Lovebirds, The

Lovebirds, The

Filled With Hate

Empty Cellar

“Man, I don’t ever go out nowadays. I don’t know what to say, I’ve got the blues. Usually though when I am creepy crawling, I’m out to catch The Lovebirds, San Francisco’s best new guitar band. I’ve been watching them carve up the dank air of many a fine Mission saloon for about a year now and they always have the edge. They’re Of and Raised in SF and they’re youngish. All of them jam their instruments with technique and style, in accordance with the Old Ways. They have a budget Scott Gorham-riff inside a jangly scorcher called “Filled With Hate,” which is about leaving Los Angeles for San Francisco. “You can go pretty far nowadays on the idea of a Band, but The Lovebirds don’t have time for that shit. Whether you wear denim, leather, or tie-dye it’s only worth about an El Rio drink ticket if you don’t know how to write the tunes, and The Lovebirds wear a cloak of many colors. The guitars weave together beautifully, leads, hooks and riffs arranged like an American cheese platter. The rhythm section takes the cheese and deftly makes a deli sandwich, playing with smarts and panache. This is the kind of band with whose drummer you can smoke weed outside the bar and talk in-depth about the annexation of Hawaii; you can then walk inside, look the guitarist straight in the eye, say, “R.E.M is better than Teenage Fanclub” and he’ll still drive your fool ass home. They’ve even...