FML

I finally made the move to the Bay last month.

This has been a long time coming, though I’ve hardly had the chance to mention it around these parts between settling into the new place, starting a new job and finishing a new album (more on that very soon). Needless to say, booking a welcome show in town has been a fantasy kept firmly in the far, far back of my mind. But when Mike announced he’d be up in the Bay for a week of shows I naturally suggested we play together. I only meant a little jam at my new spot, but he hit me back almost immediately with a flyer for the kickoff show. C’est l’improv.

This was my first show in town since relocating, though not my first here this year; keen observers might remember Round Eye played at Revolution Coffee in Oakland while touring with Fang a couple months back for the ill-fated second day of Viva La Punk Fest.

My Bay Area bonafides are still nascent to say the least, so I looked forward to this show as an opportunity to see how manageable BARTing to and from a gig might be in reality. In my head I pictured walking my guitar and amp from my apartment down to the Powell St. Station — only a 26-minute mile’s walk accounting for hills according to my phone’s Maps app — taking the train to 19th St. and then walking the remaining mile (this one a “mostly flat” 25 minutes) across West Oakland to the venue.

I’ve got this metal cart I use for laundry and grocery runs which I thought would be perfect for rolling my amp to the station. Turned out the amp was too wide, but I’m a strapping young(ish) lad, or at least a guy with two working arms, so I hauled my gear down my apartment’s stairs only to step outside and find a fine mist fogging the lenses of my glasses. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a shit, but I figured the more sensitive electronics in my amp might. So I called a car, a mode of conveyance I, a proud new urbanist, swore off when I moved to the Bay, only to be reminded that around five o’clock tends to be when drivers mobilize those things en masse. As we approached downtown I was also reminded this precise historical moment marked the conjunction of not just rush hour but also Dreamforce, the annual meeting where flesh-based Salesforce agents discuss how best to engineer their own digital replacements. Apparently the company’s wetware assets still number somewhere in the millions, if the hordes blocking the streets downtown were any indication. Soon my slightly damp 26-minute walk became an hour-plus commute in an overheating Toyota Sienna, sweat dripping down my back as we advanced one car-length at a time across maybe three blocks. Every time I found myself tempted to just get out and walk those last hundred yards a torrent of rain would slash across the windshield only to dissipate just as quickly.

Anyway, I rode it out and finally made it onto the train and over to 19th St., where I immediately decided fuck this, I’m not dragging this amp another block. Thankfully the AC Transit NL Line ran directly from the BART to the venue. Another point for public transit.

FML is a new DIY spot located in a block of warehouses in West Oakland. Stefan, Oscar and Ed, who run the joint, said they just started hosting shows in July, and the venue’s fresh energy is still palpable. Here’s to them having a long and fruitful run. What’s that we’re toasting? Ah, well Joe’s old classmate Dylan pulled up with these little hand-sealed pouches of Cuervo and cranberry juice. “And a little molly,” he joked as I finished an enormous swig. He joked? We had an appropriately long and discursive conversation about Under the Volcano in the alley between sets.

(Side note: just yesterday I just got these rad Penguin Modern Classics of three Lowry’s new to my shelves, courtesy of Steve and Green Apple.)

Oh yeah, sets.

Mike joked that he made a point of not asking what instrument I’d play for this show — he assumed sax and of course I busted out my guitar. Outside, Dylan and I had a long discussion about artistic expectations and entering creative spaces with a mind open to following an idea through to its natural conclusion according to its own internal principles. We were talking about writing, but I needed to keep that in mind musically during our set, too. Mike is, of course, a blasting machine, and I assumed at some point in our performance we’d dip into the brutal, metallic zone. The last time we played together was an improv black/death metal session with Nate Berlinguette of Creation Is Crucifixion, and before this set we spent a solid twenty minutes discussing the merits of various Dave Witte bands. (Consensus: Using Sickness as a Hero is still the most sophisticated, underrated grind record of all time.)

Anyway, so the lesson of course is abandon expectations. Sure, we hit some tremolo picked blasts for a split second or two, but the rest of this set was on some wholly other shit. We opened with feedback and went further and further spectral, “across space to your favorite island you’ve never been to yet,” in Mike’s inimitable parlance. After the set Capt. McSweeney compared moments to Twin Peaks, an accusation I’ll always take and never be able to escape.

Adam Lion is a percussionist from LA who’s been playing with Mike and Patrick for a while, though we had never crossed paths before this gig. As a longtime devotee of both extended instrumental technique and pitched percussion of every variety, Adam’s set was a revelation, incorporating some techniques I’ve never encountered, including drumming on and threading metal chains through his resonators alongside the more familiar bowing, muting and harmonics. Adam hasn’t released many recordings to my knowledge, but after seeing his set I’m desperate to hear it and see if I can identify half of the acousmatic fuckery.

Drummer Kevin Murray was on tour from New York, here playing trio with guitarist Isabelle Waldner Kalb and Edan Mar on soprano sax. At certain points Edan blew his horn through a traffic cone, which, sure, we’ve all seen Moon Hooch do it, but it becomes a lot more impressive when you’re playing a straight horn.

Isabelle’s guitar playing was the highlight for me; I don’t know what make her guitar was or how it was tuned but the lowest string was deep in bass territory and her right hand is seriously unbelievable. When Kevin hits San Diego he’s playing with Nathan, Ryan and Piper, because who else is improvising in that town? Hometown homies, say what’s up.

But my favorite set of the night came from Berkeley solo percussionist K. Francis Messer, who started out pulling a twig between two stacked snare drums with a metal box sandwiched in between. Experimental musicians love to talk about tension and release, but I’ve never seen it explored with such depth or efficacy: not only were the musical ideas sonically “tense,” but at no point could the audience predict where or when the next event might occur. I’m always harping about somatic connections and embodying practice in music, sound as a contact sport, but there was an extra thrill in watching a performance so tactile, kinetic and — dare I say it! — genuinely experimental.

Mike’s Bay Area excursion continues tonight in an octet with Adam, K., the Captain and more at Berkeley’s Meyer Sound Theater. I’m working, but Friday I’ll catch Mike, Adam, K., Isabelle and my Territory Games bandmate Jose Solaris at Adobe Books in the Mission: