“I think the kids today have something of a structural advantage,” I was saying to my oldest son, Kerouac, as we turned onto San Francisco’s Fell Street.
“How so,” he asked as we made our way to the Rickshaw Stop to see Ecca Vandal on her first night in The City, the third show in a 13-show North America run.
We’d been discussing how young people making music today had access to a far deeper musical library than artists from the past, and how, in my mind, the music was better for it. Kerouac was unfamiliar with Ecca Vandal, and I was trying to describe her sound in as few words as possible even when her story is so deeply rich that any sort of elevator pitch seemed a fool’s errand.
“She’s South African, Sri Lankan parents, grew up in Australia — and honestly she sounds like all of it at once,” I said. “Punk, hip-hop, reggaeton, the whole thing, sometimes in the same song.”
Kerouac gave me the look of a man who’d believe it when he heard it.
“Well, take Led Zeppelin,” I said. “We’re talking a huge amount of Chicago and Delta Blues with a dash of sixties psychedelic and British folk.”
He nodded as we took our place in line.
“I thought the doors opened at seven,” he said, a quizzical expression on his face.
We’d struggled to find parking in a downtown that was hopping, finally making the turn onto Fell Street around 7:30 p.m. We were sure we’d be able to walk right in, possibly miss the beginning of the opening act.
“I thought the same thing,” I said, equally perplexed.
We looked at each other for a second, shrugged, and continued the conversation.
“But take a band like Ecca Vandal – she’s got everything Zeppelin had in addition to everything that’s come since. And music has just expanded, hip-hop, rap, rock and country sitting comfortably within any 20-year-old’s Spotify playlist,” I said.
Kerouac nodded. We’d caught Billy Strings in Oakland the night before, a show he’d flown out from Minnesota to catch with me, and that was much more his wheelhouse; Strings, Tyler Childers, Charley Crockett and the like.
The Ecca Vandal concert was an absolute fluke. Two days prior I was sitting at the house hoping to see when The Bones of J.R. Jones was playing the area. They’re one of the few bands K has truly expressed an interest in seeing with me, so I’m hot to trot to catch one of his shows. I open the app and the listing for Ecca Vandal pops up – a sold-out show has resale tickets available.
“Fuck,” I exclaim. K looks at me confused and I tell her what’s up.
“Do it!” she says to me as I contemplate three shows in a row. K continues to list out all of the positives – you only live once, chaos is our forte, he’s only here for the weekend why not?
I text Kerouac – “Wanna see a punk show Saturday night?”
He near immediately pops back – “Sure, I’m game.”
Tickets purchased.
My watch lit up as a notification came across – “Your show’s about to begin!! Doors open at 8 p.m.” I share the information with Kerouac … I could have sworn the ticket said seven when I purchased it but no matter, we’re here and we’re not late.
Let’s talk about the Rickshaw Stop for just a second. This venue is fantastic and over the years they’ve hosted a slew of bands on the verge of exploding – Billie Eilish has played there, as has Charli XCX. My instinct is Ecca Vandal will soon be added to the list of “you should’ve seen them when they played…” bands. It’s an old television studio and the website notes the nearly 4,000-square-foot space can hold 400 people. This was a sold-out show, so we were about to find out what 400 people in that space felt like.
The Santa Monica-based power trio Speed of Light opened the show, and I plan on giving them their own piece, they were that good – let’s leave it at this for now; if you have the chance to go see them, DO! You will not be disappointed.
As Speed of Light finished up their set, I turned to take in the scene behind me. WOW. So this is what 400 people look like jammed into a space. I probably should have guessed the number had reached this point; the temperature in the room can only be described as swamp-like and I felt a twinge of pain for Kerouac, who decided to show up in his red Coleman flannel. He looked great but damn was he paying for it as he would occasionally take off his ball cap and wipe away the rivers of sweat.
“Hell yes, bubba – take it in,” I thought to myself, hiding a smirk as I looked at him, pulling my own soaked shirt away from my body a few times to get some airflow going. “This is what a rock and roll concert is supposed to feel like!”
Under the cover of darkness, drummer Dan Maio and multi-instrumentalist Richie Buxton, Vandal’s co-conspirator, jumped on stage, warming up for just a second before launching into “Eyes Shut” as Vandal seemed to just appear on stage, the lights coming up as the crowd erupted in approval.
“Holy shit, it’s already hot in here,” Vandal said to the crowd, catching her breath from the song, starting to make eye contact. That was the moment I knew this performance was going to be something special.
You go to enough concerts, especially in smaller, more intimate venues, and you start to be able to read the band’s body language. They know when the crowd isn’t digging them and they just power through their set, get off the stage and call it a night. And then there is that even more rare moment when they look out and the realization hits them – “this is WAY bigger than I expected!”
As Vandal scanned the throngs of bodies just below her, arms outstretched, whoops and hollers of adoration escaping their bodies, a sparkle began to take root in her eye. “Woah – y’all are even up there,” she exclaimed as she caught the crowd of people up in the balcony all there to see her. And you could see the switch flip – they showed up for me, I’m gonna show the fuck up for them.
And damn she did.
I turn to Kerouac, my eyes wide – “Hold on, bub … this is going to be good!”
“Dude – this could stop right now and I am completely blown the fuck away,” he yells back at me over the crowd. He’d spent the earlier part of the wait talking to folks, expressing how this wasn’t really his thing, how I’d convinced him to come and it was more my scene, and he really didn’t know what to expect. Whatever he expected, it was getting punk-rocked the fuck out of him, only to have that replaced with whatever Ecca wanted to put in there. I love me some Crockett, but take that, Charley!
Four or five songs into her set – at this point I’ve surrendered any sense of keeping track and just given myself over to this exact moment of pure back-and-forth energy transfer – breathing heavy after manically bouncing around the stage, Vandal addressed the crowd again. “You know, they told me I couldn’t do this but fuck it, I’m doing it.”
“How many women do we have here tonight?” she asks and is met with an earsplitting response.
“I need all my men to step back, I want all my beautiful ladies to come up here to the front, we’re doing this, this one is for you.”
Women start making their way to the stage only to be pulled up by Vandal, three, then five, and now I’ve lost count of how many women are sharing the stage with the performer as she leaps into “Bleed but Never Die,” an anthem dedicated to female strength, personal femininity, and building inner resilience.
Kerouac and I have somehow been split up, the snake of bodies having found its way between us. I catch his eye and a massive smile spreads across his face … oh yeah, he’s surrendered too.
The back and forth continues, everything this crowd is throwing at the band they’re redirecting right back at them in an ebb and flow that promises to consume itself but chooses instead to continue building. I have a moment of clarity as I watch Ecca catch the eye of a young fan down in the front; she makes her way toward the tiny human, not possibly more than 12 or 13 years old, and without missing a beat of her song reaches down, takes the little one’s hand, locks eyes, and for just a few seconds is singing only to them. In the midst of the chaos running rampant in this 4,000-square-foot venue, Vandal finds a way to cut through it all and be so incredibly human.
“We’ve got a few more songs for you all,” she says at some point, “but I wanted to talk just a second about the record we just made and the tour we’re now on. Everything about this has been DIY and we couldn’t be more proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
She’s not wrong, and the full story of that record is worth telling – I’ll come back to it. In the moment, something stranger is happening. There’s just a moment there where I feel slightly detached from myself as the lights drop and then snap back. I have no idea how it’s possible but I feel as though I just stepped out of some time loop -- I would swear this show just started, but a quick glance at my watch confirms we’ve been at it for well over an hour and a half. I have no idea how this is possible. Kerouac seems to have the same sort of dazed look about him, and I reach over, put my hand on his shoulder.
“You ok?” I ask him, still not entirely sure if I’m ok.
“Holy shit, Dad, that was fucking amazing!”
We both just sort of look at each other for a few seconds, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Come on, let’s find our way out of here – you’ve got a plane to catch real fuckin early in the morning,” and we turn to begin the walk back to the car, to the room, to Minnesota for him and Sonora for me. Thank you, Ecca — I couldn’t have asked for a better send-off than what you just gave us.
Postscript - Look do yourself a favor – through whatever method you prefer get a copy of Ecca Vandal’s latest release, Looking for People to Unfollow, you will not regret it. If you happen to be anywhere near, and I use near somewhat loosely, I would drive several hours to catch this show, go see one of Ecca Vandal’s show as the band runs through North America through the end of October. But don’t take my word for it, check out here upcoming tour dates.
