teenage hormones, the great tyrant

call this a tale of two trios:

fell by fonky fred's to grab a fredburger thursday night 'n' wound up getting to hear the teenage hormones, a rockabilly band fronted by gtrist-vocalist mike cregar (ex-susans). the three-piece could only play a 30-minute set, since their upright slap-bassplayer johnny danger aka "the kid" has a broken femur and foot and a metal rod down his leg, the result of being run over by a car while riding his motorcycle (he's appropriately named, i s'pose). their toonage was rough, a step away from chaos (as the susans' sometimes was), but they had the correct spirit in the same way as lotsa punkbands i usedta go see at raul's and club foot in austin back in the day, altho i wonder whether some of their black-clad friends / fans would know the difference between carl perkins and joe strummer if they met 'em in a dark alley. the hormones' vibe made me wonder what teenage mac curtis musta sounded like when he started playing with the galbraith brothers in weatherford -- a buncha rural kids who grew up playing country music and had to wait until they saw elvis on tv to realize that what they were doing was _cool_. and the hormones' stand-up drummer looked like either a chunkier version of the burning hotels' wyatt adams or a hanna-barbera cartoon of a rockaroll tub-thumper. as my sweetie pointed out, he had a nice mo-tucker-as-kodo-drummer thang goin' on. the hormones be's at the li'l wreck room on july 14th, opening for high school caesar and 100 damn guns. what better way to celebrate bastille day than with some good ol' 'meercun bumpa-chicka?

afterward, fell by el wreck to hear the great tyrant, who've been playing a lot lately, and it shows in their tighter, more aggressive attack. since last time i saw 'em, frontman and onetime american idol contestant daron beck (a fine goth to know 'n' be associated with) seems to be sharing more of the spotlight with the former yeti riddim section of tommy atkins (bass) and jon teague (drums). the concept is a heavy rawk band, substituting keyboards for gtrs, capped by daron's hystrionic voxxx (as one listener remarked, "he sounds like what came out of pandora's box"). the sound is dark 'n' brooding, with elements of prog 'n' jazz underneath the veneer of menace. atkins 'n' teague sound like cats who've spent half their lives playing music together (which they have). atkins alternately slings around monolithic slabs o' sound and drives the music with fluid ostinatos, while teague attacks his kit with tightly controlled violence and nary a movement wasted. the drummer's playing combines a concern with basic pulse shared by old-school figureheads like elvin jones, tony williams, and ginger baker with a gift for riddimic invention that's reminiscent of crimson-era bill bruford; you can hear the shape of the toons in his patterns. so riveting was the band's performance that it was only after the fact that i realized the closing toon was, um, phil collins' "i don't care anymore." the great tyrant be's at the darkside lounge in dallas this sat'day, june 24th.

i chumped and split before the headliners, slough feg from san francisco, got very far into their set, but not before stopping over in "wreck west" to say howdy to scott copeland, who'd been holding forth there earlier with accompaniment by virtuoso harpman gary grammer; ex-woodeye frontguy carey wolff, who'd just finished pitching a city-league softball game and be's at jack's off the wall next thursday, june 29th; and mockingbird cartel front cadillac fraf, who hipped me to a series of guerrilla performances a certain band is planning to stage in conjunction with the fweakly's music awards showcase thingy in downtown fort worth this sunday. might make it almost worthwhile to brave the crowds o' trendies intermingling with the yups from the 'burbs who infest sundance square.