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Transcendental Hayride | 10.09.03 | Last Day Saloon | San Francisco, CA
A hayride is a wobbly, precarious ramble along dusty roads that tosses lovers young and old into each other's arms with a happy bump. Lazy sojourns like this are hard to find once the asphalt creeps up against the steel and glass. Still, there are journeys we city dwellers can take that break up our workaday lives and expand our knowledge of what might put a smile on our mug. Call it a Transcendental Hayride, a conglomeration of irrational coefficients dragged by wild ponies at breakneck speed.
An early October night finds me chilling on Clement Street in San Francisco. There's a gang of rockers hitching their horses at the Last Day Saloon, firing wild shots in the air to celebrate the release of their second long-player, the jim dandy Things Are Going Just the Way They Should. It's a glorious 'hood where nothing rises over a few stories, the bookstore stays open late, and the pubs serve curry like they ought to. The club sits directly across from a Chinese restaurant with a permanent "Slippery Floors" sign on their glass door that always makes me snicker. Climbing the stairs inside the Last Day, I ready myself for departure. Having seen the Hayride a few weeks earlier at Sweet's Ballroom I know they play hard, fast, and unapologetically raw. They are a punkish Creedence causing a commotion down by a green river, a splash of southern style washed down with a dixie cup of blue cheer. At times they remind me of Wilco in their lived-in feel, guys who spend their time daydreaming about the perfect riff instead of the perfect girl. Other moments they channel Blue Oyster Cult cranking it out behind Buck Owens. And less significant to most of y'all, they're the only kids who've ever made me think of Michael Nesmith's short lived Second National Band, who's Tantamount To Treason would sound cozy in the CD changer next to Hayride's latest. Never mind that two decades separate the works. There's a weirdo rock rightness the two bands share that makes them spiritual cousins if not musical playmates.
They ease into things, finding a groove floating in the vapor trails of their tentative noodling. When they ramp up to "Bide My Time" it hits my belly and spreads outward. If this were a just world this song would already be a hit, something honest to wash away all the Matchbox 20s and Jason Mrazs from the airwaves. People, and by people I mean critics, who genuflect at the supposed pop brilliance of Teenage Fanclub should lend an ear to these guys. They have a hard/soft thing they do on a lot of numbers where the words have gentility but the music's heavy, hard, hopped up.
I get distracted by the wah wah call-and-response between lead singer and rhythm guitarist Dano Kildsig and lead six-stringer Kurt Moss on the next number. That happens with this band. One gets lost, disoriented in a pleasant way and sometimes all you can do is enjoy their non-ironic hair tossing and riff-a-riffic twang. Dressed in T-shirts and weathered jeans, it's clear they don't fuss too much before a show. They're too focused on getting their instruments to say what they want them to, too intent on getting the music in their heads to travel into their hands. It's not about the same old instrumental derring-do for a change, too. Their dedication has more heart and a lot less head.
Dano fusses with a tiny smoke machine on-stage about midway through the night. Instead of a rock spectacle it makes it look like the equipment is on fire. I half expect a Styrofoam Stonehenge to drop at his feet. They can't help themselves. They just want to rock you and feel a smoke cloud is part and parcel of said rocking. More effective are the rainbow spectrum lights that throw heat waves across the ceiling and walls around the stage. Transcendental Hayride generates enormous BTUs with their chug-chug-chugging and it's good to see the physical world manifest that.
Keyboardist Brackett Clark interrupts a messy, shouted vocal duel from Kildsig and Moss with a piano run worthy of Skynyrd's Billy Powell, all sweet and tumbly, painting the room candy apple sugar sweet. He contributes a lot of the honky in their tonk yet also exhibits a well-harnessed restraint. Texture is his coin in trade but he's a pistol when he hops in the spotlight. Perhaps in time new corridors in these songs will open up for him to shine. The fine-tuning that's happened with material from their first album shows they're just getting started on seeing all the possibilities in their music.
There's a reckless feel to them. Like they might lose it any minute but they always manage to hang on and ride that snake. It's a little dangerous and that gives 'em an air of menace that fuels lyrics like "When the smoke cleared, I had killed a man." Spending so much time around daffodil-wagging peaceniks makes me hungry for a spot of darkness. Hayride hints at this even as they hope aloud for the good things that come to those who wait. They still remember the "bag of stones and chances lost" we all carry around as we worry that the great thing we might have done has slipped through the cracks. That kind of thing'll angry up the blood if one isn't careful. I like hearing these boys wrestle with these ideas. Gives me a night off.
I take in what a fun, inventive drummer Jack McFadden is. Dig how he changes things up just to keep it interesting thus avoiding the trap of the trap drummer by not falling into predictable patterns. And if you spend any time listening to McFadden it inevitably leads to the subtle bass work of Nick Massaro. The pair have been playing together since the '80s, which shows in the holistic vibe they produce. At times it's damn nigh impossible to figure out who's doing what rhythmically since their styles dovetail perfectly.
A little further on, I'm absorbed in Moss' lead guitar. On "Calm Before the Storm" he has a touch of Dickey Betts flowing. Then he'll switch to the clipped brilliance of someone like Keith Richards. But more than either of those dudes I hear Jimmy Page. Not that he's copying anyone. His instincts, his feel just show signs that we're hearing the early days of a future classic. And to anyone who wants to dis Zeppelin's contribution to rock 'n' roll I say YOU go record an album as good as Physical Graffiti and then come talk to me.
Sitting, winded and a lil' bleary, at the back of the room I wished for a slow one. It doesn't come until the encore some time later (and "Walking in the Rain" is plain cool whenever it arrives). If I have one real quibble with Hayride it's their furious pacing. Folks need a breather now and then. There's ample room for a slow grinder or three in any set. Hell, even AC/DC dropped a "Ride On" amongst their three-chord boogies. It would help all the fast ones stand out in greater relief, too. Maybe they're worried about losing the audience if they put on the brakes even a tad. Or maybe it's harder to stand naked in a ballad before a live audience. Whatever the reason, they hit the ground running and don't look back. Breaking up the sprint would bring a multitude of goods with nary a negative I can come up with.
Late in the game, I notice a distinct lack of one element I've hit at nearly every show I've attended in the past year. Transcendental doesn't play covers. I have this confirmed by their manager Jamie, though he says they're considering adding one or two. Think Zep's "Celebration Day" would suit them to a tee, especially if Dano turned on his are-we-not-men sarcasm in the chorus. My, my, my I'm so happy indeed. At present, they play originals, like 'em or leave 'em. A bold choice, and one that bolsters my respect for the band.
Hayride is on the way to something. And they aren't slow about getting there. It won't be long until you have a buddy tell you about this cool-ass band from San Francisco he heard. You can just smile and pretend he's gotten the inside scoop. You're already in the know because you made it this far and managed to not fall off the wagon.
Words by: Dennis Cook
Images by: Doug Burkhardt
JamBase | California
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