Last night the new Speaker Speaker side-project, Exohxo, played their first show ever. It was the most polite show I’ve ever seen at the Comet. The crowd was mostly silent while the band played—even the folks in the back. And everyone kept their distance, opting instead to stand back by the bar or sit in a half circle around them in the chairs and benches.

It was cute—it was like a school assembly for the local music scene. At the end of every song, everyone clapped and cheered supportively. They were clearly among friends.

Their debut performance wasn’t flawless, but it was as promising and charming as any first show should be for a band that has existed only about two months and has had only a couple weeks to practice with some of the members. (And with seven members total—two guitars, drums, bass, piano, and two violinists—there was surely a lot of material to tackle.)

They opened the show with “Crushed Ice,” an instrumental and one of my favorite songs the band has recorded so far (listen to it on their MySpace). It begins with a repetitive, guitar, some bass, but eventually explodes into a vibrant chorus of strings, tambourine, piano, and drums. And it was every bit as electrifying live as I hoped it would be.

The less orchestral songs—the ones with more pop elements and lots of harmonizing between singers Jasen Samford and Danny Oleson—didn't come off quite as strongly, but that isn't to say they weren't good. It's difficult to get a proper mix for such a band at the Comet (I'd imagine), so some of the harmonies were lost, overpowered by the piano and strings. (Then again, the only reason I may have noticed at all is because I had listened to the songs before going to the show so I knew what was intended.)

In all, I left wanting more—I left imagining them playing a venue like the Paramount or the Triple Door—a venue that would give the symphonic moments room to soar, but with enough intimacy to see the grins on their faces as they glance at one another during their set. After finally seeing it come together live, I'm even more excited about their future.

Exohxo play their next show at Chop Suey on February 17th. Welcome to the music scene, boys (and girl). It's nice to see you.

All photos by Mr. Matt Fuckin' Hickey. I thank you, sir, as always.

“They look like ZZ Top confederates,” a guy I’d never seen before said as Master Musicians of Bukkake’s seven members took the stage at Neumos last night. “I hope they’re as cool as ZZ Top.”

Dude, nobody is as cool as ZZ Top. Still, the Bukkake bros were pretty cool, all in all. Dig it: Shrouded in smoke and wearing red satin capes and beekeeper’s netting over big, bulbous hats of the sort Alejandro Jodorowsky’s character in The Holy Mountain sported, MMOB began the gig with plentiful gong hits and a serious droning bass rumble.

Just when we were growing accustomed to this sonorous dirge, the septet exploded into a glowering guitar and keyboard ejaculation, a sucker-punch satori that woke everyone the fuck up. What sounded like a tamboura drone soon arose (but no tamboura could be seen), and then vocalist Brad Mowen entered in a furry bird costume. MMOB lumbered into “People of the Drifting Houses,” the peak of their new album, Totem One. It seemed slightly sludgier live, but gradually it gathered centrifugal force and became a celebratory, upward-spiraling anthem to Buddha knows what.

Later, Mowen channeled Tibetan monks through deep, guttural chants and it replicated a didgeridoo's cavernous croak. A swarming rock epic swirled out of this, with guest violinist Timba Harris of Secret Chiefs 3 helping to launch things skyward with grace and power. MMOB ended with the sparser, mellower doppelgänger of "Drifting Houses," “Eaglewolf,” breaking it down to fey “la la la”s until the piece became a tender sing-along among the remaining 40 or so die-hards in the audience.

MMOB returned for an encore that chugged like classic early-’70s Hawkwind (I thought it was a cover of something off Space Ritual maybe), but the group’s keyboardist Randall Dunn later informed me that it was an original called "Golden Splendor," MMOB's take on a Can-like motorik groove.

Man, this show was cool—damn near a religious experience—but I dunno if it was cooler than ZZ Top.

It’s not often you get to see such a mix—hipsters and hip-hoppers, rockers and punk kids, gangsta’s and R&B addicts—all at one show. But with Wednesday night’s line-up at the Funhouse (rap, cabaret punk, rap, R&B, rap, guitar rock, rap) miscellany was certain.

The results were this:

A) Musical expansion. (I’d come to see Scarlet Room, and got an added earful of King Dro. Others who came for the rappers got these guys), and…

B) Mass confusion. (At any given moment, three quarters of the room looked worriedly apprehensive in the way one might if he or she had just heard the words "Cindy McCain" and "erection" in the same sentence.)

King Dro, the headliner whose MySpace tracks include songs such as “SmackAFreak Bounce” and “My Nutz” (a little ditty to the bass-line of Queen’s "Another One Bites the Dust": “You better not bite my nutz,” then in high-pitched imitation-female-vocals, “You know we won’t bite your nutz,” and finally a deep bass chimes in with that age-old request, “Get my baby mama off your nutz”) doubled as the MC, rapping to pre-recorded tracks between acts. His ankle-length white cape (yes, CAPE!) adorned with a hand-painted space needle and cityscape, billowed around him. Underneath, he wore a scarf with clouds of blotched pastel and a shirt that glittered in the stage-lights.

But forget Dro for a moment.

When I arrived, Scarlet Room, a female-led, cabaret-infused, piano-punk band with a history that involves murder, scandal, and Uzbekistan, had just taken the stage. Honoring the band's dress-code of black and white, the girls (vocalist Aleksandra Weir and drummer Eloise Govedare) resembled neo-goths, with their black hair and dark make-up. The boys (guitarist Michael Muir and bassist Kris Darr) upheld the image with their suspenders and slacks. The band is good, but Weil’s meaty, plaintive vocals carry the show. (And if someone doesn't nominate Govedare for Seattle’s sexiest drummer this Valentine’s Day, I will.)

And now the history:

A year ago, Scarlet Room was planning a tour to Uzbekistan, Weil’s home country. Weeks before their departure, Mark Weil, Aleksandra’s father and the prominent leader of the Ilkhom Theater there, was assassinated. The motive of Weil’s murderers may never be known, but some speculate that his death was linked to the theater. Under him, Ilkhom had pushed boundaries, performed controversial works, and had thus set the Communist and Muslim fundamentalists of the Uzbeki dictatorship in a tizzy. After Weil’s death, the band canceled their trip and a long hiatus ensued. Over a year later, with a new guitarist and renewed vitality, they’re back .

After Scarlet Room, Mega Man, a performer backed by a group of men he calls his “bodyguards” rapped about the usual things (money, the police, and his homies) and threw a stack of his own business cards into the crowd calling it “quick advertising.” Dro Rapped. Jaysonowski sang R&B songs to a backing CD. Dro rapped, howling like a monkey, “Ooh ooh! Aah aah!” A band called the In and Outers played generic guys-with-guitars rock. One of them headbanged. My focus digressed to my beer.

Then there was King Dro. Again.

The crowd had diminished down to five, maybe six people. Dro was noticeably upset by this and losing speed. Maybe it was his disheartened state or the alcohol, but the lyrics slipped behind the beat. As he finished his set, still in his extravagant costume and chanting ridiculous lyrics I couldn’t help but wonder if this capéd rapper was for real? Does he get it from within the inner world of his personal (glitz and big pimpin') fantasy or does it end there? It was hard to tell.

Matt & Kim... Still hot? Or not?

photos by Jackie Canchola