Chalk it up to getting older, booze, or both, but it took me a good moment to recall if I’d seen Ty Segall play live when someone asked recently. This is an artist I listen to regularly, whose music is always worth a stop for when iTunes shuffles to one of his tracks, yet I felt like someone had asked me what the 17th number after the decimal point in pi was. It took me a minute to remember that, yes, I have, twice in fact, and both times were pretty great. But it’s alarming how distant the memories have become.
You see enough live music and it’s bound to happen eventually. What I can only hope is that the memory of Friday night’s Ty Segall show at Skatepark of Tampa stays as raw and joyous as it was after the last crackling note buzzed from SPOT's speakers.
Relocated from Epic Problem, the veritable closet of a concert space next door, the sold-out show sat smack dab in the middle of an industrial fortress: the impromptu stage set up in front of tall wooden ramps right next to an elevated, emptied-out pool structure. Skaters were everywhere, in the adjacent warehouse, even in the pool, giving the whole thing a foot clan hideout kinda vibe that just made it all that much more unforgettable.
For a band like Segall’s, this was perfect. Their lo-fi brand of snotty garage rock felt right at home from the first stabby synth notes of “Manipulator” to the very end of their sweat-soaked set. Pulling heavily from Manipulator, his newest, longest and most quality-conscious album to date, Segall and his crew ran through a loose and raucous set of extended jams and righteous debauchery. Could it have sounded better? Definitely, but it wouldn’t have been the same.
Coated in a thick layer of guitar fuzz, tracks like “Feel” and “It’s Over” took on a new sense of mischievousness. “Ceasar,” a Lennon-esque acoustic jam, incited a near-riot with its breakneck, electric rendition, and a between-song take on the Folgers coffee jingle put a wonderful dose of weird into the whole thing.
I’d be remiss not to mention the opening set from Jensen Serf Company, which dished out a fun, diverse and all together engaging set with little more than four chords, some choice guitars, and a dexterous singer/drummer behind the kit. Also, Wand, which, despite a mid-set electric black-out, managed to deliver a frenetic performance of jams that sounded like the sort of music you’d hear when hopping on an old motorcycle to escape a mustachio-ed henchman, so pretty good if you’re into that kind of thing.
At the very least, Friday night’s show was a unique one, a welcome break from the monotony of mega venues and dive bars. At best, it was rock in its rawest form: uninhibited, ugly, and all the more unforgettable as a result.