It seems impossible to shake myself out of this zombie-like state. I wish I could blame it on freakishly high tryptophan evels in the Thanksgiving turkey, or seasonal affective disorder, or a general case of holiday malaise, or even an overabundance of single-malt scotch and a second go at last year’s strange-smelling fruitcake. But none of these things are responsible for my vegetative demeanor.
You see, I’m paralyzed by fear. It’s not a rational fear, like, say, the fear of heights, spiders, high cholesterol, or shopping-mall Santas and their elves. No, I’m afraid of something you can’t see: the death of decent rock music. Some are even saying it has already happened, and it can be proven by pointing out that My Chemical Romance and Jon Bon Jovi still have careers. But I tend to believe that the Rockopalypse coincides with other, more telling signs — near-cataclysmic events that have yet to unfold, such as a Justin Bieber presidential run, the death of the independent record store, the resurgence in popularity of the macarena, or another Rod Stewart album.
I don’t think the world can survive without good indie rock, and if it could, who the hell would want to live in it anyway? As long as there’s still hope, I have to shake off the fear, continue to fight the good fight, and keep really close tabs on Rod Stewart. And, of course, I must continue to support local venues that promote the survival of indie rock. Join me, won’t you?
I’ll start at (401 S. Guadalupe St., 983-4559), which hosts proggy psychrockers at The Ithaca, New York, five-piece band performs for the third time in Santa Fe while touring in support of a concept EP that explores the Mayan calendar and the world’s fascination with its supposed reference to a final 5,125-year global life cycle that is set to expire on Dec. 21, 2012. (It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who spends too much time worrying and writing about things I can neither prove nor control.)
Ayurveda seasons its guitar-heavy sound with forays into Tibetan vocal traditions, which makes some sense: guitarist Diwas Gurung is from Nepal. Fans of The Sugarcubes and Tool who also don’t mind a little experimental-instrumental meandering à la Kinski and Awesome Color should hit this 21-and-older show. It’s the day after Black Friday, which means there are no more decent sales at which to waste your precious time and beer money. For five bucks, you can’t beat an Ayurvedic treat like this one. Tickets are available online at corazonsantafe.com and at the door, and lucky you, wicked-good local post-punk outfit Man Hurls Hedgehog opens.
If you need a little more time to recover from Aunt Bertha’s rancid green bean casserole, make plans to be at at Evangelo’s (200 W. San Francisco St., 982-9104) at
That’s when you can catch a performance by L.A. psychrock trio featuring Queens of the Stone Age bassist Michael Shuman (he sings and plays guitars and drums here), bassist/keyboardist/vocalist Zach Dawes, and guitarist/ keyboardist/vocalist Tyler Parkford. Bringing Beach Boysready vocal harmonies, catchy hooks and melodies, and a creepy, hypnotic sensibility to its moody pop-noir soundscapes, Mini Mansions is what cable-television serial killer Dexter probably listens to when he isn’t slicing up his neighbors. Call The Underground for ticket info.
— Rob DeWalt