One Week in Loud Town

Of all the reasons Angelenos commonly preen themselves over living here, our stupendous live music scene isn’t typically one of them. Basineers wax bombastic over banalities like the Dodgers, the Queen Mary and Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, deafening the many (and themselves) to the miraculous din going on around them. For, despite idiot officials, ball-busting cops, quickbuck jackrollers and a suffocating fog of upscale pretension descended over much of the town, live music in L.A. is an unparalleled aesthetic – and sometimes physical – thrill rare enough anywhere in this pinched and repressed era. There’s literally no way even a Benzedrine werewolf could hope to experience it all, a definitive statement of mortal limitation I reach after a decade’s inquiry and much lost shoe leather.

And so…

[cue drum roll]

attempted for the first time if (my) memory runneth not contrariwise is a reasonable core sample of the L.A. music scene; a snapshot (to appropriate junk technology) of this moment in music for this week in the dog days of 2008. Yes, as economy and political system crash in this final Summer of Dubya, we can take great municipal pride in the fact that we do, after all, rock – as seen here, in Loudtown, where we attempt to point you to every musical act of the week. And we may even almost (not really) succeed! My apologies to brilliant bands like Earlimart, the Moon Upstairs and hundreds more who missed inclusion by quirk of calendar. You rock too. (Capsules by Ron Garmon, Gabrielle Paluch, Heather Price, Rebecca Schoenkopf, and Carman Tse.)

–Ron Garmon

THURSDAY

 
Baka Beyond
(Skirball Cultural Center)
Musicians Su Hart and Martin Cradick went to live in the rainforests of Cameroon in 1992 to make recordings with the Baka tribe. Since then, their music has become a fusion of Celtic sounds and traditional Baka beats, and their band has grown to include people from Sierra Leone and the Congo. Album profits have gone to building a recording barn in the rainforest. (GP)

Bipolar Bear
(The Smell)
Doughty standbys at the Smell, these local experimentalists bid fair to be the Next Medium Thing to come out of that venerable downtown noize-kiln. To avoid any hint of L.A. snobbery, it also does a July 25 turn at the Scene in scenic Glendale. Ability to discourse intelligently on this band will constitute 50 percent of your final grade this quarter at Hipster U. (RG) 

Burning Brides
(Safari Sam’s)
This hard rock band from Pennsylvania, playing with Nebula and Middle Class Rut, will be arriving in their vegetable-oil-powered vehicle to play tracks off their new self-produced album Anhedonia. Be prepared for rock anthems and tubular guitar riffs. (GP)

Dizzee Rascal
(Echoplex)
In a perfect world Dizzee would’ve been a huge star, but we just weren’t ready for his incredible gift. In 2003, he took the world by storm with one of the best debuts in years, his incredible Boy in Da Corner. Unfortunately, Americans just couldn’t grasp what the U.K. had repackaged as “grime,” their own version of hip-hop with a more futuristic and darker twist. No worries, as he continues to record and has since then put out two excellent records. The latest, Maths + English, features the likes of Lily Allen and American hip-hop crew UGK to provide a more mainstream flair. (CT) 

The Life & Times
(Spaceland)
I first caught up with this visionary trio at Spaceland in 2006, as they toured in support of The Magician, a release that failed to crack my year-end Top 10 by pettifogging dint of being an EP. Pavement psychedelia in the vein of an Americanized My Bloody Valentine and Swervedriver, L&T’s broad, spacious sound wars with the urgent lyrics and Allen Epley’s flat, cramped vocals result in a tension like that generated by Roger Waters’s thin Anglo yelp wallowing in the four-color madness of Pink Floyd. Outta Kansas City, MO, Midwestern road dogs like these are what rock’s always been about and they cleverly market their alienation by time-tested device of not sounding like anyone else going. (RG)

 
Rockin’ the Colonies
(Music Box @ Fonda)
If you’re feeling nostalgic for the ’80s, like perhaps everyone else on VH1, this throwback line-up is just right for you. The alternative pop tour is making new wave new again, featuring The Alarm, The English Beat, and The Fixx to round out the act. The sound might be a little old, but the younger fan base is a good indication of the geezers’ ability to make it fresh and compelling again. (GP)

FRIDAY

Cute Is What We Aim For
(The Glass House)
Cute, indeed. But with its sophomore album, the New York-based band is moving in a more serious progression. With “Rotation,” they stick to their power choruses and satirical lyrics but also experiment with more classic power pop. (HP) 

BULLET FOR MY VALENTINE
(The Wiltern)
Originally known as Four Pints of My Girlfriend’s Blood, this metalcore act from Brigend, Wales, has a solid following among U.S. monster kiddies. Of course, getting thrown off the 2006 Rob Zombie tour for sticking up for fans instead of Zombie’s merch-gougers banks one boo-koo cred among the crypt-kicker set. The undercard includes Bleeding Through and sludgefellows Cancer Bats. (RG)

Los Lonely Boys
(Greek Theatre)
It’s 2004 all over again, missing only a little Maroon 5 for that summer of soft-pop, melodic goodness. The Garza Brothers are pretty, and they make pretty music (a little blues, a lot of Tejano) that you are probably way too hip to listen to, because they won a Grammy and are sold in Wal-Mart, even if they did record their self-titled debut at Willie Nelson’s studio in Austin. Hear that? Willie Nelson! And Austin! The only place you’d rather be than Echo Park, right? Besides, they’re opening for Los Lobos. (RS) 

Grant Lee Phillips
(Largo)
Largo continues its never-ending awesomeness with the sexy, breathy, sorta-funky/sorta-Jude-y/little-bit-disco/sometimes-sad swoopy fuck-music. Grant Lee Phillips, we are single! (RS)  

The Republic Tigers
(Spaceland)
However well or badly Kansas City, Kansas, fares, Kansas City, Missouri, is undergoing a renaissance, sending her tune-bearing sons across this fat and favored land. The Tigers are less experimentalists than pop-rock traditionalists; a tuneful and sophisto quartet whose laid-back sound would not have been out-of-place on one of those Mellow Gold LP comps K-Tel hawked over the UHF airwaves back during the Ford administration. Love them for the transcendent beauties of “Fight Song” and “Buildings and Mountains,” as well as the brass balls it takes to play for Spaceland jades on a Silver Lake Saturday night. (RG)

Rupa and the April Fishes
(California Plaza)
Most musicians will tell you that music is a calling for them. They would be robbing banks if they weren’t playing music. Not songwriter and band leader Rupa – no, she splits her time between making music and being a doctor. This San Francisco native and the artists who make up the April Fishes have been compared to Pink Martini, Manu Chao, and Beirut – the band, not the Paris of the Middle East. (GP)

David Scott Stone
(Mr. T’s Bowl)
Sir DSS is a skronk polymath who’s played with the aesthetically advanced likes of Mike Patton, the Locust, Kenji Heino, and the Melvins (the last describe him as “the Brian Eno of our band”) and a longtime panjandrum of L.A. experimental rock. The multitalented Mr. Stone’s also invented instruments with names like “Gut Expresser” and “Electric Thundersheet.” His set is certain to cause jaws of bibulous locals at Mr. T’s crowded bar to clatter to the floorboards, emptied of Budweiser and conversation. (RG)

Teena Marie
(Gibson Amphitheatre).
Deathly boring blue-eyed soul that goes on for EVER. And not blue-eyed soul in a cool-kitten Dusty Springfield (or even Rick Springfield) way, but blue-eyed soul as ass-numbing extendo-jam schmaltzy-lite-R/B suicide-bait. Had a date to see her at Staples last year with a guy who was all Studio 54 back in the day, nearly chewed off my own leg. Also? By the time a woman hits her 50s, she should usually wear sleeves. (RS)

TOYKYO POLICE CLUB
(HAMMER MUSEUM) 
Tokyo Police Club is this year’s unsurprising success story, with first full-length Elephant Shell debuting at the top of Billboard’s Heatseekers chart. In an era where indie is the new mainstream, any old garage band on an indie label can make it big now. Tokyo Police Club’s brand of garage pop won over the hearts of every 14-to-24-year-old female with bassist David Monks’ heart-on-his sleeve vocals, while their boyfriends secretly loved the uptempo hooks that reminded them of their favorite tracks from the Nuggets box sets. They’re out to take over the world with their modest stylings. (CT)

Wyclef
(House of Blues)
Frat boys and white suburban housewives agree: Wyclef Jean makes melodious, positive hip-hop you can shake your sweet little flat ass to, all about love and strippers and marijuana and NOT SHOOTING PEOPLE. Very pretty, very musical, whole lotta fun. Nice! Boy, I am old and have children (they prefer the Game). (RS)

SATURDAY

Tha Alkaholiks
(Crash Mansion)
Experimental grungy blues probably best describes this local band’s sound. They’ve been a mainstay on the rock scene in L.A. and beyond – this is certainly a band to keep your (bloodshot) eye on. (GP)

Biblical Proof of UFOs
(Zen Sushi)
Set to help open Club Vamped at Zen Sushi, this Cleveland trio plays hard and jazzy, like a Traffic informed by grunge nihilism instead of hippie whimsy. How much difference that makes can be gauged by any MySpace idler. Play “Paranoid Akroid.” Play that fucker loud. (RG)

Blisses B
(Genghis Cohen)
This quartet of musicians from San Francisco plays experimental rock, but don’t let that word fool you. These dudes actually know how to play their instruments, and you can eat Chinese food while you’re at it. (GP)

Junior Brown
(Key Club)
The late music critic Buddy Seigal (known to audiences as the Beat Farmers’ Buddy Blue) once sneered at my taste in music (as all music critics eventually must), “BR5-49 is to Junior Brown as the Monkees were to the Beatles.” Okay, first of all, deriding me in SAT-question form? You’re awesome. Second, what the fuck is wrong with the Monkees? Nothing! Neil Diamond and Carole King wrote their songs! Their songs were about the soulless death of suburban living! And they were adorable! Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! Third, BR5-49 may have been a Nashville band, and they may even have been put together like the Spice Girls, but those bitches could play, and they loved their music, and you could walk in and request something like Bobby Helms’s “Fraulein” (burning up the Army base jukeboxes throughout Europe in 1958), and they would play it, because they knew it, and from then on they’d play it when you walked in, and you wouldn’t even have to ask! Also, they were really, really nice to old ladies!

My point is, Junior Brown is great, and you probably want to hear a story about him! So I was “dating” my super-hot, looked-like-Chris-Isaak mechanic for 10 months (on my lunch hour), and he and I were busy not talking one night when we saw Junior Brown on the teevee and were both blown away by his slide guitar. Soon after that, Junior Brown was coming in on tour, and so I called my mechanic and said, “Hey, Junior Brown’s coming! If I can get tickets, do you want to go?” and he goes (super mean and snotty), “I would think you would ask me if I wanted to go after you had the tickets!” so then I didn’t get tickets, and I put in my newspaper column how I didn’t buy tickets (they were expensive), and then Junior Brown’s wife saw it and called my paper and gave me tickets, and I went, and I didn’t take my mechanic. He was a dick! This will be a great show. Highly recommended. (RS)

DARKER MY LOVE
(The Echo)
Upfront Bias Dept.: I think Darker My Love is the No. 1 rock act going in L.A. Clubland today. Considered apart from the source material – a self-titled 2006 debut which made a superior pastiche of late-1960s guitar-psych and next month’s follow-up un-enigmatically titled 2, which makes a startling improvement on it – but for the bravura of their live set. I bid unbelievers to their live set available on Spaceland Records, especially the bliss-bomb of a finale, “Summer Is Here.” As if making stylistic advances on the likes of Jefferson Airplane isn’t enough, they recontextualize the hallucinatory shimmer they share with Ride, Swervedriver and countless more into an elegant, energetic drive these five fellows share with no one. Slotted for the Dandy Warhols tour this fall, they came near to detonating the Echo when they finally went on last Friday night. Mooby and I were already late when we split for the park for some high-voltage booj, returning to insert ourselves into a dense packing of rock snobs and hipsters. Their early gigs here and at Spaceland were marvels of proggy meander, but the new stuff is thick with melody and funky hooks, like some compound of Rare Earth and the cubensis that grows in it. All cranked up to Live at Oxycontin Amphitheater levels and interspersed with de minimus banter, this was indeed rock music as our primitive ancestry used to do it. Tim Presley and Rob Barbato began a year-long stint with the Fall in mid-2006, doing their last show over a year ago, before cranking D My L back to life, and their time with Mark E. Smith seems to have given them a fine feel for chaos. A telephone chat with cracked-out Tim Presley yielded little more than confirmation by word and manner than he really is related to the King. (RG)

darkest hour
(Music Box @ Fonda)
is hellish spawn of death metal and hardcore punk, which is not unlike a peanut-butter-and-epoxy sandwich for the ears. Their albums have titles like Hidden Hands of a Sadist Nation; fair enough warning for a sound excruciating enough to warrant play over Radio Gitmo during naptime. They appear tonight with the earshred likes of At the Gates and Municipal Waste. (RG)

Dusty Rhodes & the River Band
(Key Club)
Orange County songsmiths behind unrelievedly poppy odes like “Dear Honey” (“I drank away all my money; I spent the night on the street”) that are a little Poguesy, a little spaghetti-scene-from-Lady & the Tramp. Absolutely delightful; you can never have too much mandolin or accordion. Recommended! (RS)

Kenny G.
(L.A. Jazz Festival @ the Greek)
headlines a posse including Will Downing, Angie Stone, and the Escovedo Family (with Sheila E.!) but all we can think is Kenny G.? More like Kenny Gay! And that is not very nice, and also is homophobic. We are sorry. (RS)

Goldfinger
(The Wiltern)
They’ve been around doing their punk-ska thing for quite a little while, delivering sweaty mosh-pit shows with songs like “Handjobs for Jesus.” And if you’re really into that kinda thing, Big D & the Kids Table will be playing this show, too. The slightly more reggae, rocksteady-oriented band has a gentler take on ska, and will be playing songs off their last album, Strictly Rude. (GP) 

Wanda Jackson
(Knitting Factory)
The rockabilly queen has been recording for 54 years, and the chick still looks hot. She “toured” with Elvis; she was the first female rock & roll singer; and these days she’s recording with folks like Dave Alvin, Lee Rocker, and the Cramps – mere puppies at the feet of her jet-haired grande dame. Her set at the Hootenanny two years ago was a masterpiece in septuagenarian sex appeal – but not in a gross, Raquel Welch, tight-dress-on-an-old-lady way; instead, in a not-trying, just-embodying manner where you sing about sex, and you tell us about fucking Elvis, and we like it. She is in neither the Rock & Roll nor the Country Music halls of fame. Somebody should sic Diana Ross on them. Justice must be served! (And slapped.) (RS)

Less Than Jake
(The Wiltern)
Junior high kids from the Midwest are finally jamming out to Less Than Jake, but in reality the band recently released their seventh album from their own record label, first emerging as a ska punk band but settling on a more commercial sound. Their cross of a pop-punk sound with a horn section and the lead singer’s gritty vocals keeps this band going. (HP) 

Diana Ross & the L.A. Philharmonic
(Hollywood Bowl)
All hail the Bitch Queen of R&B! Lady sings the blues wondering where did her love go (because nobody likes her) all while probably slapping a ho (Mary Wilson, shoving onstage). Good tunes, though. Motown. Right on. (RS)

Underground Party # 1
(Venue TBA)
Unknown as we go to press is the location of this widely anticipated exercise in pre-playa debauchery thrown to raise gas money for some artcar or other at this year’s Burning Man. Shuttle starts at 9:30 at the usual streetcorner downtown, then it’s off to a locale rumored deep in some warehouse district rathole that hasn’t seen a taxi since John McCain absorbed his last truncheoning from bored Communists. There, the music is DJ, but you are the live entertainment. Adventure! Romance! Intrigue! Cops! The music shuts off at 7 a.m., but you are welcome to crash in the chill space ’til the security guards show up Monday morning. (RG)

Underground Party # 2
(Venue TBA)
Same as above, but at the cool space in the Valley minions of J.Q. Law haven’t found yet. (RG) 

Dwight Yoakam
(Greek Theatre)
He can keep his hat on. (RS)

SUNDAY

At the Gates
(Music Box @ Fonda)
This more melodic death metal band from Gothenburg, Sweden, broke up in 1996 but after announcing their reunion in 2007 made plans for a “Suicide Final Tour” in the U.S. with Darkest Hour and Municipal Waste. Repulsion will also be joining them at the Music Box for this show. At the Gates will be playing all old material, featuring the typical neoclassical melodies and unconventional song structures of their album released 10 years ago, Slaughter of the Soul. Does this band have a death wish or what? (GP)

 
Blue Hawaiians
(Bordello)
Local surf-rockers got a lot of heat after Pulp Fiction’s focus on Dick Dale got all the hipsters searching for the perfect wave. (It didn’t really do the same for Urge Overkill, though.) Fun music, fun time, but lots of people my age and up. Fresh-faced Echo Parkers, you may feel like you’re surrounded by parents – and you are. (RS)

Captain Ahab
(The Smell)
One (actually two, since they’re a duo) of local music’s Great Unclassifiables, this Captain holds forth from the prow of the good ship Smell several times a year, packing in a freight of gawky young weirdoes who leap with abandon at exquisitely gargled synthpop straight outen the Moroder-Mordor pit. There’s any number of disdainful old punk relics I’d love to haul to a CA show, just to see their habitual expressions change. Heh. (RG)

DEERHOOF
(Hollywood Bowl)
It doesn’t get much more legendary than Deerhoof when it comes to the experimental rock scene from San Francisco. Their music tests boundaries while remaining accessible, partially thanks to vocalist Satomi Matsuzaki’s adorable sound. The show they played last year at the Natural History Museum among dinosaur bones and stuffed mammal species was stellar, I wouldn’t expect less from them at the Bowl, let alone compeers Gnarls Barkley. (GP) 

Gnarls Barkley
(Hollywood Bowl)
Just-released sophomore album The Odd Couple back in the spring plays off the mainstream’s perception of the group, when the combination is not odd, it’s nothing short of brilliant – Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo once again deliver an album that’s fresh, inventive, and experimental. It’s soulful with psychedelic lyrics, continuing the journey of their first album, St. Elsewhere, but in a more disconnected way that still makes sense. With Cee-Lo’s vocal abilities and Danger Mouse’s sick talent, this duo isn’t afraid to take risks – they’re a breath of fresh air. (HP)

The Secret Machines
(Viper Room)
This show is sold-out, so expect lucky ticket-holders to be packed to the Viper’s buttresses and breathing in shifts for this NYC psych-indie trio. They’re set to go on tour with proggy wonder boys Coheed & Cambria later this month, but theirs is the star wallow this Sunday night at the House That Depp Built. Sensible patrons will find a congenial niche on Larrabee Street, toke until they see day-glo paisley, and stagger in, taking care to avoid entanglement in the velvet rope. (RG) 

MONDAY

The Leaving Trains
(The Scene)
Falling James Moreland built the Leaving Trains out of a first-wave punk act called the Mongrels back in the anno horribilis of 1980. A late-arriving, long-staying addition to the fabled L.A. punk mishigas, this band must be experienced by every L.A. rocker – watching the leggy Mr. Moreland careen this durably rattletrap stuff out of speakers is one of the ever-fewer ways left to plug into L.A.’s living rock history. Kind of like Sky Saxon but more fun and more frequent. (RG)

Jail Weddings
(Echo)
Had you been a teenager in love in jail in the ’50s, and you wanted to get married, this might just have been your band. They’d play you some nice doo-wop tunes before your conjugal visit. Part Everly Brothers, 100 percent AM radio gold. Also playing is onetime Beefheartian Moris Tepper, who scrogs up IFC at the opening credits of each and every brilliant episode of “Minor Inconveniences of Drunk Laura Kightlinger.” That’s what it’s called, yeah? (GP)

Willie Nile
(McCabe’s Guitar Shop)
McCabe’s is legendary for bringing incredible musicians to an intimate stage. Willie Nile, one who has wondered about the cell phones ringing in the pockets of the dead, is no exception. The talented singer/songwriter has been admired by everyone you admire, Lucinda Williams, Lou Reed ... here’s a great chance to admire him up close and in person. (GP)

The Starlite Desperation
(Echo)
This band was born with, like, seven tongues in its cheek. Their debut single “Hot for Preacher” has proven they have the talent for quirky lyrics and rocking guitar licks. If you’re too cool for yourself sometimes because you’re an L.A. hipster, you may just have to suck it up and go to this show. So you can stand at the back and make fun of all the other cool people who are too cool for you. (GP)

Under the Influence of Giants
(Spaceland)
This L.A.-based band’s appealing sound is somewhat mellow, a little bit pop, with catchy tunes and a honey-voiced singer – his high notes sound effortless. Their “sound” has yet to find a definite category; where you think they’re just a little rebellious with “Mama’s Room” they still resort back to the easy-listening “Lay Me Down.” All around, a band worth seeing live. (HP)

TUESDAY

Black Kids
(El Rey)
It’s exciting to see what this band is up to, and what they’re going to do next. The indie group out of Jacksonville have been getting a lot of press since their performance at the Popfest in Athens, Georgia. The sound is a little new wave, and the kids clearly have a sense of humor about themselves as the name would suggest – or else may have a wee bit of an identity problem. Should be a fun show. Recommended! (GP)

Bloc Party
(Mayan)
It’s hard to believe that this is the same band that, three years ago, united critics and fans alike with debut album Silent Alarm. They were what we needed at the time: a great post-punk revivalist band with catchy songs and some hip, young faces behind the music. Since then, they’ve divided their fanbase with 2007’s A Weekend in the City, a misunderstood art-rock masterpiece that has since then won over its detractors. This summer marks the release of their latest single, “Mercury,” which pushes their creative output even further into the realm of electro and IDM. (CT)

 
Ear Pwr
(The Smell)
Retro-futuristic 1980s synth-disco out of some fantasy late-Cold War Europe complete with Mandrax and burp guns, this stuff was actually hatched in Asheville, NC, which is pretty retro itself. Like hundreds of other bands, this duo is in town on a no-budget West Coast tour and it’ll be their honor to play tonight in L.A.’s own Palladium of Skronk and yours to yield up your five bux, hipster rabble. (RG)

Los Angeles Philharmonic
(Hollywood Bowl)
is an L.A. institution almost as well-loved as the Lakers, Wolfgang’s, and scab labor. Tonight, Miguel Harth-Bedoya takes the baton for a delectable-sounding program of four dances from Ginastera’s Estancia, followed by Saint-Saëns’ Cello Concerto No. 1. That noble old standby Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 rounds out the evening. Tilt back your head, lift your gaze to the sky and know Beauty. (RG) 

James Taylor
(Greek Theatre; also Wednesday).
James Taylor is good to listen to when you’re driving through the golden hills of San Luis Obispo with your five-year-old baby, who is also named James. Then you can rewind the cassette (remember cassettes?) to the beginning and listen to “Sweet Baby James” a dozen times in a row, while your sweet little boy falls asleep to a beautiful song about hookers. (RS) 

THE WATSON TWINS
(Echo)
The Watson sisters have been making folk music together their whole lives in the form of different projects, and have worked with acts like Joe Firstman and Rilo Kiley. Most recently, they’ve released an album called Fire Songs (Vanguard), which is romantic and heartfelt. Tim Fite, too, will be playing that night, with similarly clever songwriting and heartfelt lyrics, a perfect musical companion to the twins. (GP)

WEDNESDAY 

Ambrosia
(Pershing Square)
Hey, there, groovy chicks. What’s the “biggest part” of the proggy Pedro boys? Um, the “sun” rising? Or “you” or something. Shine the light! Make a list of the things they’ll do for you! Let their love rain down on you! Oh my god, Ambrosia is FILTHY. Also, they sort of sound like Hall & Oates, but a little bit Bee Gees-er. Whatever: AWESOME! (RS)

Chromeo
(Music Box @ Fonda)
The ’80s were never cool, guys. The synthesizers, vocoder, the cheesy lyrics filled with double entendres … none of it. Therefore, an Arab and a Jewish guy from Montreal doing kitschy throwbacks to that era is definitely uncool. But don’t let that make me stop you from dancing along. I mean, after all, what’s more uncool than a bunch of scenesters clad in American Apparel ... .

PEANUT BUTTER WOLF
(Music Box @ Fonda) 
Born Chris Ganak, this Clubland mainstay was first heard from when he and MC Charizma were briefly signed to Hollywood Basic. The up-and-coming emcee got himself dead of gunshot in 1993 and the DJ was cut adrift. He relocated to L.A., founded Stones Throw Records and went on to become one of L.A.’s more useful musical citizens, releasing rare beats, underground rap, and crate-digger masterpieces like Stark Reality Now, a 1970 funk exploration of the music of Hoagy Carmichael. As you might imagine, he owns two of the most discerning ears on the planet, mad turntable skillz, and an enviable rep as partymeister. (RG)