Lite Brite, Mondo Deco, The Babs Johnson Gang
Friday, Feb. 11, 2011 – Luigi’s Fungarden – Sacramento

Thirty minutes into watching a live band, the singer tells you, an audience member, to waddle. If you’ve ever seen local duo The Babs Johnson Gang play, you’re already prepared to start shaking your ass, because if you’re the best waddler during the “Waddle” song, you are finely rewarded. This time, the band offered up a tiny trophy, which was immediately swiped by a middle-aged woman who stepped onto the stage and started swinging her hips.

The Babs Johnson Gang opened Friday night’s show at Luigi’s Fungarden with Mondo Deco and Lite Brite, a local lineup that brought a night of ass-shaking rock ‘n’ roll to the cramped all-ages music venue.

The Babs duo play music that is both grungy and honky-tonk, rock ‘n’ roll and punk at the same time, using little more than distorted guitar coupled with crashing drums. Ten or so people were standing in front of the stage at the start of their first song. The two band members exchanged messy vocals that began in rants and would crescendo into shrieking howls over the drums and guitar, and then abruptly alternate into psychedelic, reverb-rich melody. Drummer Cory Gorey piped viciously into his harmonica between singing and drumming. More people filed in to watch. Smashing away intensely at the drums, Gorey tipped over his tom and later shoulder-bumped his mic into an obnoxious swivel around his head. Unaffected, he kicked the tom away and the two carried on, rarely pausing between songs. Midway through, guitarist Tim Pronovost stepped into the crowd, beating one of Gorey’s toms and handing it off to an audience member to play before returning to the stage. By the time they started playing “Waddle,” the crowd reached to the back of the room.

The Babs Johnson Gang was followed by Mondo Deco, one of Sacramento’s newer rock acts. The six-piece band stepped on stage looking like they walked out of a ‘60s film, sporting black and white pants, button-down shirts, suit jackets and bowties. In addition to two guitarists, a bassist and a drummer, the band featured two shimmying back-up singers/dancers in sparkling attire and boots. Singer/guitarist Jeremy Green, who also fronts local band Goodness Gracious Me, has the voice of a quintessential rock vocalist, hitting shrill, high-pitched screams and low notes, too. Guitarist Kolton James’ fingers glided along the neck of his guitar, delivering smooth solos and progressions with ease. Green counted in the last song, “Mouth Without a Muzzle.” At this point the crowd was thick and the room was hot. The band delivered one more dose of heavy guitars joined with a danceable beat, riling up the crowd to clap and sing along. Then the drums and bass slowed, the dancers slowed to a sway, and the crowd sang with Green until the song came to a harmonious halt.

Enter Lite Brite. Frontman Eddie Underwood kicked off the set with a power-driven guitar riff, summoning the start of the three-piece band’s hit “Big City.” Underwood’s gritty, reverb-filled screams matched with surging guitar distortion and grinding bass conjured up an amphitheater-style performance. The Led Zeppelin influence is apparent. Underwood leapt in the air, shredded his guitar and thrashed about his mane of curls simultaneously, pausing ever so often to thrust his guitar high above his head. Sweat dripping from his chin, he turned to jam his quivering guitar up against the face of his amp, delivering pulsing feedback throughout the room. Heads were rolling in the front row by the time they played their final song, “Space Shuttle.” The guitars shot off like sirens and the massive drums rolled in. By the end of the song, Underwood was on his knees face-down on the stage, moaning into the drum mic cupped in his hands.

At the end of the show, Submerge asked Babs Johnson Gang for their set list. Gorey answered, “We never use set lists. Stick that in your Submerge.”

Then he offered us a free CD.

Lite Brite

Ganglians, G.Green, Fungi Girls

Wednesday, July 28, 2010 – Undisclosed Location – Sacramento

Venues so discrete we have to refer to them as “undisclosed locations” are where the raddest shows go down. These hole-in-the-wall, permit-be-damned DIY dives are incubators for garage bands ready to put their art on parade for the ultra-knowing scene. The covert show I attended on Wednesday gave discounts to members that found out about it through a taco stand–it’s that exclusive. As a member, I was there to see a night of local celebrities in the making, a 7-inch release and three teenagers from some vast distance called Cleburne, Texas.

Fungi Girls, the band from Texas, are a strong case study as to why these shows exist. The 16-year-old lads possess one solid driver’s license, at best, between the three of them. Fungi Girls’ tour is a teen movie in the making about a summer road trip without mom and dad. If that is indeed the story, I’m eternally jealous of how those young dudes must feel traveling around the country playing gigs to strangers in California. The best I was doing at 16 was overnight basketball camps at the local college.

Fungi Girls recorded is alarmingly impressive, but a further shocker is that the lo-fi sonics translate well to the live setting. I recall a few brief moments during the more shred-heavy jams, thinking it was like watching Weezer before they were signed, which is meant as a compliment. It might be tough to stomach, but there was a time when Weezer was a celebrated comparison. It’s clear the Fungi dudes’ tastes are growing beyond Woodsist and HoZac Records catalogues, as the set flourished with songs that ripped and balanced into a few sprawling numbers–they grow up so quick.

The boys of Fungi Girls played a tight set, devoid of the minor tuning lapses. Drummer Skylar Salinas was a beast in the backdrop, stuttering in the occasional light-speed drum roll with a surgeon’s precision. (Is there a Doogie Howser joke there?) The Fungi Girls played “Owsley Knows,” a favorite that is catchy beyond belief, and closed with the A-side and B-side of its HoZac 7-inch.

Comfort is a sacrifice for good entertainment. There’s no air-conditioned room for members and as I walked in, the door girl was notified that my friend and I would be the last new entrants. This meant a packed, windowless room that sat without ventilation through the dead heat of summer, would be filled to the walls with bodies. If the lineup is hype-worthy enough, attending a renegade gig is comparable to an economy pack of tampons stuffed inside a nuked hot pocket–in this metaphor you’re a tampon.

Ganglians are back from its European tour. Besides a release party for friends G.Green, the night was a welcome home to the gangly ones. The room was a pre-heated oven, but Ganglians counteracted the burn with its breezier songs, playing a new song called “My House” and “Crying Smoke.” The latter I have never seen performed live, but it turns out I’m not the only local who feels a soaked connection to it. People in the back clapped along, heads swayed to the acoustics and the throng of front row beauties danced with each other.

Feeling at home, lead singer Ryan Grubbs announced they would play a song the band wrote the night before, proceeding to pull out his cell phone to hear a recording he made, so as to remember the chords. Shouts of “play ‘Voodoo’” were honored as Ganglians closed with the request, a song I no longer recognize.

Often I’m shameless in decrying the DIY show, as it breeds exclusivity. Last Wednesday was an exception. If it weren’t for DIY shows, Fungi Girls’ touring schedule would slim dramatically and Ganglians would not have an intimate hideout to share its demos with friends.