On this August 22 eve here in San Francisco, The Breeders played, happily, to a sold-out show of 1,385 standing patrons at the much-ballyhooed new Castro Theatre. I kept thinking, is this band and this venue still relevant today?
To begin with, Breeders leaders Kim and Kelley Deal have to be currently powered by some ’90s MTV-nostalgic fad. Right?
We are, as a society, inundated with “over-the-transom” ticker crawls, constantly doomscrolling on our smartphones to find out which lake has been renamed today. Techno-stress and the expectation that we will be available 24/7 can make anybody not want to answer a phone call, respond to an email, accidentally tease somebody with those three texting dots before deciding to ghost. It’s enough for anyone—Gen Xers who remember pre-Apple culture, or even world-weary Zoomers—to seek out a simpler existence, one that doesn’t require a screen in your mug or, for that matter, your business. To opt for re-baptism in some gritty, dirty, fuzzy earworm riff of a disaffected youth grunge era.
Did the new Castro setup connect well with the Deal twins, bassist Josephine Wiggs, drummer Jim Macpherson, and cellist and guitarist Kate Wakefield? Regardless of their thoughts on venue, The Breeders, by way of a 90-minute, 20-something-song set, indicated they can still throw buzzsaw rawness featuring heat and intent with the best of them. After all, they recorded their biggest album, 1993’s Last Splash, right here in San Francisco at Coast Recorders, and had it mixed at the Record Plant in Sausalito. And come on, a name like “The Breeders” seems primed to tickle Bay Area fancies.
They’ve always had this uncanny ability to identify the darkness, but not wear it.
Case in point, that moody perfecto Breeders cover of The Beatles’ “Happiness Is A Warm Gun,” which I still stan as being a better version than the boys from Liverpool could ever pull off. (You get a sense those Breeders are pulling from a massive reservoir of addiction, arrests, fallouts, rehab… emotions, if ya get me.) Then there’s the Kelley Deal-led “I Just Wanna Get Along,” which saw her tear off a mind-numbing solo at the Castro that made the sold-out crowd give her flowers.
Now in their 60s, the band members were still dressed in that stoic, thrift-store chic, no-fuss aesthetic, locking themselves and the audience within a specific milieu. They nailed the “we are still here, despite it all” vibe. A joyfulness ran through their noisey, meditative experience. The darker their tunes got, the vibe got lighter.
The Deal sisters, born and raised in Dayton, Ohio, are not merely alive to cash retro-generated checks. With cheeky grins, Kim and Kelley do their sisterly bits, making fun of themselves by over-accentuating, reaching for the reading glasses—they’re communicating something outside of song.
Remember their male peers, who were always headlining bigger stadiums? Soundgarden and of course Nirvana, the latter for whom The Breeders opened for on the 1992 European tour and 1993 In Utero tour. Both of these mega boy bands are no longer around. Both had lead singers who were larger-than-life icons of the era, Kurt Cobain and Chris Cornell, who are dead and gone. In this context, you get a better understanding of the hopping, bounding, moshing joy that The Breeders’ mainstay hit and generational anthem “Cannonball” meant to everyone in attendance at The Castro. Ticket holders and performers alike, greying parents getting dirty and sweaty in the mosh pit. All were embracing that adrenaline-fueled moment with a heightened exuberance and life-affirming thankfulness.
And how does the sound and look of the new venue hold up after a two-year, $41 million renovation that produced a modernized facility amidst a blitzkrieg of not-so-good press for new owners Another Planet Entertainment?
For those keeping score, the former Castro Theatre, with its hard-as-nails wooden seats, was my go-to for cinephile deep dives. The Godfather series in 70mm on rainy days, or the yearly run of Rainer Werner Fassbinder films like Ali: Fear Eats the Soul always did the trick.
But now, as you walk down those aisles, the sound tends to get better and clearer, with less noise and more guitar specificity, in the case of this show. Once you hit that standing-room-only pit just in front of the stage, the new modern design is revealed to share some kinship with crosstown showplace The Warfield. Here at the front, the band doesn’t sound loud.
But on the initial walk into the theater from the lobby—sheesh. That sound feels rude, abrasive, and then lost. It’s a bouncing bad check in purgatory. Perhaps it’s something that can be tweaked. Surely, it should be.
That being said, for someone using general admission tickets and wiggling politely through a cross-generational crowd into the “center floor orchestra sections,” the sight lines facing the stage made for appealing, clear views of the band.
Essentially, APE has transformed the Castro, a community meeting point for so many in the neighborhood, into a full-on honking rock show venue, bubba. For $17 tall-boy beers and craft cocktails, it’s a standard-issue cashless situation, so be ready with that card.
What once used to be known as a cultural “temple,” a neighborhood beacon, is now qualified and equipped to kick off with a 20-night Sam Smith residency and soon host a Halloween event called “The Raveyard.”
The Castro turned 104 years old on June 22. Is this how it saw itself existing in the 21st century? Alongside driverless cars, ridesharing apps, and hot sauce subscriptions? Probably not, but in order to continue operating, it had to convert, we were told, into a multi-use live music, film, and community space.
Seems like it’s working, but man, this is different.
