The Knitters - San Francisco, CA

By: Phil Roveto

Thursday November 02, 2006

In a brief interlude to all the crazy-eyed action, "the Knits" strung together a couple of their brooding, crooning songs, quieting the crowd while ladling out savory strains of passionate musical talent.
I Got Rhythm Pigs!

I'm not one to clap along to music. It's never seems right. Actually, it seems corny as fuck. But that's a personal convention that got hurled through a plate glass window Monday night at San Francisco's Independent. I found myself shelling out for supplementary beers when "Silver Wings," the Knitter's cover tribute to Merle Haggard, drifted towards the back. Whirling around, I saw John Doe and Dave Alvin pouring it out to the crowd, slow guitar melodies loping along, as if we were all sadly ambling along horseback, watching our loved ones disappear.

This touching melancholy wasn't to last. As soon as Doe hollered out "Bring out the rest of the KNITTERSSS," the night was about one thing; boisterous, bellowing madness. The great wall-kicking, whoooOO-inducing songs came one after another. "Poor Little Critter on the Road," proudly equating your terrific hangover to roadkill ooze, "Skin Deep Town," mocking the superficial, wishing old age on them, "Call of the Wrecking Ball," delightfully scrapping animal pieces out of their boot waffles. How violently my vegan friend pounded his mitts together is a serious testament to their talent.

In a brief interlude to all the crazy-eyed action, "the Knits" strung together a couple of their brooding, crooning songs, quieting the crowd while ladling out savory strains of passionate musical talent. The wandering guitars on "Trail of Time" felt like blinking stars from underwater. Gives me a shiver every time. John Doe and Exene Cervenka's voices blended smoothly together, the inherent ranges and carried emotions of each supporting the other, which completely gave "Rank Stranger" the varied nature of human voice needed to show the universal feeling of isolation.

The Knitters even had time for some shit talk. After whispering amongst themselves, Exene Cervenka informed us, "Oh, we're just discussing Christmas presents. Seriously. What're we getting [drummer] DJ [Bonebreak] now? A metronome?" Crowd issued a collective "awwwwww fuuuuuck" "Ohhhh, a garden gnome." Much better. Bonebreak was a powerhouse on the set, and bassist Jonny Ray Bartel seemed like he was going to put his palm through his instrument neck. For their encore, they reminded us of our deplorable political ignorance with "The New World," where drunkards complain that "it was better before, before we voted for whatshisname."

Meanwhile, in between heavy swigs of whiskey, I forgot my clapping rule. They forced me to. Sure, clapping with a beat seems like shit in a lot of circumstances ("Hey everybody! Clap along"), but HERE it was perfect. The Knitters send out an amazing energy founded in good time togetherness, and you can't help but want to belong to it, to have some part in it. This band pushes people from their dull inertia and that's the only way to be. They pulled a group together Monday and roused them into a singing, stamping frenzy. It's what a good show should make you feel. Something you'd want to bruise your hands over.