The trek from North County to downtown San Diego was a laid back affair. One hand on the steering wheel, the other gripped firmly around the rigid cardboard container of coffee, always with a finger or two free to adjust the volume knob on the CD player. My musical companions for this leg of the journey were none other than the Ripple stalwarts, Heavy Young Heathens. The music from their self released, self titled album had me nodding my head with their addictive groove, and smiling like I was in possession of one of life’s earth shattering secrets. But more on the Heathens at a later date. For now, it’s all about the rendezvous with Racer to do what we do best. That’s right . . . rummage through the discarded music from someone else’s collection to simply find the gems that were once again overlooked.As I pulled up to Racer’s ever so swank hotel, I exclaimed that this Heavy Young Heathens album is fucking awesome, and I do believe that I scared at least two, maybe three pedestrians as they inadvertently stood between me and my brother in musical adventure. A few minutes later, we were turning onto Harbor Drive and on our way to a new hunting ground that had been brought to our attention by the lads in Mod Amish. Before I forget and get carried away with this adventure, I’d like to thank these guys for turning us onto a couple of great record stores and, yes . . . changing our lives. We pulled into Hillcrest a little after 10:00am to find that all of the stores were still closed and wouldn’t accept our patronage until the damn near midday hour of 11:00am. A little flummoxed by the situation, we were far from deterred. It comes down to this, Waveriders. If there’s a coffee house within sniffing distance, I have the patient ability to easily wait out Job.
After sucking down my second stout cup of brew of the morning, Racer and I walked across the street to Taang Records and perused their establishment. This is one of those places for the diehard collector where there are wall to wall vinyl pressings of countless punk rock and metal artists. It took a little while to recognize that this is the same Taang Records that is home to bands such as The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Slapshot, and Street Dogs. It was cool sifting through the random titles that we recognized growing up as music fans. This is definitely a place for the true record collector and not for the casual buyer or bulk shoppers. Racer picked up an older Street Dogs slab while I stumbled on a Bosstones disc of cover tunes. 
We left Taang and dropped off our loot at the Popemobile before we made our way up 6th Ave. to check in at Record City. Now, Record City is the place that I’ve been looking to fill that record store void for easily the last ten years. As soon as Racer and I walked in, we just stood in awe. It’s not like this store is some massive conglomerate with copies of every title in existence . . . really, where would the fun be in that? This is the type of store that is the equivalent of Rasputin’s, just about an eighth the size, brighter, and with carpeting. The looks on our faces must have been classic. Just like the proverbial two kids in a candy store. After scouring through row and row of slabs of vinyl, gazing at the miscellaneous wall adornments of Iron Maiden figures and picture discs and Beatles paraphernalia, and repeated trips to feed the street meter so the Popemobile wouldn’t find a new home with the government, we checked out of the place. Racer picked up some odd ball Cat Stevens recording with familiar tunes with different titles and a monstrous stack of vinyl to fill in holes of his collection. I stumbled on a copy of The Ventures’ Surfing for my old man and latched onto a pile of Carly Simon platters. I had to turn in a couple of my wrist spikes for that guilty pleasure, but so be it. I like what I like. In short, Record City is a small piece of heaven with a great selection of music and the folks running the shop are as up on their music and down to earth as they come. When in San Diego, we highly recommend you stop in and spend a few bucks. After three plus hours of sifting through what felt like miles of music, Racer and I had a hankering for some down home Mexican grub, so we drove around town to find one of the million or so taco shops that grace this town. We pulled into Roberto’s Taco Shop #10 and feasted on greasy guacamole coated rolled tacos and burritos that were about the size of our forearms, all while watching the street walkers get an early start on their days, er . . . nights business. We then piled back in the Popemobile and with windows rolled down . . . way down . . . we made our way back into Hillcrest for one last record store called M-Theory. As we got lost and drove into the Little Italy district, we had Des Deux L’une Est L’autre from Hypno5e pushing from the speakers at top volume. If you haven’t heard this album yet, stop reading this now and buy it. It’s still as brilliant as when I reviewed it last month.
Racer and I stopped in another coffee shop for yet another caffeine fix before we stepped foot in another record store. As we walked in M-Theory, we immediately recognized that this store had a completely different vibe than the last two. I think it’s interesting how all three stores had their own distinct personalities and characteristics. This place was a lot more CD heavy than the other two, but also features a bunch of 7” and 12” vinyl from punk artists and local bands. The store also includes listening stations for your CD purchases, and the guys running the store on this Saturday were as helpful and musically intelligent as they come. Racer picked up the latest offering from a Ripple favorite, Living Things. Me? I picked up nothing for my wallet was filled with lint and dust bunnies.We had a good two hours to kill before we went to a birthday party that had been put on the itinerary by the one and only Mrs. Pope. Not that we didn’t want to go, it’s just not your typical Ripple Effect frivolity so, initially, it felt like a burden. Before we got the party, we camped out at a park overlooking the San Diego Bay and cranked the last of the Hypno5e album and then slipped into the sleek and garage bluesy swagger of The Steps. Racer had brought me a copy of their album and we talked about taking a band like this, quite possibly even these guys, and creating a record label to push the music. Let’s see where that takes us.
Fast forward a few hours: Racer and I piled back in the Popemobile and made our way east. A band that we had recently reviewed had told us that they were playing a small place called The Beauty Bar, and we made arrangements to get down there and shake a few hands, put down a few drinks, and enjoy some great rock ‘n roll. As we pulled up to the club, we almost had a head on collision with another car and we marveled at the architecture of the surrounding neighborhood. Think downtown Lebanon post Israeli shelling. Okay. Maybe that’s a little unfair, but the truth is, the area isn’t the best so we were immediately on guard. Once we got inside the bar, all anxiety drifted away as we gazed at the bar filled with liquid courage and an opposite wall was filled with a leather couch equipped with old fashioned glass bubble hair dryers. Quirky. Cool. Let’s party!
We met up with Reid from War Stories and introduced ourselves. He seemed very pleased that we were able to make it down and the three of us rapped about music and the state of the industry for a few minutes before he had to get ready to kick the jams. And let me tell you folks, War Stories are for real. Let it be known that I’m in no way pandering for these guys . . . they don’t need me to do it. They have the sheer musical talent and stage presence to bring their own much deserved success. We stood front and center and watched the lads deliver a set of tunes that mixed new material with some of the richness of their beautifully realized album, Vol. I. Evan's voice just hit all of those exposed nerves and the passion could be felt as he belted out the lyrics all wrapped up in their addictive melodies. Reid’s guitar playing was marvelous as I stood there just watching his ever so subtle approach to dropping the right note at the right time, the right effect at the right time, and rocking out when necessary. Bassist Eric was in the groove all night, holding the whole thing to the ground, pushing waves of low end on the crowd. Adam cracked the skins like some holdover from a Bonham convention, forceful yet elegant, never over powering, never forgotten. And it seemed like the folks in attendance were also digging on the music, and why not? The sound of War Stories is too big for a small club like this. These cats have a sound that’s massive and the personnel available to carry it to the next stage of their careers. Catch them at SXSW in the coming weeks. Racer and I said our good-byes and drove back to his hotel. We walked through the door at 3:00am, sweaty, smelly, parched, and exhausted. This was an all time epic day. We freaked out on music buying for something like five hours, we ate hole in the wall Mexican food, we attended a party and got to act all mature and whatnot, and then witnessed what we feel is a great band in the making in War Stories perform like there was no tomorrow. Seriously . . . does it get any better than this? - Pope JTE
Comments