On the Road to the Filthies and Mento: A tribute to the Dobbler Effect and Illpressed - By N.L. Belardes

I’d like to right away dedicate this entry to Heath Dobbler and Jesse Rivera. For one, I probably wouldn’t be writing on the Bakersfield music and art scene if it weren’t for stumbling across illpressed.com about a year ago and reading about local music. I knew I wanted to contribute to the scene, but if I hadn’t found Jesse’s site I probably would have tried an entirely different way to network with Bakersfield folks. I just hope Jesse continues writing. Jesse is a big part of the local Bakersfield music scene and has quite a passion for describing his experiences in the Bakersfield nightlife.

Writing takes a lot of energy. All you folks out there happily reading my site, Jesse’s, Heath’s and others are probably not aware of how much work and sacrifice away from family goes into recording our various perspectives of Bakersfield after dark. Our only compensation is the music and art that the Bakersfield scene provides for our entertainment.

Sure, I should start selling banner ads on my site, or add a ‘donation’ box, but would advertisers and the community really be supportive of our sites? Would you donate to keep a site like mine, Jesse’s, or Heath’s up and running? I don’t know, but I do know Jesse’s material to the populace has slowed considerably. And that bums me. He has made a huge sacrifice to cover the scene, and now, it’s as plain as day, he is not making the sacrifice now for whatever the reason. I just want to point out the incredible sacrifice Jesse has made to help bring you music news, free of charge. So I dedicate this entry to Jesse because he is inspirational even though he and I had a couple of stupid battles earlier in the year. But we found our groove and we support each other.

Example:

I called Jesse a few nights ago after hearing from Gramercy Riff that they were contributing a hockey song. They just heard about the Growing Up Fighting: Balersfield Hockey Vol. 1 and wanted a song on it. I joked with them and said something like, “Yeah, if you can get a song to me in a week.”

They did.

I called Jesse right away because he’s a huge fan of Gramercy Riff. “Hey Jesse, guess what?” I said.

“I hope you didn’t mind I just gave Gramercy Riff your number.”

He already knew. See, Jesse was ten steps ahead of me. As always, I have to dig for info on the music scene. Jesse just knows.

And of course this entry is also dedicated to Heath Dobbler. Old Heath, he’s been ranting on his site about asshole bell ringers and the country gone mad with idiot parents. I’ve steered clear of directly commenting. If I did I would get way too historical and political. He does some historical ranting, and I’m better left out of such discussions for fear it would make me look like a pretentious asshole.

Remember, I’m the guy who used to have a study carrel at the university with 100 books checked out at any given time. I’m the guy who literally walked down Gosford Road with one book up my ass and another opened as I headed to go study some more. Pick a topic in American history and I’ve read a bazillion books from 112 different perspectives and even studied the historians who wrote it to such detail that I knew how they grew up, what schools they went to, what their dreams were, and so forth… you get the point.

With that stated I will let Heath say what he has to say, and just yell, “Hear hear, good sir!” from the corner with my wimpy pear cider, and me all drunk but acknowledging that the concept of freedom in post-Millennial America is indeed manipulated by idiots on every level; and that includes the Federalists and anti-Federalists of yesteryear who argued about our ideologies, and then set up a government that caters to the wealthy. That’s about as political as I will get on here other than ranting about Danielle Belton being a liar, and her boss being a moron for calling me a bully.

So why emulate Heath today? Because he’s a no bullshit guy and I feel like writing a ‘no bullshit’ piece ala ‘The Dobbler Effect’ in scene writing which has a true gritty effect… just tell the people like it fucking is. Thanks punk-man, Heath. I’ll do that.

* * * *

So there I was hanging out last night with Matildakay and waiting for Mento Buru over at Lengthwise Brewery. I thought the show was at 7:30. I was wrong. I blame it all on this nasty cough and cold going around that has kicked my ass over the past five days. That and Thanksgiving. Nowadays when The War Days director and his brother aren’t around I just get all pissy. Maybe you have some big happy family gathering and turkey galore that you take for granted. When my homies are gone I have video games, football on TV, and my imagination. I had one friend stop by and that was after 6pm. Steve-O text messaged me. I got a couple of Happy Turkey Day calls, and one myspace Happy Day from Puck. That and a TV dinner. Holidays just aren’t too fun unless the kids are around. I don’t know how many time folks asked me, “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I think that’s a standard conversation piece when folks just don’t know what to ask or say. I just told people I was going to work on a screenplay.





So there I was the day after Turkey Day, happy I was at least getting some chicken and fries, and there was no Mento Buru. Show was at 9:00. Well, fuck me raw. I thought I had my night perfectly planned out: Mento Buru 7:30-9:30 at Lengthwise and The Filthies 10:00-11:00 at McGees. Wasn’t going to happen. I should have stayed home and counted leaves in the front yard until 8:30!



We stayed and watched some of Nunez. I was disgruntled with him disappearing at the Book Release Show. For shits and giggles I gave him a hard time right before his set with Nunez and friends… Yeah, I fucked with him. So what? Didn’t bother his set. Nunez was right on… I fuck with the Fresno Falcons too… I hope those flapper punks lose tonight at the Teddy Bear Toss. You ever see 10,000 stuffed animals rain down on the ice? No? Then get to the game tonight. You can try to hit me in the head with a Kermit the Frog, stuffed Tigger, Pooh Bear or Teddy Bear in the Media Zone… Go buy a stuffed animal to donate for the kids. You won’t regret it.





I also had a nice conversation with Rebecca. She had just been a dissed photographer at some low rider meets swap-meet wedding. She was at the show to see her man ska-dance like some big-socks wearing Cuban Ricky Ricardo gone Big Eighties. Yeah, that’s Matt Munoz. While he was tearing up the Bakersfield music scene with original tunes, your parents were wearing ska-suspenders at Chaos Coffee back in the Downtown Bakersfield day’s of the early 1990s. Yeah, walking history. Rebecca, she co-owned Chaos Coffee over where Rileys is now. She gave me the lowdown about why they closed… but that’s another story. Now she’s an elementary school farmer raising carrots and bunnies, and a photo-artist… She left to go have a smoke with Cesareo Garasa and that was the end of her visit.

Up walked Caleb, bass player for Mento Buru. “No more jams at Sandrinis?” I asked. Oh yeah, he has little ones and he’s on paternity leave to feed the younguns; kind of a busy guy.

Nunez got to jamming just after I talked it up with Mike from the Soulsteppers. We spoke about Soul DJs in the Bakersfield mix. Oh yeah, there is a scene for such music here. They do their thing at Jerrys. He razzed me for not showing up the night I said I would. I can’t help that I get tired at night… I had already done a book signing and a Condors game… I needed sleep. But I did feel bad for not making it.

McGees: that new pay-ten-dollars-or-see-the-highway joint over at the Icehouse. Shit if there wasn’t a dress code too. Hell, I’d taken one of my kids’ shirts to wear (Hate doing laundry. I’m a fucking Mr. Mom) and didn’t even realize it read “Skunk Records” on the back and “Slightly Stoopid” on the front. Great look-and-feel for a novelist/writer in the scene at a dress-up joint. Wonderful. I noticed some girls had their boobs done all up nice just for the occasion—probably ten grand each with gold plated nipples. Hooray for having such a cash flow. Well I had a free T-shirt on from the Hurricane Relief Show and felt just as pretty. Lookin’ good just doesn’t cost thousands of dollars in silicon, require bleach blonde hair, or a scheme to date a rich man named Bubba, who has a little dick, but drives a Beamer.

God, Heath, this is so liberating!

So there we were: me, Matildakay, and now Flower in the Dale. We were sitting on some cushy couch but then got asked to move. They didn’t want any spilled drinks on the stainable posh furniture. I can dig that.

So we moved to a booth and in walked Les Paw from Fatt Katt and the Vonzippers. And then Rob Shock and his wife, Liz. Of course we were all dressed in T-shirts. So much for the dress code. At least none of us had fakies.



I think Gus wants fakies. My throat was hurting from this shitty cold. You know Gus—he’s in The Filthies—and brought me a shot of tequila. He said, “It will burn the bacteria away in your throat.” Whatever. Just give me the shit before I cough all over Rob Shock. Oh yeah (I hate shots).

Needed a margarita to wash that down.



I got Rob Shock a little teary-eyed when I started talking a bit about the song “Power Play” that I’d been listening to a lot lately. Oh wait, let me spin it right now while I type this. Oh yeah, I dig it… Heath Dobbler singing, Rob Shock on lead in a great hockey punk song. I just wish that bastard Heath would have performed the song at the Rabobank. Fucker.

He knows I’m just jerking his punk-chain. Loosen it up a bit Heath and serenade me.



Feeling a little drunk I was a bit more open with my lingo which had Rob Shock laughing, “I’ve never seen Nick drink.” I squeezed a few knees under the table. I just hope it wasn’t Robs.



In came The Filthies. The fog machine gave the room a misty big rock show feel. Damn if the vocals weren’t too low. “Fuckin’ turn ‘em up, Kenny. I want to hear your vocals, not watch Gus shake his ass for Flower in the Dale all night.” Well, I wanted to yell that, anyways. None to fear, this was a great show in a great new venue for Bakersfield music. Flower in the Dale even got all hot and bothered about Gus in her blog. Geez, I wish the two would just get IT over with.



Yeah, the crowd outside seemed a little rough, filled with Jock bastards who would fight their own mothers out in the lot for just blinking the wrong way. I felt safer indoors with the rural rock punk band serenading me with their new song, “Condorstown.” Oh hell yes I was rocking! “Come on Condors don’t skate all night! Come on Condors let’s see a fight!!”

Now let’s hope the Condors take it to the Falcons tonight. Fuck em’ up, boys!

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Saturday, November 26, 2005. You can leave your response.