On Stage

just like the real thing, except in a much smaller stadium.In the spirit of fearlessly exploring the oft-scary phenomenon of
tribute bands, Sound Check moseyed over to the Reed Pub Company last
Saturday night to catch a face full of Motorbreath.
Around a
hundred souls were holding down the wee pub's peanut shell-sprinkled
floor and spilling out into the smokers' patio outside when we showed
up. Once the openers were done, the smoke machines had the joint socked
in and the audience had had their fill of obnoxious Nickelback hits on
the sound system, the main event started at darn near the stroke of
midnight.

On hiatus from Crue, Mick Mars joins US Bombs at the Domino. Having the U.S. Bombs back in Bend for the second time in just a few
months, even on a Wednesday night, is nothing to complain about -
unless, of course, the doors open an hour late, you have to sit through
four opening bands (Rosey, Kronkmen, and Larry & His Flask along
with Boston-based Far from Finished) and the sound system prompts
perpetual complaints from the performers. As far as Sound Check could
tell, all the bands played exceptionally well, unfortunately that was
overshadowed by some of the other technical and logistical issues.

Smith (left) and Crow (right), deep within the realm of sickly soul.Pinback is a band of human beings. We suspected as much, but we had to see it to believe it.

The members of the San Diego-based band have a reputation for superhumanly intelligent melody and prolificacy, and their sound on studio recordings is a strangely precise exercise in dense, viscerally ethereal, rock-bred think-pop.

The Rawk Zone, where clothes are flying and riffs are ripping everywhere you look.Call Sound Check a pigeonholer, but there's something a little
contrived - Jack Black-esque, if you will - about five young women
taking to the stage to fulfill their rock dreams via the prepaid glory
of AC/DC's music.
Thing is, Jack Black kicks all the ass he wants, and so does Washington tribute band Hell's Belles.

Poor Man's Whiskey
Taking a stab at replicating Pink
Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon isn't completely new - several bands have
pulled off the rock opera in its entirety, but to play the entire
record with in a bluegrass vein? That takes some guts. But San
Francisco's Poor Man's Whiskey isn't backing down to the challenge. The
band's acoustic lineup brings as many as seven string-playing yahoos
onstage to play a rock-influenced brand of bluegrass.

Skeletonwitch frontman Chance Garnette - just one of countless Persistent Angry Young Man Syndrome (PAYMS) sufferers. Awareness heals."I just don't like that kind of music, and I don't like those guys, either."

So
said one of three spiky young punk rock girls making their way out of
Saturday's all ages show at the Domino Room, just as Sound Check was
heading in the front door. It was a good sign.
Inside the storied
venue, the omen came immediately to fruition. Inky black, thrashing
death metal was on blast, courtesy of Athens, Ohio-based Skeletonwitch.
Two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer and a nicely crazed mic-jockey
with a forearm full of spikes all tossed hair and musical evilness
around the stage like demons on healthy doses of beer and/or crack. The
place was packed full of youngsters in various shades of headbanger,
with a small contingent of over-21s lurking in the upstairs bar area. A
small fight-pit had formed in front of the stage, by and by sending
freshly bashed teens hurtling into those brave enough to stand around
the edge.

Laurel Brauns
Closed for the Season
★★★1/2 out of 5 stars
It's remarkably
appropriate that the cover of Bend-based singer-songwriter Laurel
Brauns' latest album is black and white (mostly black). The cover photo
is a moody, monochromatic shot of a wet-haired, shirtless young boy
standing outdoors. He looks cold, and he's holding an earthworm
awkwardly in the palms of his hands. You can't tell if it's dead or
alive - only that the boy seems to harbor a solemn fascination for it.
The
songs on Closed for the Season echo the mystery and the melancholy of
the photo…mostly the latter. In fact, Brauns' words and music push a
would-be "folksy" sound deep into a strange, enthralling realm of
Old-Worldly organic gothic.

It's something of a testament to the productivity of Central Oregon's music scene that music CDs - whether they come from record labels, local promoters pushing out-of-town acts, or local players - tend to stack up around here like panties at a Neil Diamond show. At times, the sheer quantity of music coming across your trusted Source Weekly writers' desks means some solid albums are bound to get buried for awhile without ever seeing the inside of a pair of headphones. Here are two such relatively recent, rediscovered works from local artists - stay tuned for future excavations.

It's unfortunate we have to start things off on a negative note here, but there's something wrong with the blues in 2008.
This isn't at all to say that there was something wrong with the blues acts Sound Check saw on Monday night. No sir-ee. In our estimation, though, there is indeed something wrong with the blues at large.
Yes sir-ee.
Call it diluted…faded…cliché. Call it co-opted by an insufficiently downtrodden, minimally grizzled generation of young Americans. In any case, when Sound Check goes to listen to some modern blues music, we tend not to expect much beyond run-of-the-mill electric guitar wailing and recycled vocal style.

Jim Stout in CPC rawkstar mode.The streets and sidewalks sparkled with the crystalline potential of
new fallen snow last Thursday night. Downtown, tourists and taxicabs
flitted about like carefree winter butterflies - many searching for the
fantastical fun-juice that is the nectar of Central Oregon's homegrown
live music scene.
The fortunate and/or savvy found their quarry
at Summit Saloon and Stage. There, the evening's entertainment began
with long-haired, bright-hearted Bill Keale setting meditative notes
adrift from the upstairs romper room.