Back From the Dead, Again Several months back Riff Raff began noticing some hustle and bustle at 628 Divisadero -- the address which has housed the Vis, the Half Note, the Consultant's Lounge, the Kennel Club, and the Crash Palace, to mention a few. In the course of the space's 30-year history, it has changed hands more times than anyone is likely to recall, leading many folks to speculate that the room could never be made a real success. Still, this didn't stop avid music fans from missing it once it was gone, including 28-year-old Michael O'Connor, who began bidding on the club the day the doors shut over two-and-a-half years ago. "I always loved the space," said O'Connor. "The building, the vibe. I love the location because it's right in the center of the city. There's great energy left here from a wide variety of events. I hope to be able to integrate that into the new club." O'Connor's previous nightclub, the ultra-progressive Mr. Five's, was one of the first spots in San Francisco to focus on DJ culture and the budding new jazz scene. When it closed five years ago. O'Connor turned his attention back to the family business of furniture design and opened Catharsis, but even then he was looking for another dance club. "I knew that I couldn't afford to open a brand new space because of all of the difficulties with codes and licensing," O'Connor said. "But I didn't think it would be such a problem with a 30-year-old club. I was wrong." After nearly eight months of lease negotiations, O'Connor spent another nine trying to get the club's licenses reissued. Repeated delays forced him to cancel shows (DJ Shadow, Pancho Sanchez, and Bobby Matos among them) which were slotted for this month's originally scheduled opening. "They haven't made it easy," said O'Connor. "The process has been ridiculously slow. When Mr. Five's closed I was still considered one of the first movers in the field of DJ culture and progressive music. Now, I really have to play a lot of catch-up. I've got my work cut out for me." As could be expected, the focus of the as-of-yet unnamed club will be music, and not -- as O'Connor would say -- the peripheral garbage that usually goes along with clubbing South of Market. As to the type of music, O'Connor would only say that the spot will attract a wide variety of folks who like to dance, and, although the "feel" of the old Kennel Club is said to linger, O'Connor's expertise in interior design will be evident on opening day (sometime next month). Well-known graffiti artist Twist has also made some substantial contributions to the face lift. "It's very now," assures O'Connor. "It's not about the past, or even the future. It's San Francisco 1997." We would expect nothing less. (S.T.)
Sniff Test At the new European fetish club, Masquerade, not sporting the wool of the flock can cost an unsuspecting patron dearly, and literally. Aside from losing the sought-after acceptance of the cliquish club masses, one could end up spending three times more on the cover charge than those deemed "fashionable." The caste system is structured something like this: Those in fetish gear can enter for a mere $5, while folks in the substrata of gothic-industrial club accouterments are penalized an extra $3 dollars ($8 total), and those urchins crawling around in what the Masquerade doorman could label street clothes cough up an extra $10 ($15). However, management could simply be establishing equality by ensuring that everyone gets screwed, and not just the kinky folks. Riff Raff suggests going naked with the word "pretentious" sliced into your chest. They'll probably waive the cover altogether. (R.A.)
Symp. for the Devil "We've always said that you get out of Burning Man what you put into it. It's obvious Mr. Otis put a lot into it." That's Burning Man founder Larry Harvey talking about religious zealot George Otis at last week's press conference at Upper Haight's Booksmith. Otis is the man behind "Invasion From the Dark Side," a beautifully written story in the March 1997 issue of Charisma, a national Christian magazine. The article claims that the 10,000 folks who participated in the 1996 event in the middle of Nevada's Black Rock Desert "asked Satan to take them to hell." Otis writes that he and his colleague prayed for the participants just as Abraham prayed for the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah, but goes on to say that the masses are walking on a slippery slope toward paganism that prayer alone can't thwart. At the Booksmith, where Harvey and Editor Brad Wieners were flogging their new coffee table book of Burning Man photos and essays, Harvey took about a half hour to describe just exactly where Otis missed. Each year the folks behind Burning Man create a narrative, a play that everyone can act in. Last summer, the premise involved a bid for the festival itself: Helco, a major corporation that had supposedly bought hell out from under Satan, was making an offer for the rights to Burning Man. During the festival, the Helco plan fell apart when "angry protesters" destroyed Satan's citadel and burned the Helco corporate headquarters to the ground. The intrepid Christian reporter told his readers a different story. In Otis' version, which Harvey says he repeated on Pat Robertson's 700 Club, Satan makes the deal, ignites Helco, and then leads a ghoulish procession to torch a physical representation of the church. "In our story Satan lost," said Harvey. "In his, Satan won. But that makes sense because [Otis and Robertson] need him so much more." Harvey's narrative continued into the press conference itself, complete with costumed actors. After Helco sacked Satan last summer, the devil ended up homeless in San Francisco. Outfitted in a blazing orange jumpsuit and cursing with the accent of a New York cabbie, Beelzebub said he was working with his welfare counselor to get a job devising a Hell World theme park at Oral Roberts University in Tulsa, Okla. Harvey announced that Satan would not appear at 1997's Burning Man festival at the Hualapai Playa. "This year we are satirizing cults and paganism," Harvey said to the Booksmith crowd. Satan's replacement? "You all know her. You've all felt her," said Harvey. "Cruel mistress Gaia. Ladies and gentlemen, Mother Earth." The motley audience turned away from Harvey to watch a woman painted green and crowned with peacock feathers parade through the store. Satan, of course, could not handle losing the Burning Man gig and demanded the two duke it out. Eventually Satan and Gaia sat down for an arm-wrestling match. After a short téte-à-téte, Gaia put the devil on the floor. "You lose again, Satan," said the sprite. (J.S.)
Sub Pap Last September, PopSmear Records relocated to the Bay Area with their only act, SoCal's Deflator Mouse. The two-year-old label, which was founded by 29-year-old Scott Llamas and Todd Sievers (formerly of American Recordings; now of 3AM Management), wasted no time in signing 10 local acts (all of which appear on their upcoming sampler). The bands -- Fine to Drive, Slow Poisoners, Fitsners, Flexapleasers, Nukes, Blue Sky Roadster, Hot Jonny, Swirl Happy, and Scratch Ticket -- may all have the opportunity to work with PopSmear's producer Greg Hetsen, of Bad Religion, Circle Jerks, and Redd Kross fame. Hetsen will also be pulling double duty for PopSmear's A&R department. Young punks take note. PopSmear celebrates the release of their sampler, a remix of Flexapleasers' Beautiful Music for Beautiful People, and Deflator Mouse's If God Were a DJ on Wednesday, May 21 at the Transmission Theater. (S.T.)
What's Wrong With This Picture, Cont'd Reader John Lyons was kind enough to provide insight into the cover art from Boz Scaggs' latest, Come On Home, mentioned in this space last week. Lyons sent a photocopy of a 1966 "Dance-Concert" poster for the Otis Redding Show, apparently the source of the manipulated poster hawking Boz Scaggs at Slim's on the cover of the album. Lyons writes: "At least Scaggs didn't borrow the portion of the 1966 Redding poster about being the #1 R&B vocalist, but he borrowed the rest, down to the pose in the picture. What's next, Pat Boone does James Brown?" (M.B.)
Kuntry Kocks? The Kuntry Kunts just had a sex change. Bassist Ellen Yellowbird, guitarist Joe Airborne, and drummer Sue Trayling have decided to leave the all-female country band. The lineup change came after Airborne and Yellowbird opted for a slower-paced life and moved to Guerneville, Calif.; Trayling left soon after out of apathy. Said co-founding member J. Byrd Hosch: "We wanted to keep it an all-girl band, but no one responded to the ads, so we broadened our horizons." Hosch hit it off with guitarist Adam Hancock, which led to an audition where he brought along friends Noah Mackenzie and Jason Pienkowski, who happened to play bass and drums. Having a natural synergy with Hosch and Myra Martini's playing style, the boys are happy to call themselves Kunts. "We were going to change the name, but the new members are OK with it," said Hosch. "We're so much of a better band now, and it's definitely broadened our audience." (R.A.)
The Young and the X-less, Part 8 Riff Raff has received a copy of Ecstasy Club in hardcover format, due for release on June 4! Though our final two excerpts will lack the provocative metagrammatical qualities found in the uncorrected proof -- a sad compromise for the official release -- Douglas Rushkoff's "bleeding-edge" foray into the absurd, yet profound, world of ravers has lost little of its concept-dropping vim! Thrill to the story "destined to be a cult classic" as our protagonists rally for war, X-style! (M.B.)
We built a fire and cooked some turkey franks on the ends of sticks. It was almost quaint. After we ate, we stared into the fire and thought about the mission ahead. As if on cue from Duncan, Henry produced a plastic bag from his vest pocket. It contained a few hits of orange DMT powder.
"Let's focus together," Duncan said. Then he looked at me. "It will help unify the group."
I was feeling so worn out from all the coke and desperate for any high at all that I gladly took hold of the pipe and received my dose. It was smaller than the last time, but in a few seconds it came on.
I closed my eyes and flashed on my father. He was treasurer of our temple in Westport, Connecticut, when I was growing up. I remembered how I used to sit at his feet at the dining-room table as he added up the membership checks and holiday contributions. Once, after a Purim carnival, we went to the bank together to deposit the thousands of quarters they had collected from the carnival games. The bank had a big machine that counted the change, and the man behind the desk let me pour in the bags of quarters and watch them get stacked into neatly wrapped rolls stamped with the bank's insignia.
"It's fun, isn't it?" my father asked me. I wanted to say yes, but for some reason I couldn't.
That's when I saw them again. The lizard men in the white sedans. I was still six years old, playing with a toy spaceship. They just pulled up to the curb and watched me. I was too young for them to attack. They only needed to monitor me. Check on my progress.
I realized who they were. The past. The lizard brain. Evolutionary history. The backward pull -- almost equal and opposite to the great attractor at the end of time. The antagonists to progress. The keepers of the status quo. The enemy.
One of them reached into his jacket. I thought he was drawing a weapon, but he wasn't. It was a wrapped roll of quarters stamped with a Jewish star. He lowered his window and smiled. It was E.T. Harman.
"It was fun, wasn't it?" he asked.
Riff Raff riffraff: Robert Arriaga (R.A.), Michael Batty (M.B.), Johnny DiPaola (J.D.P.), Karl D. Esturbense (K.D.E.), Jeff Stark (J.S.), Silke Tudor (S.T.), and Bill Wyman (B.W.). Send Bay Area music news, band stories, or petty gripes to mbatty@sfweekly.com, or mail it to Riff Raff, c/o SF Weekly. No flack, please.
