Bammies

Brushes with youthful enthusiasm and a few genuine rock stars save the awards show from a dullness created, ironically, by efforts to quell protests of geezer overload

San Francisco Examiner
March 15, 1999
By Jane Ganahl, the Examiner staff

Just when your feet are about to give out, and your brain is soon to congeal from schmooze-overdrive, you run into The Donnas � the teen-girl band from Palo Alto who won two local Bammies for Best Indie Album and Best Punk Artist � and you remember what it's all about.

"Gawd, this is so exciting!" said Donna C. (I believe it was Donna C. � they all go by Donna something, and it's hard to know which is which.) "I want to meet E-40!"

"Me, too!" echoed the other Donnas, only to stand to the side in awe as the hip-hop band in question trotted into the press tent. (Lest you think them inordinately innocent, however, let it be known that when Third Eye Blind's Stephan Jenkins walked by resplendent in black leather, one Donna reached out and pretended to grab his booty. Ah, youth.)

Other than a few of those brief brushes with youthful enthusiasm and rock star-ism, however, it was an unduly dull evening at the California Music Awards (formerly the Bammies, as the statuettes are still called), so much so that a guy named Buckethead (actually an awesome guitarist) stole the show wearing a Colonel Sanders bucket on his... you guessed it... and a white mask.

So it was a decent evening for people-watching, and especially of the female variety. I suspect CAM realized it might sell more tickets if it had more babes to present awards; hence, the inclusion of Jodi Lynn O'Keefe ("Nash Bridges"), Tangi Miller ("Felicity") and Alison Armitage ("Melrose Place.") Did they add anything but scenery? No, but this is Hollywood North, right?

Armitage bantered valiantly with co-presenter/natural ham Chris Isaak, who won the Bammie for Best Male Vocalist and who (as usual) got off the best speech of the night, thanking his parole officers for standing by him despite "all those urine tests I failed."

James Hetfield of Metallica, receiving the award for Outstanding Hard Rock Album, was succinct in noting, "It does not suck being in Metallica." And upon Third Eye Blind's winning the Best Group award, Kevin Cadogan graciously noted that he and Jenkins would like to thank their two absent band members, causing the ebullient Jenkins to joke, ". . . if we could just remember their names!"

Jenkins was the hit of the evening, award-wise (going home to Cole Valley with three), and with the little girls as well, who screamed like Beatlemaniacs when his name was mentioned. (Jenkins was without his lady friend, the actress/Vanity Fair cover girl Charlize Theron, who is on location.)

Best Guitarist award-winner Tom Morello, of Rage Against the Machine, was his usual chatty and unassuming self � especially for a guy who's been arrested for more causes than the evening's honoree (Bonnie Raitt). Morello assured fans that the new Rage record is coming soon. "We still don't know when, but it's gonna blow people away."

The awarding of musical activism is always a staple at these proceedings; this year, bestowing Raitt with the Arthur M. Sohcot Award for Public Service was handled by the heavy-hitting duo of Joan Baez and Tracy Chapman.

Raitt declared that her award will be given to Julia "Butterfly," the activist who has been perched in a Humboldt County redwood tree for more than a year.

The crush of humanity in the hospitality area threatened to turn it into a mosh pit, and the fashion parade was endless. Although, this being about rock 'n' roll, the Bammies/Cammies are a bad place to learn about tasteful attire. It was coin toss for the most outrageous outfit between the egg-yolk-yellow suit worn by pianist/"Nash Bridges" musical director George Michalski and that of a Long Beach Dub All-Stars roadie, Obie Ortiz, which was completely covered in pennies.

Jerry Harrison, formerly with Talking Heads and now living in the Bay Area and producing for a few lucky bands (most recently, the ultra-hunky Stroke 9), hobnobbed backstage with Best Album nominee Money Mark. Members of Cake chatted up Etienne De Rocher, local buzz-boy du jour, who is also managed by Bobbie Simmons.

On stage, Isaak rocked the house down � for one song. Just enough to wake everyone up, and then he was gone. Primus also rocked. Grant Lee Phillips was sublime, if swallowed up by the huge stage. Ditto Money Mark. The rest was less inspiring.

Suffice to say you know the ceremony has sunk to a new low when the hallowed jam session at the end of the show features such established musicians as Merl Saunders, Kenny Dale Johnson, Narada Michael Walden and Bob Weir, being led musically by turntables at the front of the stage. I know, it was Mixmaster Mike � the best in the biz � but it was still absurd. Sublime classic rock mixed with the noise of backward-record-playing. It sounds like it might have worked � but it didn't.

For years, the chief complaint about the show was: too many geezer bands playing. Too much Santana and Neil Young. But how many of the bands who played this year will be around in even a year, let alone a decade? Kudos to CAM for trying to keep up with the times, but there's a fine line between finding new talent � real talent � and flavors of the month.

But enough pontificating. The Cammies are always good for the spectacle. I'll be back next year, even if all they offer is two turntables and a microphone.

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