The Bayonics Record Release @ the Café Du Nord Friday, Sept. 7th 2k7
by j.charles @ textproductions
A monumental line of supporters and groupies are standing in line at Café Du Nord tonight. Everyone seems to know why they’re here, excited to be here, the streets abuzz, all the kats seems to be down to help the Bayonics celebrate their hard fought, very well produced (and two years in the making) self titled l.p.
Normally the shows don’t start to fill up until just before the Bayo takes control of the stage; in waves, until all (what is it, like twenty six pieces now?) are on. But tonight the lineup is soooo hot that the door sells out early. Seems like everyone is sporting black and white; urban and edgy, geared up and hoodied, or grown man. Everybody looks like they wore out fits which they had been saving for a special occasion such as this. All the guys got on Giants hats and I swear not a single one of them is the same. Black and white, orange, red and white, old skool, all black, whatever. New era is well represented tonight.
Just before I decide to pay my fare I notice the under aged German (who plays the timbales) sitting outside the club, eying the doorman like a wolf would a housecat. “Hans, you have to wait out here until the show starts, don’t you?” “Nah, we never really get any shit for it. There’s really only two clubs in the bay who even worry about it. You just gotta wait until the right time to approach the door, y’know?”
“All too well. We’ve all been twenty once. See you inside.” I made my break for the toll booth while the line was thin, a virtual impossibility tonight. Ten dollars, twenty two steps downhill, and just enough time to get on the dance floor for Kapakahi. The merch booth is opposite the bar and between the two you cannot pass without playing the packed bar shuffle. Hope you didn’t wear your white on whites. The new Bayo logo was on everything, everywhere.
Kapakahi has played with the Bayonics a lot, but most notably at the Elbo for the release of “Twisted, Bent & Confused,” their freshman disc. So the crowd was familiar with the music, sort of an up tempo Latin surf. As soon as the bass sax dropped people migrated, like some conditioned club rats, onto the floor and began heating it up. They killed it with a few tracks off their yet to be recorded c.d, but the crowd bounced best to the more familiar beats. Most notably “She Could Be the One”. The percussion section of the band is so on time that you could launch space shuttles to it.
Chris Jones, the badass bassist for Kapakahi, drops a Mario Brothers beat (think fire level) and livened up the set as their collab emcee climbed onstage in stunnas and a zip up hoodie. Lanskey is his name, and he worked the anticipatory crowd into a tizzy, signed off and announced the Bayonics, “in fifteen.”
The house hadn’t even finished putting up a banner in the background of the stage when the single file and seemingly never ending flow of Bayonics sprang from back stage. Jun was the first emcee on the mic, sporting an El Salvador flag and jersey. “You know it was just a matter of time before it dropped. We all knew it. And the reason were here right now is because of y’all.” The crowd cheers themselves, as they damn sure should. They seem to be an extravagantly loyal lot.
The band begins to play.
Heiro struts onstage, his fits portraying his voice so well; black velvet jacket, fedora, and red undershirt. The band continues to play. Jun calls out “hell yeah” hollabacks, ignites the evening, and Dreez walks onstage. Sporting, no joke, a wig of dreads and red cape. Obscure but not surprising.
Silence. Horns hit! Bass hits! Drums hit! Dreez’s voice gets dirty. “just in case/ just in case/ just in case I catch a case.” “Keep It Clean” is the first song out of the gates. People bounce like they’ve been listening to it for a year, butts bounce, and hands go up. Oh my god, what a night this is going to be.
Usually you get a fine mix of fast and slow from any stage act, a refractory period to catch your breath and wipe your brow. Not the Bayo, not tonight. No pause between the first song and the second of their night, a days old crowd pleaser that still hits like it did the first time you heard it; “Time Over Money” which included a guitar solo, bass solo, and the perennial bomb shit, the horn solos. Loud wooing can be heard over the deafeningly loud speakers, which speaks volumes for the intensity on the floor. “Primo”, the deeply reworked track number 11 on the l.p. is the last song in the montage, getting’ dirty like “too much dirt gon’ burn outcho tranny.” It’s so good, so good.
“How many y’all been with the Bayonics for two years or more?” loudness ensues. “Allright, how many y’all been with the Bayonics since the beginning, six years ago?” I wouldn’t think it could get any louder in here, but the proof is in the “woo”, which is so loud it hurts. “Next we’re gonna bring back something from the old Bayo. This man helped us write some of our first songs. Give it up for Brian Lazarus on bass!” once again, didn’t think it could get louder, and it did.
“La Kancha” follows, in its primal, live form. Piano breaks and a very long percussion break, which Pete (the drummer) is very into, beating the drum so hard you can feel it inside you. Spectators climb on stage to salsa, Heiro delivers. “este es el musica bien de la barria…en California.”
“Sensi,” “Aye Mami” and “Dias” round out the second wave of rump shakin’ Latin flavor, and Heiro rushes into an announcement. “Sorry, y’all, we gotta go. We’re the Bayonics. Thank you….”
The flow of the night doesn’t seem to let the band leave the stage with the crowd demanding more, so they bust out “Sco Livin” and depart, making room on the stage for Elemnop (pronounced l-m-n-o-p), who did very well for themselves.
The best part of the night, and definitely the most intense, was the encore set from the Bayonics, to their massive underground following, with love. Heiro sports the old school black and white Bayo shirt, Dreez rocks the new. The band open up a cover set with a lounge-ish version of “The Breaks” and “Doin’ It After Dark” and flow into a thorough “Sex Machine”. Heiro hollas like the godfather. A circle starts to form in front of the stage for Sex Machine. A b-girl steps around it with familiarity, moving her body and feet to the rhythm, attracting the attention of damn near everybody.
Finally, a sincere departing song. “This is the new single y’all. You gonna have to wait until Christmas time for this one, but we got it for you tonight. It’s called “tomorrow ain’t over.” It’s a flow heavy, bass driven bomber! Jun has most of the vocal duties, and carries it flawlessly. “Hands up. Hands up. Hands up.” He demands from the crowd. They concede. And hollaback “oh’s” finish off the freshness.
Chants of “one more” fill the entire house, fill your ears, and soon you find yourself, unknowingly, asking as well. “One more!”
“Allright, we got a quick one, you might have heard of it. It’s called “World Wide Hustle.” And it gets hedonistic in here! Hot enough to melt your shirt to your body, cool enough to be on soul train, flawless enough to be a diamond, the show plowed into unknown territory. Kats got onstage and danced, the horns danced in harmony with the guitar. All the drums beat the breath right out of you, and then it happens. Kut lifts a drum above his head and walks into the crowd, maintaining the rhythm while bringing it to the people. Horns blow, everyone gives it everything, and the crowd pushes forward, moving parts of the body most white kids are just finding out about. The jam goes on for ten minutes, pulling you more and more into the evening, the flow, the feeling.
When the music finally stops I cannot hear anything, my hands are shaking and my glasses start to fog. The end of a good night is never easy to adjust to.
---tex
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