My jaded ass does not listen to much new American music. Basically, if there is not a lilt of a British accent in the lyrics, I have no interest. Also, if something is trumpeted as the “next big thing,” I turn my nose up at it like a fluffy white bitchy kitty in a Fancy Feast commercial. Hence, my musical choices seem to be limited–much to the chagrin of my office mates–to a pastiche of old Phil Collins jams, Ella Fitzgerald, and random CD’s that my British cousins send me (The Pigeon Detectives, The Wombats, A Certain Ratio). I am not proud of this heinous character flaw–oh, blasted genetics!
So, imagine my rapture upon a recent trip abroad: I picked up the latest copy of NME (yes, I am a sucker, even when my dollar is worth only 49 cents to one pound) and an American band, Black Kids, was featured next to my dear sweet beloved Ms. Nash and the Kooks. Who were these Black Kids? They looked cool, NME said they were cool, and, best of all, I could not find the Kids’ music ANYWHERE! I wanted to know more. Suddenly I was 12 years old again, on a quest to get to the bottom of this seemingly mysterious group.
After several months of illegally downloading every song I could find online (the only way I could get their tunes, for the longest time, I swear!), including the insanely infectious “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You,” and “Hurricane Jane,” from their debut demo EP, Wizard of Ahhhs, I finally bought a 12” for $12 from the UK. My pursuit of them left me feeling like a stalker in the bushes outside an apartment complex (minus the binoculars), but I finally had the delight of interviewing one of the Kids, a gem of a drummer, Kevin Snow, as the band made their way through the Grapevine from the Coachella festival to their gig here in SF. The sweet dear–his phone kept cutting off during our chat–but Kevin soldiered on, and persevered through four call-backs to make me swoon for more, more, more KIDS!
Coachella was the Black Kids’ first festival and Kevin described it as “totally surreal and exciting.” When asked what was his favorite tour tchotchke was, he confided that the band took the gold-framed Big Daddy Kane record album in the band’s Coachella dressing room in Indio. I have to say, I did fall a bit in love with his reply.
The band recently returned from the UK, where they worked on their debut full length with British rock icon Bernard Butler of Suede–swoon again! Could this band get any cooler? Oh, yeah, they could! When I told Kev–yes, I am now that down with him–that I loved Morrissey, he told me that the Moz father was supposed to come to one of the band’s UK gigs, but canceled at the last minute (OMG, could I please be your merch girl, Kids?!?!?!).
As his bus rolled towards The Bay, I asked Snow, a native of Jacksonville, Florida, if he had ever been to San Francisco. Yes, back in the late 1990s, when he and the Kids’ lead singer, Reggie Youngblood, had been on a cross-country, broken-down van tour with their old ska band, living on 75 cents a day. In an age when bands seem to break by just throwing a few demos up on MySpace and without doing any real time on the road, these guys have truly, truly earned it–they have literally been at it for ten years.
Watching the Kids perform later on that night at the packed, sweaty San Francisco Mezzanine, I saw what the hype was about. The Kids more than delivered–even as the openers on a three band bill–they completely wowed the jaded San Francisco crowd.
The time spent in their past bands showed in the polished stage performance, as Youngblood led the crowd through the singles, as well as their newer songs. Ali Youngblood and Dawn Watley are probably the most amazing female frontwomen I have had the joy to experience since seeing the Go-Go’s in fifth grade (and if someone at Vidal Sassoon does not snap up that Dawn as an ideal hair model, they are high). These ladies do not rely on stage dramatics/bizarro outfits (like my beloved Karen O, bless you, lady) or choreographed dance routines (Madge, a second bless you) to get through a song; instead, these hotties rock because they were actually having fun. They looked like they had to “Hit the Heartbrake,” (could I love a song anymore? I cannot remember the last time I moshed to a song) themselves. I wanted to go cocktail with these chicks. Even my best friend was getting down–and he historically only likes bands with back up dancers. No pretension, only desperation to connect with the audience at a darkened venue.
Yes, I am a fan, clearly. As a veteran of literally hundreds and hundreds of shows, it means a lot when after a gig people come up to you and say, “I never heard of that band, but now I love them.” That happened after the Kids.
Kevin had told me, “ I can’t believe this is happening to me.” You deserve it, toots.