A few months ago I happened upon either the best or the stupidest band I’ve come across in a long time at a house party in Bayview. Since, I’ve seen and almost seen The Thunder Achievers twice more, and along the way the band has adopted me as either their official media outlet or principal apologist. Here’s my post about their first ever show. Go to my SF music blog www.onebandband.com for more coverage and to hear The Thunder Achievers’ debut single, “Chelsea Clinton”–a primitive, deranged, strangely sweet piece of punk nonsense.
The Thunder Achievers ??? some shithole, 3/11/10
I’m filing this under “What the Fuck?” Went to this house party last night, down in Bayview, or maybe it was Hunter’s Point? Dunkle had heard about this band playing, and I was feeling restless, so we went. I guess it was more of a warehouse space, though some kids seemed to be living there, mattresses and sleeping bags behind a tacked-up sheet, that kind of place. It smelled like someone was living there anyway. You know, I used to go to these kinds of things all the time. It’s always some ramshackle band with a dumpy drum kit, a few Crate amps with shredded cones, a basic disregard for tuning, and so much stony-faced seriousness onstage you’d think they were negotiating a ceasefire or something.
So, the band tonight had, at least, a hilarious name. To me, anyway. “The Thunder Achievers.” (Or was it “Th’Under Achievers?”) Two dudes, two girls. They drifted out from behind the tacked-up sheet, looking half-awake or all-the-way stoned. I sort of got the impression that maybe they were the ones living here, in which case this party was mostly an excuse to inflict their rock upon us. A lot of bands seem to be giving up on venues these days, and I applaud the notion. However, the sound of snare and shredded amps bouncing off concrete floors and walls does not bolster the cause of direct democracy in music. I was, in a sense, moved by their set. Rattled. Abused. Appalled. And oddly intrigued, though I can’t for the life me say why. Anyway, my ears are still singing with that tuning fork sound that tells you you’ll be an old man always leaning over to hear what the hell anyone just tried to say to you.
If I could’ve discerned one note from another, I would attempt a review here. What did they sound like? A dentist’s drill through a megaphone, plus shouting—that’s about as much as I recollect. Though I’ve been walking around this morning humming something. I think it might be the chorus to their last song. When they were packing up, I went up to the guitarist to say, “Good job. You guys rocked.” I feel compelled to be polite no matter the setting or what I might actually think. Besides, there were like eight people there, and I felt sorry for them. I’ve been there enough.
The kid just looked at me with this blank stare, brushed his hair out of his eyes, said, “Not bad for our first show, right?”
Their myspace page, such as it is: