LIFTING THE K-HOLE
Last Sunday was one of those whose just-right Santa Fe sunshine, combined with a helpful double-dose of Aztec Café espresso, yanked me out of a cynical K-hole and filled me with an emotion I rarely feel, and so when I do feel it, I get confused: optimism. There has, of late, been much doom-and-gloom chatter concerning the musical state of Santa Fe, and I admit I both believed and helped propagate it. But what could be more invigorating than a late-morning chat with goofy strangers on the Aztec patio, their dreadlocks and tattoos competing for attention, as we all contemplate what this town
could
be, the changes we
could
make, if only we could get our hands on a little cash and find a decent practice space? It all makes so much sense at 10:30 on a bright fall morning.
"What is this weird bit of twinkling in my belly that's making the corners of my mouth curl up in this strange fashion?" I thought as I negotiated the idea of investing in a warehouse with a complete stranger. "Am I
smiling
? But how? I haven't even finished my latte."
It's there, that almost molecular charge winding its way through adobe streets, that "something new needs to happen," that makes you want to start a band or get a dog or kiss the very sexy woman sitting across from you on the porch at the Aztec. There is a zing and a verve and an energy in the air, beginning with the sweaty, cramped weekend dance scene at Fernando's Hideaway and blasting from cars in the form of obscure hip-hop and on DVD documentaries about the Human League, working its way through the week as Santa Feans plan to tuck themselves away as soon as the snow begins so they can toil on new projects, throw away their guitars and buy synthesizers, write that space-rock opera they've been wanting to do for some time now, honing their DJing skills 'til the wicky-wicky is sicky-sicky.
Sure, the weather was deceptively spring-like; sure, I had imbibed enough coffee to keep a battalion of Marines marching for days; and, sure, nothing makes you want to start a band more quickly than a hot chick smiling over her sunny breakfast. Yes, my optimism sprang from these things; but, more so, it was, I've finally figured out, about a week's worth of discussions with local folks who have transformed their disgust with the Railyard plans and bad music and Santa Fe apathy into something useful-a heady stew of anger, motivation and, yes, optimism:
If nobody else is gonna do it, we're just gonna do it ourselves.
Face it: We as a town have been in a cumulative K-hole for a while now. For every one thing that has fueled creative heat-e.g., Half Rack Studios; the re-opening of the Santa Fe Brewing Company for music business; the Hideaway-something, uh, challenging has occurred-the Paramount shutting down; the momentary momentum of Chilacas coming to a screeching halt; City Hall's total lack of interest in helping out musicians.
But there's also this: The creative underbelly of this town, full of people covered in paint-spattered clothes, living in hovels and smelling like mold, god bless 'em, has always adapted and re-formed, figured out a way, and they'll do it again this go 'round. The fact is, the current musical vacuum is tough, but it's the opportunity of a lifetime. It's a clean slate, and the swell of energy that's about to fill it is palpable: You can feel it at Fernando's, at the Candyman, at the new El Paseo Gallery/music space, at College of Santa Fe house parties, at Half Rack and Wise Fool Studios, at the occasional music shows at Phil Space, and at a coffee shop near you.
TWO FOR ONE
They're not local acts, but two upcoming shows, in fact, are heartening in both their vibrancy and breadth. Blackfire is a Native American band that draws on its Diné traditions while rocking out with a hybrid of punk, guitar-based rock and a touch of Native sound. They're a soulful trio, two brothers and a sister, whose tight edge once caught the ear of Joey Ramone (he sang background vocals on the group's "Lying to Myself.") Blackfire's background definitely comes into play in their music-the songs are political, and indigenous melodies and sensibilities weave their way through much of the trio's work-but to reduce Blackfire to a "novelty" Native punk act is both patronizing and dismissive. This is just a good, solid band, especially notable for guitarist/singer Klee Benally's strong, deep, confident vocals and brother Clayson Benally's intense and powerful drumming. Catch them, along with The Reddmen and Unofficial, Friday night at Warehouse 21 (7 pm, $5. 1614 Paseo de Peralta, 989-4423).
And then, of course, there's crazy-ass Jim White, the man responsible for the
Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus
soundtrack, and the only man alive who can seamlessly blend trip-hop, electronic beats and twisted country into something less like David Byrne's wet dream and more like a soundtrack for life in Santa Fe. The folks at CCA were smart enough to snatch up this FanMan show, so catch White there (8 pm, $19. 1050 Old Pecos Trail), and try out the new Santa Fe Community Box Office to get your tickets (988-1234 or
). Two excellent acts for a combination of $24-who says we don't have a music scene?
