Doors: 8:00 pm / Show: 9:00 pm
This event is 18 and over.
Tickets available at TICKETMASTER.COM, or by phone at 800-745-3000. No service charge on tickets purchased in person at The Sinclair Box Office Wednesdays-Saturdays 12-7PM. Please note: box office is cash only.
Ty Segall & The Muggers
THE SEGALL HAS LANDED. And it’s fully loaded with everything that Ty Segall (and you and me) are gonna need in the world to come. Sticking his hand deeper into the machines all around him, Ty is reaching ever further to the outer limits of inner space orbited throughout Twins and Sleeper. And now more than ever, the chunks of the world that came before are like asteroids formed in his image, picking up speed. Still fighting the power with all the energy that a determined mind-patriot can conjure, Ty’s a fighter who loves, a surfer, a spaceman, and yeah, a casualty – like you, he’ll never be free. But unlike you, he knows it – and when he goes down and his head cracks in two, out pour the multi-colored manias that make up Manipulator. Sour-sweet declarations featuring freaks and creeps alike: “The Singer,” “The Faker,” “Mister Main,” “Susie Thumb,” the “Connection Man,” and “The Crawler,” to name but a mutant fistful.
To see these peeps, to realize their dreams and visions, Ty kept working, kept writing, laying down more tracks than ever. New musical expressions pop and surprise relentlessly throughout all the knockout tunes of Manipulator which feature Ty’s helium-cooled vocals, sounding more powerful and dynamic than ever, and many sounds in the mix, but most of all, SO many guitars! Strangled-neck solos recalling the good old days down by the river with Neil, numbed-and-unplugged discursions, three-quarter quartets raising their din in a few key places, waves of sparkling acoustics with ominous, Love-ly undertones – and then, torrents of filthy git-grunge, exploding into the chorus, washing everything away, fusing the blackness of Sabbath with the grime and grab-ass of the Stooges and the sweet swinging tones of the Stones. All in the name of getting higher on the music. Why have one guitar solo when you can have a few in the same space? There’s so little time, and a LOT to say.
Up a dead end street just before you twist and turn your way up to Los Angeles’ majestic Mount Washington is a house of stairs and weeds and strays of all kinds. A large iguana remains perma-frozen in time on a brick wall, guarding a small iron door. Sparse and small, a place where time doesn’t matter and solitude is king.
Charles Francis Moothart II went mostly unseen for a month or two. A prisoner of time in a dimension of sorrow and confusion, Moothart was hitting a personal crossroads and nursing a brief and impermanent break up with his long time girlfriend/band mate by retreating, putting the pain from his head into his tape machine, stepping away from struggling for the answers in order to sit with them and pull from them. Greasing the pain to form relief. The only medicine was to challenge himself and sand down enough to break through the fear of failure. To see it all through to the end and find out what stood as truth.
Now, after the fog has lifted, upon returning, Moothart is sharing the souvenir of his travels to another dimension, a postcard from a dream in which time stood still, the girl got away and the wolf-man-glass-in-hand risked it all for the sea change.
Still Life is unlike any other record Moothart has recorded; the songs came quickly, were recorded as experiments and he went through the process alone. Previously Moothart’s bands have been collaborations from all sides, from his high school hardcore punk quartet Culture Kids with CFM band mate Michael Anderson to the toughest pop band in Southern California, Moonhearts, to the fleeting garage rock band the Perverts with long time friend and collaborator Ty Segall. The monolithic super group Fuzz was the product of Charles’ master riffs marrying Segall’s songwriting prowess and unparalleled rhythmic style. A perfect meeting of minds of two musicians in their prime. Two friends with egos so intertwined in the midst of a five year touring spell in Segall’s band as his secret weapon, heard but not seen, hidden in tangles, the two became a tangled force themselves.
Sometimes you realize you must shed what’s most comfortable to find truth in yourself again and so Moothart has denied the comforts of being the sideman to give listeners a slice of himself.