Houston Music Blog

Andrew Brown/ Patrick Lundborg/ lysergia.com Walt Andrus in his studio, 1967

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Walt Andrus, best known as the engineer of numerous Thirteenth Floor Elevators sessions, has gone where the pyramid meets the eye. Andrus, who engineered many of the most famous sessions for Houston's infamous International Artists label during the psychedelic period, was living in Truth or Consequences, N.M., when he passed away from melanoma. He was 72.

While Andrus is most famous for his Thirteenth Floor Elevators session work, he was also involved with recording seminal Texas psychedelic acts like Lost & Found, Golden Dawn, the Red Krayola's free-form psychedelic opus, The Parable of Arable Land, and Fever Tree's 1968 classic Another Time, Another Place. He also worked for a time with Don Robey at the Duke-Peacock label.

Besides Michael, Farrah, Ed McMahon and Sky Saxon of the Seeds, last week's bumper crop for the Grim Reaper also claimed Don Lampton, a founding member of '60s local psych-rock band Fever Tree. Lampton, 61, played keyboards and rhythm guitar for the Bostwick Vines, which became Fever Tree after husband-and-wife duo Scott and Vivian Holtzman began managing and writing songs for the band, which released several singles in the Houston area on New York City's Mainstream label.

Lampton's tenure in Fever Tree was short-lived, though. He was replaced by multi-instrumentalist Rob Landes before the group recorded its albums Fever Tree and Another Time, Another Place and grazed the Billboard singles chart with 1968's "San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native)." In later years, Lampton worked at the Ames booking agency - securing Billy Gibbons' pre-ZZ Top band the Moving Sidewalks an opening slot for Jimi Hendrix, among other things - Brook Mays Music and started his own company, Don Lampton Music. He was remembered as a mentor to many in the local scene.

"He helped many more with logistical problems (gear)," Guy Schwartz of the New Jack Hippies posted on his Facebook page last week. "He always loved to play."

If you can handle French Kicks, you’d probably better get to Walter’s this Friday to see openersYoung Mammals.

And then Saturday at Rudyard's you've got Guilty Hearts, with Born Liars, Pope Jon PPP and Welfare Mothers.

Categorization is one of the realities of widespread music/art consumption, and despite how much energy and time is spent trying to avoid labels, no one is above that sort of thing. And amongst those admittedly simplistic designations are several problematic cristenings: punk, garage, classic rock. And amongst those, one of the most unfortunate is “power-pop,” something that goes further than garage and punk in the “I’ll know it once I see it, but I cannot tell you what it is” category.

So far as anyone seems able to elucidate, power-pop started sometime in the mid to late sixties and was perfected by Big Star. More accurately, power-pop was perfected by Alex Chilton, something a whole lot of people seem to be certain of for reasons they can’t particularly explain.

Both of these EPs can currently be downloaded for free at the given links. Go get them. When they see official release, buy them. It feels good to spend money on music. Records don’t give you hangovers. The really good ones might, but that’s a whole other matter . . .

Something Fierce, Modern Girl EP @ HoustonPunk.com

“Always Be Alone” blazes a path through the speakers, cutting and snarling and hammering right into the fist-pump inducing intro to “Modern Girl,” the latter of which may well be the best song Something Fierce have yet to commit to tape. It’s a timeless punk anthem that could’ve been played by John Peel, could’ve risen from the 90's underground, or (apparently) could’ve been recorded by a young band in the first decade of this century.

“Hey Houston” would sound smug coming from anyone else: as-is, it’s a call to arms, an indictment, a lament rising from the pit itself instead of pretending to be above it. It is, in short, the most brutally triumphant and snotty moment local music has had to offer this year.

It’s once again time for a Reverberation at Boondocks, so be there this Saturday, and be careful on the stairs.

And if you’re the sort who likes to start early (and what really constitutes “early” on a Saturday?), you won’t do much better than showing up at Cactus from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m., when two-thirds of KTRU’s Mutant Hardcore crew will set-up for a rare live set. Just remember that you’re in a record store, and there’s an entire staff waiting to laugh at your lame request. Make it count.

If you’re out and about Thursday, you can catch these guys at Walter’s on Washington with a full bill that includes Houston’s own Something Fierce:

New noise from the Bayou City and across the pond:

Born Liars 7" (Cutthroat)

“Go Back One Day” roars from start to finish with the same cymbal-crashing moxie as Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers, building and thrashing on top of a late-night bar shuffle that makes very clear that we’re not dealing with the same band who released Exit Smiling two long years ago. That record was a fine debut, no doubt, but Born Liars have grown into a much nastier force since then. Exit Smiling had flashes of power-pop creeping through its pores and, while well-executed, misrepresented a band that has cultivated a downright filthy sound, one that currently stands as the stiffest middle finger in Houston rock.

“Meet Me Downstairs” is kicked-off with a swirling riff that soon finds itself lodged in Shane Lauder’s Detroit percussion thunder. Were Jimmy Sanchez to affect any more of a sneer, his vocals would simply become unintelligible. As is, he just sounds like the snottiest rock singer to burst from any local clouds in a good long while, lending an emotional credibility that would’ve gone AWOL under care of another vocalist, while cymbal crashes and Bill Greer’s bass punch the whole thing in the ass.

Power-pop fans take note: Next Monday, you can catch Oakland band The Clarences live on the Internet at 11:30 p.m. CST. I hear drinks will be dirt cheap.

This week brought another reissue of Flamin’ Groovies’ 1970 sophomore album, Flamingo, which showed the Groovies stripping down and proving that the same band who soared on Supersnazz could get downright demo-quality filthy with “Gonna Rock Tonight” and “Second Cousin.” This was a short year before the Groovies released the seminal Teenage Head, completing an three-album inaugural run since matched by few and, thus far, fully appreciated by about as many.

No need to wait until the weekend this time around. There are plenty of good local gigs right in the middle of the week:

The Monocles bring their sublime garage-punk – and a brand new 7" – to the Mink tonight. Also on the bill are locals Focusyn and Dizzy Pilot, who put on one of the most energetic live shows in town and feature member of Southern Bellugosi, Drill Box Ignition and Motion Turns It On. They released their latest E.P, Shit Out the Bones, last year.

Saturday night, hit Boondocks for the Reverberation throw-down. Get drunk and dance. If you miss this one, you’ll have to wait until next month, and four weeks is a long time to wait for a proper fuzz fix.

For now, give this record from New Orleans a shot…

Bipolaroid, E(i)ther Or

Bipolaroid unabashedly embraces their devotion to early Pink Floyd and, more so, Syd Barrett’s solo material: Ben Glover’s vocals are inextricable from their Barrett influence. Though dismaying in the immediate, repeat listens reveal both Glover’s and the band’s search for identity in a genre that has few 21st century representatives. Most psyche-rock these days is directly informed by the loose vibe of the 13th Floor Elevators and their spawn, as Floyd’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn has gone on to another fate.

The Westheimer Block Party is this Saturday. Here’s the line-up. Be there. Then, Sunday morning, drag yourself out of your stupor and over to Rice for the KTRU Outdoor Festival.

Is there much “garage rock” at either of these events? Not really, but if you can’t have music-related fun at some point this weekend, it’s probably time to shave off your sideburns and donate your records. If you feel the need to skip the festivals and toe the genre line, there’s no excuse for missing Amplified Heat at Rudyard’s on Saturday night.

For whatever reason, I seemed to forget that MySpace offers the opportunity for actual downloads, in addition to streaming music.

This revelation was thrilling, despite its embarrassing belatedness, and I’ve decided to make the MySpace Mixtape a regular practice on Reverberations. The rules are simple: Selections must be downloadable, posted on an official band page (I’ve taken care to avoid “fan pages,” or any instance where consent is not implied by the actual band, management or label) and not patently obvious. The bands were found through compilations, linking from other bands’ pages, random friend requests, or simple trolling. In the future, it may be interesting to explore themes (region-specific compilations spring to mind), but for now, we’ll just rock at random. Happy listening:

The Nomads “Been Burnt” - Start things off with this shot of screaming guitar and caveman percussion from this Swedish band who’s been at it for 25 years.

The Hot Pockets “There Goes the Night” - Punk rock from the Netherlands that sounds like a cross between Something Fierce and The Born Liars.

The Satelliters “Go Away” - More than a passing resemblance to Brian Jonestown Massacre; loose, laid-back beat with a harmonica lynchpin.

The Fleshtones

I’ve decided that Born Liars are one of those local bands that will probably be a good time regardless of the bill I find them on. And, if they seem to be lagging, I’ll drink more and rediscover the original draw. Look: Born Liars may not become the next Great American Punk band, they may not be the Next anything. In fact: Fuck the Next. Be glad you have an opening act as good as the Born Liars. They rock. They want you to rock. What more do you want?

I’m about to tell you about two shows that are anything except garage rock, but due to their roots, spirit and aesthetic are precisely garage rock. But first, some history:

Early garage bands owe a massive debt to the Stones, primarily the early recordings, which were mired in R&B covers. It could be argued that the Stones brought “black music” into garage the way that Elvis did for the music of the Stones’ generation; there were garage bands kicking around America prior to the British Invasion, but the Stones and Beatles hitting U.S. soil blasted open the doors. As stated in the John Goodman narrated documentary “Tales of the Rat Fink” – about the 50s-60s era of custom cars and the cultural impact of Ed Roth’s vision – once American crowds caught an eyeful of those two bands, “the garage was no longer a place where kids tuned their cars; it became a place where kids tuned their guitars.”

It’s no wonder that the Beatles vs. Stones question remains a staple of asinine bar yammering: The two bands represent two looks, two sounds, two genealogies...two identities. Though their respective discographies were just budding at the time, young musicians were able to discern the tone and – even if vicariously – choose their forefathers, in the process strengthening a musical and cultural divide by forging disparate paths.

Last week's Reverberations was eaten by the beast that was SXSW 2008. Which is a bummer, since I saw the Rippers play a fearsome set at the Mink on Saturday and very few of you were there. I know this because, until Uptown Bums – who played immediately before the Rippers – went on, it was me, my girlfriend, the bartender and the bands. Thereafter, we had a crowd of 14 to 20, depending on smoke breaks.

If you don’t know the Rippers, you need to. Seeing them live is like watching a derailed train slide toward you and your friends. That one will be a contender for Best Garage Show Of The Year, though it has some stiff competition coming up next week . . .

What’s so wrong about some young guys in love with the reverb knob?

When, like Black Black Gold, they’re helping carry on the legacy of Texas garage, nothing at all. BBG may lack polish, but they make up the difference with energy and a fine set of ears, and Thursday night at Rudyard’s played a solid 20-minute set. They closed with a cover of the Sonics’ "Strychnine" – a painfully obvious choice, but just who in the hell ever gripes about hearing "Strychnine"?

We’re still getting the ball rolling over here, so expect this space to grow, specifically with an array of record reviews in the coming weeks. In the meantime, I recommend taking notice of the reissue of Thee Headcoatees’ four Vinyl Japan albums, out next Tuesday on Damaged Goods.

On the live front, it should be a solid week for anyone with even an amateur’s level of stamina:

Thursday at Rudyard’s: Phoenix’s The Love Me Nots, playing their first ever Texas gig, bring stylish, sultry badass-ery – a little like Holly Golightly with a touch of Janis Joplin and sex appeal – plenty of Farfisa and Michael Johnny Walker’s fuzz laden guitars. Also appearing are local thunderheads The Born Liars with fellow Houstonians – and Disaro recording artists – Black Black Gold. (You can read a 2006 cover story on The Love Me Nots in Press sister paper Phoenix New Times.)

Welcome to Reverberations, a weekly column on all things garage rock…

There was a time – between the British Invasion and the eventual manifestation of Television – when a bunch of guys who’d come up on the cutting power of surf noise and the Yardbirds’ filthy, oversexed blues took what they’d absorbed, mimicked and "borrowed," threw on a layer of fuzz and gave it a shot of pure, youthful speed.

It was the sound of Hell with the top popped, a melodic cacophony that alienated and allured, antagonized and flirted, and – depending on your age, state of mind and level of intoxication – was either the most awful thing you’d ever heard or one of those rapturous musical experiences that transformed your listening from there on out. What came to be known as "garage rock" was many things, but it was not, and is not, particularly easy to define.

The "garage" to which I refer was, or is essentially modeled after, music that was punk before that word had any real currency, and arrived early enough to miss the stylistic stigma left in the wake of the first-wave punk bands. It’s post Elvis rock ‘n’ roll in one of its more potent forms, less art than a sincere artifice and a more visceral, as opposed to calculated, expression. It sounds and looks grimy, because Rocking is a dirty business.