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Gonzo Report: Hockey Dad brings UCSD vets and Australians to the Quartyard
Bending the stage barriers in East Village
Hockey Dad’s Zach Stephenson gives no pucks.
“Are you more concerned about your drinks being stolen or someone putting something in them?” I ask a gaggle of patrons at The Quartyard in East Village where Hockey Dad, Remo Drive, and Tatiana Hazel are performing. (As the customers left their drinks on a table to come outside to the smoking section, a security guard assured them he would remain vigilant while they partook.) In unison, several of them say that someone drugging their drinks is the greater concern. After all, they reason, they can always buy another drink if one gets pilfered. Over a smoke, Rose tells me about one of her friends being dosed and then walking on the 8 West. She got home safely, but didn’t remember anything the following morning.
Rose discovered the band Hockey Dad while bartending in their native Australia at a small bar. I tell her I liked the name and was interested in the venue, though I’m disappointed that the Wayne Gretzky jersey I’m wearing isn’t sparking a game of pickup puck. But back to Rose, who was traveling in Indonesia when she saw a woman wearing a hat sporting Hockey Dad’s logo. Amazed that anyone else had heard of them, she approached the woman and found herself talking to the singer’s mother. I have so many questions for her, but she’s going back into the show after telling me she’s an engineering student at UCSD with no solid plans for doing anything cool like creating a taco making robot. (I have my obsessions.) She’s just “learning to learn.”
Tatiana Hazel has just wrapped up her set. It’s atmospheric music with an angsty flavor, but her presence has a strength, a “fuck you” undercurrent that complements the power of her voice. I heard it when I made the short walk down Market Street from the trolley stop to the club, but seeing the performance accentuated the impact. The line for drinks is getting longer, but moves quickly. Cool names for the beverages don’t sway me from my usual Diet Coke on the rocks as Remo Drive comes on. They’re from Minnesota, as they remind us several times. They’re also on Epitaph records, which is owned by Bad Religion co-founder Brett Gurewitz. I find myself wondering how they got signed to that label, because the first song is about a deck being flooded and other mundane suburban concerns. Or at least that’s what I surmise.
Later in the set, things get faster, a bit heavier, and the rhythm section becomes volcanic, churning with fluid intensity. The word “mercy” in lights has been on the stage during both sets — it’s both the name of Remo Drive’s newest album and a snarling showstopper that sets off the most polite pit I’ve ever seen. Still, it makes a little sense of Epitaph. Singer-guitarist Erik Paulson seems to have a thing for lights. Particularly the string of lights that drape and illuminate the floor area. Being a polite Midwesterner, he clarifies that he’s not being sarcastic, that he genuinely loves string lights, before launching into a cover of The Darkness’ “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” that manages to rock without the cheese of the original. I didn’t see him grip his balls to hit the high notes, so it must be skill or a very well-hidden clamp.
Back out in the smoking area, I talk to Stephen and his friend Winston. They heard about Hockey Dad through friends, plus, they dig the venue. Winston shares with me his passion for helping others, a calling he’s fulfilling through getting a psychology degree at UCSD. A former military member, his focus is treating his fellow vets. A pit opens up for Hockey Dad, and it’s still more polite than any I’ve ever seen, just bigger than the one before. On my way to the front, I see a woman wearing an Iron Maiden shirt and have to comment because it matches my tattoo. Her name is Bailey, and she’s recently moved here for school. She’s a postgraduate student at — you guessed it — UCSD, majoring in art history, and this is her first concert. Up front, the barrier in front of the stage is bending under the collective weight of the crowd. It’s a testament to people being considerate that it doesn’t collapse and result in injury. It’s not meant to withstand weight like that; it’s made to help people form lines as they enter the venue or cross to the smoking section.
But it works. The sound is great, and I enjoyed both fantastic conversation and the short trolley ride home after a night under the open sky. Also, it turns out I too like string lights.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Hockey Dad brings UCSD vets and Australians to the Quartyard
Bending the stage barriers in East Village
Gonzo Report: Hockey Dad brings UCSD vets and Australians to the Quartyard
Bending the stage barriers in East Village
Hockey Dad’s Zach Stephenson gives no pucks.
“Are you more concerned about your drinks being stolen or someone putting something in them?” I ask a gaggle of patrons at The Quartyard in East Village where Hockey Dad, Remo Drive, and Tatiana Hazel are performing. (As the customers left their drinks on a table to come outside to the smoking section, a security guard assured them he would remain vigilant while they partook.) In unison, several of them say that someone drugging their drinks is the greater concern. After all, they reason, they can always buy another drink if one gets pilfered. Over a smoke, Rose tells me about one of her friends being dosed and then walking on the 8 West. She got home safely, but didn’t remember anything the following morning.
Rose discovered the band Hockey Dad while bartending in their native Australia at a small bar. I tell her I liked the name and was interested in the venue, though I’m disappointed that the Wayne Gretzky jersey I’m wearing isn’t sparking a game of pickup puck. But back to Rose, who was traveling in Indonesia when she saw a woman wearing a hat sporting Hockey Dad’s logo. Amazed that anyone else had heard of them, she approached the woman and found herself talking to the singer’s mother. I have so many questions for her, but she’s going back into the show after telling me she’s an engineering student at UCSD with no solid plans for doing anything cool like creating a taco making robot. (I have my obsessions.) She’s just “learning to learn.”
Tatiana Hazel has just wrapped up her set. It’s atmospheric music with an angsty flavor, but her presence has a strength, a “fuck you” undercurrent that complements the power of her voice. I heard it when I made the short walk down Market Street from the trolley stop to the club, but seeing the performance accentuated the impact. The line for drinks is getting longer, but moves quickly. Cool names for the beverages don’t sway me from my usual Diet Coke on the rocks as Remo Drive comes on. They’re from Minnesota, as they remind us several times. They’re also on Epitaph records, which is owned by Bad Religion co-founder Brett Gurewitz. I find myself wondering how they got signed to that label, because the first song is about a deck being flooded and other mundane suburban concerns. Or at least that’s what I surmise.
Later in the set, things get faster, a bit heavier, and the rhythm section becomes volcanic, churning with fluid intensity. The word “mercy” in lights has been on the stage during both sets — it’s both the name of Remo Drive’s newest album and a snarling showstopper that sets off the most polite pit I’ve ever seen. Still, it makes a little sense of Epitaph. Singer-guitarist Erik Paulson seems to have a thing for lights. Particularly the string of lights that drape and illuminate the floor area. Being a polite Midwesterner, he clarifies that he’s not being sarcastic, that he genuinely loves string lights, before launching into a cover of The Darkness’ “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” that manages to rock without the cheese of the original. I didn’t see him grip his balls to hit the high notes, so it must be skill or a very well-hidden clamp.
Back out in the smoking area, I talk to Stephen and his friend Winston. They heard about Hockey Dad through friends, plus, they dig the venue. Winston shares with me his passion for helping others, a calling he’s fulfilling through getting a psychology degree at UCSD. A former military member, his focus is treating his fellow vets. A pit opens up for Hockey Dad, and it’s still more polite than any I’ve ever seen, just bigger than the one before. On my way to the front, I see a woman wearing an Iron Maiden shirt and have to comment because it matches my tattoo. Her name is Bailey, and she’s recently moved here for school. She’s a postgraduate student at — you guessed it — UCSD, majoring in art history, and this is her first concert. Up front, the barrier in front of the stage is bending under the collective weight of the crowd. It’s a testament to people being considerate that it doesn’t collapse and result in injury. It’s not meant to withstand weight like that; it’s made to help people form lines as they enter the venue or cross to the smoking section.
But it works. The sound is great, and I enjoyed both fantastic conversation and the short trolley ride home after a night under the open sky. Also, it turns out I too like string lights.
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