There were two thieves in Bakersfield last night hidden in the darkness of a mysterious old theatre... One was the soul-stealing and transvestite-ridden original Frankensteinian presentation of Richard O’Brien’s Rocky Horror Show. It stole my masculinity; but just for a few hours. The other was an ethereal girl who stole my toy popper... more on her later…
 
The Bakersfield Community Theatre: It’s dark; it’s hidden on the lower south side and surrounded by a dark iron-wrought fence near my old stomping grounds on South Chester Avenue. Gone is the Sno White burger stand across the street. The A&W just up the road disappeared years ago. Walking up to the theatre in the darkness I was reminded of a night once upon a time when there was a sudden piercing of metal on metal as a train smashed into a car on nearby railroad tracks. The ghost stories started that night. I saw flashlights searching the rail line. “They’re searching for a missing hand,” a kid told me. I believed him. I think I imagined Dr. Frank N. Furter holding a bag of those severed arms over the railroad tracks in a strange dream last night… Anyway, the theatre reminded me of old dirt fields, when I would build jumps and go sailing off them on my cool candy-red-painted dirt bike. That was back when the theatre showed the Wizard of Oz and some actor kid poured Raisin Bran into the head of the Scarecrow…
This theatre has been around for ages, and looks like it has too. It’s got a creepy personality both outside and within. The chandeliers seem hung from another age. The old seats, arching in their layout across the theatre make for an almost claustrophobic setting, perfect for this ghoulish show. I sat on an aisle seat, hoping ghosts wouldn’t hover or spill from the very walls… but then, I was at a show where there would be many singing ghouls… I half-expected to see Arthur Chilling melt from the curtained shadows, or at the very least, appear onstage during one of the Rocky Horror Show’s extravagant dance numbers…
Media night at the theatre made for a fun evening of audience participation, one that I thought would be a bit flat as far as audience interaction goes. But it wasn’t. The media folk are as rowdy as they come. I saw Jennifer Balwin, Danielle Belton and Lydia (oops forgot her last name) from the Californian, and I’m almost certain they were dancing the Time Warp… But I could be wrong.
Some of the ladies from the Californian
during the intermission. Which one is Ms. Belton?
The audience doing the 'Time Warp' yeahhh!
I purposely showed up late, avoiding wine and cheese so I wouldn’t be a lush during the performance. But then, this is the play version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You’re supposed to be a lush. You’re supposed to be rude. You’re supposed to throw things, wave lights in the air, pop poppers (mine was stolen by a ravishing dark haired girl with dark brown eyes. She thanked me later at Denny’s. Had she followed me…? Was she there for the French toast platter too?) I inflated a balloon and let it sail two times during the show. The first time it flew back to me, the second it zoomed in front of faces. I dumped confetti and tossed a three of hearts and toilet paper… but then I didn’t have a popper… something was amiss.
I am new to the theatre scene, I’m assuming the purple-clad fellow at the beginning of the show was the director, Kevan J. Klawitter who prompted the crowd to be as rowdy as possible… and boy was it…!
This musical starts off fast and furious. The songs are a hit of yesteryear as I remembered attending the Rocky Horror Picture Show at the California Street UA theatre during its second heyday in the 1980s. I believe it had runs at the old Valley Plaza Theaters as well. I just can’t remember if I went or not. The show began its run in theatres across America in 1975.
Although some of the singing wasn’t as sharp as I hoped it to be, that doesn’t matter. Attending Rocky Horror is not about great singing, it’s about the energy of experiencing this counterculture phenomenon from yesteryear. There were four or five singers who were right on however, with my favorite easily being L. Jason Medlock who masterfully plays Dr. Frank N. Furter, the transvestite mad doctor of the show.
He was hilarious, attitude-filled and had some great costumes that I'm sure the ladies will dig. I especially thought a few of his scenes were performed with paparazzi-appeal as he broke out into song after song, screaming to the delight of his ghoulish minions: Riff Raff, Magenta, and the ghastly girl who loves him, Columbia…
 
Be prepared to laugh and yell “Slut!” at Janet Weiss, and, “I see your penis!” at the underwear-costumed Brad Majors, played by Stacey Barrett and Andrew Hupp respectively. Be rude, be fun! This isn’t a show for young kids, although I don’t agree that you should have to be 17 to see this show. The show is meant to be rude, obnoxious, daring, taunting, rough and raw; it’s meant to be an energy release where you can yell and curse, and well, throw conservatism out the window for the evening, or thumb your nose at society and say, “Yes, for two hours, I was as wicked as I could be!”
 
In the end it’s just a show and all meant in good fun, and is fun. You’ll see plenty of underwear, plenty of lingerie, plenty of skin, with an especially ‘wowing’ Columbia, who with Magenta’s extremely fun growling attitude makes for some rather lovely and skimpily clad visual moments.
I know I’m going to try to go see this show again… Show opens May 6th with two Midnight viewings! (Just like the old days!) Too bad this wasn’t run during Halloween…
Final note:
My invite came via Julia Jordan Scott, a local writer/actress/creative person/mom who writes a self-inspired feel good blog titled ‘Julie Unplugged’. Her blog makes for happy reading in a new agey kind of way. Read it if you want to feel loved. Keep reading mine if you want to continue dripping in sarcasm; just kidding, read both if you want. She was very pleasant to speak with and is writing an inspiring book about creativity, theatre and her ongoing life… maybe she will send me a chapter to peruse… maybe not, I do seem to have the reputation of being rather rude. Maybe that's why I was invited to the show!
N.L. Belardes, the Lords of Bakersfield, and the stigma of ‘blogger’
I have to start with my own gossip this week related to the Lords of Bakersfield. By now you know that I wrote a scathing review of Kimberley Sevcik’s piece from the May 5th edition of Rolling Stone, “Dirty Secrets: A Runaway D.A. and the Death of a Boy Toy”. I felt compelled to defend Bakersfield, Robert Price, and Bakersfield Rock and Roll. I didn’t seem to accomplish much other than gain a lot of readers who seemed too afraid to leave anything by anonymous comments with suggestions that I ‘Watch my back,” or Enrique’s ranting, and a few who told me that it’s good to speak up. Hell, I even made up a few comments myself to try and spark some enthusiasm and controversy. But people are just too afraid. One person told me regarding folks not speaking up said, “Bakersfield people in general are afraid of two things: change, and of what the Lords might do to anyone who speaks up.” I don’t think that’s so far off. I spoke with Dr. John Arthur Maynard, historian of Bakersfield: A Centennial Portrait. He should be all over these Lords stories, but he had his usual air of paranoia that I’m going to end up dead in a ditch along with Robert Price for speaking my mind. I'm not mad at him. He just cares about my well being. He seems to think the city may still be run by some rather dastardly gun slinging Wild West types…
I will give the Californian some kudos for their bravado in allowing a relatively unknown writer like me to be affiliated with their newspaper even if just in the cyber realm. It’s a progressive move on their part, one that is rare but that other newspapers may follow their lead. Seems to be giving me a stigma though as a ‘blogger’ when really I am an artist, a novelist, a writer. Blogging is just one aspect of writing, and I incorporate many styles of writing into my blog. I was told last night something like, “I know not to believe everything you write.” And that’s fine. I don’t believe everything the Californian writes either, whether their sources appear legit or not in news stories. They can’t point the finger at me when Ted Fritts used to own the paper and was responsible for all kinds of inaccurate tales that led to cultural mythmaking. Go read the papers from 1977. I did. Reporter report on facts told in certain ways that lead to untruths as in molestations later overturned lead to, well… well the media adds to the untruths. But not always. Simply as a reader remind yourself to use a Descartian approach. Be skeptical. Reporters report the facts as they and their managers see them. I am a narrative writer, a fictionalist… a novelist. A novelist that blogs. Really depends on your perspective though. To the music and art community I am a much needed ‘show reviewer’ and promoter of sorts; to the newspaper I am a blogger; to my readers I should be thought of as a novelist; I think of myself as an artist/writer. It’s just how you look at things. Doesn’t mean everything I write is an untruth because I didn't go to journalist camp. Is Kerouac’s true-to-life fiction an untruth? Maybe. Is Alice in Wonderland strictly a great untruth? Is fiction untrue? Or is fiction an artform meant to convey human truths, not necessarily journalistic truths? (though there is overlapping, don't you think?)
I think people can for the most part tell the difference when I post straight up narrative versus when I am posting a ‘newsworthy blogger’ piece. If I write a poem and post it online am I then just a blogger who writes poetry? No. I’m not. I’m a poet who blogs because he is aware of the medium at hand. And if I get that stigma in the meantime as a blogger… that’s OK too… I know who I am and what I am all about whether the Californian wants to just call me a blogger or not.
The Theatre Scene
Enrique wrote a funny response to a Danielle Belton piece that stirred up some drama in the drama rama scene regarding 'getting crowds' to attend shows and theatre folk sleeping with each other... Start with Enrique and read more...
I heard that Enrique's review of Robin Hood was read aloud to the cast. How funny is that? Enrique is a kick!
Seven to the Right
Guitarist Tyler has left the band. New songwriter/guitarist, Jason (Not Jason from Ridikule), has stepped in and Seven to the Right promises a brand new sound that will sound even fuller than before. Hell, I enjoyed their show last night at Studio 99 immensely. These guys are an extremely talented group. I will have a full review on them later.
Ridikule
Jason has left Ridikule (don’t get confused with the new Jason in Seven to the Right). These rural rock punkers have gone three-piece…
A note from Chris in the band:
Yes this is new news to alot of people about Jason leaving. Permanant? we don't know yet. Of course we will miss him as our friend and bandmate, but he has to make a living and support his family too. There are no hard feelings involved or any bad blood or any of that good controversial stuff--sorry. We will continue on and rawk our asses off just as hard as ever. Also there is a rumor of me possibly going on tour with Guttermouth for a few dates in June. I'll let you know if that gets confirmed. Look out for a huge festival coming in June. More to come on that as I get the details, but we've got some major local bands to play, you know some of that "B-rated talent" we've got here, HA HA. We have the support of some of the best local bands that Bako has to offer and we earned it by showing respect and support for our fellow bands of all types. It will take support like this to build and maintain a strong music scene for everyone. Ty (Arrival of Fawn)and Josh (American Standard)are on the right track along with many others to make our scene better...
Oh, and these guys have killer T-shirts!
Gigantic
They say they are going to start putting on shows soon. I can’t wait!
Phoenix Band and LA Band in Bakersfield
Just got word that Jenna’s Arrival may be coming back for a visit, and bringing World Wide Spies…I really like the sounds of these bands. Check out their websites...
The Fresno Scene, The Valley Scene
2am Orchestra has a new cd coming out. They said they are sending me a copy. I can’t wait to review. I sent a Fresno Promoter kid a nice letter about a ‘Valley Scene’ he wrote:
Hey NL,
thanx for the add bud.. i read/checked out your website.. its some good stuff... however, i dont picture there being a united valley scene.. theres too much competition... esp between bakersfield/fresno... it would be cool to see a unted scene.. but i dont picture it happening.. good site again!
Competition? Between who and who? I have no idea what he’s talking about. Every Fresno band I met wants a united scene… I don’t see why a Fresno band wouldn’t want to play in Bakersfield. These young punks these days just have no vision… :)
I had a great interview with Aroarah. These girls are hilarious! Still working on that article…look for it to come out soon...
Thank you all for your comments on the Lords article. Comments are back off for now, but will turn them on if making the bakersfield.com homepage again... if you do have a comment, please send to nl@nlbelardes.com and I will post online as I plan on posting all comments from the Lords article for folks to read.
Don't miss tonight's shows that aren't on the culture calendar.
I may kill the culture calendar and events altogether as bands seem to not share event info and it takes my time to upkeep...
Soulajar at Kosmos at 9pm
Seven to the Right and guests at Studio 99 at 9/10pm
Thanks again for your support for the arts.
Stay tuned for write-ups on David Lloyd of the Arts Council, mariachi happenings at Curran, writer blogs, an exclusive Aroarah interview and more...
Do you have an opinion? Comments are turned on specifically for my write-up against the Lords article in the Rolling Stone. Go ahead and have your say. It's even on the homepage of Bakersfield.com. Click here to comment.
Support local literary arts and this fascinating novel on the 'Lords of Bakersfield'... The Noveltown Group is soliciting the community to make donations so that Lords: Part One will make it onto bookshelves throughout the San Joaquin Valley. Please go to www.noveltown.net and make contact…
Yes, I found the Lords of Bakersfield. I found them tucked away in a strip mall where derelicts seemed stuck to walls like mud wasp nests. It was dark; it was dingy; this was the place where kids have hung out for practically generations while sipping sugary Slurpies and wanting to know the secrets of life. This was where I could buy baseball cards as troublesome youth wanting to just get out of the house and go to the store, and where the consciousness of Rock and Roll and slut magazines were well, at your fingertips. The Lords? This was the perfect place for a pick-up. This was 7-11.
That was after I searched Barnes and Noble. I looked in every cobwebbed corner before the staff caught me poking around and said, “We’re all sold out, sir.” They didn’t even bother to tell me where to look next. There were so many folks hanging out in chairs, reading, drinking coffee; one gentleman heroically had open a book on Surviving Prostate Cancer, its red cover in full view; good for him—he didn’t seem so afraid of the Lords. I got claustrophobic.
Oh, but that’s not all. I searched Borders, Vons, Longs, two gas stations until I got lucky with my big discovery. I put two and two together just as I saw the faded sign of a 7-11 glowing at me like a ruddy moon. Yes, that was it. I found the Lords of Bakersfield in a corner plastered against four others just like itself. Slut zines smiled out at me just two racks over. Caught red-handed I’d say.
If only it were that easy to find the Lords of Bakersfield. I snatched the Weezer-covered magazine and was out the door. Oh I paid for it. Those ever-elusive Lords always make you pay, or so I’ve researched. Do you realize what kind of super sleuth you have to be to track down stories on the creepiest entities known to the greater Southern San Joaquin Valley? I’m telling you, Robert Price, journalist turned investigative reporter turned Lords hound ala Bakersfield-Gate scandal should be commended for the rock he helped expose two years ago. I remember when I got the call on the big stories from historian/writer John Arthur Maynard, “Did you read the Californian today? This is the biggest news story ever uncovered here!” The sad truth about it all is the underbelly of these stories will forever be half-hidden to the world of you and I. You and I? We’re the people who just plain want to separate reality from myth.
Of course you’re all wondering if I’ll be any help at all in the matter of modern day mythmaking as Lords: Part One hangs over the Bakersfield sunsets like a big red sun these days. I’m not going to answer that. Myths are sometimes OK, sometimes not, and always in need of weeding. And I’m not going to be shy about it either… In other words, I’m still trying to figure it all out.
I think the Lords of Bakersfield is a local sensation not because I wrote about it or Robert Price wrote about it, or the gal who wrote Valley Fire for that matter, but because of what it is by its very nature: a story of dualism in the nature of man at his most decrepit soul searching. As if you didn’t know, these stories have been haunting the people of Bakersfield for some time. And that isn’t because Bakersfield is some hick town with a dark secret like Rolling Stone freelancer/occasional Salon.com writer Kimberley Sevcik indicates. These New York reporters. Don’t think they’re any better than a Robert Price because they work in a New York office, or because they freelanced for the Rolling Stone for that matter. Haven’t you kept aware of fallen reporters/photo-journalists from the East and West coasts? They’re just people. And they’re always getting the facts wrong or not digging deep enough, or being manipulative. A good reporter simply does their homework, simple as that. Sevcik’s stereotyping is just not good reporting. Some of her writing may be, but most of it was rehash of Edward Humes book, Mean Justice. I don’t think she gave Ed Humes any credit at all. And although I read the name Californian, Robert Price received zero accolades. She discusses the end to the molestation witch hunt that we’re all quite aware of, and anyone who keeps up with the stories nation-wide are aware of. So why the write-up in the Rolling Stone? I don’t know, maybe she’s doing a friend a favor. I guess I should be the better man, but her take on Bakersfield is as bad as me saying everyone from the Bronx is a big dumb sports fan with a sister who sleeps with the mafia.
I’m guessing most towns and cities have such dark secrets. Heck, I hear Fresno has some rather creepy Lords tales of their own. I was tipped by none other than a reporter; and they weren’t even from New York… go figure.
We’re not so stereotypical and freakish here when compared to the rest of the nation. Bakersfield’s secret gay murderous past of prominent white folk gone mad with anal desires and corrupt little boy misgivings has nothing on American tales of Area 51, the Illuminati, the Skull and Crossbones club, Mormon corruption, Mafiosa murders, Presidential Affairs, Secret Senate occurrences, Olympic orgies, and so on. It’s not that Bakersfield is Okietown central anymore either. Here in the California Bible Belt where Conservatism loathes gays like it loathes a Toni Morrison coffee table book there are actual intellectuals who combat such idealism as Conservatives vs. literature.
I’ll tell you the simple truth of the appeal of the Lords myths: people just plain want to know what the Lords of Bakersfield have done. People are drawn to stories of corruption and how they intertwine with… dare I say it… the American Way?
The American Way, the American character… hard to define, though people use such terms all the time. It’s in literature, in historical writings from David Hackett Fischer, Perry Miller, Oscar Handlin, Presidential addresses galore and so on… The American character perhaps defines who we are and where we came from. Perhaps in our immigrant-nature, our East Anglian-derived folkways, or seeped in the American sense of mission to the world… and here we are at home at odds with it—because the Lords sense of mission is an example of the dualism I mentioned: to fulfill and to betray.
People get attracted to the irony. The American Way to fulfill that sense of messianic justice in a skewed mission to county and state and country, yet oddly repulses itself in the Lords disfiguring the very fruits of the American Way with their dick-smashing baseball bats in Beach Park bathrooms, murdering kids whose lives get used up fulfilling mad desires in an age of cover-up and boozing. It was an age of sickness conceived before the late 1970s but brought to fruition in the 1980s (the Lords had several ages). It was where perhaps Bakersfield folks along with the rest of the country were thrown off track by the illusory path of local law-making witch hunts launched ala a Tituba-esque crazy Salem-style witch burning called, child demon possession books gotten in too many hands: all a model for the post-modern witch hunts spawned by the Lords of Bakersfield to perhaps take attention off themselves.
“Hey, we can use these books to help infuse a greater fear in society…” they may have said in their secret meetings. Oh, and then launch a media and mean justice campaign that could throw greater society off the path of the Lords… Those of you who have read Chapter One know that my story right away goes farther back in time than that pretentious Rolling Stone reporter was willing to explore. She went as far back as the early 1980s. That’s not far enough. She claimed there were orgies and child molestation but missed the crux of it all by not suggesting that such stories became embedded in local folklore since the turn of the century before this past turn of the century. We’re talking the late 1800s…
When the gay sons of British Lords came via rickety boats to Bakersfield, to the Rosedale area to start a perfect colony… remember where the parents of these boys were educated and where these boys just may have hung out. Have you not done your history? Do you know about the age of British colonialism in the mid to late 1800s? What kind of consciousness was in Europe at that time? Are you aware of the intellectual hideouts of such homoerotic sons of true British Lords? The salons, the coffeehouses, the academic lust-filled settings, and then off to America… such infused idealism in such dark homoerotic minds, set loose on the American central valley golden hinterland with the idealism to be Lords. Do you think they had a love for Americans and an American Way just because those old Kern County brochures lured them here? Such pretentious upbringings and then tossed into the Great Central Valley at a time when these Lords already lived a dual lifestyle of understanding that colonial power was what set the world on fire, as well as other boys set something else on fire for them. It was just how things were done… for them... And the British were gods, right? And they set out as a fiery youth, ashamed, outcasts because their familes sent them away because they were gay and so forth, but with their colonial British education, strong sense of academia and power hungry mindsets still intact…
But our Rolling Stone reporter, hip to the John Stolls release, hip to some old prosecutor who wanted J. Edgar Jagels to get utterly eaten up by the Rolling Stone, hip to his drugged up and laughable ex-wife. Does anyone feel sorry for her when thousands of people in Bakersfield with less money at their disposal go through such dark times of rehab and relocation? …and seemingly just as eager to have Bakersfield just as stereotyped as any lawyer? We, the seedy, the laughable underbelly buffoonery of the West; we, the fast-talking urban rural lives on country-laden straw-covered streets; we, the beady-eyed cross-bred inhabitants of a society who all seems to ride real honest to goodness bulls, not to mention the mechanical bulls that are apparently somehow on every street corner here in Nashville West, USA. Funny how the Rolling Stone, a rock and roll magazine ignores the Bakersfield rock music scene completely, a scene that Liars and Thieves drummer Tyler pointed out to me yesterday, “has nothing to do with country music here in downtown,” because it is an Indie, metal, screamo, punk, Brit Pop, alt country music that literally ignores the country music scene and thrives, where else, but in downtown Bakersfield where the Lords wield their sirens, laws and baseball bats. Sevcik didn’t even mention that damn Rock and Roll Farm. She didn’t do her homework at all. Maybe she could have found Jagels somewhere else if she had looked. Jagels, in his appetite for putting on a good show and costume… maybe he fronts a rock band, punk rock at that and sits at Jerry’s for a hot slice. OK, now I’m just plain lying. But you get the point.
No, there is nothing new on the Lords of Bakersfield in the recent Rolling Stone article. And not much explanation as to why this scathing story was written. If you keep up with the local news, you should be quickly aware that the story is all rehash, with not enough credit to sources. Sevcik is going to get national attention because she can read an Edward Humes masterpiece in journalistic jingoism, a timely Robert Price series, and interview a few folks already interviewed. If you got this far in my article then you learned a lot more than what Sevcik had to say, and a little more than you may have known otherwise, which is certainly more than Sevcik’s crying about hick town witch hunts. Tell us some of the allegations, Sevcik. Tell us the dark stories, the tales. It’s more interesting than just saying a witch hunt went bad so folks were let out of prison. Now I could tell more, but then like I said, I’m not really going to answer that... You’ll have to wait for part one.
Three weeks from today there's a new Lord of BakerSith coming to town...
Could the Lords of Bakersfield have gobbled him
up in one bite? So soft and chewy...
Coming soon: my take on the Rolling Stone 'Lords of Bakersfield'/ J. Edgar Jagels article...
Are you ready to be scared?
Maybe concidence, maybe nothing but a crime in a crime-ridden area. But then, my backyard was trashed a few weeks ago. There have been letters... But take a look... there seems to be more than just eerie letters these days. And the Rolling Stone releasing an article on the Lords of Bakersfield? It's all boiling... developing...
I’m the Bakersfield Bukowski lost and melancholy and writing about life in the music-driven moment; last night I thought about a drink or two as I wandered from the ghosts of the Downtown Joe’s side of 19th Street. This was Sunday night in the Indie scene. Some scatterings of wind and rain made for a perfectly dark night to wander into Riley’s bar. Liars and Thieves, already deep into their set danced around the stage area singing their masterpiece, ‘We Own’. Rahl thumbed his bass, swung around while concentric circles of greenish and yellow light blistered the wooden floor. Sal, glowing in the darkness from sweat and song tore licks into his guitar, shaking it for a vibrato effect. I stood with Flower in the Dale. Her cherry tattoos peeked from the shadows. She missed her man from the coast; anxious, she had to get out of the house. She looked shy in this bar so filled with sounds of the New Bakersfield Experiment in rock and roll. She watched Tyler and said, “That boy’s got what most girls want.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“The high cheek bones. The long eyelashes…”
I stood by the sound booth and drifted until the music swept itself away…
“You know why I played so well tonight?” Tyler said after his set. “I was sober.” He laughed. He carried his drum set past us but then came back for a handshake and an introduction to Flower. I gave Tyler some pizza the other night, offered him some chicken in Pizzaville; artist to artist I offered not because I know his life and his needs but because I have slept in cars, homeless, stolen food, and searched as poets do in the darkness for a new beginning.
I saw Bobby standing in his Kerouac-hewn moment; not like a Dharma Bum dirty racing down a mountainside enraptured with the Void, but more urban counterculture, driving himself into the bar as an underground literary character, hovering from the darkness, creeping from the subterranean of dark apartments readying for a Sunday night in the downtown Bakersfield bohemia. He stood against the edge of a thin wooden counter, his hands tapping on it as he watched Broken Record Gospel tear into their set. On the opposite side of the bar stood Bonifacio, quiet, contemplative, not wondering about this New Bakersfield Experiment in sound, but just the music itself. He had just told me about his Mexican version of Star Wars, Luke with his great choriso sword I imagined glowing into an outer worldly Aztecan Paradise of flower-and-spear wielding Stormtroopers. I asked him for some of his Spanglish prose. He’s a teacher; his goes way back to the Bakersfield College Art Gallery under the pock-marked bohemian Joel Blue, the Andy Warhol lover, an old shoe salesman from Gemco-Stylco shoes who passed me strange bohemian tales while a young Conservative in the late 1980s—that was before his Bakersfield College days; long before my great transformation to become a non-mechanical artist and reach out to the arts and moderate philosophies. He was in love with a dancer named Vida back then; he had several kids and later divorced because of the dancer. He later ended up at the Bakersfield College Art Gallery when it was in a room accessed from a tunnel beneath the old junior college library.
But he taught Bonifacio too. He taught about Kerouac, Cassidy, Ginsberg, Burroughs, and the Velvet Underground and showed dark bohemian films so he could infect the college youth; he was so childish; perhaps that was his appeal; Joel Blue with the blue eyes wanting everyone to feel art in Bakersfield’s little bohemia where college students, sons of field workers and truck drivers could begin to understand the greater worldview of bohemia.
Older now, Bonifacio, drank his beer; he offered his Spanglish but who knows if he will send to me. I am so poor with the language I wouldn’t understand much of it anyway. But that’s the linguistic appeal—just to see the artform…
There were two women with Bobby. Both in their Betty Page smiles and hairdos like Fifties queens of the night turned into dark urban bohemians, both beautiful in their skin-revealing glamour. One wore a dark black bandana, her black bangs hung onto her forehead, her large hoop earrings and black top pulled down over her shoulders showing her bra; on the front of her blouse an image of some silkscreened woman; on her left shoulder a tattoo of something I can never tell as she is always too far away. She didn’t start dancing much until Broken Record’s last two songs. ‘Dress Rehearsal’ faded into a finale of Jazz punk that only this bohemian band could fuse…
Several people danced as the crowd closed in. I leaned on a counter. I closed my eyes to rid myself of images… writers observe too much. I needed to focus on the sounds. The song was clearer in the blackness of eyes closed at Riley’s. The melodies of the music and song drifted strangely to my ears. I could begin to pull apart the layers... I looked and there was suddenly a darker appeal to the sounds. Here I could see the owner of the Silver Fox, infected with the music; Bonifacio, head bobbing, was lurid in his examination; so many eyes on the sounds, so many minds in wonder of such melodies emptying from the urban heart of Bakersfield, it’s creepy ghost streets, lamp-lit walkways, half-abandoned downtown hovels and buildings; there, where in the darkness I felt the musical firefly glow of the urban Bakersfield bohemia, and so wanted it to illuminate...
Ok everyone, I have put together a little myspace account here to begin networking there as well. Please take a moment to add me. And let all your friends know I would like to help promote them too... or at the very least, network for my newsletter list so they can know all about the very creepy Lords of Bakersfield...
The Dalloways: Quiet is the New Loud
The Filthies: Rural Rock Punk
It’s ironic that a recluse of a writer can find himself socializing at any hour; wandering Bakersfield streets in the downtown district, seeing Ben of Broken Record Gospel still pouring coffee at the Spotlight, the Filthies and Dalloways performing to a big crowd in the darkness of Kosmos. I’m not a night person. My friends know this. I’m not one to socialize. My few friends know this as well. But then, books don’t write nor sell themselves. So I have to meet people. I have to talk; I have to communicate about literature, and especially about Southern San Joaquin Valley literature and where it’s going. That is what I write, about this Southern Valley… In Lords: Part One I describe the Southern Valley as a very grey, ethereal force that permeates even the consciousness of the people. I will likely be pegged early on as someone who despises the valley and who only views it as a misty grey force that dominates this breadbasket, this fertile crescent and hydraulic society of mid-California. In Thick White Crust I describe the Southern Valley as a natural and mechanistic entity filled with the magic realism of a recent upheaval in historical forces. The Citrus Girl is altogether different and provides a romantic counterculture view of a land where people have the ability to ripen like the soil’s very fruit orchards: the vitriolic acidity of fruit blended with the fructose sweetness of a sugary bite, all grown from the fertile landscape.
And here I was last night, in the darkness, a melancholy mood, ignoring Freakfest, listening to a young high school band, and then the Dalloways, sitting in a chair, and hearing the rhythms of valley forces not unlike that Sonnenreise, that land of lemon blossoms writer and historian John Keegan once said was a fragrance opened up to him as he toured America as a young man. And here, Quiet is the New Loud, its Brit Pop Dream Pop Central California with Latino riffs blended in, not unlike such acidic sweet fruit blossoming in the valley winter months. A new sound, a new echo of old. A new blossoming. We never tire of lemon blossoms and rejoice upon the wafts of each bloom. Gehrard Enns was in full form, energetic, happy to be at home in song, coated in melodic riffs that swarmed and infested the stage, cut loose from his Rickenbocker guitar as if he’d just let the skeletons out of the closet of his mind; to tell us stories, so we can not just hear, but feel them, even in Aaron Wall’s percussion tour of life in drumbeats, in Matt Wall, friend of Jazz Greats and pouring his soaring bass lines into the heart of song. Ricky, that guitarist unheralded by the Bakersfield music scene, triumphant in the Fresno scene, was in his best form, pouring more of his Latino soul than ever into songs that could strangely echo from Manchester alleys and British industrial warehouses, were one to place them on such dark streets, on such dark industrial Isles of the North Sea…
During the Filthies set I walked through Kosmos, listened in different areas to hear how the bands sounds echoed through corridors, an opposite room, the pool table back areas, and even into the dark hall towards the men’s restroom, where voices muffled and guitar became a tinny lost echo of noise. I stood in a doorway and watched faces smile at powerful guitar work. I saw the eyes of those engulfed in the rhythms of rural rock punk. I wondered if many understood the energy of a music driven movement in new sounds: the rural countryside, the agricultural boom infecting punk sounds the way the great Dust Storm of 77 infected every home with raw dust and valley fever spores. What I heard were some of the early sounds of this. I was reminded how Green Day once played the old Bam Bams to maybe ten people, while fifty stood outdoors and smoked; no one knew the future. Will people ignore this music-driven movement for long? Their next album, Rare, is sure to mature their sound, to sculpt it into an even greater echo of life in the rural center of the Southern Valley… and here we will have it through the eyes, fingers, chords, instruments and lives of a few musicians… in the new punk genre, ‘rural rock punk’, that would get a historian like me to even think about such new sounds in music coming of age…
Before you read my mediocrity in capturing a narrative atmosphere last night of the most excellent Misadventures of Robin Hood premiere, get a taste of theatre from The Queen of the Downtown Fur herself…take a look at Enrique Fuentes series I’m going to call Dysfunctional Theatre Reviews.
Enrique's review captures this glittery scene...
As for me, I walked down to the Spotlight Theatre on a strangely cool evening for the month of April. I felt like I was scooting along the Pismo Pier on the coast the way the breeze shot through me as I walked. I entered the theatre feeling a little apprehensive, a little chilled, and wanting one of those fine roast beef sandwiches I hear Ben from Broken Record Gospel knows how to slam together. I hadn’t been to a play in some time. I get so stir crazy even at movies these days. Would I fidget my way out of the theatre in the first thirty minutes? But then I remembered who was directing the play: award-winning director Roger Mathey, the same guy I bumped into downtown a few days before thinking he was none other than… someone else. Boy did I feel like a schleprock later as I thought, wait, that was Roger Mathey, the great LA and Bakersfield theatre director, the man who pays attention to detail in his great witty style, so full of humor, as he has the ability to thread jokes, scenes, characters, settings, scene transitions, all together in a way that has your attention from the moment his play entangles you in his vision of how suspension of disbelief should be grappled.
 
The Misadventures of Robin Hood is a hilarity to behold in a quaint theatre with incredible sound, lighting, great snacks, pleasant workers, and in a rustic old building that has you wondering just how many ghosts might be hovering behind the scenes from days of bank-telling and hiding trinkets in vaults.
The simplicity and boldness of the lighting is what originally grabbed my attention as I entered the theatre, but then when the play began my attention transitioned almost completely to the characters, the believability of their very nature of vigilantism gone hilarious in the middle of the strange forest of Sherwood. The jokes fly from the outset, and because I’m not the type to give much away, I will say that Mathey sets up his characters in a way that has you laughing just watched a colorful episode of the Three Stooges. There’s slapstick humor throughout, complete with strange transvestite merry men, a punk Sheriff of Nottingham (Enrique says Sherriff of Naughtyham) two rather annoying kings (don’t worry, you’re supposed to hate these buffoons), a rather hilarious Maid Marian sidekick complete with noxious fume humor, a friar who likes his women as hot as he likes his Kentucky Fried chicken, and an all-too-sleepy hot-under-the-collar queen. Oh, and there’s many more characters, all of which are guided superbly by a witty innuendo-filled dialogue—all through Mathey’s wizardry in detailing such a comedy of Robin Hood foolery.
 
Robin Hood and Maid Marian's simplistic yet hilarious love story is a sight to behold. Both Rikk Chesire and Sarah Downie pull off their characters with bravado. They're both tough characters to play because more than the others their love shenanigans need to pull off a sense of honesty while blended with a wacky taste of Mathey's detail in ironic homoerotic innuendos. I thought they were just as funny as all the Friar Tuck scenes which seemed to steal a lot of their gusto. He was easily my favorite character as the juvenile in me was a sucker for all the gas humor in his ode to Helen of Troy, oh, and Cleopatra shooting down the Nile...zompwhompzompzompwhomp!, hahahehehehehahaha... see, there I go...
During the intermission I noticed the crowd was very talkative downstairs. Here was a great downtown energy of theatergoers, all wanting to partake in a theatre opening night experience, with the director himself chumming it up downstairs in the crowd. I considered cornering him for an interview… but why torture the man? I hovered until I got my roast beef sandwich, and snapped a photo of Ben I will use as bribe material if he continues to never give me a shout out during Broken Record Gospel shows.
Did I mention I was impressed with the lighting? There was a creepy shadow-driven effect of moonlight and sunlight through a leafy canopy. I could feel the green forest verdure as if I had just transported with the audience to Mathey’s wonderland in dreamy costume-esque misadventures. I think I may have to go back and watch this play again just to try and catch all the details. I know I missed a lot the first time around. I stared so much at the shadowy leaf effects that all I can say is I was reminded once again that theatre has the same power as a great film: to believe you are not who you are, or where you are for just a few moments in time… a few moments where you’re believing what a visionary director would have you believe… go to the Spotlight and have a good time.
The pineapple pajama girl...
Who took these pictures?
An evening of music and car wrecks...
See if you can figure this one out:
Leaving Club Fred in Fresno last Friday night, Kenny and Gus of the Filthies walked over to the car I was riding in to say a tearful goodbye, “Aw man, stay a while…” Being the non-late nighter I am, I handed Kenny a pile of N.L. Belardes fliers and asked if he didn’t mind passing them out. I had never asked anyone to pass out my fliers before, but figured, here I was in Fresno and I don't get back too often... “Sure, I can do that,” he said. “I will leave them on tables and hand out a few.”
That was around 12:30 am. I toodle-de-dood home, went to bed around 3:30 am, then got a call at 6:47am. It was Kenny Mount. “Hey, after you left there was a big wreck! A car flipped, and it was total chaos!” I asked if everyone was Ok…
A few days later I received this email:
Dear NL,
Once upon a time at 1am in front of Club Fred, there was a hit-and-run involving a truck and a girl in her pajamas. I just happen to be the little girl who was in the truck, and remembered that you took pictures of the event. Partly for insurance's sake (but mostly for fun) I was hoping you could send me those shots. You wouldn't need to worry about doctoring them if they came out dark; I happen to do some photoshop myself. It would be really neat if I could get hold of those, though.
I'd love if you emailed me back
What was this? A pajama-wearing girl and a car wreck? And someone taking pictures? Wasn’t me I swear. There’s more as I gave a very academic reply:
OK...why were you at a bar in your pajamas?? Oh wait, maybe someone at the bar crashed into you? I am so confused. Were they jammies with the feet? How embarrassing, you crashed in your scooby dooos....
NB
The girl’s response:
Hahah.
No no, I wasn't at Club Fred, I was driving past it. At 1am, it's not that odd to be in your jammies. And no, they weren't footies, they have pineapples on them. And I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble. But oddly, at the crash there was a guy taking pictures of it. He gave me a little flier for your site and told me he'd post the pictures in a couple days. But I guess it wasn't you. Maybe it was an advertising technique. I didn't mean to cause any confusion, Sorry again.
What’s this, a guy handing out fliers? Was he saying he was me? Wait a minute. Was this Kenny Filthy at the scene of the wreck plugging good old N.L. Belardes in the most shameful way possible? How filthy! Now this is getting good because I soon got the full scoop from a rather cool pineapple pajama-wearing kid who had this to say:
Around midnight, I was getting myself situated to drive to my English teacher's house to turn in a paper (which she gracefully allows on the night of huge assignments). Around one in the morning, I was heading up Van Ness at about 35 mph when a drunk driver came out of the Club Fred parking lot. She hit me on the front of the passenger side rolled the truck onto the driver's side, sliding the vehicle along the pavement on the window of the cab and the truck bed. I'm not sure there's any reason the glass didn't break except for the grace of God. Coincidentally because was in front of a night club that had several people standing outside when this happened, they ran to my truck before it had even stopped moving. It was a funny sensation to be pulled up out of the passenger side window in order to get out of the glass box my truck had become. And I think it was equally funny to all the people there that the only thing I was shaken up about was how cold it was outside; and I, without a jacket. The point of this is simply -- these people who literally rescued me from my truck, I cannot overstate how wonderful they were. In every sense, they were courteous, helpful, sincere, positive, generally and specifically living blessings to me. After this, the girl who hit me approached me with a hug, asking if I was alright. I answered honestly, that there wasn't a single scratch on my body. Someone else asked if either of us had been drinking, she answered yes. I answered that I was 18 and on my way to turn in homework. The intoxicated lady went to move her car out of the middle of the road, and immediately bolted. Meaning, took off. Meaning, hit and run. Meaning: Felony. After this the police soon arrived. To shorten the story some, I couldn't wake my parents up to come get me so I called my boyfriend. Before he arrived, two stooges discovered that the drunk felon had managed to leave her torn off license plate in the middle of the road before fleeing the scene. A tow truck came and took away my poor little truck (named the Gipper) soon thereafter. I have yet to find out if it will be declared totalled. I stand in hope that it will survive, needing only body repairs, remembering that Reagan did survive an assassination attempt.
Do these things only happen in my life? Now I can’t be two places at once, and it looks like this girl was saved by some kind of angel who happened to be hovering over Club Fred; anyway, how’s that for a mystery story… and I still haven't asked Kenny if that was him being so shameful...
Disgraced...
It's so sad how the Condors seem to fall apart...
Not that I could do any better...
Looks like things are better between N.L. and The Empty Space. Without going into details, all is forgiven and peace has once again settled upon our dusty valley... You can all thank Guinevere Park-Hall for being such a good writer and PR spokeperson to work with my my complaints to see that families, bands, et. al. can enjoy themselves at The Empty Space and Empty Space-related shows...
Just so you bands know. If you want me to post a flier, tell me the day before a show. If you just want a date added, then format per the 'culture calendar' template...
Now that the formalities are over, if you can't get your freak on with the Freakfest, then go witness 'Quiet is the New Loud' cross-pollinate with Bakersfield's own 'Rural Rock Punk' movement... These are two premiere Bakersfield bands meeting up to bring you some of the best Bakersfield-Fresno music you will ever hear.
That dirty burgaler is the perfect filthy...
I hear this is a picture of Gus just after his first scuba lesson...
Why is it that controversy always follows Three Chord Whore? I just love this band. There’s always something in the mix with these dark angels of post-grunge angst. They’re angry, they’re loud, and they’re a hell of a good time with their rock star attitudes, loud grungy style, and a bass drum that even Gus of the Filthies had to touch.
Gus bowing down and touching Shantell's bass...
“I just had to touch it one time,” Said guitarist for the Filthies. I warned him about Shantell with those drumsticks, but he insisted on daring the personal space of these rock vixens for a closer look.
Speaking of controversy and Three Chord Whore, there’s the Nate Berg battle that Shantell mentioned just before the show, “I’m just tired of that whole battle, but I do want to make clear that I’m not an orange picker!” she said in reference to a brief diatribe by Jerry’s Pizza promoter Nate Berg, who likened everyone involved in a Boycott against playing at Jerry’s as some kind of loser field workers. I hope he realizes that here in the valley there are a whole lot of folks who work hard so he can have food on the table, and who would take serious offense to belittling the Mexican, Phillipino and other migrants of the San Joaquin farmland.
Other controversy: Then there’s guitarist Heather’s back that is completely out of whack. She was clearly distraught on Wednesday night but still had the toughness to get on stage and play. “I was at work and…” And, do you want to hear how she hurt her back, or do you want to hear how tough this girl is for standing with a big guitar strapped on and pain clearly on her face while she strummed a few chords for grunge-sister-in-crime Shirl to scream to the crowd?
I’m telling you, you have to love frontgirl Shirl. She seems like she’s going to be a little sarcastic when you meet her: a bit reserved, friendly of course, with those great dimples. But then the music starts. She’s raucous, she’s got attitude, and she’s funny as hell. Really all the bandmates are hilarious. They play off each other well and have a very loud sound that gets the crowd yelling for more of their antics. The music? Its grunge, it tears into you with some loud vocals reminiscent of Courtney Love, and with that same grunge “I don’t care, piss off” attitude that is fun to watch with this genre of music.
The unnamed controversy: As far as the tainting that went on during the show? Well for an all-ages show there was some crap being sold, some off-shirts being worn, some announcements made that had nothing to do with the bands performing, but had everything to do with certain people running the show that had me never wanting to come back. Let’s just say it had me leaving thinking, “What kind of empty-headed venue that is in jeopardy of going under allows…”
Can you tell I’m holding back?
I’m disgusted.
This was my first time at the Empty-headed Space, and I won’t be going back unless I get a firm apology from the theatre itself. It’s the bands who suffered. But I will continue to support the bands who sadly had their names associated with such debauchery that I won’t name.
Liars and Thieves were also in the house...
The New Bakersfield Experiment in Indie Sounds...
I just made one of the most beautiful valley connections to help bridge the 'Valley Music Scene'. Meet band Aroarah. These ladies from Sacramento have played Freakfest before and are coming back to play it again Saturday at 3:20 PM at the Dome. A hard-rocking band from up north, manager Gigi called me up so that I could come down and check them out. How can I say no? They're talented, they're beautiful, they've hung out at the X-Games, they've rocked out on the Girlpowder Snowboarder Tour, and they're exclusively in a kick-ass hard-rockin' Converse shoe commercial.Oddly enough, this is one of only two valley bands that inquired for me to come out to Freakfest and interview, take pictures, promo, you know--do what I do to help get the word out to all you great readers. Now, even though I haven't heard from ThroatShot, 40to1, Empty Handed, Myndsick and any other local bands I might have forgotten, don't forget to go out and show your support for the Bakersfield music scene.
The other band to inquire? You got it, those old rural rock punksters, the Filthies. I told them 'no' though, they can have Enrique. She's got a crush on Captain Kenny Filthy Pants anyway. Just Kidding. They perform Sunday evening at Freakfest... oh and Saturday night too at Kosmos with the Dalloways. I wonder if anyone will be around to catch that...?? Where should N.L. go???
Anyway, what a great conversation I had with Gigi. Here's a manager so excited for her girls. Such energy, what a great vibe, and she even said she was going to read chapter one of Lords. Here's someone not just interested in herself and her band. Gotta like that. I wonder if my ghost stories creeped her out?
To top today off I missed a very important meeting with Sir David of A.C.K., better known in the art community as David Nigel Lloyd Director of Arts Programs for the Arts Council of Kern. You'll be hearing more about him soon. Let's just say he's an incredibly accomplished artist who promotes high standards of artistic and cultural excellence in community programs.
I was fifteen minutes late when I even realized I was late. Not good when you want to be a resource for the art community. I wandered down to Dagny's, prayed for a blessing, but was denied by the big man upstairs as he had already left. The kind girl who fixed me up a blended lemon ice drink with whipped cream asked if I was N.L.... I sheepishly admitted...
Sal from Liars and Thieves wandered past. We had a brief chat. That was right before seeing one of the members of Johnny Come Lately/Norfolk say hello. Talk about some great musicians and artists in one lonely coffeehouse where writers don't show up on time...
There's so much talk about The War Days movie premiere on the war days blog... (please leave a comment too so we can let the community know how exciting it is to have kids creating great art). There's going to be a big premiere, but it's all being kept under wraps. Next thing you know this movie is going to bump Star Wars May 19th debut at the ArcLight....
The War Days, a student film by Director Landen Belardes includes kids from both Curran Middle School and Tevis Junior High. In a bold George Lucas-esque move, War Days film director Landen Belardes stated recently, "I think we need a bigger release for this film. Everyone is so excited I think we need to have a big Hollywood type of showing." Distributing without a big showing became an even bigger issue recently. "Why should we distribute our film without a media showing? That wouldn't be too cool," Belardes stated. He indicated a media blitz showing and hinted this may take place at a major downtown venue or at Curran Junior High itself.
The War Days is an exciting all-student film with a special cameo appearance by a local celebrity. The film features local music from bands such as The Filthies, Broken Record Gospel, Liars and Thieves, Seven to the Right, the Dalloways, and Norfolk.
What’s this? Rob Shock, lead Irish hellion from that new rural rock punk band Flabbergasted has just called out radio jockey Rocky Nash? Looks like there's going to be a rough and tumble over Flabbergasted's drummer who seems to be in a sudden tug of war over his percussion skills. I don't know where the big bruhaha is going to be. Maybe behind a 7-11, maybe in front of the downtown police station. Maybe it will be a drink to the finish, with the last drunk standing getting the big prize. Either way, I'm sure it's going to be all knuckles. No chains and padlocks to the heads here. Here's the scoop:
In an email titled, “I’m calling out Rocky Nash,” Rob states,
My drummer Oscar Gomez is going to a Rocky Nash practice session to try out. Apparently they courted him after our first show. Of course, it's completely up to him if he wanted to go, and I would understand and wish him luck. But before he decides, there's going to be a lot of bargaining, pleading and crying. Because he's a good drummer, and a good drummer is hard to find.
Posted Wednesday, April 20th on Rob Shock’s blog it reads:
Get your own damn drummer, Rocky Nash
The day after 3 Cent Nickle broke up, I knew one person to turn to to make things right. I started a new project with drummer Oscar Gomez. We've been playing together since last November. Finally, I have a full band in Flabbergasted and we had our first show. Our stuff is good, our sound is good, we have a lot of good feedback.
But before it's all getting to a good start, I find out that Rocky Nash has asked my drummer to be their drummer. I love Rocky, listened to her since she first started on Real Rock 93.1 and now on KRAB. But dammit, Rocky! A good drummer is hard to find, and you ain’t gettin mine that easy. There's gonna be a rumble in Bako tonight, figuratively.
Rob Shock loves you!
SATURDAY
The Dome, 2201 V St.
11:30 a.m.: South of Shaw
12:05 p.m.: 40 to One
12:40 p.m.: 2 Cent
1:15 p.m.: Bleed The Sky
1:55 p.m.: Slant
2:35 p.m.: Cattle Decapitation
Genre: Death metal
Online: www.cattledecapitation.com
Quote: The band with the "professional death metal sound" with the "pro-vegetarian/gore-oriented lyrical stance." -- MSN.com
3:20 p.m.: Aroarah
4 p.m.: F-Loader
4:40 p.m.: Short And Sweet
5:20 p.m.: Local H
6:05 p.m.: American Standard
6:45 p.m.: Level
7:30 p.m.: Synthetic Delusion
8:15 p.m.: Boy Hits Car
9 p.m.: ThroatShot
Genre: Hard-core metal
Online: www.throatshot.com
Bio: This Bakersfield band with the extreme name has been a Jerry's Pizza staple and plays all over the valley, shredding out songs like "Peachfuzz" and the valley air appropriate sounding, "Blacken My Lungs."
9:40 p.m.: Guttermouth
10:30 p.m.: Adema
11:25 p.m.: HEDp.e.
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SUNDAY
Stramler Park, 3805 Chester Ave.
Stages one and two
11:30 a.m.: Give Impulse
11:50 a.m.: Unfocused
12:10 p.m.: Innocence
12:30 p.m.: Flight 409
12:50 p.m.: Relapse Trigger
1:10 p.m.: Paredim Shift
1:30 p.m.: End Of All Hope
1:50 p.m.: Shot Blue
2:10 p.m.: Myndisck
2:30 p.m.: If All Else Fails
2:55 p.m.: ADD
3:20 p.m.: The Dares
Genre: Pop punk
Online: www.thedares.com
Bio: Band members aren't old enough to drink, but you're never too young to rock. Nominated by the 2005 Orange County Music Awards in the "Best Punk Band" category, The Dares are an East Coast, teenage pop-punk band helmed by a couple of 15-year-olds. The band was started by twin brothers Matt Peterson (drums and vocals) and Ben Peterson (guitar and vocals) back in 1998 when they were only 8 years old.
3:50 p.m.: Holden
4:15 p.m.: Victory Within
4:40 p.m.: Day At The Fair
5:05 p.m.: Army of Freshmen
Genre: Pop punk
Online: www.armyoffreshmen.com
Bio: Without an agent, record label or money, Army of Freshmen has managed to play more than 500 shows in 37 states and two countries. They've played with Good Charlotte, AFI, The Ataris, Sum 41, Alkaline Trio and Yellowcard.
5:35 p.m.: El Pus
6 p.m.: Red Gun Radar
6:30 p.m.: Society One
7 p.m.:Big B
7:30 p.m.: The Dreaming
8 p.m.: Mower
8:30 p.m.: Home Grown
9:15 p.m.: Kottonmouth Kings
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SUNDAY
Stramler Park, 3805 Chester Ave.
Stage three
2 p.m.: Haloscene
2:40 p.m.: Hostility
3:20 p.m.: Empty Handed
4 p.m.: Gridlokt
4:40 p.m.: Divide The Day
5:20 p.m.: Brand X Savior
6 p.m.: Swag 667
6:45 p.m.: The Filthies
 
Rural Rock Punksters, The Filthies have a new cd coming out soon titled, Rare. I had the pleasure of joining them in the studio for a listen to two of their new bovine cd tunes. Here I was in the heart of the new rural rock punk movement, listening to the creative energy flow as lead man Kenny 'Motor' Mount bantered with guitarist Gus, bass player Kelly, and veteran punk drummer, Eric 'Guppy' Bonilla. The filthy jokes were flying, the music was just as catchy as ever, only with a slightly harder edge that sent the punk flying through the room in swooning echoes where punk meets rural meets rock, just neatly tucked away in downtown Bakersfield, CA...
We soon left the Filthy Lair for a brief visit to B2 Studios. Sharon was inside fiddling with a few new Filthies tracks. But then Kenny talked her into playing a ragtime Muskrat song for us on a nearby keyboard. Embarrassed at first, she worked the keyboards while Kenny drummed along. Sharon's mother was a yodeler from yesteryear. We saw a few streaming clips of her mom yodeleeedohaadeeeuhheeeeyodeleeeooo-in', then called it a night.
  
matildakay was around to check out the filthy sounds...
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