Night two of Burgerama II at The Observatory in Santa Ana, CA didn’t have as many magical moments as the night before but that’s not saying it wasn’t another exceptional evening of mostly Cali rock and roll bands who came together to celebrate Burger Records and the region’s bursting-at-the-seams music scene.
Categorizing Tim Presley’s White Fence project is beyond my skill set but he’s California all the way and he’s the most talented and mesmerizing guitar player I’m seeing out there right now. Presley’s performance on Saturday night ranked highest of the evening for sure. Armed with a bit of a snarl, Presley (pictured above) takes you on a deep trip with sugar-free string pulls, pops and slides that tingle my skin.
Unfortunately, the sound mix failed to properly channel Presley’s guitar sound until a third of the way through his forty-minute set. The two sound-men sitting behind flat-screens and massive boards with knobs and slides did an awesome job all weekend (another person controlled monitors on stage off to the side), so I’m not sure how to explain this lone technical glitch. It’s not a big deal given the challenge of nailing sound for nearly forty acts. I’d give an A-plus grade to the dozens of people who organized and controlled the various operational elements at this two-day event. Everything from the smoke machine to the lighting to the prompt changeover of band equipment between sets to the bartenders to the burger cookers. It was all as pro as it gets.
But back to Presley. What an intense showman. What a skilled young man. His recorded music sounds wonderful coming out of a pair of speakers but what he does on a stage is what makes him so special. He takes you back in time. Before my time even. Presley has a new record coming out next month on Castle Face and told the music writer Colin Joyce he’s planning another one for Woodsist after that.
When Presley’s Burgerama set time elapsed, he appeared to be so deep in a zone, he played one more.
As Presley unplugged the guitar he was now finished with for the night, King Tuff walked onto the stage to prepare for his slot. While Presley crouched to collect a few accessories from the floor, Tuff briefly climbed on top of Presley in an apparent display of affection. Presley seemed annoyed by the horseplay.
Tuff’s set wasn’t as good. He’s covered a lot of miles playing a ton of shows in recent months but his timing seems a touch off. The songs he played from his solid self-titled full length are sped up a little too much and sound ragged. Burger’s pending release of an older Tuff collection of songs includes the great tune Sun Medallion. Tuff (pictured above right) rolled that one out Saturday night. He wore a biker vest with KING TUFF emblazoned loudly on the back and a baseball cap. He’s a warm, outgoing character off stage. Shy fans by the dozens approached him for a photo or a handshake as he knocked a few back at the main bar before his performance.
The most pleasant surprise of Saturday night’s card came early when the Allah-Las brought the house down with a tight set of rock and roll that transported you to the beach for a campfire and a pass-around jug. Lead singer Miles Michaud grabbed a tambourine for the great instrumental Sacred Sands and danced in a way I’d never be able to replicate given I don’t live anywhere near a palm tree. The four-minutes of Sands will be a lasting Burgerama memory for me.
Hunx and his Punx were a load of shticky theatre and a chance to laugh. Fidlar was good. At one point during their set, a fan shouted a request. Frontman Zac Carper didn’t like it and went on to advise the audience that nobody should do anything they don’t like. Carper suggested that those who don’t like what their boss is telling them should quit and find another job.
I went solo for both nights of Burgerama but as is the case at a festival like this, I met some interesting characters. I briefly went into The Levitation Room for a chit-chat with the front man of that band – Julian Porte. I also met the artist/sculptor David Arshawsky who offered a wonderful re-telling of his fandom of the LA punk scene in the late 70’s when the Descendants were among his favorite bands.
One thing I forgot to mention from the previous Burgerama recap was the master of ceremonies for this event. The eccentric comedian James Quall came out before every main stage act to introduce the next band. His fresh one-liner each time was a word play on the band’s name. His jokes were often met with a groan. But given the number of bands, it was of great help to the audience to know for sure what they were about to see. Quall’s effort and awkward comedic style was greatly appreciated by me.
The $20 nightly admission for a crowd that I’m guessing was limited to about 700 makes the economics such that the 40 some bands who participated didn’t do so for the cash. They did it to return some love to the scene spawned by Burger Records.
While Burgerama II lacked the breathtaking scenery of last summer’s Woodsist Fest at Big Sur, it had much the same spirit. There was zero commercial interference and a real celebratory feel for a collection of bands who were in their element. The makeup of the crowd was exuberant upper teen but there was room for everybody. I loved it and would go back if they do it again. A stop at the Burger Record shop in Fullerton is at the top of my to-do list when I get back in that area.
As I walked back to the hotel early Sunday morning, I stopped at the Del Taco. Drawn by the “open 24 hours” sign, I was met with a locked door. Turns out the drive-thru was open. I asked the woman working the vehicle window if I could order a few tacos without a car. “We’re not supposed to,” she said, “but whattaya want?”
Shy-town Scooter picked me up at the hotel Sunday morning and took me to his place in Valley Village. Scooter lives in LA now. His family recently welcomed a newborn son with a middle name inspired by the late great Walter Payton. The kid’s smile is all sweetness.
A beautiful orange tree in Scooter’s back yard was full of fruit.
Early Monday morning, Scooter dropped me off at Burbank’s (Bob Hope) airport before his grueling 90-minute (depending on freeway traffic) commute to Orange County. I caught a 7 AM flight to SFO for the coast-to-coast connecting trip to JFK.
As I was about to board the flight to New York, none other than Neil Young approached the gate with a guy who appeared to be an assistant. When we disembarked at Kennedy, a driver greeted Neil at the gate. “How are you, Mr. Young?” he said before grabbing his bag. As we all walked into the busy terminal area toward the exit, nobody seemed to recognize the star among them.
