Bungee Brent

Uli Jon Roth at the Oakland Metro Operahouse on Saturday night.

Better than: Being forced to listen to The Scorpions farewell tour cash-grab covers album, Comeblack.

As a subset of metal fans, those who worship at the altar of face-melting shred guitar wizards tend to be an even more zealous and fanatical bunch. Which is why the last thing I expected to see outside the Oakland Metro Operahouse, where OG six-string maestro Uli Jon Roth held forth Saturday night, was a crowd of greaser dudes and women with Bettie Page 'dos milling about. As it turned out, the multi-use venue was also hosting a rockabilly Valentine's Day party, bringing together a mix of mullet-sporting guitar nerds and chicks in fishnets and poodle skirts for an oddly eclectic evening of entertainment.

Kahley Avalon Emerson

Haçeteria presents Breath Control
Deco Lounge
Feb. 4, 2012

Better than: The term "hipster house."

What is it about the past that's so attractive? For as long as pop music has been around, previous iterations of youth culture have been an important part of it. Yet, for all the past's constant presence in the contemporary, the '00s and the early '10s have been dominated by an obsession with the sounds of years gone by.

Among the latest variants of this retro-tendency is the so-called "hipster house" movement. Exemplified by labels like L.A.'s 100% Silk and groups like Portland's Miracles Club, it's an attempt by disenfranchised indie rockers and noise musicians to utilize the sound palette and energy of classic house for new ends. The results so far have been scattershot to say the least, with some nailing it (local artists Magic Touch and Bobby Browser come to mind), and others seemingly missing the point entirely (the aforementioned Miracles Club being a particularly egregious example). Love it or hate it, the movement has a strong footing in San Francisco, with a rising group of producers and DJs that have attracted national attention. Locally, the social space for this movement is divided between a few parties, with two at the center: Donuts, the long-standing disco-not-disco extravaganza (now only an occasional thing), and the monthly Deco Lounge event that goes by the name of Haçeteria. You can probably guess which one Avalon and I found ourselves at last Saturday.

Christopher Victorio

Fitz and the Tantrums at the Regency. (Photos are from the band's Thursday show.)

Better than: Dancing to the same LMFAO songs over and over again.

The eardrum-destroying power behind Fitz and the Tantrums' sold-out show Friday night at the Regency Ballroom left attendees squinty-eyed and disoriented, but wanting more. "We collectively are making a hot sweaty mess up in here tonight," frontman Michael Fitzpatrick, exclaimed, with much cockiness.

His skeleton-like figure was dressed in all black, with that signature blonde streak sweeping across his forehead. He mentioned the array of women waiting for him backstage within the first 10 minutes of being up there. Gripping a microphone anchored to its stand for most of the set, any movement the somewhat robotic Fitz lacked was made up for by his counterpart, Noelle Scaggs.

Joseph Schell

Wilco at the Warfield last night.

Better than: Being sad in less beautiful ways.

Nine songs into Wilco's performance last night at the Warfield, Jeff Tweedy stopped to check on his audience:

"This has been kind of a morbid show so far. Are you guys okay?" he asked, seemingly more serious than joking. "We figured if you're here, you probably enjoy being sad -- at least a little bit. I know I do."

Tweedy excels at writing pained songs -- some as miserably precise in their lyrics as they are desolate in their sonics. But last night, even with a setlist that included some of this Chicago band's bleakest and best moments, Wilco's two-hour performance was never morbid. Instead it felt like a solemn celebration, a bracing reminder of the magic that can happen when a songwriter, a rock band, and a relatively small audience come together in just the right way. The songs themselves may have expressed misery, but the grace and energy given to them imparted a kind of a buzzing, heartworn elation.

Nathan Mattise

Theophilus London at Mezzanine on Friday.

Better than: Some modern-day Lawrence Welk incarnation.

Being an MC is hard. You can be criticized for one of the most abstract concepts in music -- your "flow" -- if it strikes people as odd or different. Your lyrical content gets scrutinized more closely than your band-backed contemporaries, too.

It only gets worse when performing live. Most venues push bass and drum audio levels to the forefront. Even the best lead singers and rappers face this, but an unknown MC can't rely on the audience's collective knowledge the way bigger names can. Fans shout Kanye's lyrics back at him no matter what they can or can't hear, but that's not what someone like Big Sean enjoys every night.

Theophilus London qualifies as a relatively unknown MC (with all of his major releases happening in the last calendar year). So when he entered the stage -- with a hype man in a matching "LVRS" hat and a headphone-clad DJ behind them -- it was easy to imagine the night unfolding. Devoted fans bouncing, rest of the crowd against the wall with drinks in hand. Nothing special.

But as London went through his set at Mezzanine, his performance indicated that the traditional MC is just one role he sees himself in.

Richard Haick

NOFX at the Fillmore on Friday.

Better than: Hanging out with loud, drunk 45-year-olds who aren't members of NOFX.

When lifelong NOFX enthusiasts are in the mood to jump around, shove each other, drink beer, jump around more, spill beer on each other, shove each other some more, then throw beer at NOFX, very few things will stop them -- including but not limited to a torrential, freezing downpour. If anything, the weather system set the tone for the evening, in that staying dry didn't appear to be a major priority for a single person inside the Fillmore on Friday night.

"So can someone bring us some tequila? What the fuck is going on here?" barked Fat Mike, Noe Valley resident and Fat Wreck Chords godfather extraordinaire, his big green mohawk showing signs of fatigue not halfway through an 80-minute set. Tequila shots were obtained, distributed onstage, and taken, followed by almost unanimous grimaces and belches.

The Walkmen at the Independent on Friday. All photos by Chris Trewin.

Better than: The Walkmen playing at a sunny outdoor festival.

The Walkmen played the first of two sold out shows at the Independent on a very rainy Friday night, in celebration of the band's 10th Anniversary. For the band's hardcore fans -- of which there are apparently many -- it was a must-see show; the hordes arrived wet and excited. The Walkmen rattled through over 35 songs from all of their five studio albums. Having them seen them play at the two major S.F. festivals in the last few years, it was clear that their simple broken-down garage blues was better suited to a confined space.

Onstage, Hamilton Leithauser holds the mic above his face like a heavyweight waiting to hit a punch bag, and boy does he have some lungs. Outside of hardcore and punk I have never seen anyone put so much into every note, except maybe a young Liam Gallagher. He bellows out mostly slow crooning melodies as though he is singing for his life. How he has kept up this mesmeric singing technique over 10 years without ripping something in his throat is a wonder. To say he sounds like a young Rod Stewart may seem like an odd compliment to some, but if you go back to some of The Faces' more raucous years, you'll hear a similar bluesy howl.

Sonny Smith at the Lost Church

Better than: That paranoid monologue that finally convinces the man to lock you up forever.

Between issuing unadorned pop-rock with his band, Sonny & the Sunsets, assigning himself sprawling art projects, and putting out low-key comic books, San Francisco artist Sonny Smith is known for funneling his dark, humorously perceptive vision through many types of media. On Saturday, he tried another kind of project: a one-hour live monologue accompanied by a skeleton of a rock 'n' roll band.

Called Sees All Knows All, the performance was the first of its kind for Smith, and winnowed his freewheeling vision down to an experience that was not quite live music nor live theater, but offered some of the best elements of each. He stitched pieces of past songs together over odd, sad tales similar to the ones in his comic books, added a few sci-fi twists to the plot, and presented it all in the resigned, wry mode that's become a signature part of his stage presence. By the end, it felt like the rambling, deeply strange vignettes of Sees All Knows All might be the most complete presentation of Smith's creative vision yet.

Rank/Xerox at Fivepoints Arthouse on Friday.

Better than: The talk-show coverage of NFL playoffs mysteriously broadcasting through The Smell's solid state guitar amplifier.

Rank/Xerox and the Shoppers' full length albums last year boasted uniquely dark aesthetics and vividly demonstrated innovation in punk through different approaches. Both albums elicited overwhelming praise from the punk community and beyond, so the bands' co-headlining performance at the Fivepoints Art House on Friday was an ideal opportunity to assess whether their live prowess matched the sheer impact of their recorded material. Each group was able to replicate the bleak outlook and agitated barrage from their albums, while the intimate setting and intense gloom of band members elevated the songs' impact and heightened the tension that underpins their albums.

The unique venue created an interesting duality between the groups and their surroundings. Bleached white walls and creaky wood floors starkly contrasted with the overwhelmingly black outfits of band members. There was no proper stage, and all the traditional nuisances of music venues isolating the crowd from the performers were eliminated. Each group set up on a rug beneath minimal white paper cutouts adorning the rafters above. Naturally, the lack of a stage contributed to the intimacy of the performance, but during Rank/Xerox's set the crowd toppled a speaker, microphone stands, and performers.

Douglas Zimmerman

Devo perform at the Fillmore.

Better than: Bands that try to cash in on '80s nostalgia without keeping up their chops.

Watching concerts from bands that were popular in the '80s can be really depressing -- or, in the case of Devo, incredibly energizing.

Since its formation in 1973, the band has only had a five-year period of inactivity (1991-1996), and that time spent on the road has yielded both technical proficiency and a playful chemistry among its members that's engaging to watch. On the second night of a two-day stay at the Fillmore, the members of Devo jumped, sweated, and dazzled with multiple costume changes, even undressing down to their skivvies at one point.