San Francisco's Doomed

Crime were right. SF is losing its soul. Finally pulled a Friday off to see Fist Fam at the Elbo Room. Yeah, I should've know what a clusterfuck the Elbo Room would be on a Friday night. I'm not talking the show: I'm talking about Valencia and 17th. My beloved city has turned into privileged prize pony sorority bitches from La Jolla trying to act like they're running things. And, sadly--they might be. Along with Presidio Heights Range Rover soccer moms and pec-bumping Chestnut Street bro-hams. While the rest of us struggle to pay the rent, these people live in a theme park. This is not a love song. SF is a Fantasia of piranha people--hungry, empty mouths that want to swallow your soul. A Disney piss take on the Barbary Coast, an Enchanted Forest of Entitlement. Cartoon people who've forgotten their manners, walking around with thought bubbles over their heads that says "gimme," "me," and "mine."

Lucky the Fist Fam had the foresight to import themselves from Asheville, NC, and inject some much needed reality into this town, like a blast of fresh air into a room full of people huffing their own very important farts. The shitty thing is, Gus and Philo are moving back home. The Fam has renamed themselves the Weekend Cult and this show was an album release for their eponymous album, as well as a bon voyage to Gus and Philo--you will be missed and don't be strangers. If you like witty, cutting (and cutty) hip-hop with deep, three syllable Suth-er-in' beats to drink Jameson to, you need to download this shit forthwith.

Asheville's own Foulmouth Jerk opened, and he was hilarious. Rec League were up next, and they killed it with more energy than my crumpled old ass could handle. Entertaining as fuck though--"White Boy Wasted" was the standout jam: "You ain't gotta be a white boy to be white boy wasted..." I've been a little too white boy wasted myself lately. Fist Fam we're up next. Z-Man had the last spot, but I only caught a couple of songs, because, you know, it was time to get home and make sweet love. Upstairs at the Elbo was a sucka free bubble, which was amazing compared to the asshole factory downstairs. Next Gurp City show I'll just blindfold myself until I get there.

Philo, alert mode:

This motherfucker stood up on his own through the whole set. No shit.

Gus Cutty, words of wisdom, with the JJ Walker Defenders of Good Times shirt:
Horn guy in the mix:
Merkulson, on one:
Ronnie Mac lit himself on fire about midway through the set, which was cool:
J Eaze, from the gut:
We were all feeling like this by the end of the show: happy and maybe a little bit blurry.