Tough Customer // Wire

Raised By Robots

Regional pride is a funny thing. We live in a great big country and whatever corner or coast we are born into seems to imbue us with a certain way of looking at the rest of the country, if not the world. Which makes sense, of course - people tend to share the views of those they live with. But what’s interesting is that we are often extremely proud of this in ways that don’t extend to other similarities that many of us share.

Most people shopping at IKEA have the same taste in furniture. A bunch of people eating in a McDonald’s probably have the same taste in food. But you won’t ever hear anybody asking about it, or hear them boasting about it. Can you imagine someone asking, “So what kind of end tables do you like? Something from a low-cost Scandinavian designer? Me too!” Or “Hey! I also enjoy Big Macs! That’s crazy. Do you ever order off the dollar menu?” Conversely, rappers, sports fanatics, and regular people often invoke their specific place of origin at the slightest provocation. It’s not at all unusual to hear a song about the Dirty South or the Bronx or to hear somebody holler “West Side!” for, well, pretty much any reason.

Where you’re from informs the way you grew up, the way you think, and the way you interact with other people. Asking somebody where they’re from is a quick and efficient way to flesh out your first impression of that person. It’s one of the first things you ask upon meeting someone (unless you care about what their job is) and it’s one of the first things they teach you to say when learning a foreign language - right after your name and whether or not you like ice cream.

Even people who aren’t particularly fond of their city, are usually quick to claim pride in their region or state. Plenty of people from the mid-West proudly refer to themselves as farm boys. People from Oregon hate people anybody who isn’t from Oregon (or “Californians” as they call them). And have you ever talked to anybody from Texas? OMG. They won’t let you forget for one second that they are from the big state where everybody carries a handgun and the streets are lined with medium-rare steaks the size of truck tires.

Speaking of which, there’s something I want you to know: I come from Oakland biotch!

That’s right, I was born and raised in The Town, the city that gave us Too $hort, Gary Payton, the Black Panthers, and the Hyphy movement. And despite Oakland’s ridiculously high murder rate, its corrupt government, and its over-priced real estate, I am still oddly proud of this fact. I’ve lived all over the world, from New York City to Italy and I’ve always made sure to emphasize the fact (to anyone who will listen) that I come from the Other City By The Bay.

(Side note: Italians love this, by the way. For such a small country, Italians have an intense sense of regional pride. It stems from the fact that the country wasn’t really united until somewhat recently. They didn’t even have an official version of the Italian language until the mid-20th century. They will argue endlessly about which accent is more truly Italian, or which region makes the best prosciutto, or who has the most beautiful women.

Here’s my verdict: the Florentine accent is the easiest to understand, Parma has the best prosciutto, and pretty much any Italian woman between the ages of 18 and 45 is trombabile.)

So it is with great pride that I would like to introduce you to Oakland’s very own Raised By Robots. They’re one of the first bands I’ve heard that bridges the gap between post-rock and post-indie rock. The guitars and stutter step drums recall early Tortoise albums, while the floating vocal harmonies have an ethereal Grizzly Bear-meets-Radiohead quality. RBR is also prone to throwing in snippets of xylophone or drum machine ear candy, just for those of us who are listening closely.

It’s kind of like a melting pot sound, which comes as no surprise to those of us from Oaktown. We’ve got all the races, religions, and crazy mixed-up ideologies here in the East Bay. It’s what makes our city simultaneously dangerous, exciting, frustrating, and warm. Kind of like our local sons, Raised By Robots. Biotch!

MP3: ‘Murder Weapons’

MP3: ‘A New Horror’