Member Since: 23/04/2005
Band Members: Digital D, Fugitive Pope, Chism, and a spaceship full of knucleheads
Influences: Iggy Spock, Bleached Blond Baby Snatchers, Gang of Whore, Surfing Psychotics, Diet Non Fat Soy FrippachEno, The Hotrod Heathens, David "Thin White" Buddah, The Countess 5, Dirty Kraftcan, The Deep Fried Celebrities, Clash Worship, Pink Gristle, Karlheinz Cage, Agent 99, Philip Reich, Andy's Worn Hole, Liquid Owsley, Dessert Sessions, Hunter S. Bukowski, deaD BUCHLA
Sounds Like: The noise between two shortwave radio stations.. width="425" height="350" .. That was a true gem of a story. I was there for a moment...then I cried
for I wasn't...---------------------------------------- October 13,
2007 - Saturday The Alien’s at The Palms Category: Religion and
Philosophy Every so often The Aliens appear. Tonight while I write
this, stepping out from the pull of their sound. I am next door, while
they play, I am taking a break to write something down. One song is forty
five minute long, even before the singer sings. My seat is rumbling,
the dog is pacing while chewing up a copy of Finnegan's Wake I bought
at a yard sale today. Even from a few hundred yards of desert away
and through the walls of this house they sound great! Up close they are
a Super Nova. We've had bands before hurl equipment on the stage, by
the load. But the Aliens win hands down, having a few miles of
cables, connecting the of snarled tunes. One cable goes all the way to
Joshua Tree and it takes the long way through the night sky. And many, many
amps, and gadgets, foot pedals, synth drums, all sort of cool
spectacular instruments, a long horn Danelectrode, a vintage Rickenbacker.
Broken stuff too, that costs a fortune, I am sure. The fire burns in
front of the stage. Ten people on the stage. Some I know, some I
recognize, but they are incognito, in marching band uniform, a snow mobile
suit, a hula skirt and military jacket – maybe that dude is or isn't
in the band? Dana the fearless leader, the bass player from Stobo,
Victoria Williams with her telecaster. Some of them are in the crowd,
they are the crowd. Before they play some originals, like a far out,
Haight Street sound check echoing twenty five or thirty years of street,
and quoting sounds, some songs, unidentifiable sounds, almost moods,
concocted with bubbling senses, cementious sounds. Sandy sounds.
Victoria sings quietly, yet maybe a ground loop hum is part of the song
too, something gone amiss, there was a hum, a bank of fluorescent s
frying a bug, and the drummers synthed-out, ride-cymbal like an amplified
fish tank bubbler. She sung a blues tune about New Orleans.
Sensuously, warmly, odd, like how Victoria does it, you can't grasp. Next to
this, amazing voice is the codified Alien style. The Aliens are
spectacular. Once you get what they are up to, then they change to surf
guitar, Ventures numbers, MC5, Hendrix, the scary part of iron Butterfly,
and pert, funky riffs, go on and on, lilting jerry Garcia in a cement
truck. Gang of Four done Russian with a pinch of Iraqi or Devo gone
curry, middle eastern, sashimi pizza that will kung fu your trailer off
it's jack. Smashed in a closet of records, closet loves, LP's, they
fight for territory and win anything they can shake loose. I am still
not even close. They are original. I can smell the tubes cooking. The
bell rings and the light on the car driving down Amboy is drooling,
tuned to an A. It all fits, it's been four hours and they are on there
third song. I noticed a set list one of them was carting by. It took up
a stack of papers. Or it was a epic manual of the "performed ending"
one of them was working on while they played the first song.Laura Sibley (co-owner of The Palms Wonder Valley, Ca. and guitarist/vocalist for The Sibleys)
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Record Label: Unknown Indie
Type of Label: Unsigned