No Sleep ‘Til Anaheim

Packing to leave San Francisco, I had a faint idea that my voyage homeward would fall somewhere between awkward silence and a scene from Almost Famous. As a friend and I pulled up to Cafe du Nord on Market Street, I looked around and said adios to my new home. I was leaving that night, right after the Willowz played their opening set for British songwriter Tom Vek, and I couldn’t take the time to meditate about it. As per my agreement with this lovely band from Southern California, the land of my birth, my stuff was already taking up room in their tour van.

I met the Willowz long ago and far away — well, last summer in Anaheim, at all-ages venue Chain Reaction, where they were sandwiched between some not so extraordinary pop-punk bands. I had come to see what the Willowz had to offer, and I expected nothing less than a fist fight after reading about them in the OC Weekly: “The Willowz’s bassist, Jessica Reynoza, got a bass lesson from Motown Funk Brother James Jamerson Jr. in a restaurant in Tennessee during a blackout. The Willowz’s drummer, Alex Nowicki, got in a shoving tussle with the tall guy in the Strokes and tagged www.thewillowz.com on the Strokes’ tour bus on the way out. The Willowz’s old keyboard player (since served walking papers), Nick Hide-the-Last-Name-From-the-Cops, burned down a house….” Their set was amazing, filled with songs that would become my soundtrack for the rest of the summer’s long drives and long nights. After the show I approached Jessica to inquire about shoes, prom dates and an interview for my ‘zine, and our twisted fate was sealed.

For such a young band, ranging in age from 19 to 23, these Willowz know what they’re doing. As a rule, a set list never appears on stage, and they have developed a routine of producing the goods — a fast-paced set of tracks from this year’s release as well as “Meet Your Demise” and “Something” from The Willowz). However, this routine has yet to become routine in a negative sense. Depending on the show, the Willowz’ level of energy and stage domination seems to fluctuate. The running theory is that the closer this band gets to Anaheim, the more fun the crowd will have and perhaps the more trouble there will be, too — raucousness and this band go hand in hand, especially in Southern California, where audiences recognize that their prodigal band has returned.

Before the show in San Francisco, I had time to kill, so I borrowed some aspirin from guitarist/singer Richie Follin, chatted with Alex and Jessica and wondered where I had seen that person with guitarist/keyboard player Dan Lowe. Later that night, the band plowed through a set that was up to their standards: loud, brash and the cause of joyful smiles. The Willowz blasted through the garage-punk ear candy from their 20-track epic, Talk in Circles, while the 18-years-and-up crowd drunkenly tried to dance to the barrage. Especially memorable were “Ulcer Love,” “Dead Ears,” and the anthemic “We Live On Your Street.” Richie introduced songs with his usual vigor — “These two blonde boys start off this song” — and Jess laughed and shouted, “Hottie alert!” about her drummer.

We couldn’t stick around for Tom Vek — although there was time for Dan to exchange else gifts with his friend A.J. (a Star Wars watch for a book about Madonna which featured her lovers as baseball cards). I was on my way home to Anaheim in their 18-seater tour van, with four Willowz, one merch boy/cousin, one Oakland native and one Scottie Diablo, tour manager extraordinaire. The normally eight or nine hour drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles felt at least three hours shorter. I tried to take up as little room as possible, so for the majority of the trip I felt like my spine was about to crumble, but still I enjoyed myself, especially when all occupants of the van began to sing “Lean on Me,” and ODB’s “Baby I Like It Raw.” In general the Willowz make for good travelers because (1) they’re entertaining, and (2) they can fall sleep easily. Star Wars trivia was discussed, Richie strummed his acoustic awhile, and then he brought forth his iPod of doom, home to more gangsta rap than you’d have any reason to expect — Wu-Tang Clan and 50 Cent were definitely favorites, and everyone sang along to the sweet rhymes. By the time we hit the three-hour mark, after two pee stops and roadside food, everyone was asleep besides me, the driver and the aforementioned merch boy, who was checking his MySpace on Richie’s Sidekick.

We arrived in Echo Park, where Willowz tour manager Scottie abdicated the driver’s seat in favor of his bed, and Richie drove the rest of the way to his suburban hometown. I was drifting in and out of consciousness until I found myself awakened in dawn-lit Anaheim. I was allowed to crash at Alex’s house — and peruse his extensive vinyl collection, which bordered on small-record-store status. Too bad he fell asleep right after promising to show me how to use his record player.

Later on, at the Troubadour in Hollywood, the Willowz are playing the last show of this West Coast tour. Minnie Mouse is floating over my head, and she’s doesn’t look happy. Some jerk grabbed her off the stage and away from the relative safety of the band. Luckily enough, Minnie has a protector in a young drunk friend of the Willowz who seems to always locate her — sadly, Mickey was lost in Memphis. The oversized plush Disney character eventually wound up on stage again, only to be grabbed by the same, increasingly more annoying young man, whose sole purpose seems to be getting a reaction out of Follin. Richie, cool as usual, doesn’t give the boy to much attention, although the space around this kid became a rather unfriendly place for him. “He didn’t treat Minnie like a lady,” Jess says.

Although the Willowz have earned the reputation of “most hated band in Anaheim,” this is one of the few times that someone actually shows hostility toward the band. Usually it is the Willowz antagonizing the audience, reverse heckling with lines like “You guys have been listening to far too much My Chemical Romance.” But I doubt this will keep the Willowz from becoming bigger than their two tracks on the Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind soundtrack have already made them. The Willowz will certainly gain more and more fame and will be rolling in the proverbial dough, but I don’t think they’ll change that much. They will still be that band that knows where I’m coming from — and where I live.