Houston Music Blog

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It's quite possible that Something Fierce is the last visible punk band of its kind standing in Houston at the moment. Sunday night at the Mink, the trio flexes their collective garage-punk muscle at the release party for their new seven-inch on Houston's own Action Town Records, "Where You Goin' Man." The B-side is a cover of the Party Owls' "Spray Coat."

​Last year, the band embarked on a large national tour, which saw them hitting up a myriad of far-flung spots in the country and getting signed to influential garage label Dirtnap in the process of supporting December 2008's stellar There Are No Answers LP. That album saw Something Fierce stretching its legs, while capturing the fun and intensity of the group's live shows. That's no easy feat for any band these days. Also, be sure to look up their "Live From Sugar Hill" session with The King Khan & BBQ Show, recorded this past November.

The band is currently working on its first Dirtnap LP and playing shows in the interim. Rocks Off asked the band to list some of their favorite unsung garage-punk bands and why. Their list included labelmates The Marked Men and The Returnables, and also marks the Rocks Off debut of the legendary Wipers. Sit back and turn the volume up on your computer speakers until the guy in the next cubicle screams for mercy.

Photos by Marc Brubaker / Click here for a slideshow

​Looking for all the world like a young ex-Runaways lead singer Cherie Currie (minus the lingerie) and sounding like Kathleen Hanna, Jemina Pearl didn't hesitate to scream her heart out in front of a small but energetic crowd at the Mink last night. Aftermath knew she'd be awesome - we were familiar with her work in Be Your Own Pet - but we weren't prepared for Houston's Magic Marmalade, soon to be renamed The Examples, whose musical inspiration seems to run the gamut from Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath to Link Wray and The Sonics.

Pedro Tijerina

​First act Pedro Tijerina of Springfield Riots seemed an uneven choice to open the show. He hopped on stage with only his guitar and began singing at top volume without even an introduction, startling Aftermath, who was looking away from the stage. His music was good - moody, folksy songs about cocaine and relationships, but he seemed stage-shy, barely uttering his name after a few songs. After his gig Aftermath heard him tell someone in the crowd, "I'm not very good at guitar."

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

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This afternoon word began spreading on Twitter and various indie blogs that prolific garage rocker Jay Reatard had died. His label, Goner Records, posted a quick message confirming Reatard's passing on its online bulletin board at around 3 p.m., stating:

"It is with great sadness that we report the passing of our good friend Jay Reatard. Jay died in his sleep last night. We will pass along information about funeral arrangements when they are made public."

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Houston scuzz-punk heroes the Hell City Kings are filming part of a new music video upstairs at Rudyards tonight. If you have seen the band in their live element, you can imagine where this shoot may be headed. With their new lead singer, the band seems to be reenergized, just in time for someone to capture it for posterity.

The song the Kings and director Bryan Forrester are filming tonight is "Never Let Go." Forrester's last video was an epic desert clip for listenlisten's "On the Water" from 2009's acclaimed Hymns from Rhodesia album. If the scope and size of that video are any indication, HCK should be in more than capable hands. There is also talk of a second part of the video, a debauched party scene, which will be shot later on next week.

​Though the title indicates this might be a juicy memoir from a punk-rock groupie, it's actually by the brother of the Ramones singer, who did indeed share a bedroom with the tall boy born Jeffrey Hyman for many years.

The crux of the book follows Leigh's (born Mitchell Hyman) extremely up-and-down relationship with his brother. At one time, they could be each other's closest confidantes and friends. Then they could be screaming at each other for perceived slights both musical and familial. Not helping matters were Joey's mental difficulties (he struggled throughout his life with high-level OCD) and, later, rampant drinking and drug abuse.

Overall, the book is a rollicking run through the brothers' relationship, and is especially insightful on the Ramones' early years. Of course, there's also a degree of score-settling. Leigh points out that it was actually he who was in a working band first, and met each of the three other original Ramones before his brother - at the time, a neighborhood freak - even thought about a career in music.

Singer/guitarist Leigh's own punk-pop groups, including the Rattlers, Tribe and STOP, had some marginal success. But Joey's stature cast a long shadow, and Leigh has held a number of non-musical odd jobs, including pot dealing. There's a bit of "it coulda been me" in the writing.

Photos by James Allen

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Saturday night saw the last show from Houston via Sugar Land's The Jonbenet, who quite nearly tore apart Walter's on Washington with a 15-song set covering the band's history from 2003 on. Lead singer Michael Murland whipped the crowd into a fine frenzy, with the pit churning and dripping with happy nostalgia as the band ran through songs from 2005's The Plot Thickens and its follow-up, 2006's Ugly/Heartless.

These songs are indelibly ingrained in the Houston hardcore zeitgeist and judging from the assembled throng's reaction, they will be sorely missed around town even if their appearances have been few and far between in recent years due to band members working on other projects. Stage divers were coming dangerously close to ripping down the venue's two ceiling fans closest to the stage.

The floor on the pit was as slippery as the ice rink at the Galleria, and at least one member of the Rocks Off's extended blogger family was seen running headlong into the pit to get his proverbial rocks off.

​Christmas came early for Rocks Off this weekend in the form of Dr. Feelgood, a vaguely holiday-themed album from our favorite little brothers in the increasingly prolific 10th Grade Cutie. You guys can now cancel the order for the black Yamaha V-Star 1100 and the lock of Lemmy's hair, because we are pretty we are covered for this year.

Dr. Feelgood is a roughly seven-minute EP of four tracks of ho-ho's and sleigh bells being put through a meat grinder. It has everything to do with Jesus' birthday and everything not to do with Jesus' birthday. All Christmas hyperbole aside, it's actually a quantum leap for the band in terms of style and sonics.

Lil' Blaine and Rex Ronan have begun to veer off into a strange and different direction really only hinted at in the group's last few released tracks, forgoing the jumpy punk rock for a more screamy lo-fi crunch, bearing slight a resemblance to Houston's Balaclavas. The opening track "Xms" sounds like The Polar Express forgoing the North Pole and instead chugging into Grand Central Station in Hell.

www.myspace.com/hates

​The premise alone is enough to pique Rocks Off's interest. The Hates, Houston's long-running Mohawk-fronted punk trio, will transform themselves tonight into The Blue Suedes, a Buddy Holly tribute band. The occasion? Cactus Music's third-annual toy drive, benefitting the Houston Area Women's Shelter.

We can see it now - neon-haired singer Christian Amheiter (left) in horn-rims and a powder-blue coat. The tribute show was the idea of John Morris, the guy behind the newly-created Happy Jack Productions. The Tribute to Buddy Holly is his first show. After Morris approached The Hates about performing in the show, the band got the idea to branch away from their traditional punk material.

"I think it has been a mixture of David [bass player Dave Deviant] being a rockabilly fan and picking up the upright bass that lends itself to us going in this direction," Amheiter said. "John became aware of this and John pitched this idea. It was his intention to do a Buddy Holly tribute, but we took it one-step further and said we'd write some rockabilly songs."

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Aside from the heavy metal Christmas songs we threw your way earlier this week, Rocks Off also loves us some punk rock Yuletide jams. Over the years plenty of punks have tried their scabby and tattooed hands at holiday songs, especially the pop-punks, who are very fond of those ironic covers.

We decided to dig out some the classic punk rockers doing their best Santa and Baby Jesus odes, to keep shit classy. We're sure that Green Day and MxPx have done some decent Christmas songs, but who cares? We have a rep to uphold, mama.

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​Of all the bands to emerge out of the Houston music puppy mill this year, none has been as steadfastly working class and punk rock as the American Heist. Rocks Off first spied the band opening up for Florida's Fake Problems in May. At the time they were still called Born Anchor, but a Seattle-area by the name of Born Anchors balked and the band soon changed their moniker to the American Heist.

Tonight the band opens up for Boston's Street Dogs over at Walter's On Washington. The show is also a toy drive for Toys For Tots, the Marine Corps charity that helps make Christmas all that more brighter for children who are less fortunate. The Street Dogs will be collecting unwrapped toys at their merch booth before and after the show.

Playing an intense and rollicking style of booze-fueled Springsteen-esque street-punk, the four-piece Heist is lead by singer Tim Blackout, whose gravelly howl echoes that of Mike Ness and Rancid's Lars Frederiksen. We also hear a helluva lot of old favorites Hot Water Music in the band's live work. It was Heist's harmonica-kissed military ballad ".22" that made our jaws drop and take notice of the band back in May and they haven't stopped thrilling us since.

Brittanie Shey

​Apparently Aftermath is on the "golden showers" beat. We've been sent, so far, to cover R. Kelly and Tuesday night, Jay Reatard.

Though Reatard hit the popular consciousness in 2008 with his collections of singles, Aftermath didn't really know much about him until earlier this year. The singer made music headlines by engaging in a hilarious Twitter spat with his former bandmates, who, rightfully, quit the band following some drunken antics by Reatard involving the aforementioned urination issue.

So Aftermath went to Walter's last night armed only with that knowledge, not knowing what to expect from the Memphis garage-punk. We went home pleasantly surprised that someone like Reatard can manage to keep punk sounding fresh and fun while still maintaining a fuck-you air.

​Tonight Jay Reatard plugs in at Walter's On Washington, playing the first of three Texas dates before ending his fall tour behind August's Watch Me Fall release. On New Year's Eve, he opens up for Austin's Spoon in Milwaukee.

Memphis' Reatard, born Jimmy Lee Lindsey, has been a polarizing force in the garage-punk scene since he hung out his shingle with his seminal band the Reatards in 1998. Over the next eight years, the madly prolific guitarist and singer would form his own Shattered Records label and be involved in four other side projects of varying success and recording output.

It wasn't until 2006's solo outing Blood Visions that Reatard became a marquee garage act and begin to pick up steam on national blogs and print media. Both of his subsequent woodshedding singles compilations, Singles 06-07 and Matador Singles '08, would see him whittling his sound down to a fine, punky edge, solidifying his reputation as one of the modern garage guard along with the Black Lips and King Khan. Watch Me Fall is a decidedly poppier, but no less gritty, garage record, and Reatard will be the first to cop to trying to go in a hookier direction than his earlier output.

Rocks Off caught up with Reatard as he was making his way to a tour stop in Orlando, Florida last week.

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Last week, Houston's own Team Science released the final posthumous release by late local mod-punks Teenage Kicks. Sadly, the band broke up in late March and the band members have gone on to other bands and projects such as the blues-stomping Passengers and the monthly Fistful of Soul night at the Mink. The band's last show was the Masshysteria gig on March 26 with the Secret Prostitutes upstairs at the Mink, the band's usual stomping grounds.

The story of the Kicks is short and bittersweet, just like the just-released Uptight LP which we have been listening to for the past week seemingly on repeat (and is now available at Cactus Music). We've been flipping over the black circle every half-hour attempting to make sense of why these dudes aren't either headlining on any given night at the Mink or opening for a national band coming through Walter's.

It's strange to hear a band that is so vital and energetic and think that they are no more. Rocks Off sees these fellas at bars and in stores almost every week. It's like watching your divorced parents smiling and eating dinner and going home separately.

Brendan Mullen, documentarian of the early L.A. punk scene, died this past Monday at the age of 60. From the basement of a porno theater to The Decline of Western Civilization, the Scottish-born implant helped chronicle early American West Coast punk both orally and through the written word, ending his life's work with a series of books on the scene.

Below, five videos in his memory. First, here's Mullen in the seminal documentary on L.A. Punk explaining in technical terms why punk is better than disco.

​Singer/guitarist Joe "Joe Queer" King is the sole constant in The Queers, a pop-punk concern that's closing in on the big 3-0 and has shed more members than your dog's had fleas. As the name suggests, this band is pretty much about acting retarded, girls, acting retarded and girls; did we mention acting retarded and girls?

If you've heard any Screeching Weasel or Mr. T Experience albums, you get the idea, and already know whether or not this is your scene. Much like Bad Religion, Rancid and NOFX - all of whom would probably be aghast at the comparison we're about to make - The Queers are one of those cultural propositions that makes sense for a year or two, until one outgrows them without realizing it and is left wondering "Why did this shit ever matter to me so much?"

Dig on these video of Israeli titans Monotonix playing last night at Super Happy Fun Land. We followed the band from the floor of the venue, to the bathroom of the venue, to the dumpsters, and all the way out damn near the train tracks off Polk. We have a harrowing sweat-drenched slideshow coming tomorrow morning, along with a review. But hell, with footage like this and the video below, anything we say won't really do this video justice.

Monotonix at Super Happy Fun Land in Houston (Full Tilt Boogie, Ya'll)

​Say what you will about Blink-182, but the common thread amongst all major pop-punk bands is that they have the inherent effect of being gateway bands - a sort of Fisher-Price "My First Punk Band," as singer/bassist Mark Hoppus once described Blink at the height of their mania in the wake of 1999's Enema Of The State. One also can't overlook the immense influence of that album's cover girl, Janine Lindemulder, on the thriving nurse-fetish scene.

Punk rock has a funny way of repeating itself in cycles that confound the old guard and bring in new meat to the tribe. A more publicly palatable punk band will come along and swoop up kids in need of a social family. Most kids won't stay in the fold long enough to lay down roots, while others will become lifers and take what they have learned into almost every facet of the rest of their lives.

Every few years it takes a band like Green Day, Rancid or Bad Religion to lure kids into the circle and soon enough they will either by card-carrying obnoxious teens armed with three chords and the truth, or casual fans wearing the T-shirt to school. In 1999, that band was Blink-182 for a majority of impressionable kids, for better or worse.

The following was written by Aftermath after he busted inside his house just hours before dawn on Saturday morning after he saw Motorhead that night. Knowing fully well that a band such as Motorhead would be nearly critic-proof and not in need of the same scrutiny of say, a Taylor Hicks show, he decided to record his thoughts on the show while they were still soaked in eight bourbon & Cokes and innumerable cups of Lone Star. See them in real-time on Rocks Off's Twitter page.

Photos By Eric Sauseda

So like we just came back from Motorhead and we can't hear ever-loving shit. For serious, Aftermath is trying to be all studious and tell all the good readers about how amazing the show was but that's like trying to tell people why bacon tastes so goddamned good. It just is so slag off. Explanations do not apply to Motorhead or Lemmy Kilmister, who will henceforth be referred to as only Lemmy.

​Rocks Off is proud to announce that we will be bringing our Beatles: Rock Band gear to Lucky's Pub next week on Thursday for The Houston Press' "Best Of Houston 2009 Birthday Bash" for all of you guys to settle any scores you may have still left open from last week's release party at Coffee Groundz. The fun and games start at 7 p.m. and run until closing time at 2 a.m.

We will be setting up shop upstairs at Lucky's in our special Rocks Off loft, where dirty deeds will be done dirt cheap, or at least a reasonable market price. There will be plenty of alcohol throughout Lucky's to sate your thirst and to aid in better game play. We noticed that all of you guys got progressively better at the game as you guzzled down the Beatles-themed drinks that the coffeehouse was slinging, which you see evidence of in the video below.

Craig Hlavaty

​ Tomorrow night Lemmy Kilmister and Motorhead hit the stage at Warehouse Live, and Rocks Off will be there, at least physically. We don't plan on remembering the show so we have diligently trolling YouTube for videos to fill in any memory lapses we may have from heavy indulgence and fanboy euphoria.

The band is synonymous with danger and disarray. Their logo the "Snaggletooth" and all its interpretations denote something frightening and alternately free at the same time. Lemmy's distinctive facial features and grizzled contentment are pure rock 'n roll, even if both are subject to ridicule from their detractors. The band isn't metal and they aren't punk, but they contributed to both genres' disparate lineages and became the one group that each sub-culture could share a beer over.

​So far 2009 has seen the debuts of about a dozen or so new Houston bands that have rocking our collective nuts off. Muhammadali, Passengers, Roky Moon & Bolt, the inimitable 10th Grade Cutie, the solo debut of Benjamin Wesley and the classic-rock-filtered garage of Giant Princess, just to name a few have been burning up our headphones.

So here comes The Energy to the party and not a moment too soon. Made up of members of NO TALK, The Homopolice and Wicked Poseur, The Energy plays their first show on Sunday at the Mink on a bill that also includes the like-minded Secret Prostitutes. The three-chick and one dude assault of Lafayette's Blast Rag closes the show, led by a howling raven-haired tattooed gal with more ink than we even have.

Thanks to Mr. Jesse Dayton for showing us this clip

Les Paul, the musician who literally created the definitive sound of rock 'n roll with his slew of equipment inventions, has passed away at the rockin' age of 94. Seriously if you make it that far after spending your life in smoky halls and recording studios you officially own. The technical baby daddy of rock 'n roll succumbed to complications from pneumonia.

The list of innovations credited and patented by Les Paul stand as a monument to the man that helped shape the sound of rock 'n roll. He pioneered the art of multi-tracking, various delays, phasing, and overdubs. All this on top of helping create with Ted McCarty one the world's most iconic guitars, the Gibson Les Paul.

Photos by Rachelle Mendez and Matthew Juarez

​Saturday night, one of the most polarizing bands of the past 20 years rolls into town. Since its 1994 mainstream breakthrough, Dookie, Green Day has been dividing fans and critics alike. Some damned the trio for leaving their punk-rock roots behind at 924 Gilman for the glamour of MTV videos and catered backstages. Others championed them for bringing a youthful sense of humor to the dour grunge-saturated rock scene of mid-'90s.

The success of Dookie of in turning kids everywhere onto punk should not be underestimated. The band's 1994 release brought a new sense of snottiness that was missing in music at the time. Sure, the grunge bands were sarcastic and too cool for school, but even kids as young as eight could get behind the album's nihilistic and reckless noise. It was a fun record that tapped into a youthful energy missing in Alice In Chains and Nirvana; potheads are always going to have more fun than the dudes tying off a vein in the corner. It's also hella cheaper.

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With his distinctive blonde mohawk, Jean Beauvoir struck not just a memorable visual presence in the '80s, as his hard-charging singing and playing shone first as a member of notorious punks the Plasmatics, then Little Steven & the Disciples of Soul and finally a solo effort, 1986's Drums Along the Mohawk. His "Feel the Heat" ended up as the theme song from the Sylvester Stallone cop flick Cobra.

And then, Jean Beauvoir just disappeared - or so it would seem to U.S. audiences. But over in Europe, he kept busy releasing solo records, efforts with his groups Voodoo X and Crown of Thorns, and also writing and producing for other acts.

Beauvoir has since hooked back up with Little Steven, whose Renegade Nation multi-media empire includes a record label (Wicked Cool), two satellite radio stations, a syndicated show - Little Steven's Underground Garage, heard in Houston Sunday nights on 93.7 the Arrow - film division, and even a talent agency.

What it do, Rancid? What's crackin', formerly crusty-punk rude boys? Been a long time since we last hang, bros. When Dan Zeller lent me Let's Go during senior year of high school, I knew y'all were onto something special: three-billy-goats-gruff sung scrabbling punk anthems and routs with just a hint of ska. ...And Out Come The Wolves was what really sold me, though, as you found a slightly more commercial sound that brought MTV rotation (for "Time Bomb"), plus a platinum plaque.

Our interest began to wane after you flew to Jamaica to record Life Won't Wait. I bought 2000's Rancid out of loyalty, but nothing on it resonated with me; it's probably rotting in a Baltimore-area record store's used bin as I type this. As for 2003's Indestructible, I can't front: haven't heard a note of it.

It wasn't you, guys, it was us; our interests changed. Separated from higher education and the friends who indoctrinated us to the Epitaph/Fat Wreck Chords/Punk Uprisings/etc nu-punk axis, I suddenly had less of a desire to listen to dudes yelling about smashing the state and so on. I wanted more indie, more rap, maybe some Flaming Lips. I didn't even notice that y'all were on a 6-year hiatus, though your side projects were duly noted (if never explored).

For the past 15 years, the Vans Warped Tour has been barreling through city after city across the globe creating punk rockers out of boy scouts and riot grrls out of band geeks.

The traveling punk, hardcore and emo road show has been coming to Houston since 1995. The first taste local punks got of founder Kevin Lyman's tour was at the AstroArena, starring such future luminaries as No Doubt, Sublime and the Deftones, along with members of the old guard like Sick Of It All and L7.

Everyone who is a veteran Warped attendee, even of they only went once, has a story to tell. Most involve baking on the concrete of the Astrodome complex and getting awful sunburns, but generally having your musical universe expanded. For kids who weren't yet old enough to inhabit clubs like Fitzgerald's, the Abyss or Instant Karma, the Warped Tour was an easy all-in-one way to meet folks like you and discover new bands along the way.

Dead Roses

"Sleep Dep."/ "Liar"

Ditchwater Records

Ralf Armin, Houston punk/glam pioneer and sometime Balaclavas sax-man could be the city's most underrated musicians. Between his works with Truth Decay, the late lamented Swarm Of Angels, and his seminal work with The Pain Teens and Really Red, Armin has paved a lofty path in the history of Houston noise.

Dead Roses' newest 7", "Sleep Dep."/ "Liar," alternately fuses elements of Armin's own musical past, while also digging deep into the aural roots. Side A's title track starts out innocently poppy enough, but soon turns into a reverb-drenched kiss-off. It's toe-tapping stuff you could break up with someone to.

The real action is on Side B, with the Roky Erickson-channeling "She's Not Calling Back," a nearly six-minute tantrum of frustration and emotional chaos. This is where the Roses really bloom, with Armin wailing against a wall of sound over a churning bath of guitar and a ringing phone.

Some albums, indeed some artists, can only be truly appreciated when listened to at near injury-inducing volume. Pontiak, with its earthy blend of bluesy psychedelia, proto-metal and sub-harmonic doom drone, is one such band.

When you crank it all the way up, Maker hits like a mild concussion with the fuzzy, descending riff of "Laywayed." The buzzing stops just as quickly as it started, leaving you with ringing ears just 30 seconds in. Just when your head starts to clear, the band drops back in on top of you, adding a heady layer of vocals to the already saturated sound, along with drums so wet you can practically feel the spray with each echo-laden pound. From there, "Blood Pride" vaults in next, riding a driving bass-line into a charging blues scale riff built on shimmering guitar and alternating single- and double-note syncopation, dutifully delivering the slight swagger its title implies. Next up, "Wax Worship" reveals a different side of Pontiak, its swirling noise providing the perfect foil to the more anchored sound of the first two cuts. Never content to leave well enough alone, the Carney brothers' blues drone soon rises out of the clattering drums and squalling feedback, like an occult version of Jack White's reductive 12-bar pastiche.

Just in case the drop shift in the middle of "Wax Worship" left you jonesing for noise, the band cannily obliges with 74 seconds of all out pandemonium on "Headless Conference," with cymbals crashing alongside frantically paced drums and similarly rambunctious guitar and bass. This is not about technique, or about melody. This is the exhilarating dip in a frozen lake following a languid sauna - from slightly claustrophobic and vaguely eyelid drooping, to shockingly awake, not quite sure what's going on as you get your bearings. This heaving and jerking occurs repeatedly throughout the album, creating a feel that, while it doesn't exactly flow, never allows complacency. You can't just hear this album -- it makes you listen to it.

Between the haphazard hooks, ramshackle rhythm section, mumbled vocals and lo-fi lust for vintage psych, Black Lips comparisons are unavoidable for Austin four-piece the Strange Boys.

That doesn't mean there's not room for a few bands who plunder the 13th Floor Elevators with the kindergarten abandon of early Clean records. Following 2007's little-heard Nothing EP, last year In The Red issued the Dallas transplants' tinny two-minute single "Woe Is You and Me," setting the table for this past March's woolly full-length, The Strange Boys...And Girls Club.