Peanut butter and jelly are two completely different things that when put together are not only delicious but absolutely harmonious. Their complimenting flavors are so renown that you can actually buy them both together in the same jar. Who really has the time these days to open two different jars anyways?

Sometimes you need two different things to really pull the flavor from an experience. Peanut butter and jelly. Peas and carrots. Root beer and ice cream. Mmmm….yummy. You wouldn’t ever have the inclination to make a peanut butter and peanut butter sandwich would you? A bit of crunchy and a tad of creamy?  That doesn’t make sense does it? No, that’s just silly. And yet, sometimes two of the same things go great together, as in the case of Mosquito Bandito and The Shankers who played last Saturday at the Alibi.

First up was Mosquito Bandito from Portland. I dig this guy for many reasons. He sat there and played as fast as he could while beating the crap out of a symbol with his guitar and pounding on a bass drum with his foot all the while yelling frantically these lunatic verses about well…I really don’t know. I just know that this guy sits around somewhere in Portland and really lives through this thing. I’m not necessarily sure what’s eating him, it might just be the whole Life thing, but whatever it is, it’s coming out in his music in a way that really negates aesthetics or perhaps just holds them to a different standard.

For anyone who’s ever been inclined to create something, maybe you’ve written a poem or have been painting somewhere in the dregs of night and you were possessed and insane with the act and not the art but the art of the act its self and became enraptured by the doing, well, you would understand this guy. Tip your trucker hat and buy a t-shirt. Or like myself, just be glad you weren’t the only one.
Next up, same basic substance, the creamy to the crunchy as it were; The Shankers are a trio of  musicians from Chico, who also enjoy the rockabilly genre. A stand up bass makes essentially anything more awesome but even more so I learned when being played by a hot girl in white tiger printed pants. I didn’t know that before.
The songs were about all the great things we love about Carneys and our moms and killing boys. It’s the kind of musical inception that provides a much needed light to the nobility of PBR and the trailer park. Most of all, it’s just good.

Being aware of your own vice is what I believe makes rockabilly what it is. But not in an arrogant fashion, like just coming out and saying that you’re a drunken, speed addicted carney, but more along the lines of having the humility to be that and laugh and drive a tractor and be ok with everything. And yet at the same time be completely frantic and insane. Like crunchy peanut butter…it’s really a mystery. How can it be so crunchy and yet buttery? That’s double the peanuts! It doesn’t equate. But then again there’s always jelly to mix up with and calm the savage beasts of crunch.

I must have a point you’re thinking, but no I don’t. Or if I do, it’s this, I dig the rockabilly sound. The people. The attitude. I wish there were more of it. I wish there were more words to describe it. I wish I was a little bit taller and I wish I was a baller. I wish upon a star. I wish that rockabilly was made from antimatter.

Depending on the size and girth of it’s mustache, I’m pretty sure that rockabilly could be Groucho Marx. In a Panama hat, rockabilly is Hunter S. Thompson. In outers pace it is the moon, but on the moon it is most definitely green cheese. Giant rockabilly in Japan is Mothra and Godzilla doesn’t stand a chance. Most of all it has become clear to me that if rockabilly were the chicken it would never make it to the other side. It would probably just hitch a ride to Austin and talk about things with the Reverend Horton Heat. They’d eat hot dogs out of the microwave and maybe toss back a couple of Steel Reserves. And that makews everything better.

Dearest Reader,

I know that it has been a week since we last spoke. I apologize, but it was the last week in February, and I was frightened. I hope you’re doing all right. If you ever wanted to go out and just talk about stuff, that’d be cool. Maybe we could catch a show at the Alibi. I was there last Saturday, and I think you would have really enjoyed it.

The original bill was the BarFeeders and the Baby Arms, but the BarFeeders cancelled so instead we got to see a new local band called Tyler Flame and the Ellipsis. I really like hearing new music, and I also like fire, so it was very exciting for me.

Tyler Flame has a lot going for it. They have written music about Tony’s #1, incorporated dual kazoos into one of their songs, and repeatedly showed us that they had no fear of heights by jumping off and on just about everything in the bar. It was a lot of fun to see these guys playing, especially because it was so obvious that they were enjoying themselves. The music was just the right flavor to match the energy. Not too serious, not too silly, just a really good time that doesn’t necessarily cater to any specific genre but rocks with a smile and wink.

Then there were the Baby Arms. It’s not enough to say that they’re a punk rock band. Remember when I used to practice juggling chainsaws late at night and we’d watch Conan and drink chai, and our neighbors hired those wacky ninja assassin orangutans to kill us, and they threw kittens like ninja stars through our window, and I accidentally hacked them all up with my chainsaw and we were all covered in the mess, and although it seemed really cool, we were kinda sad and felt guilty about it? That’s what the Baby Arms are like.

I didn’t get the details on what was going on, but the usual bassist for the Baby Arms was replaced by Chris Smiley from 33 1/3 (which I think is now …and 1/3, no 33) and it was a great addition. All of the usual favorites were played, F.B.C., the Boredom Song, Eat it With Your Face, but there were also new songs to be belligerent to.

I was personally impressed with the introduction of  an acoustic piece, if you can believe that, and of course there was also a  wonderful Misfits cover, “Attitude.” Is there any better way to sum up the Baby Arms, besides the whole orangutan thing, then to say attitude? Well, of course, there is “loud, drunk, cynical and psychotic,” but aside from that, I’d have to say that attitude is definitely a great answer to the question, “What do the Baby Arms sound like?” It sounds like lots and lots of attitude. Kind of in the same likeness of PTU (Purge the Urge) it’s the kind of great showy performance that sticks to your ribs like a glue filled oatmeal pie.

Well, I guess that’s all for now. I miss you and think of you  all the time. I hope to see you rocking in the future.

Sincerely,
Rock and a Hard Place

Daniel Lewis also edits The Plague zine. No actual kittens were, or will ever be, harmed in the making of this column.

First sentences from the forthcoming Jan. 15 issue:

Leave the glow sticks and fire sticks at home – the real spin action in Arcata persists in the form of contra dances.

Forget about those washboard abs you resolved to work toward for the new year.

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EDITED: Well, somehow the remaining sentences disappeared when I hit “Publish.” Consider my mellow harshed.

Anyway, it’s a cool issue. Check it out Tuesday.