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Gonzo Report: No ICE allowed at costumed Casbah triple-bill
Partying with Go Scarlet, Jesika von Rabbit and You Can Call Me Sugar
Go Scarlet gets going
I get a good view of the costumed crowd attending this Halloween shindig at the Casbah from the entrance, where doorman Alfredo Tellez and I go full film nerd in a discussion instigated by my Planet of the Apes shirt and tattoo. One woman tells me the plastic birds affixed to her shirt are crows, a play on words and not a Tippi Hedren/Birds costume. Go Scarlet’s bassist Arlina Hoeschen’s outfit doesn’t have that subtlety. It’s as bold and stand-out as her playing, as straightforward as her band’s music. They’re first up on a three-act bill that also features Jesika von Rabbit and You Can Call Me Sugar.
Go Scarlet fills the stage with energetic abandon; the black and white film playing behind them includes old Betty Boop cartoons. Kicking things off with their latest single “La Motocyclette,” they weave a melodic style of vintage new wave and rock bite. Hoeschen nails the bass line on Black Sabbath’s “The Wizard," locking in with drummer Nikki Stixx while keytarist Tamara Monasterio fills in on the harmonica.
Post-set, I want to tell Hoeschen how much I dug her interpretation, but it takes me a minute to get her attention because she’s getting grindy, Human Centipede-style, with a couple of women dressed as the murdered Grady twins from The Shining. When I mention this to vocalist/guitarist Heather Moonflower, she tells me the twins were Hoeschen’s aunt and mother. The bassist shows up to laugh about family dynamics, and I purchase a Go Scarlet shirt that’s been spray painted with the band name. They don’t take cards, so I hasten to the ATM to withdraw cash, bumping into a bearded man and spilling his drink. I offer to buy him another, but he says he can manage to get more beverages.
The merch stand for You Can Call Me Sugar offers knitted ski masks with mouse ears. A woman named Vanessa tells me they’re part of the uniform to be worn by a row of people guarding drummer/vocalist Celeste Spina. I don’t know if it’s part of the act or genuine concern for Spina’s safety. I find out Vanessa has a background in some sort of forensics or psychology and could probably dispose of a body. I ask her if she thinks there are more female serial killers than we think, if it's just that they get away with it more. She smiles and shares a story about internet dating wherein men invite her over to their houses on a first date. She’s less concerned about her safety than theirs — if she were a murderer, which she assures me she’s not.
Jesika von Rabbit probably isn’t a serial killer either, but the way she hypnotizes the crowd would make it easy for her. The singer has a loyal following; they like the way she delivers soulful, ethereal music alongside a bass player — and tonight, a drummer. She even pulls off a spin on Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” that has all the ghouls and ghosts dancing. It’s a great setting for an All Hallows Eve celebration: a venerable club in which time seems to stand still, an insulation on a Friday night from the outside world. Despite that, reality seeps in around all the mock menace.
The signs warning customers not to leave drinks unattended are part of the necessary evolution in safety, thanks to the rise of date-rape drugs. More recently, more signs have been posted at the bar, proclaiming that the doors won’t be opened for ICE agents, that they’re not welcome here. A heavy adjustment to the times, but that’s not what’s on the Bride of Frankenstein’s mind. She’s seated at a table and tells me her ex is tattooed on my shoulder. I point out that she didn’t seem to like him anyway. Her current spouse, dressed as Michelangelo, chimes in to tell me she upgraded to a Ninja Turtle.
Artist Micah Bariteau has been presenting the bands with art done in real time during their performances using paint pens and a sketchbook. He tells me it’s how he immerses himself in music. You Can Call Me Sugar seems not so much immersed as a whirling expulsion of Spina’s rage. Their set list includes songs such as “Breaking Dishes,” “Fuck Her Too” and a scorching cover of Tracy Bonham’s “Mother Mother” As promised (threatened?), a line of ski masked guardians forms a back line behind the band, nunchaku at the ready. Vanessa tells me after the show that she was the one giving me a stern finger wag when I snapped pics of the set list.
The man whose drink I spilled didn’t give me a finger wag, and I find out as I’m leaving that he’s Tim Mays, owner of the club and a promoter of many of the shows I’ve attended. No wonder he can get another drink. As for me, I need to get another Go Scarlet shirt, since my wife Shelley claimed mine as soon as I got home.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: No ICE allowed at costumed Casbah triple-bill
Partying with Go Scarlet, Jesika von Rabbit and You Can Call Me Sugar
Gonzo Report: No ICE allowed at costumed Casbah triple-bill
Partying with Go Scarlet, Jesika von Rabbit and You Can Call Me Sugar
Go Scarlet gets going
I get a good view of the costumed crowd attending this Halloween shindig at the Casbah from the entrance, where doorman Alfredo Tellez and I go full film nerd in a discussion instigated by my Planet of the Apes shirt and tattoo. One woman tells me the plastic birds affixed to her shirt are crows, a play on words and not a Tippi Hedren/Birds costume. Go Scarlet’s bassist Arlina Hoeschen’s outfit doesn’t have that subtlety. It’s as bold and stand-out as her playing, as straightforward as her band’s music. They’re first up on a three-act bill that also features Jesika von Rabbit and You Can Call Me Sugar.
Go Scarlet fills the stage with energetic abandon; the black and white film playing behind them includes old Betty Boop cartoons. Kicking things off with their latest single “La Motocyclette,” they weave a melodic style of vintage new wave and rock bite. Hoeschen nails the bass line on Black Sabbath’s “The Wizard," locking in with drummer Nikki Stixx while keytarist Tamara Monasterio fills in on the harmonica.
Post-set, I want to tell Hoeschen how much I dug her interpretation, but it takes me a minute to get her attention because she’s getting grindy, Human Centipede-style, with a couple of women dressed as the murdered Grady twins from The Shining. When I mention this to vocalist/guitarist Heather Moonflower, she tells me the twins were Hoeschen’s aunt and mother. The bassist shows up to laugh about family dynamics, and I purchase a Go Scarlet shirt that’s been spray painted with the band name. They don’t take cards, so I hasten to the ATM to withdraw cash, bumping into a bearded man and spilling his drink. I offer to buy him another, but he says he can manage to get more beverages.
The merch stand for You Can Call Me Sugar offers knitted ski masks with mouse ears. A woman named Vanessa tells me they’re part of the uniform to be worn by a row of people guarding drummer/vocalist Celeste Spina. I don’t know if it’s part of the act or genuine concern for Spina’s safety. I find out Vanessa has a background in some sort of forensics or psychology and could probably dispose of a body. I ask her if she thinks there are more female serial killers than we think, if it's just that they get away with it more. She smiles and shares a story about internet dating wherein men invite her over to their houses on a first date. She’s less concerned about her safety than theirs — if she were a murderer, which she assures me she’s not.
Jesika von Rabbit probably isn’t a serial killer either, but the way she hypnotizes the crowd would make it easy for her. The singer has a loyal following; they like the way she delivers soulful, ethereal music alongside a bass player — and tonight, a drummer. She even pulls off a spin on Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” that has all the ghouls and ghosts dancing. It’s a great setting for an All Hallows Eve celebration: a venerable club in which time seems to stand still, an insulation on a Friday night from the outside world. Despite that, reality seeps in around all the mock menace.
The signs warning customers not to leave drinks unattended are part of the necessary evolution in safety, thanks to the rise of date-rape drugs. More recently, more signs have been posted at the bar, proclaiming that the doors won’t be opened for ICE agents, that they’re not welcome here. A heavy adjustment to the times, but that’s not what’s on the Bride of Frankenstein’s mind. She’s seated at a table and tells me her ex is tattooed on my shoulder. I point out that she didn’t seem to like him anyway. Her current spouse, dressed as Michelangelo, chimes in to tell me she upgraded to a Ninja Turtle.
Artist Micah Bariteau has been presenting the bands with art done in real time during their performances using paint pens and a sketchbook. He tells me it’s how he immerses himself in music. You Can Call Me Sugar seems not so much immersed as a whirling expulsion of Spina’s rage. Their set list includes songs such as “Breaking Dishes,” “Fuck Her Too” and a scorching cover of Tracy Bonham’s “Mother Mother” As promised (threatened?), a line of ski masked guardians forms a back line behind the band, nunchaku at the ready. Vanessa tells me after the show that she was the one giving me a stern finger wag when I snapped pics of the set list.
The man whose drink I spilled didn’t give me a finger wag, and I find out as I’m leaving that he’s Tim Mays, owner of the club and a promoter of many of the shows I’ve attended. No wonder he can get another drink. As for me, I need to get another Go Scarlet shirt, since my wife Shelley claimed mine as soon as I got home.
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