Anyone Can Piss On the Floor...

A show review in diary form

10:00 pm - We arrive at the Li Po Lounge, which I’ve never even heard of. I just know vaguely that it’s a bar in Chinatown, which seems like an unlikely place for a show, but what the fuck. Why not?

We get carded at the door, and have to ask the doorman if there’s a show, because the bar is empty but for a middle aged couple sitting at the bar and an old man playing the quasi video game thing in the corner (what are those called, anyway?). The jukebox is alternating between Chinese pop and Tom Jones. He says yes, but doesn’t provide any more information. Besides the band that invited us, I don’t even know who else is playing, and I’m beginning to get kind of depressed on their behalf. And where the hell are they?

I sit down at the bar while Amy asks directions to the restroom and is pointed down a narrow stairway at the back of the room.

I order a Jameson soda and a vodka cran and receive what look like two shot glasses filled halfway with ice and a splash of alcohol. The bartender looks at me with a straight face and asks for twelve dollars. I give her a twenty, which isn’t mine anyway, and resolve to stick with beer the rest of the night. Cheap beer.

10:10 pm - Amy returns from the basement, and I give her change and a very small drink. She gives me the good news that we’re idiots, and the show is in the basement, something that, in retrospect, I remember reading in the show invite.

We go downstairs, down a constrictive hallway past the restrooms, and suddenly are engulfed by hipsters and an inordinately chipper girl who bounces up and asks us what band we’re here to see. We spend the remainder of Amy’s money getting in, and settle in a corner to listen to a semi-schizoid DJ play songs that don’t quite segue gracefully into each other.

10:45 pm - Two guys who look like roadies get on stage, instantly crouch down next to an unnecessary amount of equipment, and begin testing it out, which seems kind of ridiculous for a show this small. We keep waiting for the band to come on, and for these guys to stop sound checking until realizing this is the band. Apparently they’re called Stammering City. One of the two starts playing a trumpet while the other creates an astonishing array of feedback squeals with a guitar that he never actually plays. Then he picks up a harmonica, and the other guy begins to make feedback noise. For twenty minutes.

The good news is that if Angelo Badalamenti ever dies, these two will have a lucrative second career scoring David Lynch movies.

11:15 pm - Go upstairs for more beer, and help some emo girl pick out Prince songs on the jukebox. We sit down on a red vinyl couch for roughly three seconds before Amy spots an old friend, and starts screaming and bouncing around. The chipper girl from downstairs comes up from the basement and almost runs into them. After an awkward moment, she asks if we liked the first band. I’m not sure how to answer that.

As it turns out, she’s the promoter, her name is Karen, and this is her first show. I never get a chance to ask her how she found the place, or convinced the owners to have a show in the basement. More to come…

11:25 pm - The basement is much more crowded, and it’s instantly obvious we aren’t the only ones there to see Electric Black Sleep. We get downstairs in the middle of their first song. I don’t know the names of any of the songs, because I’ve only heard them online. Which is strange. Because they have four really well recorded songs available in mp3 format, but haven’t put them on a disc. Believe me, they could be selling them.

The reason could be their recent change in lineup. As in they just got a drummer. The songs available now are recorded with a drum machine, and the difference is incredible. The band all look casual on stage, so relaxed in fact that Erica Electric, the bassist, sits in a rather comfortable looking chair throughout the entire set. By way of introduction, the band consists of the aforementioned Erica Electric, Pauly Black, Steven Sleep, and as of very recently, Brian the Barbarian. Who looks like a refugee from a hardcore band, but doesn’t play like it or act like it in person. The only foreseeable problem is that he totally fucks up the name scheme they had going for them. They could always change their name to Electric Black Sleep Barbarians…

11:45 pm - EBS finish up with their standout song, “College is Best”, which (yes, I have to make the inevitable comparison) sounds like the Rentals in their prime: disaffected, hip, and full of veiled passion.

What strikes me about them is an endearing sense of modesty, a self-effacing stance that leaves them looming in my mind far longer than any band I’ve seen in a while. It’s something a lot of other bands could learn from.
They pack up quickly, and leave the stage with nothing more than a thank you.

Midnight - Barbarosa is the last band to play. They weren’t bad, as I recall, a three piece instrumental band. I can’t remember any specifics, however. I’m not sure what conclusion to draw from that.

Later - More beer. We go outside to get some air after talking briefly to Erica and Brian. Still no word on when a CD will be out, but in the meantime, we got lots of stickers and buttons. As we stand on the sidewalk on all but abandoned Grant Street, the members of EBS breeze silently past us, get into their cars, and disappear into the night.

I go back to hit the restroom one more time, and notice a piece of graffiti I hadn’t seen before: “Anyone can piss on the floor. Be a hero, shit on the ceiling.”

Words to live by. Or at least a decent title.