Sky Pilots

So yeah. This shit is going.

Friday night came on like a worn out t-shirt. Having peeled themselves off their beds for yet another day of work, it was good to know that rock was on the rise. Sky Pilots got the call officially at 12:15 a.m. Friday morning about the possibility of playing a show that night. What was known was that it was in celebration of the Conspiracy of Beards who were having a CD release party at Amnesia at 7 p.m. and this was the after-party. The show was confirmed at 9 a.m. over e-mail and all Pilots eagerly answered the call. Work ended and each Pilot fueled for the fight. Pat and Brendan ordered Indian. Bill ate Metate and Mike ate boring refrigerator born leftovers. 6:30 p.m., show is confirmed with a cryptic message to show up at 10 and ask for Dan or Dave. The Pilots quickly tightened a couple loose screws, formally agreed to play a Black Sabbath cover, and rolled to the show in style, riding in vanny and sitting on chrome.

And then there was the Cyclone Warehouse. Proudly facing the Bay and a visible affront to the creeping progress of San Francisco’s revitalizing shipyards, initially it felt more like breaking into someone’s urban barn after hours and taking advantage of their absence to party in their sweet city space. The rumor was that this place was “legendary” but even that does not fully describe the excitable mood in the air, nor the giant growing crowd of people, nor the feeling of absolute freedom that circulated this evening throughout Cyclone. There was something too DIY about the whole evening already and believing that all of this was to good to be true, no one wanted to get too out of control or spoil this perfect secret. Soon though, this mindset was outrightly abandoned as first came shouts to move vehicles for the buidling of a giant bonfire, quickly followed by a torching rock fueled opening performance by Ghost Mansion’s very own Sky Pilots.

Tonight was a rather aggressive performance for these boys as they blazed the stage with furiously tight riffs and rode the snake when it was necessary to let the dedicated crowd breathe. Sabbath appeared followed by a punishing version of “Time Gunner,” much to the delight of our Thread productions’ super bros Low Red Land. Overall Bill, Pat, Brendan, and Mike were collectively victorious in their rock campaign and not too overwhelmed by how incredible this space was to simply play a tight rock show.

The Conspiracy of Beards, having fueled up on cold beer and awesome snacks, then regaled the crowd with a few choice Leonard Cohen tracks. Touched By A Janitor then took the stage, completely punishing every inch of Cyclone Warehouse with their spitfire guitar riffs and spastic shifts in rhythm. The crowd was enthusiastic and returned to the bonfire ready to celebrate rock freedom.

And celebratory we would remain for the rest of the evening, stuck between illegally parked cars on a newly constructed railroad bridge and a warm fire. There, in the shadows of giant overhead Gantry cranes and illuminated shipping docks, cell phones were tossed into the fire symbolizing a momentary separation from the reality that is the rest of San Francisco on this cool Spring evening. Something felt right about the entire evening, and this righteousness was solely capitulated with a late night order of 6 Tender Crisp sandwich meals from our very own BK on Bayshore. Oh and the TCs had pickles on them, making the late night food run nothing less than a total jam.

Photos from the evening’s performance.