Right-Outta-Bed Bronze Star: Leopold & His Fiction
It kinda sucks playing first, and a small festival like CACS is no exception to the sentiment. But San Francisco’s Leopold & His Fiction, a three-piece of power blues with indie-fried tidings, didn’t let Saturday’s 3 PM opening knock ‘em down. Front man Daniel James, alongside the rhythm section of Jon Sortland and Micayla Grace, laid into the half hour set, hammering through material from their forthcoming record as well as older favorites. With both Grace and Sortland recently back from a trip to Argentina, whatever the trio lacked in rehearsal time was duly made up for with professional swagger.
Best Non-Western Performance Attire: the unknown Dandelion
Does the Pope shit in the woods? You bet. Does virtually every single performer at Clean Air Clean Stars rock Western wear? Goddamn right. And that’s not a rip—it actually looks really good, not to mention fits the Pioneertown atmosphere. But for the few and the proud, cowboy boots and dark denim just won’t do. And the 2010 CACS Non-Western Performance Attire Award most definitely goes to the second guitarist of Lance Dinauer & The Dandelions. While said guitarist goes unnamed on the band’s site, let me be the first to say that his practical short shorts did not go unnoticed, because say hey! It’s fucking hot out there!
Best Band You Never Heard Of With A Member That’s Already Famous: Pete International Airport
As a band, Pete International Airport are relative newcomers to the scene up in Portland. But, when your founding member happens to be the lead guitarist of The Dandy Warhols (Peter Holmstrom), the word “newcomer” holds little weight. Five members strong, Pete International Airport is a dark and moody brand of experimental shoegaze that hearkens to the Dandy’s more electronic moments and at times edges towards industrial (“Beatle Boots And Battle Scars”). Holmstrom is obviously a slickster on the guit, and the combination of Colin Henga’s anchoring of the bass with Paul Pulvirenti and Jason Anchondo’s hold on drum duty (the former playing standard kit, the latter triggers and snare/floor tom) speaks volumes to how tight the music itself is.
On vocals, Jsun Adams summons a haunting, breathy moan, which stood in contrast Saturday night to his leather hat and jacket, which seemed to say, “I’ve been drinking wine and chain-smoking menthols all day,” which I hope was true. In short, Pete International Airport is quite good, so keep a crusty eye open.
Best Band. Period : 1776
How can you really tell when a band just might blow your doors? When you’re laying in your tent a sweaty mess, trying like hell to finish off an evening nap after a bad night’s sleep, when suddenly the unmistakable sound of a Telecaster and Fender reverb causes you to rise up off the desert floor and trudge back to the main stage. This is what 1776 did to me.
Also from Portland, and signed to Beat The World, 1776 is a four-piece of rock ‘n’ roll glory. Now, you’re going to listen to the pair of tracks they have posted online and think I’m losing it. You’ll say, “Hey man, this is good, but it’s just pop.” Not true. 1776 is a band to see live, no doubt about it. Their influences surge from Brit pop to surf to ’90s alt and back to Brit pop, and the twin attack of Nigel Legerwood and Bernard Cook’s Jaguar/Telecaster combo coupled with Mitch Ruppe’s ferocious, spot-on drumming is a sound to behold. The licks are hot, the vocals lilt and snarl, and Zach Whiton plays the bass left-handed with an upside-down righty. Need I say more?
Most Unfortunate: Dead Meadow
I love Dead Meadow. And if you’re down with stoner psychedelia, why wouldn’t you? Dead Meadow owns it, and has for a decade. But Saturday night wasn’t their night, and I’m not even sure if it was in the band’s complete control. Bottom line? The sound wasn’t happenin’. This is a group that needs pure volume at their backs; the deafening wave of fuzz and a 26-inch kick drum. But when I’m standing right up front, 10 feet from Steve Kille’s Orange bass stack, and don’t have to shout at the top of my lungs to speak with the buddy next to me, something’s wrong. And that was it. They played well. And with passion. They just weren’t loud enough. The bass was mid-rangy, the snare was thin and Jason Simon’s guitar lacked crunch. Not even the spirited reemergence of original drummer Mark Laughin could save Dead Meadow’s headlining slot from fading into the desert abyss. Unfortunate indeed.
Last but not least, the 2010 CACS Dead-Drunk Party Badge goes to: this guy
I saw this dude whoopin’ it up and having a grand ol’ time by the fire last night around 12:45, and he seemed at that point to still have it together. But then I woke up this morning and found him here, still by the fire, passed out, flat on his back in the fucking dirt, covered in soot and baking in the desert sun. My buddy said he thought his name was Brian, but couldn’t be sure. And as I pulled a lowbrow paparazzi move with my camera, “Brian” happened to roll over to his side, momentarily shielding his face from the ultraviolet. But don’t think I’m coming down on him. No, no. I encourage this type of behavior, and that’s why Brian gets the 2010 Dead-Drunk Party Badge. ‘Cause he did it all, and doing it all’s all anybody can ask for.
-Jacob Sprecher
