(for band links, check out DJ’s Survival Guide)  

Touch and Go Records, love it or hate it, has managed to exist twenty- five years. In that time it’s ushered in the standard bearers that would help define the soundtrack to a few eras of independent rock and roll. If you’re the type of punk puritan who sneers the word “indie” and thinks the only music listening to is Ramones Rehash ’06, you’ve probably always hated it. And, if that’s the case, it sucks to be you.

As any number of nobly like minded indies have come and fallen, Touch and Go has survived numerous financial, legal and personal setbacks, proving that yes, a handshake deal and fair treatment of your artists, all of whom are your friends, is a legitimate model of how business- at least the business of Rock and Roll- can and probably should be done.

In conjunction with the always locally anticipated Hideout Block Party, Touch and Go celebrated its twenty- fifth with a weekend of acts spanning its roster since its humble beginnings, in the eighties, as a label that might’ve disappeared with most of the rest (i.e. Boner, Alchemy, Mordam, notably SST, recently Lookout, etc. etc.) Like Ron Burgundy, it was kind of a big deal.

Having had the good fortune to volunteer all three days, I was there. However, volunteering meant I had to miss sets by The Ex, Killdozer, the Didjits, Negative Approach, Three Mile Pilot, Enon and the Black Heart Procession as well as short sets by Sally Timms, PW Long, Mekons sidebar Jon and Kat and Returnables, Silkworm memorium Tim and Andy. That’s just too fucking bad, but I saw Big Black, so there’s no complaining.

Anyway- a kinda brief recap of my weekend:

Friday- I worked the back gate during sets by Shipping News, Super System and Girls Against Boys. However, the back gate was near enough to the stages, one East (Touch) and one West (Go) that I could hear everything and seeing some of the action was just a matter of a few steps over.

Shipping News played the kind of spindly, dynamic rock one would expect from a Louisville band who’s pedigree includes Rodan and June of 44. They set a tone for the evening, harkening back to a decidedly mid- nineties sonic trademark, and were a fine soundtrack to my sloppy application of wristbands to every flavor of hipster, scenester, record geek and music nerd as they trickled in.

 Supersystem, well…not to be too narrow minded but…I like the rock and they were just a tad too disco. I’m sorry but whether this whole strain of “dance punk”- or whatever the kids are calling it these days- is an exercise in kitsch or not, it’s simply too…monotonous, maybe? There were no real hooks or anything to make it stand out, and maybe it’d be something if they did lock into a really strong funk groove, but it just sounded like an obnoxious parody of techno, and it was probably meant to be sincere, but damn, as danceable as it may have been to some, to me it just wasn’t listenable. Still…hey, they had their fans and the kids had their fun, so who am I to argue?

Girls Against Boys played Venus Luxure all the way through and it was pretty fucking killer. Always one of the more underrated bands in the stable, GVSBs reptilian, nicotine stained throb and punch was back in high, fine form.

Ted Leo has great songs. If this generation in Rock has a songwriter to rival Phil Lynott or Joe Strummer, it’s probably Ted Leo. Granted, sometimes his live performances could use a shot in the arm. Sometimes he’s great, tonight he was just kind of…in a good mood, maybe, but…ehhh…

Friday’s headliners, !!! were…well, you know what I said about Supersystem, except instead of techno they were more a pan-ethnic dance party that reminded me of bad nineties hippie funk. Still, if the kids like it…that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good. Maybe I’m just an aging dick

Truth be told, I was having a good time regardless of lackluster musical performances. The crowd was friendly. I grabbed a few beers and caught up with some old Austin peops that had driven up for the weekend. I cornered Rey Washam and asked him about the possibility of a Rapeman reunion, since he David Wm. Sims and Albini were all in the same place at the same time (his answer: it had been discussed, decided against due to Albini’s schedule.) I didn’t question him about his Sammy Hagar hair.

Saturday- The previous day’s breezy sunshine gave way to an autumnal chill blowing in on an increasingly graying day. The surly weather provided an eerily appropriate backdrop to the days musical roster, which focused on the dark and pummeling, including the highly anticipated reunions of Killdozer, the Didjits, Negative Approach, Scratch Acid and, most notably, Big Black.

   The New Year started the afternoon off on a somber, quiet note.

   Long running Italian vets Uzeda provided the first taste of musical beatdowns to come, with familiar yet still powerful pounding rhythms, sporadic, staccato bursts of Travis Bean riffing and vocals that range from coo to caw in time.

   Pegboy, to be fair, were marred by a stage mix that buried the guitar, making it sound muted and processed. They were maybe good if you were a fan and as drunk as they were. Unfortunately, their set wasn’t even memorably bad. It was just a mediocre set from a band who, I’d say unfairly if I though it was true, but it ain’t, always had Naked Raygun’s shadow to compete with. Again, to be fair, post Haggerty Raygun were never much to get on about either.

  I had to work the front gate during sets by the Ex, Killdozer, Negative Approach and the Didjits, so I had to be content to hearing them from my post as I slapped on wristbands. A lot of people who were teenagers when so many of the above mentioned were in their prime had kids in tow. Nobody’s getting any younger.

   What can I say? The Ex sounded great, that didn’t really surprise me and I was a little disappointed I didn’t get a chance to go back and see them, especially since one of the security guards, an aging vet with missing teeth, occasionally came up to us volunteers and commented on how bad he thought they sucked. The Ex have been at their brand of noisy, rhythmic, disciplined anarchy for some twenty- five years and show no signs of letting age slow them down. They’re one of those bands that never truly had an equal and likely never will, and contenting myself to hanging back and just listening was a bit of a task, but oh well…

   I could barely hear Killdozer. I watched as goony security guards roughly escorted a pale, heavyset, nerdy looking reveler from the festival over his protests that he didn’t do anything wrong. After being led out of the gates he lingered for awhile and then made a mad dash back inside, resulting in his arrest. Kind of an embarrassing scene, poor guy, and some of the security people there displayed a zeal for their line of work that can only be described as a little disturbing. Then again, this guy was kicked out, allegedly, for displaying a fandom for ‘dozer that can also be described as a bit disturbing, especially given his relative size and the presence of very young children. Either way it was zeal vs. zeal, one man’s lopsided crusade for fun over the triumph of justice and safety. I’d already seen Killdozer ten years ago anyways. They covered Stranglehold, it was great.

   I could also barely hear Negative Approach, and from where I was, there set was uneventful. But I like Negative Approach and I’m glad they were there, even if couldn’t see them, and barely hear them.

   The Didjits I heard just fine as from where I was, and it was hard not to bounce around and bob my head, all while applying wristbands, as they ripped through classics like Stingray and Max Wedge. I wasn’t alone. Other volunteers, some of whom had little, if any, familiarity with the Didjits were bouncing around just as enthusiastically. Infectious.

Scratch Acid…ahhh, what can be said? I’d say that maybe, just maybe the guitar was a little muddy and out of tune. And maybe, sure, David Yow was more restrained, he removed only his shirt, reduced the stage banter to a one or two jokes I don’t remember and forgot to abuse the audience. Still, it was Scratch Acid playing Scratch Acid songs The songs alone lend themselves to the padded cell in a haunted house feel, and, in honesty, disappointment was just not an option. Still, heard the Austin show was better.

Big Black…seen everything? Check. I can check out now, thanks. Unfuckwithable. Even the drum machine, which had made me a detractor back in the day, sounded cold and menacing with it’s minimal thump and crack, like something very unpleasant approaching in the distance.

  They played three songs. They played Cables, Dead Billy and Racer X, and that was all that was needed to remind you of why, back in the eighties, they were one of the underbelly’s great American rock bands.

   As punk rock was morphing it’s way into hardcore, and as hardcore began winding it’s way into an aesthetic dead end, there was a tiny handful of bands armed with dark, caustic wit and a decidedly American take on across the pond post-punk- from Gang of Four to the Birthday Party to the Fall to PiL to, of course, Wire- who took the bold step of not being generic.

   Steve Albini, with his ear for the shrill and comically abrasive sensibility, became the primary architect of a sound and a voice that would be associated with the label for the better chunk of it’s existence.

   So Big Black played their three songs with no grandstanding. They didn’t run through a greatest hits set and the audience knew better than to shout out requests. There were no between song anecdotes, nor were there explanations as to what the songs were about. There were only three songs, each as gnarled, dark, funny and menacing as the day they were written, and that’s all you need to know.

   Between his sets with Big Black and Shellac, Albini went into a heartfelt spiel about the impact of Touch and Go, calling it the most important thing to happen to music in his lifetime.  If there’s one thing he’s let go of over the twenty or so years of playing it up, it’s his trademark cynicism.

    Shellac was yet another casualty of muted stage sound. All the dramatic anticipation built up by drummer Todd Trainer’s dropping of flowers to count off the first song ended in a crushing anti- climax. The set itself, it was good if a tad predictable at this point, except for the kinda pretentious Jim Morrison break in the middle of that song about the billiard player. Sorta made me long for the previous set, and for the curt, no nonsense handling of a riff and an audience Albini had practiced before.

    Still, we all saw Scratch Acid and Big Black. Any criticisms, even and especially the ones I’d just leveled, are irrelevant.

Sunday- Rain fell early in the afternoon and gave way to a cool, windy, overcast day. Again an eerily appropriate climate for the sadness, gloom and melancholy that made up much of the last days set.

   Arcwelder surprised me. Having written them off some twelve years ago as being a generic, mediocre face in a crowd of people who were doing it better, they actually were worth getting rained on for. Parlaying another trademark nineties indie sound- that of post Burma/ Du octave rock, which at the time was hitting it’s apex with Jawbox, Jehu, etc., Arcwelder burned through their set with fire to spare. Not a bad start to an afternoon of the Block Party’s winding down.

    Quasi, another band I’d expected not to care for, surprised me as well. Formerly married, and considering they’re adults who must get along well enough to travel around in a van together, they tore through their tales of failed love like it all still hurts and like they’re out to rip into each other. Bless ‘em for reopening those old wounds for our benefit.

   I had to work the front gate after that but was allowed to sneak off, grab a beer and catch a couple of songs by Seam. The songs were quiet and melancholy, no surprises there, but it was good to hear them in that setting. It was kind of like reading an issue of Optic Nerve, though that could’ve just been because they’re Asian.

   I watched a couple of songs by CocoRosie, who were kinda fun for a couple of songs but didn’t hold my attention much, nor did Pinback.

   Calexico were great, half the time. They had songs that sported tango brass and sounded like Mariachi meets smart- pop, threw in a Minutemen cover (Jesus and Tequila, though they do an excellent cover of Corona) and had a few not as interesting songs that leaned more towards collegiate cardigan- pop. But oh well, they kissed off the weekend and that was that.

All told, so many rock outdoor rock fests hit Chicago and none, outside of one or two acts, interest me that much. This was the only one that didn’t feel like a Summer Jam for the horn- rimmed set. Satan Bless and Long Live Touch and Go, and long may it’s artists push the envelope and piss off the fuckwits

hey oliver, nice recap. i worked the will-call window…did i meet you?