She Wants Revenge
7 out of 10 - Enjoyable.
Friday, March 10, 2006
The Great American Music Hall
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Guilty of slathering the bare abdomen of some indie hottie over every alt-weekly and hipster frequented website for weeks, She Wants Revenge is vying for the much coveted, 'Most Contemplated Naval' award. Media whorish or not, it was this 'take all prisoners' ad campaign that accounted for the oversold crowd at San Francisco's Great American Music Hall on Friday night.
Sponsored by Live 105, the show took place despite San Francisco's recent run of crazy weather. It snowed that day. Not the usual kind of California snow. This stuff fell from the sky and led to road-closings all around the bay. As the temperature dropped, scalper prices rose, some as much at 500% over face value on craigslist. The audience was all over the map--svelt euro-types with their Depeche Mode t-shirts tucked into skintight jeans; marquee local musicians curious about the hype; fellas donning trenchcoats, no strangers to the 20-sided die; and of course, the necessary contingent of electro-clad jailbait that look like they just stepped out of a Nylon issue.
Consisting of three scraggily guys and the obligatory cute girl bassist, San Francisco locals, Send for Help delivered true to form indie rock with less chords than you can count on half a hand. Between the awkward stage banter and sugar-free rock posturing, they needled away like old ladies embroidering throw pillows. Overall a solid, albeit garden-variety, opening slot.
Hailing from Texas, Astra Heights made fans out of most of the crowd with seamlessly delivered retro-rock. From spiraling Bond-chic guitar parts to the curdling falsetto vocals of Axl Rose, these kids are simply too slippery to pigeon-hole. Throwing influences out like jellybeans--I caught whiffs of Meatloaf, The Cult, Guns & Roses and Springsteen in the same chorus--these baby-facers stage themselves like the good ole boys of rock and roll. The kind with modest pompadours and soft-pack cigarettes rolled into their sleeves. The stadium-caliber Astra Heights are a band to watch.
She Wants Revenge have no shame in wearing their influences on their sleeves. Yes, they sound like Joy Division. Okay, they sound A LOT like Joy Division. They sound A LOT like Gary Numan. They sound A LOT like The Cure. The brit-pop alloy they brought to the stage made me reconsider my position on up and comers. Does an artist have to pioneer a sound to be good? I decided to watch the rest of the show with the idea that these guys are craftsmen, faithfully melting down and rebuilding their idols into one massive monument. That monument was strong. People danced around it. The sound is a technical triumph--a freight-train wall of familiar noise.
They.ve exorcised the Factory ghost with ghetto flare and the result is somehow dangerous. Much like their forefathers the music is an anxiety-inducing means to a climax which they don.t seem to ever quite reach. Like walking down a dark street at night, hearing the footsteps quicken behind you. The whole set seemed to exist in that moment you fumble to get your keys in the door, hearing the beats of the steps get louder, the shadows on the door get larger. Their visual identity embraced this essence--low cyan lights sent shadows dancing all over the elaborate ceiling of the music hall.
All in non-uniform black it is safe to say that these guys looked thuggish. Low beanies, leather jackets and pants riding prison-low, Justin Warfield and Adam 12 dress true to their hip-hop roots. Warfield.s stage presence is amazing. Coddling the mic stand on some songs, elaborately twisting his arms about on others, he interprets his every lyric to an eager audience.
"I Don't Want to Fall in Love" is a masturbatory ode to Blue Monday infused with the danceable synthrock of The Faint. The crowd seemed equally as ecstatic from one song to the next. Perhaps a product of each song sounding so similar--a fact which is not lost on the She Want Revenge boys. During once stage banter recess Adam 12 explained that "This next song is called Broken Promises for Broken Hearts.'" Some confused bustle and an amused look from Warfield later and "What I meant to say was--that song we just played was called Broken Promises for Broken Hearts."
The set seemed to winding down when everyone save Adam 12 left the stage. He keyed us a lovely little lullaby which we took to mean we should probably gear up for all the screaming and clapping that would ensure us the encore we already knew we would get. Before we could make all the noise, the rest of the band returned to the stage and explained there would be no fake encore tonight. Adam 12 picked up a drumstick and started banging out the synth drum build-up to "Tear You Apart." My journalistic cynicism melted out of me as I realized that I didn.t care that my brain thought I was dancing to Joy Division--this band has my hip-shake of approval. So, what does Justin Warfield have on Ian Curtis? He.s alive. That's enough for me.
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