Batz In Their Belfry
Batz @ Continental, 8/29/06
(Sorry this is so late, due to my own weirdness/laziness/shyness/prior inability to face up to this/resumes don’t send themselves/maybe I’m quitting this. It doesn’t matter, though, not because nobody reads this, but Batz has a Wind-down Sunday residency at Otto’s and Frank Wood booked them and Frank Wood is awesome, so is Phillippe DeBuckette, so I’m sure people have gone to see them because of that and nobody needs this. Besides, they’re playing w/the Fux this Sunday, so I know you’re going anyway.)
Well. This may be it. The last time I see an interesting band listed on the Continental’s website on no cover nite, checking to see that they’re cool, and going because at no cover, what do I have to lose? Though of course I feel bad for those few times when I wasn’t up to it these past few months and couldn’t bring myself to go, because who knows what cool shit I missed out on that will, of course, play again on a night that I can’t go or at some gig with a big cover charge. Then again, I go to Continental a lot on no cover night and they’re probably thinking, You! Poor person! You’re the reason we can’t afford to host live music anymore!
It’s weird to see the downstairs not papered with tons of flyers for upcoming shows and I wondered why that was and had to remind myself. Upstairs, everyone sitting in the booths and at the tables were watching Tonk, an borderline-average rock band. As the soundgirl set up, she said, “I know you.” She was looking into the crowd but was seemingly focused on me, so I said, “Me?” and pointed to myself to be sure, a gesture I never make.
“Jay. Yeah, you’re friends with . . . Jay. . . . No, hold on—”
Before I could tell her that she has me confused with someone else, she interrupts her train of thought again. “I met you. You do pictures.”
I do pictures. Someone I’ve never met knows me as a photographer. Then: Do I know her? Am I losing it?
“Jason. You’re friends with Jason from The Hold Steady.”
“No.”
“Oh. But I have met you. It’s good seeing you again.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
Chopstik and Hitomi probably bought their clothes on the way to the gig—starting at St. Marks and 2nd as they walked down the block toward Continental. Chopstik asked if we were ready to get our asses kicked by rock, because they were going to kick our asses. Their first song, Ooh Aah Go! is a good, primitive pogo/mosh song, but the problem is Batz, their lead singer, the guy in the leather pants hitting his inhaler as the soundgirl set up. He lurched and lunged and posed thru their set, and Chopstik doused him with a bottle of “vodka” and jumped offstage to dance with the crowd. He just gave off this “Pay no attention to the Japanese band behind me” vibe. Sei, Shoji, and Hitomi are actually quite good, but with Batz at the helm, it was like the 5678s being fronted by Devlin Mayhem. They promise vaudeville, but I don’t get why they need to have a vaudeville angle. Do they think we’re not going to take a band seriously because they’re Japanese? Or maybe it’s that their vaudeville act is weak, whatever it may be. Batz boasts that he’s “the mastermind behind the music; he is the songwriter, lead vocalist, and guitarist. He is a veteran of the New York music scene and performed in numerous venues such as Irving Plaza and CBGBs with other bands as well as fronting his own band.” Big deal. I’m a veteran of the New York music scene, having been to numerous venues such as Irving Plaza and CBGB. And which other bands? Hmmm. Why didn’t he mention them? I almost wished everyone would just kick him off the stage and carry on with their garage/punk band. They don’t need Chopstik as the emcee/party starter. She could just be the singer. She “can’t sing?” Even better. Make it work for you so that if I say she can’t sing, it’s “she can’t sing—in a good way.” She’s new to the band and supposed to be on backup vocals, but she wasn’t singing much, just attending to the crowd and Batz. In her kimono-print backless halter and vinyl cheerleading skirt, she was more a punk rock geisha, relegated to the sidelines. It was Batz singing about Japanese punk rock chicks on the block, instead of Chopstik—whether approvingly of her sisters or thinking they’re poseurs because she’s the Japanese punk rock chick. Or Sei or Shoji.
Duane was my destination after, the water cooler my goal. I got to the pharmacy dept. only to find that the cooler, a promotional thing for that Shark TV show on CBS, was gone. I was so determined to get a free drink of ice-cold water that I didn’t hear what was being piped in on the PA until I saw that the cooler was gone and I had nothing to do:
Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow!
Don’t stop! It’ll soon be here!
It’ll be here, better than before!
Cos yesterday’s gone! Yesterday’s gone. . . .
(Sorry this is so late, due to my own weirdness/laziness/shyness/prior inability to face up to this/resumes don’t send themselves/maybe I’m quitting this. It doesn’t matter, though, not because nobody reads this, but Batz has a Wind-down Sunday residency at Otto’s and Frank Wood booked them and Frank Wood is awesome, so is Phillippe DeBuckette, so I’m sure people have gone to see them because of that and nobody needs this. Besides, they’re playing w/the Fux this Sunday, so I know you’re going anyway.)
Well. This may be it. The last time I see an interesting band listed on the Continental’s website on no cover nite, checking to see that they’re cool, and going because at no cover, what do I have to lose? Though of course I feel bad for those few times when I wasn’t up to it these past few months and couldn’t bring myself to go, because who knows what cool shit I missed out on that will, of course, play again on a night that I can’t go or at some gig with a big cover charge. Then again, I go to Continental a lot on no cover night and they’re probably thinking, You! Poor person! You’re the reason we can’t afford to host live music anymore!
It’s weird to see the downstairs not papered with tons of flyers for upcoming shows and I wondered why that was and had to remind myself. Upstairs, everyone sitting in the booths and at the tables were watching Tonk, an borderline-average rock band. As the soundgirl set up, she said, “I know you.” She was looking into the crowd but was seemingly focused on me, so I said, “Me?” and pointed to myself to be sure, a gesture I never make.
“Jay. Yeah, you’re friends with . . . Jay. . . . No, hold on—”
Before I could tell her that she has me confused with someone else, she interrupts her train of thought again. “I met you. You do pictures.”
I do pictures. Someone I’ve never met knows me as a photographer. Then: Do I know her? Am I losing it?
“Jason. You’re friends with Jason from The Hold Steady.”
“No.”
“Oh. But I have met you. It’s good seeing you again.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
Chopstik and Hitomi probably bought their clothes on the way to the gig—starting at St. Marks and 2nd as they walked down the block toward Continental. Chopstik asked if we were ready to get our asses kicked by rock, because they were going to kick our asses. Their first song, Ooh Aah Go! is a good, primitive pogo/mosh song, but the problem is Batz, their lead singer, the guy in the leather pants hitting his inhaler as the soundgirl set up. He lurched and lunged and posed thru their set, and Chopstik doused him with a bottle of “vodka” and jumped offstage to dance with the crowd. He just gave off this “Pay no attention to the Japanese band behind me” vibe. Sei, Shoji, and Hitomi are actually quite good, but with Batz at the helm, it was like the 5678s being fronted by Devlin Mayhem. They promise vaudeville, but I don’t get why they need to have a vaudeville angle. Do they think we’re not going to take a band seriously because they’re Japanese? Or maybe it’s that their vaudeville act is weak, whatever it may be. Batz boasts that he’s “the mastermind behind the music; he is the songwriter, lead vocalist, and guitarist. He is a veteran of the New York music scene and performed in numerous venues such as Irving Plaza and CBGBs with other bands as well as fronting his own band.” Big deal. I’m a veteran of the New York music scene, having been to numerous venues such as Irving Plaza and CBGB. And which other bands? Hmmm. Why didn’t he mention them? I almost wished everyone would just kick him off the stage and carry on with their garage/punk band. They don’t need Chopstik as the emcee/party starter. She could just be the singer. She “can’t sing?” Even better. Make it work for you so that if I say she can’t sing, it’s “she can’t sing—in a good way.” She’s new to the band and supposed to be on backup vocals, but she wasn’t singing much, just attending to the crowd and Batz. In her kimono-print backless halter and vinyl cheerleading skirt, she was more a punk rock geisha, relegated to the sidelines. It was Batz singing about Japanese punk rock chicks on the block, instead of Chopstik—whether approvingly of her sisters or thinking they’re poseurs because she’s the Japanese punk rock chick. Or Sei or Shoji.
Duane was my destination after, the water cooler my goal. I got to the pharmacy dept. only to find that the cooler, a promotional thing for that Shark TV show on CBS, was gone. I was so determined to get a free drink of ice-cold water that I didn’t hear what was being piped in on the PA until I saw that the cooler was gone and I had nothing to do:
Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow!
Don’t stop! It’ll soon be here!
It’ll be here, better than before!
Cos yesterday’s gone! Yesterday’s gone. . . .
posted by heather @ 8:17 AM
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