X @ The Showbox, 4/10/09

Last Friday I got the opportunity to see one of the most important and influential bands of all time. I’m not going to pretend to be some kind of lifelong X-super fan. I started listening to them so recently that when I bought their seminal album (LOS ANGELES) the waify Jacqueline-Black behind the counter looked down at me and asked “You don’t already have this?”

Built in part on X’s foundation, one of Seattle’s funnest bands to watch, The Heels opened the night.






















This band consistently blows me away with its insane combination of loud clothes, plush horses and rrrrrraw garage sound.

Bring (2) parts Joan Jett to a boil.

Stir in (1) part Billy Childish in stilettos and fishnets.

Add (3) parts pure attitude and you got yourself one hell of a twangy meal bubbling over into your lap.

These ladies (and one guy) seriously bring the pain. The best kind of pain. The kind that keeps you coming back for more.

You will see them. You will like the pain. You will ask for more.

Watching X play in 2009 it is impossible to deny their impact on the countless incarnations of punk, hardcore and indie rock that have I have followed my entire life. Exene and John Doe’s poetic twist on punk rock laid the sonic framework for Sonic Youth’s most obtuse to Green Day’s most mainstream.

By 1977 punk rock was decimating the West Coast with hard-hitting aggressive songwriting that would become eventually become the framework for countless generations to come. Perhaps the most influential band to rise up from the Los Angeles scene, X was beating its unorthodox brand of urban-art-punk upside the skulls of fans long before I took my first steps. (ok, not that long – I’m old. )

X’s sound and influence can undoubtedly be credited to its diversity of players. Billy Zoom’s rockabilly touches infused Doe and Exene’s off kilter melodies jibe perfectly with DJ Bonebrake’s pummeling percussion to create a perfect storm of colliding influences. That being said, live Friday night The Showbox stage and that band belonged to X’s rhythm section. DJ’s hard-charging beats filled the air like drums are supposed to. Never for an instant did it feel like these songs could fall apart. At age 55 John Doe played and sang with a ferocity that could inspire a fresh-faced legion of Mike Watt’s to take up arms. To say he was really givin’er would be an understatement of epic proportions.

Do you play like that every night John?

I would be seriously freaked out if my Dad was sweating as hard as you were. Amazing.

I was a little disappointed with Exene and Zoom’s energy (or lack thereof) on stage. Don’t get me wrong Zoom played a flawless set with an enormous grin on his face. Unfortunately the grin was so creepy I had to look away (sorry Billy, I know it’s your thing and the ladies seemed receptive so more power to ya). Exene was the least animated of the crew but still found a way to come alive at all the right moments.

Seeing X power through a set-list chosen by their fans, it became clear that each of the personalities onstage was very different. Each of these players has seen a lot of life in the years following their initial successes. It is these very differences that made X so unique to begin with; and it’s the reason it still works today. If you get the chance, buy the ticket.

The Thermals @ Neumo's 4/11/09

Last Friday The Thermals graced a sold-out Neumo’s crowd to an explosive night of incredibly tight-knit-Portlandly-punk-rock. Technically an all-ages show, the typical Sam Beam beard to neon side-cocked hat with bangs ratio was drastically out of whack – the former basically mailing it on the fandom. Probably a good thing at the end of the day as I had no problem getting a beer (ok, two) upstairs and the kids, well the kids kind of kicked ass.

Also hailing from Portland, Parenthetical Girls and Panther lit the emo fuse (it’s short, duh.) with showmanship and sweat-drenched, string breaking angst. As a performer deciding to come off stage and into the crowd is to walk a fine line between awkwardness and awesomeness –young kids that haven’t seen much tend to be a touch more receptive than dudes that saw Dinasoaur Jr.’s original line up the first time around.



PG guitarist, singer and overall performer at large Zac Pennington was rocking a sweater with the words “butterflies are free.” Say what you will about that, Zac knew how to work a crowd.

Starting the set off from the center of the crowd he moved back and forth from stage to floor to knees to drum kit singing and playing guitar with eyes that said “I’m astro-projecting. I’m not even here. I’m somewhere else.“



(verdict: awesome)

Kill Rock Stars label-mates Panther continued to warm up the crowd for Hutch Kathy and Westin. Guitarist and vocalist Charlie Humara pummeled his guitar to the point of breaking several strings within just a few songs. Panther’s somewhat stripped down emotional indie rock reminded me of going to south bay shows years and years (and years) ago. I’m pretty sure there was no such thing as indie rock when I was attending all-ages shows. I think they called it alternative back then. Whatever.

Having never seen Panther before, I was pleasantly surprised by their onstage rawness (is that word?). Again, audience interaction was employed: At one point Humara lunged his guitar forward more or less right in front of me (and many others) seemingly attempting to get one or all of us to attack the strings. Pretty great in theory unless you’ve got a giant camera in your hands. I was like “uhm, should I strum it with the 5D? This is sort of an expensive lens and he’s pretty god-damn sweaty.”

(verdict: awesome, with a touch of awkard)

I was really excited to see The Thermals. A longtime fan of Hutch and Kathy’s expansive catalog (Haelah, Urban Legends, AGSFB) I’ve been really psyched to see my old friends up on stage.

I was not disappointed. It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen a band play this tightly. The trio played with an intensity that sent the crowd into a rocking frenzy. The entire floor was bobbing up and down to Kathy Foster and Westin Glass’s finally complete, ridiculously cohesive rhythm section.

Early in the set I was launched into a modern day mosh-a-thon getting carried across the breadth of the entire stage - all in the span of just a single verse. Anyone that has heard the The Thermals knows how pervasive the vocals can be. Mr. Harris’s vocal style is the anthemic common denominator to intelligently penned, guitar-centric power melodies. Seeing the three of them wow this young crowd really felt good. It gave me faith in their futures. Through their continued success, The Thermals are the same kids that recorded in their kitchen, gave away cd-r’s and played in back yards on rotten couches.

You know when you’re at a sold out show and it’s so hot you’re sweating – and suddenly a bouncer opens some random side door next to the stage letting in all this fresh cold air? That’s what it felt like to see The Thermals Friday night.

(verdict: AWESOME^2₎

Matt Ward @ the ShowBox Seattle, WA

about a month ago i started shooting photos and writing for local radio station KEXP. if you have ever spent any time in seattle you know that we're the best radio station west of the mississippi. actually, we broadcast from NYC too, so legally we can claim this whole damn country. below is a piece i wrote and shot for the m. ward show march 11, 2009.

Port O'Brien opened:

Sometimes music gives me insomnia.

Friday night at The Showbox California natives Port O’Brien opened for the Northwest’s own M. Ward (ok, technically he’s from CA too, but you had your chance; he’s ours now). Almost immediately Van, Cambria and the rest of Port O’Brien sent my jaw packing for the floor with their catchy, bluegrass infused folk rock. To say that front man/guitarist Van Pierszalowski’s delivery of these songs – many of which were penned aboard commercial salmon boats in Alaska - is honest and heartfelt – might be the understatement to end all understatements. Front man he is. Frontin’ he is not. Homeboy’s ability to belt out a red-faced chorus is matched only by the sincerity of his slower, twangier vocal deliveries.










It was about half-way through “Fisherman’s Son” that I started thinking this “song is going to get stuck in my head.”



I haven’t slept a full night since. The final nail in the coffin that is sleeplessness came during the band’s signature closing number “I Woke Up Today.” After distributing pots, pans and metal spoons to the audience Port O’Brien launched into one of the most raucous and memorable foot-stompers these ears have ever heard. Please send Sominex.


Primed and ready for more, the sold out audience welcomed headliner M. Ward with open arms. I don’t know that I have ever seen that many smiling Seattlites collected in one room.

From the weird hippy guy next to me eating dried fruit to the Samoan-Kirk-Hammett-with-John Waters moustache – M. Ward had us all eating out of the palm of his hand. Have you SEEN this man work over a guitar? As I stood there watching I actually thought to myself “that guitar is so lucky.” And that voice? His voice conjures thoughts of wood burning stoves and sleeping in. It’s hard to write about him without sounding like I’m in love. Floating back and forth across the stage, from guitar to guitar - then to the piano - Ward performed with the confidence and accuracy of a thousand man-crushes realized. After just over an hour onstage and two encores (Vincent O’Brien and an insanely perfect rendition of Roll Over Beethoven) it all came to a close.

What a night. Thanks KEXP!

originally posted here

lend me your ear. (an introduction)

i don't know what the hell is wrong with me these days. i thought i had it all figured out. i thought everything would be ok. goddamned better than ok. after 33 years i'm now beginning to realize that nothing is ever truly figured out. i guess i figured that out a little late. go figure.

some smart dude once said that "the only constant is change." i've gone through some changes lately that have landed me in some seriously sketchball territory. i'm no regret stricken post-op tranny or anything; i just feel pretty lost. i made some wrong turns and just sort of forgot who i was and what makes me happy. my brains got broken.

the crap to appear on these pages will be an attempt to acknowledge and chronicle the things in life that have always made me happy. made me who i am. the things in life that flip the middle finger at what that smart dude said about change.

i don't even really remember much before the age 12. that was the year i got my first skateboard. suddenly my four friends and i had something that no one else could even fathom. unbreakable solidarity. unending creativity and x-ray vision. it's like that minutemen song: skateboarding changed our lives. that grey future primitive gave me a reason to live. a way to get through 5th period. a way to endure small town high-school life. a way to get by with one parent instead of two. friends and memories that last a life time. even when lifetimes don't last as long as they should. skateboarding will get you through that too. i'm here today because of the skateboard. plain and simple. i love the way a skateboard feels under my feet. i wear vans. they are turning my feet into flippers but guess what,

i don't care because i want to feel my board.

it's under there: i'm ok.

if you don't like skateboarding, i feel bad for you. please look away.

skateboarding is what first got me searching around in life's cracks and crevices. looking for new, different things. something more. when you're a skateboarder you've got a vision that looks past what's right there in front of you. you wash right over generations of football, SAT scores, proms and the grateful goddamn dead. fuck the sediment, you're in the rapids now son.

soon after i got with the push-push i found the punk rock.

my dad used to take me to a nearby college town to skateboard. when he was in night school i would try to wallride. at least that's how i remember it. regardless of how it happened this string of events: the future primitive (w/boneite), x-ray vision, the dad in night school - it all led to me getting that first cassette tape. the first punk tape i ever owned was bad religion's "how could hell be any worse?"

I still remember handing it to my dad and watching him look over the
cover and scan the song titles.

fucking post apocalypse, inferno red cassette and songs like "we're only gonna die" and "fuck armageddon...this is hell." i had never heard them but this was the tape i somehow got my dad to fork over 9$ for. the underproduced raw attitude and intelligence of that tape forever jacked my mind on music. before that day my ears knew only of john cougar and huey lewis: the musical equivalent of cigarette-smoking-gym teachers and two kids at 20.

i'll always love my dad for buying me punk rock tapes.

that 9$ has bought me 33 years and counting.

music is the best and worst parts of life purified. black-tar-life-concentrate. these pages will make every attempt to get you to listen to the music that makes my head spin. i will force it on you with words, photographs, and context.

you will succumb.