Local Bands Make Good : Bill at Electric Circus Proves All Is Not Quiet on Rock Front

The local grass-roots rock scene has gone to pieces since the loss of Bogart’s, the club that kept it glued together. But at least the pieces are proliferating.

Bands on the Orange County/Long Beach scene didn’t stop dead with Bogart’s closing three months ago. And in fact, O.C. has more options for local rockers now than in recent memory. The current roster includes Club Mesa and Our House in Costa Mesa, Club 5902 in Huntington Beach, Club 369 and the Fullerton Hofbrau in Fullerton and Caffe Nove, the Electric Circus and Linda’s Doll Hut in Anaheim.

Still, this proliferation of clubs is built around independent promoters who might do one or two shows a week; only the tiny Doll Hut can boast of running its own, self-contained rock ‘n’ roll business. Without a core alternative music club like Bogart’s booking a full schedule highlighted by interesting national acts, the local scene is going to have a void at its center. For such a club to emerge will require a rare confluence of money, business smarts and a patron’s enthusiasm that goes beyond profit maximization. We’re waiting.

Meanwhile, though, the current fragmentation offers lots of opportunities for fans with a taste for the unfamiliar to see, at low cost, what’s out there.

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Five local bands in search of a following shared a bill Saturday night at the Electric Circus, which has taken a step in the right direction by installing a rented sound and light system instead of relying on promoters to haul in their own each night.

Actually, there were six bands, but it would have been far better if Spent Idols, a punk-nostalgia act from San Diego County, had stayed home and left more room for their time-starved betters, who in some cases were limited to little more than 20 minutes onstage.

Standing Hawthorn, with two albums and more than six years experience, was the best-established act on the bill. Still, most of its gigging has been in South County; Anaheim represented a move into less certain territory. Few of the 150 or so in the club were there to see Standing Hawthorn, so it was a promising sign for the band that applause, scant at first, grew steadily as the abbreviated set went on.

There is nothing new or unfamiliar about what Standing Hawthorn does: U2 is a key reference point for an approach that strives for and readily achieves passionate intensity. Singer Paul Schulte gives the band a handsome focal point whose moves are devoid of preening and posturing. As he fervently sang lyrics about the heartache and confusion involved in the transition from adolescence to adulthood, Schulte grimaced and bent his body in ways consonant with the trials in the songs. His singing was clenched, his throaty voice strained with effort, but it packed sufficient power to stand the strain.

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The set’s main drawback was the sameness of Schulte’s vocal approach. It would help if he could take a break from titanic effort and approach certain songs with a poignant sweetness or a playful lightness that would complement the earnestness that is the primary slant of Standing Hawthorn’s music.

The players backing Schulte seem capable of moving in any direction. By keeping a stable lineup for more than five years and by playing more often than most bands on the local alternative scene, Standing Hawthorn has emerged as a tight, assured unit.

Drummer Stoner (full name: Douglas Stoner Peterson) didn’t stint on muscle yet did a deft job of accenting his work with tricky, motion-filled rhythm. Brent Loomis’ bass often carried the melody while guitarist Chris Karn dabbed on colors and textures with a judicious use of distortion effects.

With its singer’s sincerity and strong stage presence, a cohesive instrumental sound and a technical mastery evident on the new CD, “Itch,” Standing Hawthorn has the grounding to move forward and experiment with a broader range of moods and emotions.

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Babylonian Tiles cater to a specialized taste with their spooky Gothic rock. The band from Westminster didn’t stir this audience, but its ability to re-create strong material from its debut CD, “Basking in the Sun at Midnight,” suggests that it can connect with listeners who would enjoy a walk on the dark side.

With her elaborate eye makeup and a star painted in the middle of her forehead, singer Bryna Golden sat at her keyboards looking like a psychic. Her wan but expressive voice proved well-suited for relating tales set in the murk and chill of haunted castles, tombs and lonely garrets. Keyed by her ‘60s-style psychedelic organ playing and a good rolling and tumbling rhythm section, Babylonian Tiles mustered precision and drive on such songs as “No One Now” and “Crystal Gavel.”

Slower passages were steeped in a B-movie eeriness that, delivered in a straight-faced deadpan, didn’t take itself too seriously. This is a band that folks with a little Morticia Addams in them might find as tasty as hemlock tea.

The clear crowd favorite was Cake, the band that emerged from Long Beach about a year ago from the wreckage of a progressive-pop band from Orange County, Imagining Yellow Suns.

Cake builds upon the stormy, mysterious side of the Suns, playing an intense, trippy throwback to ‘60s acid rock. Drummer Rob Fadke (Suns fans may remember him as Fadtke; he recently dropped the “t”) laid down consistently heavy, hypnotic beats out of the Led Zeppelin canon. There was no chiffon or whipped cream in this Cake. Steve Cross, the other IYS alum, slashed out thick, chordal guitar leads while performing with his customary intensity and athleticism.

Sharing the singing and fronting duties with Cross, Rebecca Lynn brought a playful dimension that clashed with the heavy and portentous mood of the music but made for a more entertaining show. She came out in long johns, hot pants and a horrid wig, a haystack of curls, and smiled often when not sawing out eerie Transylvanian airs on her electric violin.

At this point, Cake seems primarily interested in creating body music that is pure physical sensation. It succeeded, judging from the reaction of the fans who crowded the stage front and did loping, bobbing dances. The songwriting remains a question mark--most of the set offered diffuse melodies and lyrics impossible to discern through the din.

Cross and Lynn have the makings of a good harmony-singing team; one hopes that Cake won’t be so enamored of creating a hypnotic and mystical effect that it forgets to exploit their vocal ability. What’s called for is a layer Cake that, along with the heavy batter, includes some smooth filling and a melodic icing.

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Burnin’ Groove finished the long evening with a late-late set (having the last notes ring at 2 a.m. is one Bogart’s custom that ought to be retired). The band--with its slicked-back, ‘50s-inspired handsome bad-boy look, punk rawness, street-level attitude and kinetic, perpetual motion approach to performance -- no longer can boast the bluesy, biting guitar work of Frank Agnew, who left to join Rule 62. His replacement, Jared Carlson, played gritty but unremarkable rhythm guitar. Lead player Andrew Galvez stepped forward with some stinging parts.

The front man, Daren Carlson (Jared’s younger brother), was full of animal spirits, singing in a chesty voice that occasionally took its cues from Mike Ness of Social Distortion. While he is no pure singer, Carlson has decent range, and the four other members readily joined in for exuberant and catchy sing-along choruses.

The set included some good material, including guilty-pleasure novelty “Bimbo,” a wired, careening number called “Anybody See” and a suitably crunchy cover of “Time Warp” from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

Burnin’ Groove has the look and aggressive sound to cast it as a contender for the local equivalent of mass popularity. Moe’s Art, which played early on the bill, is at the other end of the local spectrum: It’s a modest, unassuming band playing less for the possible glory of it than for the enjoyment and the creative outlet.

The foursome, fronted by singer-guitarists Jeff Fairbanks and Al Olefer, had one foot in the garage and another stepping toward the avant-garde. Fairbanks, formerly the singing drummer of Don’t Mean Maybe, is a good high-range singer who displayed a bit of a David Byrne yelp.

“Jacket,” an oldie from his Don’t Mean Maybe days, was the most distinctive number with its nervous, rapidly circling motion. “Flower Song” also worked well, calling to mind some of the pop-oriented yet off-kilter tone of the underrated albums Jack Bruce made in the late-’60s immediately after Cream’s breakup. Olefer’s sharp, clean guitar work and Jim Monroe’s hefty drumming enabled Moe’s Art to rock in its understated, slightly left-of-center fashion.