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Here's what Clint Catalyst writes about Switchblade Symphony.

My first trip through the cobwebbed gates of House of Usher was a molar-splitting, life-changing experience. Sure, Id read about the club in subculture zines, but nothing compared to the wondrous revelation of stepping through its doorways. The first thing I saw was Goth drag of the highest order: embellished period costumes, corsets cinched dangerously tight, silk velvet rustling in hues of shadow, shiny latex clinging to skinny bodies. Hair was teased, tossed and sculpted in a playground of shapes, skin pale as pressed powder. Piercings glistened, and silver jewelry tinkled. It was the body as art and adornment.

Filled with flashing heat and spinning wild with desire, I danced; I drank; I introduced myself to Bay Area darklings. But more than anything, I wished the night would go on forever. Fortunately one of the friendships I made from my first visit did: that with a girl named Tina Root. We struck up a conversation because we were the only two people wearing color in the cavernous venue, which sparked a lengthy dialogue about what each of us was trying to do with our art: explore the other facets of dark expressionshe with her music, me with my writing.

That night, we yammered till closing time in a fit of pure inspiration. Whether employing somber themes portrayed in bright colors, or enjoying the juxtaposition of artifice and high glamour with street-tough sensibilities (a term Tina coined as Gutter Glitter), we made a pact to revolt against the Marilyn Manson T-Shirt/Lunchpail-as-Purse clichés in hopes of making something new happen within the scene.

When I showed up at Usher the following Tuesday and saw Switchblade Symphony step on the stage, I knew immediately that Tina and her bandmate Susan were already well on their way. With bright blue back-lighting and Tina bopping around the stage in an ice-white wig, there was no doubt that they stood out from other acts in the darkwave genre: they were having fun, and werent afraid to show it.

At this point, they were still an unsigned bandso I had heard of them, but never actually heard their music. As with House of Usher, Id seen photocopied images in fanzines and tried to imagine the experience, but nothing prepared me for what I saw and heard that night. When they opened the show with Chain, the first thing that struck me was the warmth, the humanity in Tinas voice; it drew me right in. And Susan on the synthesizeran instrument too many myopic types have claimed has no soulwell, she poured every ounce of her being onto that keyboard, the emotion practically dripping off her. Robin was on guitar, his technique fueled by a manic intensity. Through the wafts of smoke slithering about the stage, we could see he was playing that thing with an inhuman ability. It was phenomenal.

Somethings really going to happen for them, I told my friends. And it happened so quickly, I barely remember the in-between. The next thing I knew, Tina had invited me out to celebrate their record contract at another local haunt, a club called A Winter Gone By. I showed up to a packed house and bottles of champagne being passed around by reps from Cleopatra and a cadre of other celebratory folks. Susan was the first person who saw me make the club. Were a signed band! She gushed. Were a signed band now! It was just about the happiest Id seen anyone, ever.

That night led to studio time, which led to the release of Serpentine Gallery. Between then and now was a whirlwind of tours, interviews, press, parties, more tours, more studio time and more music released. Susan and I faded in and out of each others lives, and the cast of band members went through a few changesbut along the way, they continued to refine their distinctive skills, establishing Switchblade Symphony as artists in the truest sense of the word. They continually pursued a different sound, always challenging themselves and taking chances with the work they created. To me, thats what living is. Thats what creates a classic workand Serpentine Gallery is a classic.

Tina and I are still great pals, so after the passing of ten years, its easy to understand how the anecdotes have piled up. There was the time I interrupted their show at the Palace Theatre with a bullhorn in hand, screeching alcohol-drenched terms of endearment and adding more than just my two cents (and less sense) between songs. And the time Susan, Tina and I participated in a silent film projectthough it wasnt necessarily intended as suchby our dear friend Nick Bohn, who is sadly no longer with us. Or the time the crew accidentally caught Tinas South of Market loft on fire during the filming of the Clown videolook closely in the background and you can make out carbon kisses from the flames that licked at her butterfly painting and backdrop fabric. Always a trooper, Tina just rolled with the sooty aftermath and smeared ashes on her face. And then there was the time they asked me to perform spoken word as the opening act for their Halloween show at the Trocaderoa show they reference in the Live 105 interview among the special edition bonus material discand I was struck with sheer fear when I stepped onto a stage with over 1200 faces staring back at me.

Bias notwithstanding, Ill say that while the band took their cue from the disparate elements of a scene steeped in intense emotion, they continued to interpret The G Word in their own way, taking threads from pop and trip-hop and electronica and weaving their own gorgeous tapestry. They released just three studio albums, but this little Bay Area band punched a gargantuan hole in not only a subcultures history, but also the lives of everyone they touched.

Switchblade Symphony was one of the seminal acts that made San Francisco in the mid-90s feel like the center of the universe.

It was a magical time. The magic in their music remains.

°©°Clint Catalyst

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