On 4/20 at the WOW Hall, a Sublime-cover-band called 40 Oz. to Freedom performed in celebration of the counterculture holiday. A faint cloud of reefer smoke hovered above the audience as the band played from the Sublime songbook. The crowd cheered whenever marijuana references came up in the lyrics. 40 Oz. to Freedom, comprised of four Sublime-obsessed San Diegans, perfectly recreated the original band’s sound (down to the police dispatcher sound-bites), and their performance exceeded my expectations by far.
I couldn’t help but laugh at their character. Every five songs or so, the band members would down shots in unison. In between songs they would engage the audience, especially the females. The bass player once shouted, “Women above 18, raise your hands.” I reveled in their sleaziness. The lead singer later questioned, “Where the after party at?” but there was no response.
I thought that my tastes had elevated above bands like Sublime. There’s nothing subtle or artistic about it, I told myself. Sublime’s self-titled 1996 release was an essential part of my middle school experience. So as 40 Oz. to Freedom played songs that I had once loved and memorized, I was transported back to my rebellious adolescent epoch, and I rediscovered why Sublime (and ska music in general) is brilliant.
There’s nothing pretentious about Sublime. They wrote songs about what they knew: sex, drugs, and riots. And it’s incredibly accessible: reggae-influenced punk-pop driven by a strong emotive singer. It’s catchy yet grungy, heavy yet melodic, angry yet irie. I get it.
Happy belated 4/20
Usually, I’m Noah DeWitt, age 18. Last night, however, I was Max Neumeyer, age 22. The security guard at the Someday Lounge didn’t think twice. I paid him my five bucks, flashed him my dubious ID, exposed my wrist for him to stamp, and entered the crowded club event Filmistan, a set composed solely of songs featured in Bollywood movies. Filmistan is put on by DJ Anjali and the Incredible Kid, a Portland pair who have been DJing Indian and international parties for the past 8 years. On Friday, I met Anjali (aka Anju Hursch) and the Kid (aka Stephen Strausburg) for an interview, where they shared their thoughts on the interaction between the music of the African Diaspora (reggae, dancehall, hip-hop, house) and the Indian diaspora (bhangra, classical, filmi). Andaz (every last Saturday at the Fez) and Atlas (every 2nd Saturday at Holocene) are their monthly efforts to “resist sonic monoculture.”
At Filmistan, vintage clips of outlandish Bollywood dramas looped on the projection screen behind them. DJ Anjali and the Incredible Kid took turns spinning song after song of vibrant, hypnotic Bollywood techno. The crowd was diverse: whites, blacks, browns; hipsters, hippies, businessmen; old folks, twenty-somethings, minors. What did they have in common? They were looking to get down! An Indian mother wearing traditional attire displayed quirky steps and graceful hand movements. “Her” song came on. One bearded fellow had exemplary moves, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite emulate them. A circle formed and individuals grooved their ways into the center to show off their skills, one at a time. Thanks to DJ Anjali and the Incredible Kid, my first experience up in da club was completely insane.
They also do weddings.
