Orange soda, good music and a long night at Studio 99 - By N.L. Belardes
I had an orange soda—Jarritos brand from the Rancho Market—in the bottle. It’s a fiesta every time I go inside the market on South H Street here in Bakersfield, Ca. I dance down the aisles to the music overhead. I buy a little carne asada. I get home. I cook it up while making a fresh salsa. And I drink a Jarritos: Guava, lime, orange...
I didn’t have a way to get to Studio 99 the other night when I’d just popped the lid on that big orange flavored Mexican drink. I called everyone I knew; even Enrique Fuentes was off riding in his big silver Mercedes. He’d already hit the road to Hollywood for some shindig with Michelle Pfiefer. What’s up there? I had my orange Jarritos in hand and went to the Internet and posted a bulletin. Pretty soon I had several offers: JR, a kid I didn’t know, and Daniel from Studio 99. But then Flower in the Dale offered to drop me and my Jarritos off in the central Bakersfield warehouse district: Buck Owen’s backyard, not more than a fat bottle rocket’s flight from Antonino Street to one of those creepy mannequins standing like Gunsmoke Sentinels on Buck’s big Crystal Horse: The Crystal Palace balcony.
It was around 7:30 when I arrived. I had hoped to catch Endrio’s set. These guys are super intense hardcore and I could hear them keeping pace with their own wildly beating hearts… But then the show ended before I could get to the door to see them rocking.
Backstage I saw some of them trying to catch their breath; they did. I just sipped my orange soda and smiled. Rock and rollers passed back and forth from an assortment of bands. There was about five in all for the evening. Some people went to go sit on a couch. Others passed posters and CDs around. I guess they didn’t know I reviewed them. I was just a strange old face in the room drinking an orange soda and holding a camera. Who knows? Maybe they thought I was a groupie tourist.
I shook a few hands here and there. But then I heard From Ritual to Romance finishing setting up.
I was hungry. I didn’t eat dinner. But I still had some orange soda left.
Next up was Big Daddy Ruben ValVerde, freshly turned 21, and still suffering from the previous night’s birthday celebration. The show went fine. Rhythm guitarist, David broke a few strings and cried about it. I would too. It’s a pain in the butt changing those things. I heard someone mutter, “That’s why you have a back-up guitar.” All I could think was these guys break equipment cause they’re such wild rock stars. They’re probably down to their last instruments. Their music sounded clean and hard and tough. Ruben screamed like he was dying. It was just part of the song and so no mouth-to-mouth was needed. He knows I’m kidding. I told him after the show how much I enjoyed the set. He claimed it was one of their worst. Oh well. That’s why I’m a writer and not some sound expert.
I saw Marky Pope: security thug extraordinaire; old Tule Fog Mascot; hockey fighter skater thug on the in-lines... We traded a few stories and then I went and leaned up against a wall. I got fidgety. I took a picture of a beat car in the back lot.
Then I went and leaned against the wall some more. Not a lot of N.L. Belardes fans in this place. That’s what I get for not bringing flyers. Some dudes with pizza boxes passed into the backstage area… No problem. I can’t eat cheese; I wouldn’t beg for any.
Next up was North Hollywood band In This Moment. Maria Brink was hot. She could sing, move, scream like Shane and was peppered with the coolest tattoos. I took some of her hand farther into the night. Why not? She was all for it. Their set was intense, dark, spirited—not dismal or unentertaining at all—and she even went into the audience to shake it up with the kids lusting after her and the band’s great music…
Next up was band, Bleed the Sky. I was still plastered up against a wall. I snapped some pictures while wondering if any of the bands in the joint would head out to my art show the following morning. Not that I expected Bleed the Sky to go. I didn’t even meet them that night. None to worry. They were almost as intense as In This Moment, but not quite there. I saw Simon of Myndsick. He’s got a messed up knee he’s nursing, so he limped into the show…
Finally Throatshot was up. These guys are so intense and put on such a dark mood you almost have to go zombie on them, raise your arms and walk bug-eyed toward the stage like some undead music hungry beast. Brad sang and wrapped his mic chord around his hand like a garrote ready to choke himself or anyone nearby. I hoped it wasn’t me. I had a few pictures to take.
Rohan—he’s the guy who played me a song off their CD that’s being mastered. He played it over at the Fish Fry where his truck was parked. He told me before the show that the CD wasn’t mastered yet. No wait, I think that was Darin who told me… Rohan jammed at the keyboards. These guys are so dark I swear monsters come crawling from the walls, creep towards the stage like demons sprouting wings then monstrously do some kind of otherworldly incubus cha-cha because they want to hear the music so bad. Maybe it’s my mind that just plays with me at such moments… but Throatshot wins hands down for the darkest music in Bakersfield. I proudly present them with a bloody goblin head trophy for such darkness…hurry, take it guys, it’s dripping on my Docs. I really like their music; it's better than Korn to me. Forget that someone muttered, “Their vocals are too loud.” I walked right up to the stage and shot them all with my own bloody lens eye… snap after snap while their demented music washed over me… I captured such music as only Bakersfield post-hardcore industrial experts like Throatshot could throw upon me with such horrific destruction in musical genius…
Hands down, my best music scene photo.
It was a lucky shot...
As for Throatshot's music? It was beautiful.
And I was hungry. So I only hung out for part of My Ruin. About three songs worth. Then I hitched a ride home...
I’d just spent hours capturing the history of the moment. Who for? The musicians? The fans? For the sake of history?
I went home and went to bed.
I knew I was going to have a long day the next day what with writing blogs and then attending a brief art show and all.
Only one band showed up to the art show. It's OK. A lot of people had things to do. Heath Dobbler had to help his dad. Some band went camping. Norfolk was somewhere. The Dalloways were digging trenches. 22 bands were somehow on stage between 5-7 pm the next day because none of them made it out, The Filthies were in the studio. Blah Blah Blah...Another had to do something else...others said they just didn't know about the art event. How tragic.
Oh wait, I almost forgot, I spent almost five hours at Studio 99 that night. But I guess I didn't have anything to do other than be there...
I'm just there to sacrifice my time and support the bands.
We'll see if I attend any more shows from here on out.
The music scene has JR and Belton and Dobbler.
I'm guessing that's plenty of folks to cover it all.
It was nice doing business with ya Bakersfield music scene.
I didn’t have a way to get to Studio 99 the other night when I’d just popped the lid on that big orange flavored Mexican drink. I called everyone I knew; even Enrique Fuentes was off riding in his big silver Mercedes. He’d already hit the road to Hollywood for some shindig with Michelle Pfiefer. What’s up there? I had my orange Jarritos in hand and went to the Internet and posted a bulletin. Pretty soon I had several offers: JR, a kid I didn’t know, and Daniel from Studio 99. But then Flower in the Dale offered to drop me and my Jarritos off in the central Bakersfield warehouse district: Buck Owen’s backyard, not more than a fat bottle rocket’s flight from Antonino Street to one of those creepy mannequins standing like Gunsmoke Sentinels on Buck’s big Crystal Horse: The Crystal Palace balcony.
It was around 7:30 when I arrived. I had hoped to catch Endrio’s set. These guys are super intense hardcore and I could hear them keeping pace with their own wildly beating hearts… But then the show ended before I could get to the door to see them rocking.
Backstage I saw some of them trying to catch their breath; they did. I just sipped my orange soda and smiled. Rock and rollers passed back and forth from an assortment of bands. There was about five in all for the evening. Some people went to go sit on a couch. Others passed posters and CDs around. I guess they didn’t know I reviewed them. I was just a strange old face in the room drinking an orange soda and holding a camera. Who knows? Maybe they thought I was a groupie tourist.
I shook a few hands here and there. But then I heard From Ritual to Romance finishing setting up.
I was hungry. I didn’t eat dinner. But I still had some orange soda left.
Next up was Big Daddy Ruben ValVerde, freshly turned 21, and still suffering from the previous night’s birthday celebration. The show went fine. Rhythm guitarist, David broke a few strings and cried about it. I would too. It’s a pain in the butt changing those things. I heard someone mutter, “That’s why you have a back-up guitar.” All I could think was these guys break equipment cause they’re such wild rock stars. They’re probably down to their last instruments. Their music sounded clean and hard and tough. Ruben screamed like he was dying. It was just part of the song and so no mouth-to-mouth was needed. He knows I’m kidding. I told him after the show how much I enjoyed the set. He claimed it was one of their worst. Oh well. That’s why I’m a writer and not some sound expert.
I saw Marky Pope: security thug extraordinaire; old Tule Fog Mascot; hockey fighter skater thug on the in-lines... We traded a few stories and then I went and leaned up against a wall. I got fidgety. I took a picture of a beat car in the back lot.
Then I went and leaned against the wall some more. Not a lot of N.L. Belardes fans in this place. That’s what I get for not bringing flyers. Some dudes with pizza boxes passed into the backstage area… No problem. I can’t eat cheese; I wouldn’t beg for any.
Next up was North Hollywood band In This Moment. Maria Brink was hot. She could sing, move, scream like Shane and was peppered with the coolest tattoos. I took some of her hand farther into the night. Why not? She was all for it. Their set was intense, dark, spirited—not dismal or unentertaining at all—and she even went into the audience to shake it up with the kids lusting after her and the band’s great music…
Next up was band, Bleed the Sky. I was still plastered up against a wall. I snapped some pictures while wondering if any of the bands in the joint would head out to my art show the following morning. Not that I expected Bleed the Sky to go. I didn’t even meet them that night. None to worry. They were almost as intense as In This Moment, but not quite there. I saw Simon of Myndsick. He’s got a messed up knee he’s nursing, so he limped into the show…
Finally Throatshot was up. These guys are so intense and put on such a dark mood you almost have to go zombie on them, raise your arms and walk bug-eyed toward the stage like some undead music hungry beast. Brad sang and wrapped his mic chord around his hand like a garrote ready to choke himself or anyone nearby. I hoped it wasn’t me. I had a few pictures to take.
Rohan—he’s the guy who played me a song off their CD that’s being mastered. He played it over at the Fish Fry where his truck was parked. He told me before the show that the CD wasn’t mastered yet. No wait, I think that was Darin who told me… Rohan jammed at the keyboards. These guys are so dark I swear monsters come crawling from the walls, creep towards the stage like demons sprouting wings then monstrously do some kind of otherworldly incubus cha-cha because they want to hear the music so bad. Maybe it’s my mind that just plays with me at such moments… but Throatshot wins hands down for the darkest music in Bakersfield. I proudly present them with a bloody goblin head trophy for such darkness…hurry, take it guys, it’s dripping on my Docs. I really like their music; it's better than Korn to me. Forget that someone muttered, “Their vocals are too loud.” I walked right up to the stage and shot them all with my own bloody lens eye… snap after snap while their demented music washed over me… I captured such music as only Bakersfield post-hardcore industrial experts like Throatshot could throw upon me with such horrific destruction in musical genius…
Hands down, my best music scene photo.
It was a lucky shot...
As for Throatshot's music? It was beautiful.
And I was hungry. So I only hung out for part of My Ruin. About three songs worth. Then I hitched a ride home...
I’d just spent hours capturing the history of the moment. Who for? The musicians? The fans? For the sake of history?
I went home and went to bed.
I knew I was going to have a long day the next day what with writing blogs and then attending a brief art show and all.
Only one band showed up to the art show. It's OK. A lot of people had things to do. Heath Dobbler had to help his dad. Some band went camping. Norfolk was somewhere. The Dalloways were digging trenches. 22 bands were somehow on stage between 5-7 pm the next day because none of them made it out, The Filthies were in the studio. Blah Blah Blah...Another had to do something else...others said they just didn't know about the art event. How tragic.
Oh wait, I almost forgot, I spent almost five hours at Studio 99 that night. But I guess I didn't have anything to do other than be there...
I'm just there to sacrifice my time and support the bands.
We'll see if I attend any more shows from here on out.
The music scene has JR and Belton and Dobbler.
I'm guessing that's plenty of folks to cover it all.
It was nice doing business with ya Bakersfield music scene.
This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on
Tuesday, August 09, 2005.
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