Reports from the scene

Locals Only

On its “Street” blog on Wednesday, June 24, SignOnSanDiego.com, the Union-Tribune’s website, reported that Grand Ole Party had split. The band cancelled two shows—July 11 at The Casbah and an appearance at Street Scene on Aug. 28—and Street writer Donna P. Crilly cited an unnamed source at The Casbah who told her that one of the band members told them that the trio was done.

But band manager Christina Dunkley says it isn’t so.

“They cancelled a couple of shows as we are gearing up for their record release,” Dunkley told CityBeat in an e-mail. Although Dunkley would not elaborate, a source close to the band who wished to remain confidential says GOP will continue—but with a different lineup than original three-piece of drummer and singer Kristin Gundred, guitarist John Paul Labno and bassist Micheal Krachnyak. Calls and e-mails to Gundred weren’t returned by press time.

Wavves’ Nathan Williams has broken his silence on his reported onstage meltdown at Barcelona’s Primavera Sound Festival. As previously reported in Locals Only, Williams took a mixture of Ecstasy, Valium and Xanax before taking the stage and playing a dismal set and getting into a fight with drummer Ryan Ulsh before a soundman cut the power on his mic.

In an interview with Pitch-fork.com, Williams admitted to being “extremely fucked up” and to having “made a series of really bad decisions” but says the band is alive and well and that he’s practicing for upcoming shows, including an appearance at Street Scene.

The Enrique Experience

Have you ever wanted to star in your own low-budge version of Lost in Translation? Then head over to The Jade House in Chula Vista, a Chinese restaurant that, like Clark Kent and Ted Haggard, leads a double life. Its second identity is The Jade Lounge, South Bay’s gnarliest karaoke bar.

Dwarfed by the Ming Dynasty façade of its daytime-eatery self, an Astroturf-covered ramp leads you to a nondescript side door. Inside, the walls are adorned only by a lone painting, depicting women about to partake in Tinikling, the Filipino bamboo dance of death. And though the bar was recently remodeled, you’d swear you were in 1985, with the fancy blue-on-blue-on-blue wall treatment, brass-detailed ceiling fans and white plastic-covered folding tables that add to the Pinoy Shriners Hall feel.

Under a popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, the navy binder listing Frank Sinatra and Neil Diamond staples sat untouched, shadowed by the more popular red one that contains the likes of Hotdog and April Boys, the act behind the international hit “Honey My Love (So Sweet),” a jam that supplied the perfect soundtrack for my fried bituka (pig intestine) feast. Karaoke jockey Art-T—whose talents at his other KJ job at El Cajon’s The Landing were once described as “pants-dropping” by a sauced bar-goer—turned up an applause track between songs, adding to the Manila Idol atmosphere. As Gina, the barmaid and resident Paula Abdul, got up to sing for the third time that night, Art-T told me he can make even the most inexperienced singers sound like Barry Manilow or Barry White with a simple mid-range amp adjustment.

“Karaoke is the perfect therapy,” Art-T said. “A lot of times I invite folks from the 12-step programs. Recently, members of the Gamblers Anonymous group came over. I told them to skip the slot machines and just put their money in my tip jar. Boy, I tell ya, talk about hitting the jackpot.”

Text confessions

What’s a text confession? Well, if Will K. Shilling has your cell phone number, you’ve likely received a text or 10 from him asking random music-related questions. Shilling has some of San Diego’s biggest names on speed dial, so we thought: Why not print some of their answers? This week’s subject: As if you even had to ask.
Shilling’s text: “Who killed the Man in the Mirror?”
Responses (unedited):
Matt Rothenberg (Noise 292): Jon and Kate’s publicists.
Billy Gruff (singer-songwriter): ebony and ivory put him in a state of shock
Morgan Young (drummer / DJ): Lemmy’s aura
Krishna Cokl (Casbah regular): OJ Simpson. He’s got the other glove.
Rosey Bystrak (sddialedin.com): I dunno but why didn’t LaToya and her psychic friends see it coming?
Christopher Leyva (Blizzard): Modern times, and we did Like we killed jesus. He was the jesus of pop!.
Brian Desjean (No Knife): The Candyman
Tim Crowley (booker, 710 Beach Club): I don’t know but I’m pretty sure the sham wow guy took out Billy Mays
Josh Zimmerman (The Silent Comedy): A smoother criminal
Erich Birch (television producer): I heard Farrah asked God to protect the children so...

Sweet Beats

Our semi-regular look at the local DJ scene.

Artist: Ikah Love (He says it’s printed that way on his birth certificate. We have our doubts.)

Sound: Anything he wants. Love began collecting records when he was 13.

“As a 13-year-old,” he says, “I didn’t have money to spend on records, so it was all quarter, like, dollar-bin records, and those, to this day, comprise my favorite portions of my record collection.” We’re not sure how old he is now (he says he’s been DJing somewhere between 10 and 15 years), but we do know this: Today, his record collection is roughly 75,000 to 80,000 strong.

“I’m a garbage disposal of record collectors,” he says. “I buy crazy expensive ones and nerd out on eBay and stuff, but at the end of the day, my favorite records are like my 99-cent David Bowie records.”

Stats: These days, Love’s name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue for his weekly Thursday-night gig at El Dorado. Dubbed Grown Folk Shit, the night features a unique interaction, and Love considers it “kinda special.” All evening, he spins records alongside the Grown Folk house band.

“I do love, love, love that night,” he says. “I haven’t had a project or a night or been involved in something in probably five years that I love as much as that.” He spins beats many people may have forgotten: old funk, soul and jazz along with Afrobeat, bossa, Brazillian samba. Love keeps busy the rest of the weekend, too, tending to Bar Dynamite on Fridays and The Office on Saturdays, where he keeps with the theme of not having a theme.

“I don’t get off on playing obscure music any more than I get off on playing music that everybody knows,” he says.