notorious Kansas City Stars: Sat., 10/15 at Fulcrum; then there’s the biggest must-see for L.B.: Northern State, three cute, suburban, white-chick rappers from N.Y.C.!—at Laxson, Mon., Oct. 17, 7 p.m.

TWO MORE:

CN&R film bastard Craig Blamer turned L.B. onto the fact that Samuel L. Jackson is starring in a new film with the most excellent title of Snakes on a Plane (to be released August 2006). Rumor was that the Hollywood “suits” (to borrow a fave Blamer term) were going to change the name to Pacific Flight 141, but Mr. Jackson didn’t sign on for that shit. Check www.defamer.com/hollywood/samuel-l-jackson for the man’s thoughts.

Also, go to http://media.putfile.com/SnakesonaPlane, and hear the bizarre old-timey homage, “Noodles With Teeth,” (megaphone vocals, plus scratchy record sound) by Jenny’s Midnight Screamatorium.