Last night we went to Bottom of the Hill to see Xiu Xiu. They've been touring with some pretty strange characters: Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone, Prurient, and Evangelista.

We missed Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone, an experimental viola and guitar duo, but made it in time to see Prurient, a noise "artist" who faces the back of the stage armed with a pair of microphones and a very small amp. He seemed to be trying to achieve the most ear-splitting and gut-rumbling sounds possible, which is fine, I suppose. Some people are more about getting you to feel the music rather than hear it, but it certainly thinned the crowd. I find it personally sort of annoying that in order to fully experience such a set, you have to sacrifice being able to really hear any of the following sets. I compromised. I stuck some napkins in my ears and waited for something interesting to happen. Nothing did. The set, however was blessedly short.

Evangelista was next, and they easily took up the remainder of Prurient's set just by standing around on the stage and talking. I've never seen a band take so long to set up. Evangelista's lead singer is the Geraldine Fibber's Carla Bozulich, and she clearly felt constrained by her role as a supporting act. She's gone from industrial rock to alt-country, and now she's doing gothic stuff, but it's like she jumped on the gothic train going backwards. The whole set filled me with a sort of uncomfortable nostalgia. Some of things I heard last night were "Thank you, Beezlebub!" and "There is one word which has not yet dried completely upon our parched lips. The word is...love! Can you say it with me? Love!" I was looking around to see what decade it was when, to my horror, I saw Miss Bozulich come down off the stage.

Now, this is something you may not know about me, but I am something of a magnet for performers who leave the confines of the stage. I was pretty far back in the crowd, though, and I thought, "There's no way her microphone will reach all the way back here." As it turns out, however, with help from the audience, it reached exactly far enough for her to grab me around the shoulders and press the microphone into my boobs (she's significantly shorter than me) and sing her next verse into my chest while the crowd parted around us. She smelled god-awful (hey, last day of touring--I've been there) and I wanted to punt her back on to the stage, but she had a lot of really obnoxious, heckling fans in the audience so I just bore it out.

Another thing you might not know about me: I am something of a magnet for six foot+ fans who come late and need someone to stand in front of. This is especially true if said fan has a big-ass messenger bag slung behind him, and even truer if they have a really long ponytail and/or are amateur flash photographers. I battled with two of these last night. Always a good time.

At last, Xiu Xiu took the stage, looking a little worse for the wear. A whiny Evangelista fan shouted up at them, "You're quiet!" "You're not," retorted Jamie Stewart. A snappy and appropriate comeback, to be sure, but not as good (according to the Aristocrat) as last time, when he told the opening heckler, "Stop being an asshole, right now."

The set was not as good (or as long) as the last show they played at BOTH. It featured heavily from the new album and was generally more rhythmically consistent and accessible than usual. Nevertheless, it is always great to see Xiu Xiu live. Each one of them is a virtuoso in their own right: Jamie, as a lyricist and performer of true passion and energy; Caralee as a musician who rarely plays fewer than two instruments at a time, and Ches as a percussionist who seems to play every piece in his six-foot-tall, 40-piece kit (half of them gongs) at the same time. Once I could have sworn he was playing with a whisk and a basting brush.

All in all, definitely worth it, but it was a lot to go through to see a fairly short Xiu Xiu set. I will seriously consider the number (and members, and fans) of the opening bands before going again.

In the spirit of our recent discussion, this Friday's Feats of Meat is devoted to the AntiCraft, an online girls' craft zine that just put out an entire issue devoted to bacon!

There are instructions for myriad original and feminine bacon projects within, including this bacon tiara (awesome):

The "Bacon of Hate", err, tampon?

And bacon fudge:

On SHEtv's weekly newsletter as "Rad Girl of the Week!" So I guess we'd better try to take back our comments section from the male enhancement industry, because we're going to be slammed with new female fans later in the week! By the way, I realize that we have played many shows with female-fronted bands. That's actually not what I said at all. Only once have we shared the stage with more women than men in total. That is, of course, unless you count the Club Unicornbread that included the six or seven-woman dance troupe.

Ever since we recorded OK, Fine, we have accused Steve of hating female-fronted music. He had his iPod (I'm sorry, "Creative Zen") plugged in to the car stereo and we were trying to find some female vocals we could show to our mixer as examples of effects we wanted. I was sort of horrified that I only found one female vocalist aside from Bjork and Pretty Girls Make Graves and I accused Steve of being sexist. Oliver quickly jumped aboard the "Steve hates women" bandwagon, and it became a band fact.

This past weekend, on our long drive up to Arcata, Steve felt determined to analyze the accusations further. Though the percentage of female (or dual) fronted artists in his overall collection was in his words, "Not great," he had about 30 in total--which, as it turns out, is only six fewer than in Oliver's collection, whose reputation as an enlightened male has so far remained unscathed.

Spurred by this contest, I decided to look through my own music collection. This was more complicated than I thought it would be and I had to employ a lot of rules to make it an accurate reflection of my music tastes. To begin with, I eliminated any artist that I didn't put in my collection myself (and don't listen to), such as things my fiance gave me or artists that appear on soundtracks. Secondly, I left out any artist that has only written one song that I like. To me, this is a sign that the artist got lucky and wrote one good song, more than that I like their music in general. Thirdly, I eliminated all of the classical artists. I did this for two reasons: one, they don't perform their pieces (which are mostly played by co-ed orchestras), and two, I have never in my life heard a classical piece by a female composer. I've read about their existence (some had famous love affairs with male composers) but due to the social climate of Europe in the 18th century, they were few and far between. It just seemed unfair.

In the end, my music collection turns out to be 52% male fronted, 36% female fronted and 12% dual fronted. No small feat considering that only once have we played a show where the majority of performers that night were female. I think being in a band is slowly turning me into a feminist. Where are all the women in music? Anyone?

In case there's a single person out there who believes that that painful Renaissance-Fair-dialect review was actually written by "a proper Englishman," let me assure you, it wasn't.

It was, however, written by a half drunk, half crazy fan of The Game. This guy did nothing but piss me off all night and then try to buy me a drink. But rather than try to describe him, I'll let Chris speak for himself through a transcript of our conversations.(Note: it was three of our friends' birthdays that week so I brought cupcakes to the club)

Conversation 1: (immediately following our set)

CD: (eating a cupcake) Hey, great job up there. You got some pipes.
Me: Oh, thanks! I'm Lauren. What's your name?
CD: Chris. I'm reviewing the show tonight. You put me on the list.
Me: Oh, right. You talked to Steve about it, right?
CD: Who's Steve? The drummer guy?
Me: No, that's Oliver. Steve is the bassist. You talked to him about coming tonight, right?
CD: No.
Me: Um, okay. Well, thanks for coming out!
CD: (on second cupcake) So you guys are all into being like "garage rock" huh?
Me: I'm sorry, did you say "garage rock"?
CD: Yeah, you know, like you were wailing just be heard over the background. You're all into that California "garage" sound.
Me: Wow, I've never heard anyone call us a garage band before. We don't actually try to play that loud. Sometimes it's hard to hear the vocals, though, in such a small space.
CD: How come?
Me: Well, the rest of the music has to be heard over the drums, but the stage is so small you can't turn up the vocals too high without them feeding back.
CD: I couldn't understand you at all. Are your lyrics even any good?
Me: I'd like to think so. We work pretty hard on them.
CD: So how come you don't want people to hear them on stage?
Me: If you come see us at a bigger space, like Bottom of the Hill, or Du Nord, I guarantee you'll hear the lyrics better. You know where else you can really hear the lyrics is on the album.
CD: Why would I buy a CD when if I know the right people I can download it for free?
Me: Because you know, you want to supp--
CD: (on third cupcake) Yeah, yeah, support the band. Whatever.
Me: If you want to keep being able to see live music, it's probably a good idea. Bands have to pay for things like equipment, you know.
CD: Yeah, right. How much does a melodica really cost?
Me: About a hundred dollars for a student model.
CD: So let me ask you something, what kind of music do you guys play?
Me: Were you even listening?

Conversation 2: (following the Vows set)

I let him buy the beer and put it on the table behind me, at which point I avoided it and him for the rest of the night. Steve tried to warn him not to mess with me anymore by explaining "she's from Brooklyn." "What does that mean?" he asked. "It means she'll cut you," replied Steve. I didn't have my knife with me but I came awfully close to pushing that jackass down the stairs.

Indeed.

Sadly we can't play every day of the year. Luckily there are tons of good bands out there. Every Monday we'll list the local bay area shows that we're into and/or attending that week. They should at least tide you over until our next show.

Uni and the Ding! String CD Release Show - Tuesday April 8th - Hemlock Tavern

RJD2 - Thursday April 10th - The Independent

Xiu Xiu - Saturday April 12th - Bottom of the Hill

Enon - Sunday April 13th - Bottom of the Hill

You probably didn't know that I'm a Boba aficionado--that's "Bubble Tea" for you unworldly plebes. I'm also a world-renowned hot chocolate connoisseur, but I guess you didn't know that either. Peasants.

After years of mediocre offerings in the world of Bay Area Boba, I am pleased to announce a winner: Tapioca Express on Fillmore, between Geary and O'Farrell. Don't let the unassuming name deceive you--this hidden gem prepares drinks with subtle, well-blended flavors, which is a far cry from the usual syrupy-sweet swill you find in most other Boba joints. The tapioca here is always cooked to perfection, and neither falls apart nor has a hard, chalky center. I especially love their passion fruit green tea.

The menu at Tapioca Express is extensive and fairly priced, and while the service is on the slow side, I have found this to be par for the course when it comes to Boba shops. They offer weekly food and drink specials, usually centered around a particular flavor, such as honeydew, and they hand out buy-ten-get-one-free cards. I'm not quite there yet, but I assure you, I will be soon.

If you can, try the new white tapioca. It is both sweeter and chewier than the black tapioca, but they run out of it often.

Last night was an extremely enjoyable show in the East Bay. P3 became fast friends with Chores, an awesome group all the way from Portland, while sipping cool PBR and waxing philosophical about whether the fact that the bar was broken meant that the show would be canceled. The show ended up going on as planned, albeit an hour late, so we bided our time with a few tarot card readings. The results:

Steve will have a great day next Thursday if he puts the smack down on some stupid rich people.

Oliver's new web site project will lead to feigned happiness and a lot of writing. Also, someone is out to get him.

Lauren might sell out of her container of plush meats, but not at full price.

Lou's current path will bring him happiness as long as he doesn't get lazy about it.

MTW should probably not choose between his band and his job just yet. One will lead him to fame and riches, and the other to utter ruin and disease, but the cards could not say which.

Eleanor's got a bumpy ride ahead of her. Some dark woman is paying her lip service, which is not very helpful.

At ten o'clock, Phantom Float started off the night with a loud but impassioned set, after which they were immediately booted from the club for being underage. They're a new band, though, so I have confidence they'll get some all ages shows soon.

Phantom Float was followed by Chores, who are of that rare breed of band that brings everything they've got to every show, whether there are five hundred people in the audience or just five (sorry). Jada did some of the best nonsense singing since Tater Tot and the band kicked it super hard during the songs "Shopping" and "Super Car" from their suburban trilogy.

P3 closed out the night with a short but energetic set that featured a brand new song, lots of clapping, and the most fun rendition of "Fear Factor" I've ever done. Thanks to the Stork Club, Paul, our awesome sound guy, the bartender with the ancient Roland who put cherries in my drink, and of course, Chores and Phantom Float for making last night one of my most memorable Wednesdays.

This past weekend we three Pants made a short jaunt to Chico, CA. We left the city around 7 in order to make it in time to take part in John Staedler's new music video at the Chico farmers' market. This video involves John and his guitarist pantomiming the song "#1 Hit Single," dressed as filthy filthy buskers. We in the crowd approach the irresistible music cautiously, but ultimately cannot help but break into rapturous dance. When the song is finished, we all toss handfuls of money at the magical duo but the wind blows the bills teasingly out of reach.

During the filming of this video we learned that a plastic penny is worth a paper $100 bill and that the slide didgeridoo is a popular instrument in Chico. Also extremely popular in Chico are gorgeous beach cruiser bicycles. We saw dozens of these during our stay in town--more than we saw all other species of bikes combined.

After the video it was time to explore Chico, which we did mostly by eating and drinking unhealthy things. We visited the soda shop twice, the candy store twice, the local barbecue joint, an awesome college bar, a pizza place and the In-N-Out. We also tried the local jerky and we're sorry to say, it was terrible. It was extremely hard, dry and salty.

During our travels we discovered that Keak Da Sneak was playing that very night in town. We would have loved to attend the show, but as we were obviously going to be competing for an audience, we were determined to give him a run for his money. Oliver searched desperately for an open rummage sale but they all closed at noon. He felt a little better after we passed an upside-down car for sale "as is."

At two, we were scheduled to attend a Buddhist mandala dismantling ceremony at Chico State. We had some time to kill beforehand so we walked around the campus a little. We found this henge near the performing arts building and set the timer on the camera to get our only group photo of the trip. The henge-piece behind us is shaped like a naked lady.

The mandala ceremony was packed. We couldn't really see anything but the monk kept making jokes about "mumbo jumbo" and sang a sanskrit chant to the tune of "Amazing Grace" so it was all good.

The show that night was great. Phiona Carousel opened with an acoustic set and packed The Crux with co-workers from Chico Natural Foods. They were not the ideal audience for our joke about eating too much pork but they danced like crazy to the last few songs of our set. It was, however, our host and headliner who really brought the house down. John started off with some solo vocals, a clarinet and a whole mess of effects pedals, then added a guitarist and eventually, an entire band (that's Phiona singing back-up). By the time Staedler finished up his set with an unbelievable extended version of his hit, "There's Nothing to Be Afraid of," the crowd was so ecstatic they were tossing arm-loads of paper into the air.

We ended Saturday night at the poshest place we have ever stayed. We followed Staedler's Subaru through a huge iron gate, complete with cursive gold letters, and up a winding hill. At the top there stood a beautiful ranch house, complete with it's own vineyard and big-screen TV. Staedler and friends only made it through a fraction of the hundreds of available stations before heading off to bed. Though it was sadly not the house that rock built, but rather the house that door-making-machines built, it was still indicative of Chico's warm hospitality.