The average crowd at most Hollywood venues can be intimidating to an out-of-town band, especially for a southern band who hasn't yet built a large L.A. fan base. I'm always curious to see how these new bands choose to address the mass of jaded faces in the crowd before they play, and let the record show that Injected made me smile. Within seconds after walking onstage, Injected front man Danny Grady briefly mumbled something into his mic (I think it was their band's name) and the band cut straight to a no-nonsense guitar/guitar/kick drum intro. Perhaps this is exactly what Hollywood audiences need - no pep rally, no political tirade and no half-assed standup routine; just in-your-face music. This unassuming 4-piece from "Hotlanta" has been compared to Helmet, and I agree that elements of these dropped-D deities are definitely there. I also heard recessive genes of say perhaps, Lifehouse (during a ballad) and even some old school AC/DC. Albeit a simple formula, twin Gibsons pumped through Marshall and Bogner equipment rarely fails to please when played right - even more so when backed with tight drumming, thick bass, and intelligent vocals. I had nearly forgotten Quicksand existed, until Injected covered one of their songs during the show. Hearing that style of music again was like finding a crisp $20 in my pocket - a very pleasant surprise. With all the KROQ-hyped nu-metal crowding the Southland airwaves these days, it was a refreshing change of pace to hear a little melodic hardcore again. Only this hardcore was served up Georgia style - smothered and covered with determination and pride. I later learned that their new CD (Burn it Black) has a track called "Sherman" - a partial ode to William Tecumseh Sherman - the Union General who stormed their home state and burnt it to the ground during the Civil War. It just so happens I'm actually a distant relative of the man who invented the phrase, "War is Hell" - small fucking world, eh? The South HAS risen again, and now it's their turn to Burn it Black. Simply put, these guys hammer out soulful, heavy music without the auditory paper umbrellas and pineapple wedges. Hollywood can take it or leave it; I choose the former.

On a side note, although I've never smoked pot in my life, I'm not ashamed to admit that I love "stoner rock." Why? Because it doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is. God knows we've seen our share of Limeys wearing cowboy hats on MTV (Depeche Mode, anyone?) and American bands singing in bastardized Manchester accents about gray skies, house martins and moss-covered cemetery walls. It's been said that you should "write what you know," and that's exactly what makes Fu Manchu work -- they sing about girls, vans, and girls IN vans. These guys don't aspire to attend VIP parties at Skybar or reserve WeHo bistros for record release parties; instead, their personal Nirvana is owning a Kiss pinball machine. It's exactly this clarity of mind and honesty that makes their music so fucking groovy. Singer/guitarist Scott Hill and guitarist Bob Balch punished the crowd with riffs, bends, feedback and more WAH than a maternity ward 9 months after a city-wide power outage. They looked dashing onstage with their twin clear Plexiglas guitars (Ampeg, perhaps?) and short hair, which the crowd razzed them for continuously. Scott kept his chin up and retorted with a wall of feedback and rapid-fire power chords. My personal favorite from their set was Weird Beard (originally from their '99 release King of the Road). The California "family vibe" could be felt throughout the show - the faithful crowd waited shoulder-to-shoulder patiently for the sound check to finish; their backdrop was a mellow 20-foot print of a beach at dusk; Scott even remembered to thank his parents (who were in the balcony), as well as give a shout-out to fellow rocker Jim Rota (singer/guitarist for Fireball Ministry, who I ran into outside after the show, along with F.M. co-guitarist Emily Burton). Judging by some songs from Fu Manchu's latest effort, California Cruising, it seems they've dropped the herb and embraced the meth (musically speaking, of course) as of late. I heard more up-tempo riffs than classic slow fuzz. In fact, perhaps my earlier "stoner rock" reference no longer fully applies to this band. [And if truth be told, the true modern masters of this genre are a British 3-piece called Electric Wizard - they make Sabbath sound like the Carpenters.] The Fu, meanwhile, have risen from their gorilla fur beanbags, slipped on their cargo shorts and backed the van out of the garage - Fu fans should expect another thick slab of rock in California Cruising.