Roughly-hewn folk numbers and Casio-beat anthems. Songs like funhouse mirrors for humanity and offer solace for anyone who feels clobbered by pop culture, politicians, and the general stupidity of the world.

9 MP3 Songs
FOLK: Folk Pop, ROCK: Acoustic



Details:
San Francisco-resident Adam Balbo hails from Indiana, Land of the Indians, and has also lived for a time in Beijing, capital of the Middle Kingdom. Through his travels and cheese-frying experience, Balbo has a particular insight that informs his roughly-hewn folk numbers and Casio-beat anthems. His songs function like funhouse mirrors for humanity and offer solace for anyone who feels clobbered by pop culture, politicians, and the general stupidity of the world. Take a seat beside him and marvel at the gooiness we call love, the black gold that we call coffee, and this ping-pong ball we call Earth.

by Gerry Mak, Flavor Pill

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It was a fresh chilly night in San Francisco. Blocks away down from fancy Market street and in the corner of Bryant that was â Hotel Utahâ. Don't frown it's not â Hotel Caliâ.

A man with glass at the door stampped a blue-ish cartoon on you right hand after you pay $7 dollars. Then you're in. Turn right and walk into a 10 square meters half-basement room, there was a small stage. Under the gloomy red light, you'll see wooden desks and chairs around, men and women, young and old, with fuzzy mushroom hair and skinny pants.

There was a man standing near the stage. He wore brown woolen suit, blue checked shirt and a green silk blue tie. He was with intellectual-look glasses, student-look face, no beard. It was Adam Balbo, and tonight is his first night, no, the night releasing his first CD-- â6 Outta 9 w/Beatsâ, a production of Adam's inspiration, humor, anger and talent. Nine songs, no kidding: âLet's Feel terrible Togetherâ, âTalkin' Bushâ and âLong, Quick Tangoâ, etc.

Since this spring Adam kind of planned to make his CD. Adam wrote now and then, sometimes after he part- timely taught marketing to some managers from the World Journal, the biggest bay area Chinese newspaper; or sometimes when he got stuck in his bath room. He just grabbed a piece of paper and a broken pencil and wrote. When he was in the mood, he yelled out some music he thought was good, then the notes jumped out of his throat and rolled on the paper, and became his song. It took him five months writing, and a
couple of hours recording in â Kit Smith's Studioâ.

Finally, Adam said, â I have this freshly pressed, factory-smelling (I suggest sniffing them yourself), cardboard, sorta-professional-looking, bright blue-ish, vegetable-bearing Cds.â (Helen [Lee] Designed the cover of the CD).

And tonight, Adam kicked off and sang the fresh songs from his blue-ish Cd. He took off his suit, held his red old guitar and put his harmonica on his neck, then he marbled some words on the stage and started to blow his guitar
and sang. His voice was low but rich, he moved his legs a little when he was singing the âLong Quick Tangoâ, his eyes couldn't be seen, as the light reflected on his glasses. People were listening, watching, clapping, whistling. After standing and singing a few songs, Adam sat on a chair and
put down his guitar, and changed to play on an electronti organ. He turned on the electronic beat, then people was on, too. Someone started to sing along with him, someone stamped their feet, and someone stood up and danced.

I can't tell exactly what's Adam music like, you've got to listen to it yourself, as it is damn good. And one single song made me almost broke into tears -- âMexico, the Place I Haven't Been.â It was a reminiscent of last time I remembered seeing him in a place called Beijing. He was singing that song in the dark old house, âYu Gong Yi Shanâ club. A bunch of dudes and chicks, were drinking RMB20 Qing Dao and sitting together to listen his songs. Adam was wearing the same glasses and holding his old guitar. Adam
is same old, but tonight he has something new âHis CD, which touched our hearts.

Wu Nan is a student in the Journalism school, University of California, Berkeley