Ty Segall has been around the underground for over five years, is seemingly a member of most bands that have ever existed in San Francisco and churns out records like some sort of frenzied garage-rock factory. The icing on the delicious cake that is Ty Segall's career is his youth. At just 23-years-old, he is younger than the Olsen twins, Bon Jovi's
A whole lot of talent and a heap of hype led to a sellout show, with tattooed shoulder touching tattooed shoulder, Tetris-style, in the beloved band room. The height and volume of the mass left those 5'9 and under in a bit of a Ray Charles situation. "I can't see shit," lamented my companion.
I could only make out the top of Ty's shaggy blonde head - tossed about haphazardly while skilfully performing songs from his impressive backlog of albums, with a fair few from Goodbye Bread and 2010s Melted. The songs sounded different to the recorded versions, and why shouldn't they? It was here - real and raw and close to the bone. The best ones sounded like wild horses running through the room, with waves of reverb and loud distortion creating vibrations that tricked me into thinking my phone was going off in my pocket. A crunchy built-up rendition of Finger and a screamed version of My Sunshine were nestled between some crowd banter, informing the audience about the sweetness of his slow-burning success that lets him travel around the world with his best friends, his band members. Bless.
Most of his songs are short and sharp, so he managed to get through a bundle of them, with the sense of a half-encore, half "just keep playing" vibe at the end, complemented by a few feeble crowd surfing attempts. Once it was all over he came outside and drank with the delightful dregs and let a girl put lipstick on him. It was pretty funny. I can only assume he did it all over again at his second show on the Sunday night.
Loved: Scuzzy. Crunchy. Nice.
Hated: The MySpace pictures being snapped with flash and examined endlessly by the ladies to my left.
Drank: Jameson, dry, lime. Strong.