It's the project of the “dirty sex rock” band Flexx Bronco, it's got a quasi-sinister name (“Voodoo Van”), and it's slogan is “No forks, No knives, No mercy.”  They even serve a vegan seitan sandwich along with their fried potato-cream cheese balls, “p. b. n' j. balls,” and shrimp po' boys.  But in an age where food trucks are trendier than $50-per-person meals on Valencia, could a food truck ever be considered “punk rock”?  According to an interview with founder Phil Stefani on Eater, that's a yes:

What prompted you to start a food truck? I love this question cause people are always saying to me “Dude I had no idea you were into cooking?” And I'm always like “I'm not, I don't cook buuut my friends do.” And thats the truth. I'm a wizard with a microwave. Being in a touring rock band, as well as a bartender, I love love love street food or late night food on the go. I love touring. I love traveling. I can't stand that static feeling of standing still. I always wanted to open a bar or venue, but the thought of “location, location, location” frightens the shit out of me.

I come from a very punk rock, DIY background and I have always veiwed these food trucks as kind of a wild wild West. It's us against them (brick n' mortars, The City, permitting process, rent). I like that I can design the Cosmic American Voodoo Van like a band would design an album or shirt, and that I can use my knowledge of marketing a band and apply it to something else—in this case, kind-of-gourmet street food. I get to work, move around and experience something new everyday. Fuck it, we'll come to you!

Read on for some more pics, additional insight into the whole project, and background on the band.

Midi Matilda, the new indie electro-pop duo that's been described as a cross between “MGMT and Washed Out,” filmed their latest video all over San Francisco and Berkeley.  After shooting a whole mess of footage of themselves rocking out in studio, they projected their performance all over the streets, alleys, businesses, and AT&T utility boxes that make this town the marvel that it is, and pieced it all together for one helluva music video.

Check it:

Sad new from the subways: BART busker Jesse Morris, the man who's been lighting up our morning commutes for years with his pitch-perfect Johnny Cash covers, reportedly passed away Sunday night, taking his own life.

Back in 2009, he talked with BART's Melissa Jordan:

“I kind of fell in love with [Johnny Cash]„” he says. “And then realized, 'Oh, I sound kind of like this dude.'” The more he sang Cash's songs, the more he perfected the sound. He doesn't dress like the Man in Black — a knit cap, nose ring and punk-patched jacket are more his style, and he once had a mohawk — but he is happy to be known as “the Johnny Cash guy.” “Kind of like an Elvis impersonator, but not as cheesy,” he says.

[Photo by Troy Holden]

Cut Copy on the Bridge Stage.

Citing Uptown Almanac's “diverse readership” and “popularity among San Francisco's tastemakers,” I managed to con Treasure Island Music Fest. into giving me a press pass.  Since you'll already be hearing endless chatter about the bands themselves (a summary: Dizzee Rascal fucking killed it, Cut Copy was fun as hell but people weren't really digging their new stuff, Chromeo was the place to dance, who the fuck is Shabazz Palaces and why were they repeatedly yelling “Ron Paul” on stage?, did I mention Dizzee Rascal sounds like a pirate? (“I heard yar into dubstep arrround harrr”), I wish YACHT went on stage after the drugs kicked in), and the folks at TIMF thought better than to let me into the photo pit, I'll let you know what went down off-stage.

Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of bros in attendance.

It took 97 long minutes for the festival to get underway until you could begin finding girls puking while their friends and Mission bloggers stood idly by.

Kids were all the rage this year, with parents strapping three-year-olds dressed in leopard pants and industrial-strength neon pink headphones to their chests (Child Protective Services could not be reached for comment).

With my dishonestly-obtained press pass, I was permitted access to backstage press lounge. The lounge itself was basically a big tent with wifi and a plastic toilet, but you were able to 'mingle with the stars' as they conducted interviews and blessed people with the permission to photograph them, as we can see here with YACHT being accosted by an army of bloggers.

IndieMart's Camp D.I.Y. was definitely the place to relax and be stoned, as you just chill out and watch chickens with Yoda backpacks play with succulents.

Two smuggled whiskey-Sprites later, YACHT was still posing for photographs next to the handwashing station.

Back at the show, a bear humped a tree branch.

Dr. Bro Manchu has abandoned his criminal ways for a new life of rice farming and gnarly bass lines.

Obligatory pair of bearded ladies.

Never being too far away from Burning Man, a flock of LED jellyfish made their way through the crowd during the Cut Copy set.  As they passed to my left, a person standing near me stared at the stars and repeatedly mumbled “I love music.”

And we're out.