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Fertilize This
by Cripsy Duck
3-27-00

(printed in C-Ville Weekly Vol.12, No.14)

Happy Flowers - Yo La Tengo - Matapat - Baaba Seth - Unit F

"To knock a thing down, especially if it is cocked at an arrogant angle, is a deep delight of the blood."
-George Santayana
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Thursday, 3-23-2000 -- Though most of the crowd at Trax had come to stand in the presence of alter-rock legends Yo La Tengo, me and a few other semi-geezer-types-- old-school C-Ville hooligans and such-- were present to bear witness to the re-regurgitation of Charlottesville's original 80's anti-heroes, the Happy Flowers, who, as fate would have it, were opening for the Tengo on some tour dates. Back in the late 80's, when popular music was bottoming out with alarming clarity and Sigma Nu (the fraternity) was the place to find some of the most happening shows in town, bands like the Happy Flowers and Doom represented Charlottesville's reactionary, not-gonna-just-stand-there-and-be-normal contingent. Doom used to paint themselves like forest shamen-- on the U.Va. Lawn, no less-- and then do shows illuminated only by the headlamp on the lead singer's helmet. Freaky tribal stuff. Happy Flowers were at the other end of the spectrum: t-shirted silly hippi punk super-geeks-- hilarious ones-- totally freaking out for the mutual amusement of all concerned.

flower power
With the Flowers, even after a several year hiatus, nothing much has changed. The last time I saw them-- about ten years ago-- they were playing the same venue: Trax. At that time, rumors were circulating about Mr. Anus' super-genius status in the U.Va. School of Commerce. (He's now a consultant for some big-wig economic think-tank-- go figure.) We'd see him around, jamming with underground rock bands, a big goofy-looking white dude with a fro who could squeeze the living snot out of an electric guitar, forcing it to spew volcanic jambalaya. In the Happy Flowers he played bruiser bass while guitarist Mr. Horribly-Charred-Infant handled the volcanic six string. The two man ritual self-desecration unit had WTJU hits like "Picnic Disease" and "Mom, I Gave the Cat Some Acid." They were a spectacular, screaming, feedbacking joke. On purpose. And they enjoyed some international underground popularity. They even did a John Peel session.

The show Thursday night was a beautiful return to the dung-fertilized Flower-bed. They joked around, took requests, snapped pictures of the cheering audience, stopped in the middle of songs ("Come on, let's play something that doesn't suck.") took guitar solos with those little plastic toystore guitars with the buttons that make them "rock-out," and mauled each other with their instruments. The bass player for Yo La Tengo, James McNew, another former Charlottesvillian (and road dog for the Flowers) sat in on snare drum. I couldn't have been more pleased.

wango tengo
Yo La Tengo, in contrast, was a fascinating bit of ambient pop and lava rock. Although a power trio, they rarely perform in the traditional three-man-band formation-- there might be two guitars and drums or cheesy drum machine, organ and vocals or any number of variations. Much of their stuff reminded me of music for a diner on Venus. The large but disinterested crowd at Trax responded to their subdued grooves like it was a day at the Foxfield Races: everybody stood around drinking and talking, hardly even noticing the band. Too bad. They were really far-out. They did a karaoke sequence with dance steps, and at one point during a moonbound guitar freak-out, the guitar player attacked the stagehand with his instrument-- literally. I went home proud to not be a rockstar.

Saturday, 3-25-2000 -- When I arrived at the Prism Coffeehouse, the Canadian trio Matapat had already driven the audience into a frenzy. They were dancing around the building-- out one door and in another. The Quebec-based band plays a variation of traditional Acadian music-- the stuff that mutated into Cajun music as it migrated down to Louisiana. They sing in French and tell stories and play like superheroes. Prominently featured are the electric bass, the button accordian, mandolin, guitar, fiddle, tap shoes, spoons and bones. As they reached fits of heightened rhythmic intensity, people would get up and start jigging, or whatever you call that jumpy white-people dancing. I'm pretty sure that nobody left unsatisfied.

baaba's horn women
Baaba Seth were at the Outback Lodge so I rolled over. Preparing myself for a world groove rubdown from the mighty Baaba, I spied producer-of-fame Steve Lillywhite mixing with the crowd. Was this official business with the Baaba? I didn't want to annoy the poor chap with my questions but I saw him later, dancing and grooving to the band's superfat arrangements and driving jams. Baaba Seth are truly stunning these days-- very hard hitting and very tight, and if Mr. L. was there on business, he picked a good night.

f is for fun
I decided to treat myself to some
Unit F at Tokyo Rose, so I crawled over sometime after midnight. Unit F were pushing out their super crunchy grunt rock for a small but devoted gathering. There is an almost religious intensity to Unit F that I admire, and they've got a chick bass player, which is the single coolest asset a band can have in my book since it disproves Gene Simmons' theory that the bass guitar, the heaviest of stringed instruments, is more than a woman can handle-- and I'm all about that. Unit F do this great group gutteral grunt that inspires in me a certain devilish glee. I was beginning to feel kind of hard core. Like some kind of tough duck. Ready to rumble. Good to go. So I went. Home.
Cripsy Duck
cripsyduck@mindspring.com

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