Stephen Hamm Theremin Man, taking it to the next level with the Space Family Band at the Rickshaw, Nov. 30, 2024, by Allan MacInnis
A skinny man in a black hoodie corrals me by the Rickshaw entrance. I do not know him, but gamely pause as he points at himself and commences unzipping the hoodie to reveal... his Stephen Hamm Theremin Man t-shirt. It takes me a second to figure out why he is doing this, then I shake my head and say, "I ain't him."
If I keep my inclination to overestimate in check, this is only maybe the fifth time that someone has mistaken me for Stephen Hamm since the inception of the Theremin Man project, but that's four more times than I've been mistaken for Geoff Barton, Alex Varty, or Ty Stranglehold. I grant that we are both, as Hamm would say, "big-boned"; that we both have rather high foreheads (extending all the way to the back of our heads, in fact) and whitish goatees; and that we are both of a certain age. Hamm also has a moustache, however; stands at least eight inches taller than I do; favours ceremonial robes and eye makeup to my Hawaiian shirts, rock tees, and black slacks; and most importantly, HE'S STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKING HAMM, people, GET IT RIGHT. He was in Slow when I was merely a guy in the audience, for fucksake (to say nothing of Tankhog, the Evaporators, Sunday Morning, and even a version of the Enigmas I saw). He should cut a distinct figure!
Please study the photos carefully, you Theremin Man fans. That's me on the left in the top pic, me on the right on the bottom. The guy onstage, playing an instrument: THAT'S HAMM. (And while we're at it, what's with the people who were calling out, "Hey, Steve!" last night? Another distinction: you can "Al" me all you want, I do not mind it, but Hamm apparently does not care for the short form of his name, correcting someone from the stage at one point last night, responding to a "Hey, Steve" with a dour mutter of, "Stephen." And yet still calls of "Hey, Steve!" persisted. Why?).
Without wanting to steal his thunder, my blogless gig buddy Adam Kates -- pictured below with Bev Davies at our late night, post-gig vegetarian Indian dinner at India House, at Pender on Main, who are open til midnight on weekends and have far better food than you would expect (Rickshaw attendees take heed!) -- enthusiastically came up with a great idea, based on Hamm's debut Space Family Band performance last night: Hamm should put his band on TV. I do not know my TV (Adam suggested Jimmy Kimmell or SNL), but this is actually a fabulous idea; Bev seemed to agree. I think the Space Family Band would present really, really well on television.
There was even a bit of a theatricality to the performance, beyond the costumes and gold lame suit, when a shaggy creature, looking somewhat like an ambulatory sphagnum bog, joined the band onstage to dance between songs, shuffling low to the ground, hugging the legs of the musicians, staring out at the audience with eyes we could not see, and one time bonking its head into the bass (vision must be limited in such a getup). This was during "Star People."
Hamm was only one of the acts last night, but he was the only act displaying a momentous onstage evolution, as we've never seen Hamm play with a full band before. I don't know if they were actually all family members, but the Space Family Band is a very welcome addition to Hamm's performances. There were also people wandering the audience wearing muumuus, robes, and other odd costumes that I presume were there as Hamm enthusiasts/ supporters. I enjoyed it enough that at the end of the evening, I bought a new Theremin Man shirt design, despite the fact that me wearing a Theremin Man t-shirt will likely only increase the incidences of being taken for him. But think about it, folks: if I were Stephen Hamm, how would I have taken these photographs?
The rest of the night was equally fabulous, of course. Going to a Pointed Sticks show in Vancouver is like going to a high school reunion of people you actually like. In attendance were Rd Cane, Cat Ashbee, Dave Jacklin, Dale and Jade from the Dishrags, Grant McDonagh, Dale Wiese, Richard Chapman, Regina Michaelis, Kristina Mamelli, Ed Hurrell, Sonny Dean (in some sort of tux???!), and to Bev's amazement, Bud Luxford himself (who I last ran into at that garage-door Pointed Sticks show in East Van, but whom she has not seen for some 30 years, I think she said). No doubt there were other notables I did not myself notice (or have already forgotten saying hi to!), but the vibe was as happy and pro-social as it's been at any concert I've attended. Nick commented at one point that in Germany, there was no need to talk about "new songs" versus "old songs," as it was all new to most members of the audience over there, but the band played a surprising number of the old ones last night, including an encore of "The Marching Song" and "Out of Luck," which I missed (I was out sorting stuff out in the lobby -- I'd brought gifts for people, things to get signed, and briefly thought, worst of all, that I'd lost my hat, which had a newly purchased TAD Jack Pepsi pin in it, and a Forgotten Rebels pin gifted me by Adam).
But I was happy to catch "True Love" and a cover, apropos of Paul Leahy's birthday today, of Polly's "Put a Little English On It," which I leapt from my seat to film for David M. (my first video of the opening two songs is much better). It all sounded great; the Sticks had just returned from a 16-date/ 16-gig sprint across Europe, which, as Nick also quipped, must be some sort of record, if you multiply those figures by the combined age of the members of the Pointed Sticks or something ("I don't know, that's math"). Bill Hemy in particular continues to really knock it out of the park on guitar, in particular. I didn't really understand Ian's drumming for "There's the Door," but recall that I didn't understand it last time I saw them live, either... and now that I re-listen to the studio version, it also seems strange to me (but a bit quieter), like he's a beat ahead of the song, or something... so it's not badly played, just a weird drum part! It's still probably my favourite song on the new album.
The opening acts were fun, too. Victoria's Peanut Butter Telephone at times channeled the same shoegaze-meets-Sonic Youthfulness I saw exemplified by Cherry Pick a few weeks ago (they'd do very well on a bill together), but also brought a lot of 60s psychedelia to the plate, which grew increasingly potent and present as their set continued; for guys in their 20s, they must have killer record collections (or really cool parents, or something). The Get Arounds (featuring Michael Nathanson, on drums -- he's the member I'd seen most often elsewhere) were more of a "1975 power pop" thing, muscular and tight, but though the guitarist's shades reminded me a bit of Rick Brewster from the Angels (my favourite power pop/ pub rock band of that era) and some of their muscular riffage reminded me of the tougher end of Goddo, another great, under-appreciated band from back then, I had people to say hi to, business to take care of, and a couple trips up to the washroom to make. They didn't need me, anyhow, with someone like Eddy Dutchman in their corner as MC (under his momentary alias of "Mr. Rick Shaw," he'd worked out a bit of stage patter about how you shouldn't fuck around but buy a round for the Get Arounds).
I remain exhausted, in general (and ill enough that I kind of regret having gone out at all, this weekend, to be honest; I thought maybe on Friday night my cold had passed quickly, but it seems to have resurfaced now). I have one more big piece to put out, then plan to go back to not writing for awhile. But it was such a fun night, I had to all tell you about it. Thanks to the Pointed Sticks for facilitating such a delightful party, and WELCOME HOME.
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