Electric Jellyfish blew all the opening bands out of the rock n’ roll waters on March 16th at The Knockout in San Francisco. In an entirely too short set, this Aussie Trio had jams that would get off any rock n’ roll junkie. With fuzzy bass riffs, raspy punk vocals, and the occasional howl from the drummer, Electric Jellyfish had undeniable cohesion for 45 minutes. They rocked the tiny stage like a garage band that spent too much time practicing in basements, and finally got the chance to unleash their frenzy to the rock n’ roll community. Only they’ve been on the scene since mid-decade.
Front man Mike Breech’s stage presence captured the pristine primitiveness of rock n’ roll. His relationship with the mic in front of him mirrored that of a shark and it’s prey. Waiting to sing, Breech would eyeball it as if he were about to attack a little flounder. He flailed about with his guitar like kelp unresistant to the current. On the eve of Saint Patty’s, their set was almost as divine as kissing the Blarney Stone.
Plastic Crimewave Sound and Iggy Pop would be proud of their unrelenting but tasteful use of reverb without dipping off the psychedelic deep-end. These guys—in particular Breech—were so barbaric that it was surprising when they didn’t take their instruments to the ground at the end of the set.
The same energy cannot be said for the preceding two bands—San Francisco locals Heavy Hills and the Spyrals. Both psychedelic bands had performances analagous to a plankton in comparison to the excitement of, well, a jellyfish. The music was enjoyable, but was more 60s or Brian Jonestown Massacre-esque than abrasive.
Heavy Hills’s set was a constant flow of slightly doom-y psychedelic tunes—each song connected to the next with drone. The pinnacle of their set was a heavy psychedelic cover of “Who Do You Love.” However, the band’s less than lackluster stage presence bruised the band’s performance. They failed to engage—or even look at—the audience. It gave the impression The Hills didn’t think highly of the music they were playing. Thus, the audience become well acquainted with the backs of the four string players’ heads as they refused to look out. C’mon guys, unless you’re Miles Davis that’s not a permissible stunt.
The Spyrals had more of a 60s-pysch hipster image—right down to their shag haircuts, tight jean jackets, and rolled trousers exposing their shiny boots. Their low-energy seemed more intentional way to maintain coolness in apathy. They were the band that the Dandy Warhols could’ve become had they not traveled the mainstream route of Capitol Records. The Spyrals typified a San Francisco psych band—not bad, but exceptionally exciting. Nonetheless, they deserve praise for their one noisy tune—a cover of 13th Floor Elevators’ “Reverberation”, foreshadowing Jellyfish’s cutting cacaphony.
Mojo
