Show Up!: Fall Into Some Music

A Season Full Of Nighttimes Awaits

August March
7 min read
Fall Into Some Music
KRS-One (courtesy of the artist)
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“What is that cheerful sound?/ Rain fallin’ on the ground/ We’ll wear a jolly crown/ Buckle up, we’re wayward bound/ We’ll come back for Indian summer/ We’ll come back for Indian summer/ And go our separate ways/ Motorbike to cemetery/ Picnic on wild berries/ French toast with molasses/ Croquet and Baked Alaskas.” “Indian Summer,” by Beat Happening

Summer is done, okay?

You might as well just ironically and publicly proclaim, “Please come back, Mr. Sun!” for all the good it will do—even as you beat a cool retreat from a season that saw you dragging the swamp cooler around by the pump in July.

Better yet, remember wondering through Central Avenue at 2:30 in the morning with the absolutely profound surety that the burning orb—the symbol of an end to all parties, summer or otherwise—was not going to return, hellbent and on the horizon, in two and a half hours?

Not that any of that matters. As a sphere composed of white-hot plasma and gas,
el sol doesn’t really care what you think and our hemisphere will tilt away from the glowing god no matter what summer spells get cast. Let the season pass; put on some practical zapatas, grab a sweater just in case and return yourself to a season where the mornings are brisk, the afternoons are bright and the nights are gloriously, gorgeously dark and fecund with the fruit of mysterious musical moments. Or something like that, bruh.

Show Up!: Friday Part I

Bliss Witch courtesy of the artist
Okay, so you ought to know that about a dozen bands a day email or text the trans-dimensional persona known as August March every day. Mostly these humans make a sort of electronic contact because they want Mr. March to listen to the music they have made in the past or will make in the future. Once in a blue moon such aspirants give August a bell, telephonically relaying information about their aural produce to Weekly Alibi’s resident music critic.When those artists follow up such wiry vocal encounters with a for realz visit, March usually writes about them, as he finds such earnest enthusiasm encouraging.

That’s kinda what happened when
Bliss Witch, an alt.rock trio straight outta SLC, rolled down to Burque and ended up stopping by Alibi HQ—well their drummer Amy Lawson did the visiting, if you wanna know—to fill local residents in on their presence and ascendance en el Duque.

Amy told March, “We’ve been playing in Salt Lake City as a three piece for about two years. I’m out here because my husband is opening up a brewery called Turquoise Trail Brewing. It’s a decent scene in Salt Lake, but we’re hoping that a woman-fronted indie rock trio will do good here too.”

Bliss Witch, whose new record reminds me of mid-career Breeders or Veruca Salt with some Rachel Heisler thrown in for good measure, gigs at the
New Mexico State Fair Mattress Firm Pavilion (300 San Pedro NE), beginning at noon, on the second day of the fair, Friday, Sept. 7. FREE (w/fair admission of $10) • All-ages.

Show Up!: Friday Part Ii

Pherkad courtesy of the artist
Later that evening, after you have gotten a taste for the New Mexico State Fair, including awesome tuneage, a glittering midway, fry bread galore and a rodeo that will scare the bejezus outta you when you realize those are real bulls bucking to the finest in Country-Western music, set your controls for Downtown and rocket on down to Launchpad (618 Central Ave. SW) for a evening of post-Labor Day frivolity that includes a damn fine Sublime tribute show. That’s right, plenty of Burqueños still like to jam to the sounds of the ska-inflected, punked out jam band from Long Beach in Califas. Sublime, in case you are out of the loop, Herr Millennial, is a rock outfit whose main man, Bradley Nowell, died 22 years ago. That’s okay because multi-genre local luminaries Pherkad and Denver’s pychedelic beach goths Whole Milk will do just fine revisioning epic works such as “Santeria” and “Wrong Way.” Check it out homies, it’s like 40 ounces to freedom! 9pm • $5 • 21+.

Show Up!: Saturday

Dead Kennedys, circa 2018 courtesy of the artist
True story: In the spring of my senior year in high school, a good friend of mine came out as a communist. Back in the middle of the ’80s that was shocking I suppose, but not as shocking as was the sight of a young middle class white man wearing a red-star decorated beret and carrying around record albums with pictures of withered hands or a crucifix made out of dollar bills on their covers. The inclusion of albums by the Dead Kennedys—used as a device by some young Americans to define or refine their new, revolutionary, anarchic identities—made it all authentic in my opinion. Otherwise all that red stuff came off as so damn 19th century, dudes. Long story short: a party was held. All sorta cool kids were there. Someone put side two of In God We Trust, Inc. on the record player, just as a group of uninvited jocks stormed the house and punched all the freaks they could find before running out the door laughing and yelling impolite terms as they trashed the place. Afterwards we just carried on like nothing had happened. Everyone got laid that night, too, except the right-wing schmucks who had disappeared into the night. The spirit of that once in a lifetime gathering is one of the reasons you should go to a performance of the Dead Kennedys at Sunshine Theater (120 Central Ave. SW) on Saturday, Sept. 8. The other reason is because after Jello Biafra left, the dude from the “Courtship of Eddies Father” was their lead singer. Serio. The kid on the block, current vocalist Skip Greer, ain’t too shabby. And the rest of the crew (East Bay Ray, Klaus Flouride and D.H. Peligro) is still intensely intact, awesomely aggressive chops and all. And get this, T.S.O.L. and the Dwarves open! WTF, See you there, comrades! 8:30pm • $23 • 13+.

Show Up!: Sunday

And if that weren’t enough to make me one happy as hell and super satisfied Burqueño, then wake me up even if you have to slap me the next morning because KRS-One is playing a gig on Sunday night, Sept. 9 at Sister (407 Central Ave. NW). One of the most important figures in the rise and ultimate hegemony of hip-hop nation, the Blastmaster has defined and embraced methodologies as wide ranging as pure East Coast OG hardcore and experimental political rap. This was done to create and sustain a vision that, in essence views hip-hop as a divine idea whose spiritually transcendent effect is a religious experience. A vegan, whose blunt political beliefs—including harsh but awfully insightful comments about the media oppressors and 9/11—have resulted in a career marked by spikes of interest outside the glamorous world of popular music, Teacha, as he is now known heard has consistently hit it on tunes like “Get Your Self Up,” “Step Into a World” and “Ah Yeah.” His new album is called The World is MIND. That blows my mind: I totally suggest you get some of this on Sunday night, kids. It will be awfully nutritious and you can dance along, too. 8pm • $20 • 21+

Bliss Witch

courtesy of the artist


courtesy of the artist

Dead Kennedys, circa 2018

courtesy of the artist

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