Dylan, Etc

The Top 50 Albums of 2011

2012-01-01T15:31:00.000-05:00

50. Wye Oak – Civilian
49. Childish Gambino – Camp
48. Bill Callahan - Apocalypse
47. Feist - Metals
46. Richard Buckner – Our Blood
45. Le Butcherettes – Sin Sin Sin
44. Gillian Welch – The Harrow and the Harvest
43. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - Belong
42. Calhoun – Heavy Sugar
41. Gruff Rhys – Hotel Shampoo
40. O’Death - Outside
39. Kanye West & Jay Z – Watch the Throne
38. Iron and Wine – Kiss Each Other Clean
37. The Rosebuds – Loud Planes Fly Low
36. Hunx & His Punx – Too Young to Be in Love
35. Mates of State – Mountaintops
34. Cosmo Jarvis – Is The World Strange or Am I Strange?
33. Eleanor Friedberger – Last Summer
32. Britney Spears – Femme Fatale
32. Dum Dum Girls – Only in Dreams
31. My Morning Jacket – Circuital
30. Florence + the Machine – Ceremonials
29. Crooked Fingers – Breaks in the Armor
28. The Streets – Computers and Blues
27. Gringo Star – Count Yer Lucky Stars
26. Drive-By Truckers – Go Go Boots
25. Fountains of Wayne – Sky Full of Holes
24. PJ Harvey – Let England Shake
23. Bobby - Bobby
22. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues
21. R.E.M. – Collapse Into Now
20. The Mountain Goats – All Eternals Deck
19. A Dancing Beggar – Follow the Dark As If It Were Light
18. The Antlers – Burst Apart
17. Fucked Up – David Comes to Life
16. Low – C’mon
15. Wilco – The Whole Love
14. Damion Suomi and the Minor Prophets – Go, and Sell All of Your Things
13. The Coathangers – Larceny & Old Lace
12. King Creosote & Jon Hopkins – Diamond Mine
11. Tom Waits – Bad As Me
10. EMA – Past Life Martyred Saint
9. Ezra Furman & the Harpoons – Mysterious Power
8. Buck 65 – 20 Odd Years
7. The Civil Wars – Barton Hollow
6. M83 – Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming
5. Girls – Father, Son, Holy Ghost
4. Lykke Li – Wounded Rhymes
3. Julianna Barwich – The Magic Place
2. Bon Iver – Bon Iver, Bon Iver
1. Josh T. Pearson – Last of the Country Gentlemen

The Best Albums of 2010: #25-1

2010-12-31T23:15:00.003-05:00

The Top 50 Albums of 2010
Part 2: #25-1

25. Best Coast - Crazy For You

One of 2010’s big breakout bands, Best Coast have already begun enduring the inevitable backlash. The timing makes sense though; winter temperatures make this music harder to appreciate. Bethany Cosentino’s lovesick summer jams about beaches and weed created one of the year’s enduring sounds. If you need to wait til next June to play it again, it’ll sound just as fresh.

Click to play "Boyfriend"

24. Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings - I Learned the Hard Way

Sharon Jones has been wowing live audiences for years now, but she’s never made a record worthy of her talent. Until now. Like previous albums, I Learned the Hard Way sees the Dap-Kings letting loose with irresistible swagger, but it offers what others lacked: good songs. From the opening Mexicali horns of “The Game Gets Old” to the final gospel shout of “Mama Don’t Like My Man,” I Learned finds retro soul as alive as ever.

Click to play "She Ain't a Child No More"

23. James Keyes - Ruminations

Old-school country through and through, Ruminations hits all the genre’s touchstones. Work chants (“Interlude”), jaunty saloon piano (“Two Mirror”), and delta-blues slide guitar (“Black Ceiling”) sound like music Alan Lomax might have unearthed in the ‘40s. The lone electric track, “SSG,” sounds like Merle Haggard fronting the Sex Pistols.

Click to play "Black Ceiling"

22. Cee Lo Green - The Lady Killer

Many artists would put a smash like “Fuck You” on an otherwise-disposable album. Frankly, Cee Lo himself did so with “Crazy” in 2006. But if “Fuck You!” is the best song on The Lady Killer (and it is), it’s only by a hair. Perfect soul-pop productions like “Wildflower” and “I Want You” uplift with strings, horns, and Green’s inimitable croon.

Click to play "I Want You"

21. Jónsi - Go

In some ways, Jónsi’s solo debut reminds one of his work with day job Sigur Rós. There are two main differences though, one superficial and one deeper. For one, Go is mostly in English and not Icelandic (or his made-up language "Hopelandic"). More significantly, it offers a childlike joy only hinted at in previous work. If the next Disney critter movie got experimental, a song like “Animal Arithmatic” would make a perfect scampering soundtrack.

Click to play "Animal Arithmetic"

20. Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM

For a guy who didn’t tour or release an album, Beck was all over the place in 2010. His web cover series continued with off-the-wall picks like Yanni and he led his production talents wherever needed. Nowhere did he do better than here though. On this electronic throb of an album, Charlotte Gainsbourg (Serge’s daughter) imbues 13 Beck compositions with poise and grace, underscoring each with an uneasy feeling you can’t quite explain.

Click to play "Time of the Assassins"

19. Yelawolf - Trunk Muzik [Mixtape]

Alabama rapper Yelawolf may be 2011’s breakout rap star. His rapid-fire southern diction on this critically-acclaimed but little-heard mixtape marks him as the second coming of Eminem, and not just because of skin color. Where Em 1.0 detailed exactly the gruesome things he’d do to people though, in songs like “Pop the Trunk” Yela’ gives only threatening hints.

Click to play "Good to Go (ft. Bun B)"

18. eels - End Times

No one does “downer” better than Mark Everett aka “E” aka eels. Unrelenting from beginning to end, End Times chronicles Everett’s recent divorce in painful detail. Yeah, it’s that kind of record. Many breakup albums carry an undercurrent of hope or resilience. Not here (that came a few months later on Tomorrow Morning). Once again, Everett proves a master at capturing the dark side of human emotion.

Click to play "The Beginning"

17. Nortec Collective Presents: Bostich + Fussible - Bulevar 2000

The “Nortec” in Nortec collective describes an unlikely fusion: norteño, a traditional Mexican music, and techno. Such absurd cross-cultural sounds usually fail as often as fusion restaurants, but Bostich and Fussible (two members of the Collective) effortlessly mix accordion and vocoder. The thick bass grooves of a song like “Radio Borderland” sound right at home in an Ibiza club…until you realize they’re coming from a sousaphone.

Click to play "Radio Borderland"

16. Revolver - Music for a While

Close harmony singing took a hit when the Everly Brothers stopped releasing records, but it’s about due for a comeback. Parisian trio Revolver produce heartwarming melodies, sung in English with a delicate French accent. What could easily come off as cutesy works because they infuse the pop sound with jazz guitar lines (“Leave Me Alone”), eastern rhythms (“Do You Have a Gun?”), and just a little bit of rock and roll swagger (“Get Around Town”).

Click to play "Get Around Town"

15. Elton John and Leon Russell - The Union

The narrative of this album describes a megastar (Elton John) pulling a fallen hero (Leon Russell) back into the spotlight. One listen to the music, though, makes it clear that Russell in fact revived John, inspiring some of his best songwriting in decades. T Bone Burnett’s uncharacteristically lush production steers clear of mall-pop pulp, using a gospel choir in the service of Dr. John boogie. Neil Young and Brian Wilson guest spots only sweeten the deal.

Click to play "I Should Have Sent Roses"

14. Hurts - Happiness

Kylie Minogue guests on Hurts’ debut, which you may view as a dealbreaker. Push past it. This new synthpop duo piles hook upon hook in this catchy-as-hell album. They display a uniquely British pessimism on “Stay” and “Evelyn,” but “Wonderful Life” proves unexpectedly inspirational. And to think it starts with a girl jumping off a bridge...

Click to play "Wonderful Life"

13. Grinderman - Grinderman 2

Nick Cave’s Grinderman represents music at its dirtiest, in every sense of the word. The vulgar puns amuse (sample: “My baby calls me the Loch Ness monster / Two big humps and then I’m gone”), but the rough-as-sandpaper guitar sounds like Cave’s battling the devil. And losing.

Click to play "Evil"

12. James Blackshaw - All Is Falling

Twenty-nine-year old guitarist James Blackshaw crafts an instrumental suite that ebbs and flows around his trusty 12-string. Violins, pianos, and xylophone surge throughout the most beautiful 45 minutes you’ll hear all year. Long after the final eight minutes of feedback fade away, the feeling remains.

Click to play "Part 3"

11. Solomon Burke & De Dijk - Hold On Tight

The September death of Solomon Burke would have been a tragedy no matter what the quality his current output. The fact the he released not one, but two terrific albums this year though makes the loss that much greater. Recorded with Dutch rock band De Dijk, Hold On Tight bursts forth with such force you wonder if he knew this was his last shot. The band gives the songs the gritty “rock and soul” crunch they deserves while Burke roars like the 400-pound bear he was.

Click to play "Seventh Heaven"

10. The Gentle Guest - Cast Off Your Human Form

Sounding like a circus circa 1923, the Gentle Guest pull out the stops, throw the stops on the ground, and parade a heard of elephants over 'em. Horns blast and accordions wail on gut-bucket hollers, back-porch stomps, and what sounds like a whole lot of carny dancing. “Judgment” turns the big top into a tent revival as a fire-and-brimstone preacher condemns the very joy the music inspires.

Click to play "Judgement"

9. Dessa - A Badly Broken Code

Perhaps the most slept-on hip-hop album of 2010, A Badly Broken Code moves the genre in at least a dozen new directions. Rapper/poet/author Dessa gets über-personal when she describes struggling to forgive a former lover (“Mineshaft II”) and watching a retarded sibling fall behind (“Children’s Work”). Throughout, the unexpectedly quirky production make this a hip-hop album in name only.

Click to play "Children's Work"

8. Robyn - Body Talk

Like “Dancing in the Dark” before it, “Dancing on My Own” cocoons depressing lyrics in a misleadingly cheery pop bubble. This song – the best of the year – kicks off fifteen tracks that will revive your faith in pop music. This is music for the dance floor, but the thoughtful lyrics and clever production twists make it equally hipster-friendly.

Click to play "Dancing on My Own"

7. Les Savy Fav - Root for Ruin

Seeing Les Savy Fav singer Tim Harrington bound about onstage in a monkey suit, you might assume these guys are a goof. Quite the opposite. The post-hardcore roar of this Brooklyn quintet cuts like never before on their fifth LP. Harrington yelps his typically aggressive/angsty lyrics, but Seth Jabour once again becomes the band’s secret weapon, delivering jagged riffs and cascading chords.

Click to play "Dirty Knails"

6. Evelyn Evelyn - Evelyn Evelyn

Amanda Palmer “discovered” conjoined sister duo Evelyn Evelyn via their MySpace page. The sisters grew up in the circus, abandoned by a chicken man who tried to kill them, a hooker who tried to save them, and finally a conjoined-twin elephant. They (really Palmer and parter-in-crime Jason Webley) detail the whole morbid, convoluted story in beautifully dark cabaret. As evidence, take their hilariously literal cover selection: Love Will Tear Us Apart. Ouch!

Click to play "Evelyn Evelyn"

5. Fang Island - Fang Island

“Math rock” is one of those labels that makes no sense until you hear it, at which point you go, “Oh, yeah, okay.” Fang Island represent the best in the admittedly niche genre. Their intertwining guitar lines turn left when you expect them to go right, up when you're waiting for down, on this largely instrumental album. Weird time signatures come and go like nothing. On songs like “Daisy” though though, the cumulative effect is strangely uplifting. A rare combination of challenging and cheerful.

Click to play "Daisy"

4. David Ford - Let the Hard Times Roll

David Ford deserves to be up there with today’s best songwriters. Politics loom large on his third album, but you don’t need to know that “She’s Not the One” is about Margaret Thatcher to enjoy its bluesy thump. The desperate cry of “Panic” builds until it entirely overwhelms you, lines falling all over each other in a frantic rush. Then, with the flip of a switch, he can deliver one of the most beautiful love ballads you’ve ever heard (“To Hell with the World”).

Click to play "Panic"

3. Midlake - The Courage of Others

Midlake’s sound is hard to place in time. They certainly don’t scream 21st century, but they hardly guide you elsewhere either. Spatially though, it’s much easier to place: in a forest. This rich choral folk lifts you higher and higher through the trees, til you don’t know where you are but you’re happy to be there.

Click to play "Core of Nature"

2. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

After years of providing ample fodder to his critics, Kanye West roundly silenced them with the most brilliant album of his career. Combining all the best parts of his first four albums, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy raises hip-hop out to absurd pomp and circumstance. Never has rap been this ambitious, and only Kanye could pull it off. He incorporates rap vets (Jay-Z, Rick Ross) and underground indie icons (Bon Iver??) into one gigantic, sprawling, ridiculously self-absorbed masterpiece.

Click to play "Monster"

1. The National - High Violet

Over the course of five albums this Brooklyn quintet has slowly built up a following of hardcore fans and music critics. In 2010, they finally made the jump to certified "popularity." High Violet is at once delicate and majestic. You almost hold your breath listening, feeling that that the slightest change would cause these delicately crafted compositions to crumble. Improbably, the sad-sack muttering of 40-year old grump Matt Berninger strikes instant emotional chords. This isn’t an album to hear; it’s an album to feel.

Click to play "Bloodbuzz Ohio"

See #50-26 here.

The Best Albums of 2010: #50-26

2010-12-31T23:00:00.001-05:00

The Top 50 Albums of 2010
Part 1: #50-26

50. Swans - My Father Will Guide Me up a Rope to the Sky

In 1998, Michael Gira released his final album with his Swans collective, aptly titled Swans Are Dead. That was that, until this past January. Out of nowhere, the band’s MySpace sprung to life with a message reading, simply, “SWANS ARE NOT DEAD.” Indeed not, as the band’s melt-your-face post-rock hits just as hard twelve years later. Opener “No Words/No Thoughts” roars along for eight minutes before the words begin while Gira reveals an unexpectedly sensitive (but still loud) side on “Inside Madeline.”

Click to play "Inside Madeline"

49. She & Him - Volume Two

Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward’s unlikely beach-pop combo hits a second home-run with this breezy summer soundtrack. Deschanel’s voice is nondescript enough to casually deliver these lite-rock ditties about sun, cars, and surf. M. Ward’s guitar churns along amicably behind.

Click to play "Lingering Still"

48. John Knox Sex Club - Blud Rins Cauld

Say that album title aloud and see if you can guess where this band is from. If you pronounced it right, it should sound unmistakably Scottish. These Glasgow punks use their thick brogues in the service of loud-soft rockers. Unexpected bits of free jazz and gospel worm in and out of this eight-song suite.

Click to play "William"

47. Yukon Blonde - Yukon Blonde

No one told the boys of Yukon Blonde that 1974 ended a while back and, hopefully, no one ever will. Their debut album updates the ‘70s folk-rock sound not a lick, copping tricks from CSN on “Wind Blows” and Crazy Horse on “Ghosts on Film.”

Click to play "Wind Blows"

46. The Gaslight Anthem - American Slang

The Gaslight Anthem tuned down the Springsteen references on their third album...lyrically, that is. Musically the band continues to meld the Boss with the Clash, unleashing instant rock anthems like “Boxer” and “Stay Lucky.” Rich production (by their standards, at least) can’t mask the punk snarl.

Click to play "Boxer"

45. Fredrik - Trilogi

What is it about Scandinavia? All their music seems so…arty. Sigur Rós aficionados, take note. This Swedish three-piece writes similarly quirky art-rock symphonies, blending unidentifiable instruments with indecipherable lyrics. The fact that their Wikipedia page needs seven genres to describe them says it all.

Click to play "Flax"

44. The Capitalist Youth - At the Campfire

At this summer’s Newport Folk Festival, the Capitalist Youth handed NPR All Songs Considered host Bob Boilen a burned demo. He played a track from the old-school folk collection on his radio show, giving unprecedented exposure to a Philly trio just out of a high school. Their tongue-in-cheek songs detail “summer camp, existential crises and gubernatorial indiscretions” (their words) and, in one case (“Arcade”), a creepily evangelical girlfriend.

Click to play "Arcade"

43. Chromeo - Business Casual

In 21st-century indie rock, there is perhaps no group less cool to emulate than Hall & Oates. So props to Chromeo for pulling it off with even a modicum of dignity. Business Casual’s unabashedly cheesy electrofunk finds Dave 1 and P-Thugg blending dumb lyrics and shameless guitar solos as tackily as ever. The talk box is back.

Click to play "Night By Night"

42. Dr. Frankenstein - In 4 Dimensions

Beach pop came back in a big way in 2010, but surf rock? Not so much. If more people heard Dr. Frankenstein though, it might stand a chance. Like the Ventures on speed, these eight tracks roar by in 21 minutes, leaving you panting and ready for another round.

Click to play "Sneaky Surf"

41. Diamond Rings - Special Affections

Don’t let the Perez Hilton getup fool you. In his dance moniker Diamond Ring’s debut full-length, John O’Regan sounds as pensive as he does camp. It’s music that says, “Come dance...but if you don’t want to, that’s okay too.”

Click to play "It's Not My Party"

40. Johnny Dowd - Wake Up the Snakes

You can tell a lot about certain albums by their track titles. “Howling Wolf Blues,” “Swamp Woman,” and “Organ Grinder” give you a good picture of Johnny Dowd’s latest. The less-interestingly-named “Yolanda” shines brightest though. The dark tale of love-through-patricide sounds like Tom Waits at his spookiest.

Click to play "Yolanda"

39. Chumbawamba - ABCDEFG

If you only know Chumbawamba from “Tubthumper,” you’re sadly uninformed. You’re also in the good company of, well, everyone. That inane/catchy hit represents about 1% of their style. Mostly, these Brits represent a vaguely anarchic strain of agit-folk. They deftly mix message with humor on this, their 372th album (note to self: double-check number). Bonus points for calling themselves out as one-hit wonders on “Torturing James Hetfield.”

Click to play "Wagner at the Opera"

38. Neil Young - Le Noise

"I said solo...They said acoustic." So read the t-shirts on Neil Young's latest tour, but the sentiment holds for this album. Originally slated for a solo acoustic record, Le Noise got seriously beefed up with producer Daniel Lanois' wall-of-effects. Young's electric guitar sounds like an atomic bomb hitting; Young's voice sounds like the lone survivor.

Click to play "Hitchhiker"

37. Erland and the Carnival - Erland and the Carnival

Four of the twelve songs on this promising debut are covers of traditional British folk songs, but you’d never know which four. Songs like “Tramps and Hawkers” (cover) and “The Derby Ram” (original) sway along jauntily in this old-new folk-rock pastiche. The Verve’s Simon Tong tackles instruments like harmonium and zither, but Erland Cooper’s indie-yodel vocals lend a certain authenticity even to the most hammed-up bops.

Click to play "My Name Is Carnival"

36. Alejandro Escovedo - Street Songs of Love

Most artists would be more than happy to rope Bruce Springsteen onto their album, but Alejandro Escovedo has more than just an enviable Rolodex. He pushes the Boss duet (“Faith”) down to track twelve, one-upping it with eleven stronger tracks before. A concept album about love may be something of a nonstarter, but tracks like “Anchor” and “This Bed Is Getting Crowded” show that, 31 years after he started, Escovedo rocks as hard as ever.

Click to play "This Bed Is Getting Crowded"

35. Eminem - Recovery

Everyone likes a good comeback story, and no one epitomized left-for-dead success in 2010 like Eminem. Unlike cinematic comebacks though, real returns prove a little messier. Technically, Em released his so-called “comeback” album, Relapse, last year. As he admits now though, it didn’t count (“Encore I was on drugs, Relapse I was flushing ‘em out”). The aptly-titled Recovery shows a whole new side of Eminem, comprising personal struggles (“Talkin’ 2 Myself”) and feel-good anthems (“Not Afraid”).

Click to play "Talkin' 2 Myself"

34. Azure Ray - Drawing Down the Moon

Fans of this Georgia duo had to wait seven years for this one, but the dreamy folk harmonies return stronger than ever. Track after track on Drawing Down the Moon, released on Conor Oberst’s label Saddle Creek, melts your heart and warms your soul. Whiffs of electronics lend an unexpected kick to the acoustic splendor.

Click to play "Larraine"

33. Screaming Females - Castle Talk

Never was a band so aptly named. Yes, technically there’s only one screaming female here (along with two not-screaming males), but this tiny tyrant hollers loud enough for a dozen banshees. As always thought, her guitar shredding impresses even more. Jimi Hendrix, reincarnated as a 4’6” girl with a bob haircut.

Click to play "A New Kid"

32. Titus Andronicus - The Monitor

Titus Andronicus rep the other side of the Jersey Shore, the dirty working-class grit that makes a bunch of punk kids die to escape the basement. Somehow, they do so on a concept album about the Civil War. Whatever works. With shout-along put-downs like “You will always be a loser,” The Monitor roars for underdogs everywhere.

Click to play "A More Perfect Union"

31. Harvey Milk - A Small Turn of Human Kindness

Loud and fast, fast and loud. You don’t realize how closely you associate the two into you hear an album like this. It’s really, really loud and really, really slow. Sounding like Metallica played at 3 beats-per-minute, Creston Spiers roars over the molasses-slow sludge. In its own way, this sleepy-stoner metal as brutal as anything Slayer ever recorded.

Click to play "I Just Want to Go Home Now"

30. Ethan Lipton & His Orchestra - Honker

This past March, Ethan Lipton and his Orchestra opened the National’s first show of the year. The Brooklyn hipsters that comprised much of the crowd looked bemused, unsure what to make of the mustached man backed by double bass, hollow-body guitar, and sax (sometimes flute). Lipton’s Newman-esq lyrical humor opens your mind enough to accept this unapologetic lounge act, but the serious musicianship keeps you coming back even after the LOLs wear thin.

Click to play "Poor Old Whitey"

29. The Magnetic Fields - Realism

Realism, the quieter companion piece to 2008’s Distortion, finds Stephin Merritt at his most droll. Though humor abounds, most notably in an elaborate dig at Scientologies (“We Are Having a Hootenany”), brutal kiss-off songs like “You Must Be Out of Your Mind” show Meritt doesn't need much volume to pack a wallop.

Click to play "You Must Be out of Your Mind"

28. Gogol Bordello - Trans-Continental Hustle

Gogol Bordello only do one thing, but they do it better than anyone else. It helps that no one else even tries to compete. Rick Rubin produced thirteen more tracks of rollicking gypsy-punk, letting the band do what they do best: go nuts. Accordion and fiddle wail on “My Companjera” while “Immigraniada (We Comin’ Rougher)” features the band’s best shout-along chorus yet.

Click to play "My Companjera"

27. Francis and the Lights - It'll Be Better

Francis Farewell Starlite spent much of the year opening for Drake and, by all accounts, left mixed impressions. This midtempo synth-pop may not be ideal for huge halls, but in its own laid-back way it rocks the house. The songs constantly threaten to burst open, but the band’s restraint holds them back.

Click to play "In a Limousine"

26. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

That Arcade Fire’s third album blew critics away should surprise no one. That it topped the Billboard charts, on the other hand, shows just how far this band has come. The Suburbs finds a comfortable middle ground between the bombast of Funeral and the anxiety of Neon Bible. Sixteen tracks honor the highs, lows, and, most often, middles of suburbia at its most mundane.

Click to play "City with No Children"

See #25-1 here.

Local H at the Gramercy Theater 5/18/10

2010-05-19T10:55:00.004-04:00

Tuesday night’s Local H show carried all the hallmarks of imminent disaster. The Gramercy Theater bumped up the very much un-sold out show to accommodate a last-minute Stone Temple Pilots appearance later that evening, imposing a 9:30pm curfew on Local H. “We feel like we’re opening for STP,” frontman Scott Lucas remarked at the beginning of the show, "but we’re not…I don’t think.”

Then there was the tour’s theme: 6 Angry Records. The premise is a clever one. At the beginning of every gig, Lucas hands an audience member a hat containing the names of all six of their records. The fan picks one randomly, then the band plays that entire record beginning to end. An ingenious twist on the classic-record tour trend that has infected the music world of late.

The Chicago cult duo has six records. Five of these are beloved by a small by fiercely loyal following. The sixth is Ham Fisted, their 1995 debut, likely the only album that no audience member was rooting for.

Guess which one got picked.

The band clearly knew this choice would prove unpopular. “We thought about rigging the system,” Lucas joked. “But it’s a slippery slope. First you’re rigging a hat-pull, then before you know it you’re fucking babies.”

So by God they played the Nirvana-aping Ham Fisted beginning to end, treating the audience members who didn’t spend the entire 45 minutes texting to a fiery grunge throwback. Lucas howled out lyrics no one knew (even he had a cheat sheet) while thrashing at his guitar as if to punish the songs for being so mediocre. Drummer Brian St. Clair, who didn’t even play on the original, channeled his inner Dave Grohl with the least subtle drumming this side of Animal. It was only through sheer force of will that the band staved off a trainwreck, but by rocking the subpar tunes as if they were God’s gift to mankind they pulled it off.

After completing the album, the pair rewarded the crowd with a second set of fan favorites like “Hands on the Bible” and “Bound for the Floor.” “All the Kids Are Right,” a song about fan backlash after an ill-received concert, seemed particularly relevant. The (relative) hits quickly won back the punk dudes and rocker grrrls, who shouted along with every angsty lyric when they weren’t too busy busting heads in the circle pit. By encore “Wolf Like Me,” a TV on the Radio cover that went right up to that 9:30 deadline, all sins were forgiven.

DOWNLOAD THE FULL SET

Photo by Michael Alan Goldberg (via Philadelphia Weekly)

Killola at the Studio at Webster Hall 3/30/10

2010-03-31T12:47:00.020-04:00

For a girl who's appeared on the Cosby Show and King of Queens, Lisa Rieffel is surprising vulgar. Upon taking the Studio at Webster Hall stage Tuesday night with her band Killola, she raised her middle fingers high. She may have lowered them to sing, but for the next sixty minutes they stayed up in spirit.

Live, Killola pays winking homage to the snot-nosed brats of early punk. On record the band’s garage-pop tunes are carefully constructed rock and roll throwbacks, but on stage self-awareness vanishes. The album giveaways and elaborately conceived videos can preach the music’s merits, but only in person does the effect of shoving an audience member’s face in your crotch really come off.

With the aid of a hired-gun keyboard player, the quartet thundered out renditions of their garage-pop tunes far grimier than their polished recordings. The music sounded like it was coming from a tin can and the band played like they were trying to be heard over beer pong games at a frat party.

With song titles like “I Wanna See Your Dick” though, sonic nuance may not be the goal. Sure, the Motown swing of their tunes got lost in the racket, but it’s tough to focus on singing when you’re writhing around on the floor or dangling upside down from a water pipe.

When the band closed the show with a wonderfully sloppy cover of “Hey Mickey,” an overly enthusiastic audience member hopped onstage to engage in antics too raunchy to describe without getting this blog flagged by Google. Eventually Rieffel gently told her to settle down. Even crotch-shovers have a limit.

Photos by L.R. Adams (via Quirky NY Chick)

David Ford at Union Hall 3/26/10

2010-03-27T15:54:00.009-04:00

David Ford walked onto the basement stage at Union Hall carrying two small briefcases. Without a word he started shaking them into an old-fashioned radio mic. Filled with god-knows-what, the briefcases clattered in a violent rhythm like workingman’s maracas. As he shook, he sang. “Well I took me a deep breath and I counted to three / I am nothing at all like I wanted to be / I was born into comfort, I was raised by TV / I am nothing at all like I wanted to be.”

With porkpie hat and ratty tie, Ford looked like a small-time huckster and the music fit the role. He stomped like the Cold War Kids busking on a corner. He sang like Tom Waits right when his voice began to go sour. He preached like a one-man Pentecostal revival and if the small crowd wasn’t quite speaking in tongues, by god they were full of the holy spirit.

One assumed Ford traveled with a full band. Enough instruments littered the stage that even if he’d played a different one on each song he’d still have a few left over. But he doesn’t play a different one on each song. He plays them all at once.

“Panic” began with Ford winding a small music box, the plinking melody recalling an imagined ‘50s childhood. A stomp of a pedal looped the four-bar line so that the music continued when he put the box down. He moved on to a jaunty piano riff, adding it on top of the music box with a second stomp. Thumps on a briefcase. Another stomp. One acoustic guitar line. Stomp. A second. Stomp. Organ, tambourine, drum machine. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

After a couple minutes he had crafted a junkyard orchestra behind him. Now instrument-less, he hung from a water pipe crying out the cascading word vomit. His voice roared louder and louder as the verses piled on top of each other, the backing music looping endlessly. The cacophony of sound seemed to shake the room. Then one more stomp, and silence.

In other hands this looping might have amounted to little more than a neat parlor trick, but in Ford’s it served the songs. In fact, thanks to Union Hall’s terrible sightlines, some people in the audience may not have even realized he was playing all these instruments live. It wouldn’t have mattered…though they might have suspected something was up when Ford’s created so many voice loops for “Go to Hell” it sounded like a Gregorian choir onstage.

It says a lot about Ford’s writing that the songs in which he didn’t loop a thing were just as powerful. Sitting alone at the piano, Ford poured the emotional honesty of a wedding vow into “Song for the Road.” On acoustic guitar, “Requiem” poetically lamented “the gradual decline of civilization into the pit of hell” (a description that, he wryly noted, could apply to many of his songs).

When song, performance and passion came together, the effect bordered on catharsis. Fans singing along to “State of the Union,” the emotional climax of the show, didn’t seem to realize they were doing so. The cries that followed lines like “Come on Jesus Christ, come back, all is forgiven” and (strangely) “Heroin tastes like ice cream” sounded like an involuntary release.

The night’s only awkward moment came after Ford bowed and walked off. He was clearly not going to do an encore, but the crowd would not leave. The minutes passed, the cheering mounted.

Finally Ford slunk back onstage…to explain why he doesn’t do encores. He gently chastised the crowd, saying the encore loses all meaning when it becomes a predetermined part of the show. Yet try though he might to talk himself offstage, the hooting and hollering continued. He paused, seemed to mull something over, then said the words that got perhaps the most explosive cheer of the night: “Fuck it, it’s my last night in America, why not?”

By audience request, he performed “Katie” and “Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck).” As the sing-along at the end of the latter grew to deafening levels, it was hard to imagine that he had considered ending the night without it. Shouted by an audience trying desperately to give something back, “La la la” had never felt so meaningful.

SET LIST
Nothing At All
Panic
I Don’t Care What You Call Me
To Hell with the World
She’s Not the One
Stephen
Requiem
Go to Hell
Waiting for the Storm
State of the Union
Song for the Road
---
Katie
Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck)

Air at Terminal 5 3/20/10

2010-03-22T09:45:00.006-04:00

In the three years since Air last touched down on U.S. soil, a lot has changed. Mario Cotillard won an Oscar for her portrayal of Édith Piaf in La Vie En Rose. Charlotte Gainsbourg (daughter of Serge) got major indie cred by releasing an album with Beck. Phoenix was interviewed by Snooki on the Grammys red carpet.

When Air came on the scene ten years ago with the critical favorite Moon Safari, the idea of a French electro-lounge act selling out the 3,000-person capacity Terminal 5 would have seemed absurd. Their songs never progress much beyond sensual slowjam, yet on a warm Friday night the venue was bursting with kids ready to rock, or at least stand around delicately sipping gin and tonics.

Electro-lounge combines two genres that have difficulty coming across live, a fact of which this duo is clearly aware. Hired-gun drummer Alex Thomas (Bat for Lashes, Badly Drawn Boy) pounded out the dance beats at a volume far surpassing the recorded versions and a fancy video screen flashed various lighted effects to compensate for the lack of onstage movement. At a seated theater or club this might have sufficed, but the audience packed onto Terminal 5’s hot ballroom floor seemed ready to topple any moment.

To be sure, the music was there. Many of the older songs enjoyed new arrangements, some pretty drastic. The inevitable “Sexy Boy,” for instance, found its funky bass line submerged under an ocean of synth shimmer while “La Femme d’Argent” turned into a wall-of-sound jam.

Impressive though their musical dexterity was though, music this laid-back is best enjoyed while half-asleep on a sunny afternoon. Air is the soundtrack to the imagination, but it’s hard to let the mind drift with the constant threat of a stray elbow or martini surrounding you.

The half-hearted attempt at visuals only underscored the static onstage. The high-powered animations were mostly excuses to display the band’s name, swirling and surging like a Windows screensaver. A screensaver can be fun to watch for a few minutes, but pretty soon you either want to shake the computer awake or go do something else.

SET LIST
Do the Joy
So Light is Her Footfall
Love
Remember
Venus
J’ai Dormi
Missing the Light of Day
Tropical Disease
People In The City
Don’t Be Light
Radian
Cherry Blossom Girl
Be a Bee
Talisman
How Does It Make You Feel?
Alpha Beta Gaga
Kelly Watch the Stars!
---
Heaven’s Light
Sexy Boy
La Femme d’Argent

The National in Brooklyn 3/11/10

2010-03-12T11:06:00.006-05:00

It’s been years since the National have qualified as a “Brooklyn band.” Last summer they packed the All Points West main stage despite pouring rain and this summer promises to be even bigger, with a sold-out show at Radio City Music Hall in June and another gig a month later at Prospect Park. So when they announced two last-minute gigs at Brooklyn’s tiny Bell House, demand was high. Like, sell out in under a minute high.

And for good reason. Last night’s tour opener promised the chance for fans to get a first look at song from their anticipated-is-an-understatement High Violet, due May 11. The band did not disappoint, playing eleven new songs with a horn section, violin/piano player, second piano player, and second drummer. National + brass is always incredible (see: “Fake Empire) and High Violet looks to be their brassiest yet, with a trumpet and trombone playing on every song last night.

The set opened with “Blood Buzz, OH,” proving that, though the National are generally pretty smooth operators, they can get loud. Though none of the new songs quite hit the volume level of Alligator, they bring more energy than Boxer’s slow jams. “Little Faith (Chromehorse)” boasted a distortion pedal-led intro that may be the loudest thing they’ve ever done (it quieted down when the singing began).

The new songs stay true to the honed National sound, but incorporate some unexpected influences. “Sorrow” featured Bryce Dessner playing near-surf guitar on the verses, while “Ghost” sounded like Quentin Tarantino directing a Western. A few new instruments took center stage too, like some type of pump keyboard (“Afraid of Everyone”) and a bowed guitar (“Vanderlyle”).

For a group known for their sonic tightness, the band members were borderline unhinged as their energy bounced off the walls of the tiny club. Dressed in a dapper three-piece suit, lead singer Matt Berninger knocked over everything in sight (“That’s how you know he’s nervous,” guitarist Aaron Dessner quipped), leaning into the crowd so far that he fell on audience members, who were more than happy to nudge him back onstage.

Matt may have been anxious about the new songs, but the band’s only falter came on “Start a War,” the first old (read: already released) song of the night. Despite having the first line to every song written on his set list (see below), Matt forgot the lyrics halfway through the first verse. “These songs are so old!” he exclaimed.

Old, maybe, but the audience, which included Michael Stipe of R.E.M., ate them up. The band’s seven “old” choices were obvious but appropriate, hitting both the high-voltage hollers and mellow meanderings of their most popular songs. “Abel” delivered a full-throttle scream while Matt lurched and jerked among the amplifiers. On “Mr. November,” he left the stage entirely, running then crawling through the audience, grabbing a random girl from the audience to tow along. When the horns came in on set-closer “Fake Empire,” it was the emotional release after a full-concert build.

By the time the band closed their encore with “Terrible Love” (played the previous night on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon), they seemed wrecked, but convinced they’d gotten the songs across. If last night’s show was any indication, High Violet may be their best yet, bridging the divide between rocking and crooning more than their previous releases. May 11th has never seemed so far off.

SET LIST (Matt's)

The Music of the Who at Carnegie Hall 3/2/10

2010-03-04T11:01:00.010-05:00

The Who have been enjoying a career resurgence in the last few years, without really trying. They’ve been honored by Pres. Bush at the Kennedy Center and played the Super Bowl, all without putting out a new album or touring. Last night they were the inspiration for a 2.5-hour tribute concert at Carnegie Hall. Though Townshend apparently declined his invitation to appear (Roger Daltrey is off on tour with Eric Clapton) and the Pixies’ Frank Black canceled at the last minute, 21 artists picked up the slack, including a surprise performer who always seems to turn up at these things.

Sex Mob trumpet player Steven Bernstein opened the show with, appropriately enough for the venue, the Tommy Overture. He played very little though, turning the heavy lifting over to house band Rich Pagano & the Sugarcane Cups and the Music Unites Youth Choir. The subtlety of the Tommy score doesn’t exactly come through when belted by forty overly enthusiastic teenagers, who went so far as to sing the electric guitar part of “Pinball Wizard” (“dun-duuuuunnn”). Pagano’s bongo solo didn’t help.

Living Colour came out looking like an old episode of Family Matters, but the soul-funk veterans ripped into the lesser-known “Eminence Front” (off the Who’s decidedly non-classic It’s Hard) with a wall of guitar and seemingly nonstop bass soloing by Doug Wimbash. The Afro-pop sound suited the song’s many parts, as the band hopped and bopped around.

Norway’s Sondre Lerche came out with just an acoustic guitar – rarely a good sign. However, his guitar playing on “I’m a Boy” paid obvious homage to Who virtuoso…Keith Moon? Lerche’s guitar playing owed more to Moon’s drum attack than Townshend's windmills, attacking the chords with a stop-start rhythm that traded big chords for rhythmic fills, including an instrumental break that sounded like a drum solo plus melody.

Thanks to that youth choir, Kaki King performed only the second-worst “Pinball Wizard” of the evening, feebly approximating the guitar part as if she wasn’t entirely sure how it went. Reedeming the performance somewhat was a partner playing some sort of feedback machine, squalling out noises that filled Carnegie Hall and all but drowned out King. Not that that was a bad thing.

When I interviewed the Postelles a few weeks back, they spilled the beans that they would be performing “I Can’t Explain.” From a band that takes such obvious influence from the British Invasion, picturing this cover was not a challenge. Give them credit for being the first band of the evening to actually sound like the Who though, roaring through the band’s first single with obvious delight.

Israeli songwriter Asaf Avidan made the bold choice of ignoring the Who’s catalogue completely and instead imitating Melissa Etheridge strangling a cat. Wait...the program says that was “Naked Eye” off Who’s Next? Could’ve fooled me.

Mose Allison continued the one-two punch of awful, paying tribute to himself with “Young Man Blues.” Yes, I realize the Who covered your song countless times when they were younger, but if you’re not even going to play their version it’s just bragging. And following it up with a recent sequel “Old Man Blues”? Tacky.

Count on Bob Mould of Hüsker Dü to get things back on track. What the program listed as a The Who Sell Out medley was mainly just “I Can’t Reach You,” complete with a windmill or two on his roaring sky-blue guitar.

Nicole Atkins' gorgeous voice tried to soar on “The Song Is Over," but the Sugarcanes’ leaden backing kept dragging her back to earth. Throughout the evening they proved better on the early punkish Who than tackling the grander orchestral scope of the band’s later years, where it seemed to be all they could do to just hang on.

This made “Love Ain’t for Keeping,” also off Who’s Next, a particularly poor choice. Muddy sound didn’t help their case as, after an introductory speech comparing Keith Moon to Levon Helm, Pagano proved that unlike the legendary voice behind “The Weight” he could not competently drum and sing at the same time.

Judge Raul Madón’s performance by the applause: polite as he entered the stage, thunderous (and standing) as he exited. This blind guitarist turned “I Can See for Miles” into a flamenco rave up, tapping on his guitar like Rodrigo y Gabriela as his beautiful tenor reached the Carnegie rafters. The gorgeous faux-trumpet solo made people strain to see the instrument; no way a sound this pure was simply coming from his vocal chords. It was.

Bobby McFerrin, the man behind “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” continued the world-music vibe with an a cappella “My Generation.” Accompanied only by his hand thumping his chest, he half-scat, half-beatboxed his way through one of the most creative interpretations of the night. The song hit its peak as he riffed through John Entwhistle’s classic bass solos though, otherwise, it seemed this approach might have been better suited to a different tune, something off Quadrophenia perhaps.

The Who drew on the blues for much of the earlier work, but that side got little notice Wednesday night. Only college rock veterans the Smithereens hinted at the bloozier side of the band with their choice of “The Seeker.” Pat DiNizio roared through a punked-out version that tacked on the “Sparks” outro from Tommy after, blasting like a rocket.

Another unexpected high point came with Matt Nathanson’s “The Real Me,” delivered primarily on acoustic guitar, strummed spastically while a bass drum thumped away in the background. Nathanson attacked the microphone like a python, darting towards it and back away.

Pete Townshend has said soul legend Bettye LaVette brought him to tears with her version of “Love, Reign O’er Me” at the Kennedy Center Honors. Where there she had the benefit of a full band though, at Carnegie it was just her and pianist/arranger Rob Mathis performing an arrangement that the louder it got, the more fragile it became. The woman’s voice deserves a Carnegie Hall tribute itself and if she milked the vocal riffing a little, blame the lack of drums to keep things in time.

The Sugarcanes were back to support ex-Drive-By Trucker Jason Isbell on a pedestrian version of “Behind Blue Eyes.” As often happens with this tune, it didn’t really take off until the bridge (you know, the “When my fist clenches, crack it open” part).

A Beatles tribute band? Did the people scheduling this thing sink so low? Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn’t, because the Fab Faux (who, to their eternal credit, didn’t dress like or otherwise really try to imitate the Beatles) performed the hell out of the longest cover of the night, ripping through the entire “We’re Not Gonna Take It” from Tommy. The problem with these tribute shows is that only being on a couple minutes no band has time to establish a mood or repartee with the audience. Not a problem if you play for ten minutes, building the repetitive “Listening to you” bit at the end to a crescendo they rode all the way to the finish.

The energy continued with Willie Nile, an upstate rocker who never got the notice he deserves despite a long friendship with Bruce Springsteen. He hobbled onstage with a crutch, but his performance made it unclear whether it was a prop or he was defying doctors orders as he played air guitar on it, lashed out at the audience with it, and threw it across the stage on several occasions. Doing “The Kids Are Alright” with the Sugarcanes (the best they played all night), this seemed appropriate. Bonus points for a quick “Happy Jack” outro.

Harvey Danger frontman Sean Nelson and Patti Smith guitarist Lenny Kaye joined Robyn Hitchcock onstage where, after Robyn rambled for a few minutes about the “loser culture,” they began to sing: “Her man’s been gone nigh on a year…” Fantastic! Were they really going to do the entire ten-minute epic “A Quick One, While He’s Away”? Sadly, no they were not. This tease went into a take on “Substitute” that, while thoroughly competent, just came off as a disappointment. Don’t promise what you can’t (or won’t) deliver.

The Gaslight Anthem made no such pretensions. Guitarist Alex Rosamilia turned the synth intro of “Baba O’Riley” into a fast-and-furious guitar part before Brian Fallon Joe Strummer-ed his way through it. The band didn’t blow minds like they sometimes do, but it was still an excellent choice to close the show.

Except…who was this onstage now? All the scheduled performers had finished, but Carnegie had one more surprise in store: Patti Smith. “Carnegie Hall, forgive me for what I am about to do” she said before ripping through her punk-as-hell “My Generation,” a song she played in the early ‘70s, light on melody and heavy on feedback. “I don’t need their fucking shit!” she spat. “Hope I die because of it!” A beat poetry message about taking the world back from the corporations followed, delivered to the tune of her ripping the strings off her guitar.

The night ended, as these nights always do, with the inevitably all-star jam. The song was “Won’t Get Fooled Again," the only major hit not yet performed (no, "Boris the Spider" does not count). It sounded terrible, as these things always do, but was an absolute blast to watch. Willie Nile and Bettye LaVette took charge as most people just danced around or sang in the background. Nicole Atkins appeared for the Daltrey-worthy scream before disappearing in the background while Patti Smith decided she didn’t care about all this and just leapt into the audience and danced. A suitably irreverent way to end the evening.

SET LIST
Steven Bernstein & Music Unites Choir – Tommy Overture
Living Colour – Eminence Front
Sondre Lerche – I’m a Boy
Kaki King – Pinball Wizard
The Postelles – I Can’t Explain
Asaf Avidan – Naked Eye
Mose Allison – Young Man Blues
Bob Mould – I Can’t Reach You
Nicole Atkins – The Song Is Over
Rich Pagano & the Sugarcane Cups – Love Ain’t for Keeping
Raul Midón – I Can See for Miles
Bobby McFerrin – My Generation
The Smithereens – Sparks/The Seeker
Matt Nathanson – The Real Me
Bettye LaVette –Love Reign O’er Me
Jason Isbell – Behind Blue Eyes
Fab Faux – We’re Not Gonna Take It
Willie Nile – This Kids Are Alright
Robyn Hitchcock – Substitute
The Gaslight Anthem – Baba O’Riley
Patti Smith – My Generation
Everyone – Won’t Get Fooled Again

(photos by Saed Hindash, via the NJ Star-Ledger)

Les Savy Fav at the Brooklyn Academy of Music 1/29/10

2010-01-30T20:39:00.012-05:00

Tim Harrington came onstage in purple tights. He had clothespins fastened tightly to his beard like a Walmart witchdoctor and sported a tan tunic. This latter didn’t last long though, as Tim prefers to put his corpulent belly front and center.

Tim didn’t say a word, and his band was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he silently danced around the stage for four or five minutes, leaping and twirling and stopping short and glaring at the audience. The macabre ballet soon entered the aisles, Tim waltzing up and down with entranced gazes trailing in his wake.

Did I mention this was happening in an opera hall, the sort of place that shows Shakespeare’s The Tempest (this month) and Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya (next)? The Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Howard Gilman Opera House may have played host to the proceedings, but no reverence was spared for this most illustrious of spaces. By the time Tim’s band, Les Savy Fav, joined him onstage, all high-art pretentions had vanished. “If you sit in your chairs like this is a fucking art show, it becomes a fucking art show,” Tim cajoled as he physically maneuvered audience members into standing positions in front of the stage.

So began the Sounds Like Brooklyn festival, an annual celebration of the music of New York’s most creative borough.

Many terms are thrown about to encapsulate just what it is Les Savy Fav do. “Post-hardcore.” “Art rock.” “Fugazi meets Bloc Party.” Words cannot encapsulate the frenzied insanity of a Les Savy Fav concert though. Harrington yips and yelps and shrieks all over the stage as a backing quartet pounds out thundering riffage and swirling noise explosions. A packed hall of fans jump and scream and sweat along with the band while those not in the know (in this case the Academy’s season-ticket holders) look on in, at best, bemusement.

It would be easy to review this show by simply listing all the crazy things Harrington did -- riding a good-natured fan around the room like a horse, inflating a Hefty-bag snake for audience crowd-surfing, donning a monkey costume and, when accused of looking feline, busting out an ape-themed parody of “Memory” from Cats -- but the real story of a Les Savy Fav show is the communion between band and fan.

Harrington breaks down the divide between performer and audience to the extent that you don’t feel like you’re watching a great show; you feel like you’re helping create one. He spends half his time down among the people, jumping with fans, singing with fans, and playfully heckling anyone who seems to be holding back. “I didn’t realize how much our audience depended on being wasted,” he remarked when crowd participation faltered Friday. “It’s kind of their thing.

By the time the band threw down their instruments and roared offstage ninety minutes after they begun -- no encore when you give it all the first time around -- even the most sober was left gasping for air. As the crowd went their separate ways down the cold Brooklyn streets, people walked with a conspiratorial gleam in their eye, like they knew they had been a part of something. Maybe it was art after all.

Photos by This Week In New York (via Flickr)

Cold War Kids at the Music Hall of Williamsburg 1/28/10

2010-01-29T12:40:00.002-05:00

Nothing sinks a band faster than that dreaded c-word: Complacency. At their sold-out show Thursday night at Brooklyn’s Music Hall of Williamsburg -- a last-minute addition to their much bigger sold-out show tonight at Terminal 5 -- the Cold War Kids played like professionals doing a job for which the thrill is gone.

I last saw the band at Bonnaroo 2007, when their debut Robbers & Cowards was just beginning to get some notice. Playing a grueling set in the midday sun, the quartet performed like they had everything to prove, ripping through booze-soaked songs about drinking, friendship, and more drinking. They made a lot of converts that day and have made a lot more since, but now that the evangelism has ended the coasting begins.

If you made a checklist of “fun live band” signifiers, the Kids would get high marks. Wander about the stage? Check. Josh around with each other, shoving your bandmates like it’s after-hours at the Bourbon Saloon? Yep. Yet even at their most apparently engaged they seemed to be going through the motions.

The crowd tried to compensate with energy of their own, but by show’s end even that felt like an obligation. “I don’t even need to sing this,” Nathan Willett remarked before the final chorus of rousing sing-along “Hang Me Up to Dry,” and he was pretty much right. After three years of performing this song nightly, Willett’s boozy holler went on Autopilot, leaving a gleeful crowd to try to compensate despite an unsteady grasp of the lyrics.

Flashes of the old passion poked through, but they were only brief glimpses of sun in an overcast set. Sitting at the piano, Willett belted “Santa Anna Winds,” off the band’s recent Behave Yourself EP, with grit and vigor, and during “Saint John”…well it’s hard to be bored when someone’s playing percussion on a wine bottle.

The Cold War Kids’ classic covers are invariably high points, and in that regard they didn’t disappoint. At Bonnaroo ’07 they took on Tom Waits and Sam Cooke; last night the Americana cover came in the form of “Long As I Can See the Light,” originally by obvious inspirations Creedence Clearwater Revival, though the swampy slow-burn failed to move an audience unfamiliar with the original.

The entire evening, the band’s energy dwindled whenever the crowd’s rose. The band put it all on the line for tunes the audience didn’t care about, while the night’s biggest crowd-pleasers received a disinterested delivery. The huge cheer that greeted the opening chords of “Hospital Beds” dwindled to a polite golf-clap by song’s end.

At one point in the evening Willett read a passage from The Catcher in the Rye as tribute to the late J.D. Salinger. He chose the section about the ducks in Central Park, but the bit about Holden Caulfield grabbing the brass ring on the carousal might have been more appropriate. After years of stretching for that ring, the Cold War Kids now seem content to just sit back and ride.

Photos by CLme (via Flickr)

Of Montreal at the Highline Ballroom 1/26/10

2010-01-27T12:27:00.011-05:00

Of Montreal has reached a place in their performing career where each show is just a test to top the last one. Two years ago theatrical frontman Kevin Barnes rode a horse onstage at the Roseland. More recently he dressed in a centaur outfit and smeared himself with whipped cream at Santos Party House. What could top that at last night’s Highland Ballroom show, announced just a couple weeks ago?

Try Susan Sarandon spanking a pig.

The evening began after a highly competent pop set by OM drummer James Husband, when five performers in black unitards (the go-to outfit of the evening) and animal masks began to play. Well, "play" is a generous word -- try "make noise with instruments." Regardless, the faked-out crowd rapturously cheered Of Montreal’s arrival…that is until the real band arrived to kicked off the imposters.

Sanity-wise, it was all downhill from there. The unitard-clad sidekicks reappeared often throughout the night, doing handstands, flashing strobe lights, or hitting the band with cutouts of fish as the situation dictated (or didn’t). Glow sticks flew through the crowd here, chalk-covered Greek gods wearing tighty-whities posed with apples there. The band, clad in a wardrobe that can only be described as futurist-psychedelia, mugged against video backdrops of swirling neon circles and tigers morphing into bananas. It didn’t make sense, but with the band singing songs titled “Heimsdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse” would you really expect it to?

The campy theatrics peaked during set-closing Morrissey “Everyday Is Like Sunday” when the band reenacted the crucifixion on a spinning wooden cross brought out solely for the occasion. Barnes played the role of half-naked RoboChrist dying for the crowd’s sins before being carried off by his masked (and, now, wigged) assistants. The stations of the cross haven’t carried such a heavy S&M undercurrent since The Passion.

It seems remiss to review a show with no mention of the actual music, but an Of Montreal event (the word concert does not do the spectacle justice) is about what you see, not what you hear. Yes, the band performed their freak-pop with tight focus, treating a crowd of regulars to some back-catalogue chestnuts as well as a new song titled “Teenage Unicorn Fisting.” And yes, longtime favorites like “She's a Rejector” and “For Our Elegant Caste” got the rambunctious crowd jumping and crowd-surfing. But with a band singing lyrics like “I want you to be my pleasure puss,” sonic nuance is hardly the point.

Ironically, the music only too center-stage during the least technically proficient song of the evening. Solange Knowles (aka. Beyoncé’s sister) is no stranger to the band, covering “Heat Wave” with them last year and appearing on their upcoming album, but this time the occasion was a gloriously sloppy cover of the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back.”

Now, about that pig-spanking. When a fight broke out between two man-pigs, who else but Susan Sarandon could bring peace? Sitting on a crouched Barnes, she bent one of the pigs over a knee to gave it the business end of her ruler (video here). Her presence was never explained, but it didn’t really need to be. After all, this is the woman who had sex with a robot in Rocky Horror Picture Show. So if she wants to explore some onstage school-marm bestiality onstage, let her. At an Of Montreal show, it’s best not to ask questions.

SET LIST
Suffer For Fashion
Mingusings
Forecast Fascist Future
Du Og Meg
Lysergic Bliss
Disconnect The Dots
Spike The Senses
And I’ve Seen a Bloody Shadow
Plastis Wafers
St. Exquisite’s Confessions
Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse
Teenage Unicorn Fisting
An Eluardian Instance
Oslo In The Summertime
Everyday Feels Like Sunday (Morrissey cover)
A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger
She’s a Rejecter
[encore break]
For Our Elegant Caste
I Want You Back (Jackson Five cover)

DOWNLOAD RECORDING

Photo #1 &#2 by Josh Silk (via SPIN), Photo #3 by Joe Parker (via Flickr).

The Top 40 Albums of 2009: Part 2

2009-12-23T16:20:00.008-05:00

Dylan, Etc's Top 40 Albums of 2009
Part 2: #1-20

A Memphis punk who relieves himself onstage. A Somalian rapper who describes his country’s civil war in blood-curdling detail. A mysterious group of ABBA wannabes about whom nothing is known save a few cryptic videos. All these artists produced some of this year's best albums. Yesterday we counted down #21-40 of the Top 40 Albums of 2009, but those were just twenty small steps leading up to this.

Read about the picks (here are the first twenty), listen to the sample MP3s (or download them all at once from a link at the bottom) and feel free to bitch about why this list sucks in the comments. Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavilion has topped just about every other best-of list…find out if it did here too!

20. Jay Reatard – Watch Me Fall

Jay Reatard’s roller coaster year has established one fact: the guy is an asshole. He urinated on his band onstage, then called them “boring rich kids who can't play for ahit [sic] anyways” when they quit. He hates everyone from his peers (Jay to The Pains of Being Pure at Heart: “It must hurt being so bland”) to his fans (Jay to Brooklyn: “Shut up!”) He's such a thoroughly unlikeable individual it’s almost a shame his music is so good. Short punk nuggets pepper Watch Me Fall, smacking the listener in the face then getting out. Hey, it’s better than getting peed on.
It Ain’t Gonna Save Me

19. Matt the Electrician – Animal Boy

No, Matt the Electrician is not some take-off on Joe the Plumber (remember him?) and from the sound of “Bridge to Nowhere” he probably wasn’t pounding the pavement for McCain-Palin. Instead, this quiet Texas folkie spends his time writing nice letters to the Walmart Complaints Department (“For Angela”), solving math problems (“Divided By”) and doing ukulele-and-horn Journey covers (“Faithfully”). Not bad for a guy who only a few years ago was wiring houses all day.
Bridge to Nowhere

18. Mika – The Boy Who Knew Too Much

Very British, very Broadway and very, very effeminate -- Mika has long been a man easy to hate. From the sound of it, he couldn’t care less. His second release after 2007’s debut smash Life in Cartoon Motion finds Mika pumping out shamelessly catchy hooks designed to get in your head and stick. Mika’s the Clueless of music: claim you’re too cool all you want, but the grin on your face will betray you.
We Are Golden

17. Wolfmother – Cosmic Egg

Led Zeppelin’s back, and comes in the form of a jew-froed Australian. Between the first two Wolfmother albums Andrew Stockdale fired the rest of the band and replaced them with three more Zep devotees who sound identical. The quartet leaves no misty mountain unturned, giving us their Stairway to Heaven (“In the Castle”) and Black Dog (“New Moon Rising”). Wolfmother nails the Zeppelin sound so perfectly, calling them derivative is a compliment.
New Moon Rising

16. The Elms – The Great American Midrange

The Elms come from the same Indiana town that gave the world John Mellencamp, so heartland rock is in their blood. Their small-town themes just might be the story of America though, from hope during hard times (“Strut”) to the desire of the disconnected to discover their roots (“Back to Indiana”). From the sound of things, they’re doing a pretty good job.
Back to Indiana

15. K’Naan – Troubadour

Rappers have long boasted about coming from a tougher background than the other guy. Guys, it's over; K’Naan wins, but for him it’s nothing to brag about. Born in Somalia in a neighborhood known as the River of Blood, he experienced the devastating civil war firsthand, only escaping when his mother’s visa was approved on the last day the U.S. Embassy was open. His painfully personal lyrics detail the pains of growing up in war-torn poverty: at age 11 he saw his two best friends shot dead next to him (the third bullet was meant for him), then later that year he casually tossed a rock he'd picked up and blew up half his school (that "rock" turned out to be an active grenade). In spite of it all, hope courses through Troubadour’s veins in optimistic songs like “Dreamer” and “Waving Flag,” the official song of the 2010 World Cup.
Wavin’ Flag

14. The Raveonettes – In and Out of Control

For a band whose musical sensibilities grow out of the teen-crush pop of Buddy Holly and the Ronnettes (“Rave On” + “Ronettes” = Raveonettes), this Danish duo tackle some mature themes on their fourth albums. Serious songs about overdoses (“Last Dance,” “D.R.U.G.S.”) vie with slightly more cavalier songs about sexual assault (“Boys Who Rape (Should Be Destroyed),” “Break Up Girls!”). Heavy topics aside, the pair’s shoegaze pop has never been sharper -- the fact that the lyrics stuck in your head actually say something is just a nice bonus.
Last Dance

13. Aceyalone – Aceyalone & The Lonely Ones

“Right now I would like to introduce you to my band,” Aceyalone says to introduce this album. “These gentlemen and these lovely ladies I have behind me go by name of the Lonely Ones.” Here’s the catch: the Lonely Ones don’t exist. Though these funky soul grooves sound like the second coming of the Delfonics, they were actually cooked up in the studio by rapper Aceyalone and producer Bionik. If you can’t find the perfect ‘70s samples to rap over, you just gotta create them yourself.
Can’t Hold Back (ft. Treasure Davis)

12. Florence and the Machine – Lungs

“The dog days are over,” Florence Welch sings at the beginning of Lungs and by the time the hearty drum wallops kick in you’re inclined to believe her. This eccentric frontwoman surrounds her tales of heartbreak and excess with delectable power-pop, emphasis on the power. When she sings about domestic abuse on “Kiss with a Fist,” it’s clear this gal hits back.
Dog Days Are Over

11. Shilpa Ray and Her Happy Hookers – A Fish Hook An Open Eye

Nick Cave called this his favorite new band, and with song titles like “I’m Not Frigid…Yet” and “Woman Sets Boyfriend on Fire” it’s easy to see why. Shilpa’s girl-punk swagger recalls the garage soul of the Detroit Cobras with a macabre twist.
I’m Not Frigid…Yet

10. We Were Promised Jetpacks – These Four Walls

What is it about a Scottish accent? Ever since Franz Ferdinand took over the world in 2004 a hearty brogue has been the height of indie style and We Were Promised Jetpacks wear theirs well. Their swaggering tunes strut and sway in turns, angled hooks giving way to piano codas in defiant blasts of north-of-the-border pride.
Quiet Little Voices

9. …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead – The Century of Self

Austin’s …Trail of Dead has never been a band to keep ambition in check. On their sixth full-length, one minute they’re imagining the music of angels and the next they’re reflecting on the violent history of the Khyper Pass. Whatever. The pounding drums and wall-of-distortion guitars speak for themselves.
Isis Unveiled

8. Kid Harpoon – Once

September 28 was a long time coming for Kid Harpoon fans. British singer-songwriter Tom Hull released his first single under the Harpoon name in 2006, dropping two incredible EPs since but no album proper. Once was worth the wait. Instead of compiling a bunch of the brilliant EP tracks for a wider audience, Hull released Once with twelve new songs tackling the same old themes. His wharf-rat lyrics hit on auto theft (“Stealing Cars”), rodents (“Running Through Tunnels”) and killing pretty girls (pretty much everything else) but the baroque-pop is as upbeat as ever.
Stealing Cars

7. The Dead Weather – Horehound

When Jack White announced his third band at the beginning of the year, fans everywhere wondered why the greatest guitarist of his generation would get behind the drum kit. The answer is still unclear, but the world of music is a better place because he did. Sultry singer Alison Mosshart’s Janis Joplin growl takes center stage while Jack bashes away contentedly like a man who knows he’s proven the skeptics wrong yet again.
Treat Me Like Your Mother

6. John Frusciante – The Empyrean

The news recently broke that John Frusciante had quit the Red Hot Chili Peppers after twenty years. Good. One listen to The Empyrean shows his ambitions go far beyond adolescent ditties about californicating. His guitar wails with more soul than a dozen Anthony Kiedises, incorporating everything from gospel to ambient in these sprawling psychedelic epics. Though this move may hurt his pocketbook, giving his eccentric creativity free reign can't be a bad thing at all.
Central

5. Eels – Hombre Lobo: 12 Songs of Desire

Eels singer “E” may look like a mentally unstable homeless man, but under the monstrous beard lies the soul of a poet, a gruff-voiced balladeer chronicling the ups and downs (mostly downs) of love. “The Look You Give That Guy” portrays the jealous would-be boyfriend imagining what will never be while “In My Dreams” finds quiet hope in what already is.
In My Dreams

4. Music Go Music - Expressions

If happiness has a soundtrack, Expressions is it. Little is known about Music Go Music aside from a glorious series of ‘70s-cheeze performance videos, but watching them grin through their ABBA-inspired pop anthems tells you all you need to know. It’s not the feel-good album of the year -- it’s the feel-invincible.
Just Me

3. David Bazan – Curse Your Branches

There’s a certain irony when a lifetime Christian rocker makes the album of his career the moment he decides God doesn’t exist. Through ten brutally personal songs David Bazan preaches the Gospel of Doubt, describing his fall from faith and the toll it’s taken on the believers around him.
In Stitches

2. The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love

It seems the more outlandish the Decemberists’ artistic vision becomes, the better they get. In The Hazards of Love they infuse their Victorian folk with a prog-rock crunch to create a swirling 17-song opera that, not surprisingly, will soon become a movie. Their tragic tale this time concerns a woman torn from her shape-shifting lover by a malicious forest queen and a vengeful widower who gleefully brags about murdering his children in the show-stopping “The Rake’s Song.” Lavender Diamond’s Becky Stark and My Brightest Diamond’s Sharon Worden come aboard to voice the female characters, but as always it’s Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy’s theatrical vision that holds all the pieces together.
The Rake’s Song

1. Balmorhea – All Is Wild, All Is Silent

Few bands could credibly list among their influences French composer Claude Debussy, post-rock pioneers the Six Parts Seven, and country singer Gillian Welch. On an album that gets richer with each listen though, Texas sextet Balmorhea do indeed sound like the bastard child of all three. To put it another way, imagine Beethoven conducting Fleet Foxes through a set of instrumental Sigur Rós covers. All Is Wild’s nine tracks spin tales too vast to be confined to the spoken word, too emotional for verse-chorus-verse narration. The world Balmorhea creates encompasses snow-capped mountains, isolated brooks, forest clearings. Don’t analyze it, just let the experience take hold.
Settler

Th-th-th-that’s all folks! See you in 2010.

Download all MP3s featured in this post here. For #21-40, click here.

The Top 40 Albums of 2009: Part 1

2009-12-22T13:49:00.007-05:00

Dylan, Etc's Top 40 Albums of 2009
Part 1: #21-40

2009 was the year of the three S’s. Side projects, solo discs, and supergroups. While big names like Green Day, U2 and Pearl Jam released new material, more than ever artists found ways to break out of the usual 9-to-5. Everyone from the Strokes to the Red Hot Chili Peppers took the year off to let members pursue solo work while indie mainstays like Sigur Rós and Bon Iver went into hibernation as new groups arose from their shadows. Plus, every month seemed to bring a new band with a wet-dream lineup. What other year has brought us a rock supergroup (The Dead Weather), a folk supergroup (Monsters of Folk) and the most super supergroup since the Traveling Wilburies (Them Crooked Vultures)?

Below, Dylan, Etc presents our top forty albums of 2009. The first twenty are here, the top twenty are coming tomorrow. Each album has a sample MP3 to download - or you can snag 'em all at once from the link at the bottom [all links removed by RIAA - sorry]. Since the main point of these lists seems to be to piss people off when their favorite band didn’t make it, feel free to vent (or, just maybe, agree) in the comments.

40. Pearl Jam – Backspacer

The cry of “sell out” rang louder than ever when Pearl Jam announced an exclusive partnership with Target to promote this album, and for good reason. Eddie Vedder and co. have built a career on sticking in to the man, be that man Bush or Ticketmaster. Times may have changed, but the Pearl Jam sound hasn’t. The grunge quintet rock harder than they have in years, pumping out balls-to-the-wall stomps like it was 1992 all over again.

The Fixer

39. Them Crooked Vultures – Them Crooked Vultures

If a band featuring John Paul Jones only managed to create the second best Led Zeppelin album of the year (see #17 for the best), it’s because Jones has broadened the Zep palatte. With a little help from his friends Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters) and Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age) he soundtracks a demon apocalypse with thunderous riffs, monster drums and a supergroup with a lot to prove.
New Fang

38. Bell X1 – Blue Lights on the Runway

Bell X1 may worship at the alter of the Talking Heads, but frontman Paul Noonan is sick of hearing the comparisons. “"They're good footsteps to follow,” he cagily told NPR, “if that's what we're doing." Face it, Paul, it is, but at least you do it brilliantly.
The Great Defector

37. Frankmuzik – Complete Me

Sorry Gaga, it takes more than bizarre outfits a great electropop album to make. Whatever that “it” factor is though (talent?), Victor Frank has it in spades, churning out infectious club jams about love lost, found, and lost again. “Poker Face” be damned; ”Gotta Boyfriend?” should have been the sassy dance hit of the year.
Gotta Boyfriend?

36. Bat for Lashes – Two Suns

Two Suns may be number 36 here, but it’s number one in the category of Most Pretentious Press Release. “Two Suns digs deeply into the philosophy of the self and duality…touching on metaphysical ideas concerning the connections between all existence”? Please. If the themes sound like the work of an overeager Philosophy major though, the sound is dreamy pop perfection, most notably on song-of-the-year contender “Daniel.”
Daniel

35. The xx – xx

This band should have added a third X to their name, because they sound like the soundtrack to an arty porno. Thumping beats and sultry vocals get submerged under layers of reverb in what Rolling Stone recently called “booty-call music for the indie-rock set.”
Islands

34. A Place to Bury Strangers – Exploding Head

“Exploding head syndrome is a condition that causes the sufferer to occasionally experience a tremendously loud noise as originating from within his or her own head, usually described as the sound of an explosion, roar, waves crashing against rocks, loud voices or screams, a ringing noise, or the sound of an electrical short circuit (buzzing),” says Wikipedia. That sounds about right. Exploding Head’s waves of sound hit like a fire hose, drenching the listener so thoroughly in reverb it takes a few listens to discover the pop nuggets buried in the noise.
In Your Heart

33. Mark Knopfler – Get Lucky

The ex-rock god continues to pretend he’s never heard the phrase “Dire Straits.” Knopfler’s always had traditional balladry in his blood though (see “So Far Away”) so these delicate folk gems come second-nature. Sultan of Swing? Try Baron of Waltz.
Border River

32. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – It’s Blitz

When Yeah Yeah Yeahs released their acclaimed debut Fever To Tell in 2003, they had all the markings of being a flash in the proverbial pan. Six years later, their edgy art-punk hits as hard as ever. Karen O still belts like Siouxsie on speed while Nick Zinner and Brian Chase take no prisoners with jittery beats and twisty guitar lines. As the album’s second single proclaims, “Heads Will Roll.”
Heads Will Roll

31. U.S.E. – LOVEWORLD

Standing for United State of Electronica, U.S.E. gets the blood pumping and booty shaking on club-ready nuggets like the throbbing “Dance With Me” or the Mr. Roboto-esq “Beat of My Heart.” To pinch another group's acronym, U.S.E. brings the D.A.N.C.E.
Dance With Me

30. Franz Nicolay – Major General

Hold Steady keyboard player, Best Mustache in Rock winner, and now bar-ballad songwriter…is there anything Franz Nicolay can’t do? On his solo debut Nicolay adds a cabaret twist to the wordy Hold Steady sound, offering his own chapters in the perpetual soap opera of drunken fights, burnt-out teens and existential quests.
Jeff Penalty

29. Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement

Leave it to a Jewish kid from Michigan to be the next Barry White. You keep expecting a tongue-in-cheek twist during A Strange Arrangement as if to say, “It’s ok, hipsters, I’m just kidding,” but these soul jams don’t lie. John Mayer called this his record of the year -- either he has surprisingly good taste or he just like the guy's name.
Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out

28. Lily Allen – It’s Not Me, It’s You

Lily Allen is a tabloid fixture for getting wasted, doing drugs, and chasing boys, but perhaps that’s why she makes such excellent music about just those things. On her second album Lily moans about everything from the Bush administration (“Fuck You”) to a guy who’s bad in the sack (“Not Fair”). Needless to say, the Queen of TMI goes into exquisite detail about each.
Not Fair

27. Noisettes – Wild Young Hearts

Zimbabwean singer Shingai Shoniwa helms this soul-rock three-piece, belting out Aretha-esq choruses over thumping guitar grooves. “Don’t Upset the Rhythm” blew up thanks to auspicious placement in a Mazda ad, but a thirty-second jingle doesn’t do justice to the deep R&B swagger of Wild Young Hearts.
Never Forget You

26. N.A.S.A. – The Spirit of Apollo

Even if this record stank, the guest list alone would make it notable. Tom Waits with Kool Keith, Karen O with Ol’ Dirty Bastard, David Bynre with Chuck D. L.A. DJ duo N.A.S.A. offers more than an enviable Rolodex though, putting innovative soul-hop beats behind all the top-of-their-game performances.
Spacious Thoughts (ft. Tom Waits & Kool Keith)

25. Fanfarlo – Reservoir

It’s hard to hear this majestic album without thinking of Iceland’s Sigur Rós, and for good reason: Sigur singer Jón Þór Birgisson helped guide this London quintet in releasing their debut, even volunteering a picture of his sister (name: Sigurrós) for the cover art. If Sigur Rós come from the heavens, though, Fanfarlo is solidly rooted in the earth, tempering their epic ambitions with a rootsy grit.
I'm a Pilot

24. Bruce Springsteen – Working on a Dream

Bruce Springsteen forgoing his rock roots for a Beach Boys-influenced pop album seems a shaky career move, but the Boss bridges the gap between Brian Wilson and Wilson Pickett in his most hopeful record in decades. Getting your guy in the White House can have that effect.
What Love Can Do

23. King Khan & BBQ – Invisible Girl

Sixties nostalgia runs thick these days, but lose amidst the Beatles and Stones idolizations are the vast numbers of equally hungry but less successful bands. King Khan is here to remind us. His garage assault recalls the Seeds, Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Swingin’ Medallions, and all the other three-chord artists that went from parents’ basements to bargain bins in less time than it takes to say “one-hit wonder.”
Third Ave.

22. Muse – The Resistance

Muse frontman Matt Bellamy is sick of talking about the lizards. You say one time that you think an underground race descended from reptiles secretly controls the world and no one ever wants to talk about something else. It’d be easier to ignore Bellamy’s bizarre political theories though if they didn’t seep into his lyrics. “Interchanging mind control,” he sings in “Uprising.” “Come let the revolution take its toll.” Political paranoia is a dish best served loud, and with Muse’s swaggering Brit-prog beat behind him Bellamy just might incite the mass insurgence he so craves.
Uprising

21. Anchor & Braille – Felt

When Anberlin lead singer Stephen Christian announced his ambient-pop side project, fans’ first thought was: The Postal Service. When the record finally dropped, fans’ second thought was: The Postal Service. The songs on Felt are like eleven gorgeous dreams though, falsetto choruses and piano codas building up to such great heights (har!) you never want to come down.
Like Steps in a Dance

Albums 1-20 coming tomorrow...

Download all MP3s featured in this post here [link removed].

Larger Than Life In 3D ft. Dave Matthews Band

2009-12-08T23:57:00.001-05:00

Let’s get one thing clear: despite what the Larger Than Life…In 3D filmmakers would have you believe, 3D concert films do not make it “as if you were there.” Thank goodness. Anyone looking for the “as if you were there” experience might be better off watching this movie from a couple hundred feet away with strangers yelling in your ear, spilling beer down the back of your shirt and elbowing you in the eye as they crowd-surf over you. Any regular concert-goer knows that “as if you were there” is hardly a selling point for a movie.

Thankfully, while watching the Dave Matthews Band, Ben Harper and Relentless7 and Gogol Bordello in Larger Than Life, you don’t feel at all like you’re there. Rather than try to force an in-the-crowd perspective (look at some audience-taped concert footage on YouTube to see how well that works), the vivid close-ups, hi-def pans and crystal sound quality substitute a whole different kind of energy. You don’t feel like you’re there, you feel bad for the people who were.

The music sounds just about as anyone familiar with the bands would expect it to (jam-rock, jam-blues and gypsy-punk, respectively), but the 3D technology helps bring out the little moments that make live shows so entrancing. When you watch Ben Harper fiddle with his guitar feedback to end his Mile High Music Festival set, his furrowed brow and piercing stare bring out the concentration pouring into the minute sonic fluctuations. When you see Dave Matthews lazily flopping around the stage during “Funny the Way It Is,” it’s like the frat-rock hippie is noodle-dancing right in your lap (whether you want Dave Matthews noodle-dancing in your lap is another matter entirely).

If the choice of performers to break the 3D concert technology to the post-tween crowd has little rhyme or reason – three different tours at three different festivals in three different states – it may be because this film is really a test run, for the technology and for the demand. Reports indicate that AEG, the company behind Larger Than Life…In 3D, filmed much of Phish’s recent Festival 8 shows (hopefully including their cover of the Rolling Stones’ entire Exile on Main Street) and more performances from Lollapalooza and Austin City Limits. One imagines they’ll be watching the ticket sales for this film’s one-week engagement quite closely to decide what if anything to do with this unreleased footage.

To be fair, this technology is far from perfect. While mid-range shots looked beautiful, anything with a significant depth of field causes stomachs to turn over. It was hard not to flinch every time an errant beach ball flashed across the screen, but worse still was the random stage equipment which would pop up looking hundreds of yards in front of the rest of the action. If anything, this technology works too well; when Gogol Bordello hypeman Pedro Erazo points at a camera during “Start Wearing Purple,” it’s a wonder no one in the audience lost an eye. Real life isn’t that 3D.

Yes, there’s a long way to go before Digital 3D changes the way we watch concert films. At the screening I attended the inevitable awkward silence at the end of each song where everyone wonders if they’re supposed to clap or not was as uncomfortable as ever. Clap or not, though, the explosive power of Dave Matthews Band’s roaring through “Burning Down the House” in such vibrant quality was hard to deny.

No concert film has yet made you feel like you were there. Most in fact do the opposite: make you wish you were there, experiencing in person what the screen will only hint at. Larger Than Life…in 3D succeeds because you don’t feel like you’re there, and you don’t particularly want to.

‘Larger Than Life…In 3D’ opens in 350 theaters nationwide for a limited, one-week-only screening from December 11-17.

Two Nights of Bob Dylan in New York City

2009-11-19T16:42:00.000-05:00

In the spring of 2005 Bob Dylan hired some new guys for his band. Nothing unusual there; Dylan tends to switch around his band every year or so. Except then, for the next four and a half years he didn’t change a thing. Since that spring fans grew a little more tired of those same five people with each passing leg of the so-called Never-Ending Tour. Were these guys the second coming of The Band or something, fans might have been more forgiving, but soon this lowercase-“b” band turned every song into a mid-tempo jazz shuffle, Bing Crosby without the voice. Throughout his career fans have followed Dylan around the globe like the second coming of Jerry Garcia, but as each show began sounding just like a previous show (or previous year) the phrase “jumped the shark” began coming up.

This fall, after four-and-a-half years of slow decline, Dylan finally switched things up. He made just one substitution, but replacing old one-note-solo Denny Freeman with guitar-prodigy Charlie Sexton is a hell of a substitution. Sexton previously played with Dylan from ’99-‘02 (making him the first musician to leave the band and later return) during what many fans think of as latter-day Dylan’s best years and in the seven-year interim he hasn’t missed a trick. During the first two nights of Dylan’s United Palace Theater stand Sexton stole the show more than once with hotrod solos that never held back for fear of stepping on The Legend’s toes.

In fact, The Legend raised his own game to keep up with Sexton’s confident swagger. Though in recent years he has spent each show sulking behind a keyboard, this fall he has taken to performing 4-5 songs each night center stage with only a microphone and harmonica, bringing out a showman unseen since 1975’s all-star Rolling Thunder Revue. On “Ballad of a Thin Man” both nights he stood astride center stage, a larger-than-life vigilante striking a series of Zorro poses silhouetted on the curtain behind him. For night two’s “Workingman’s Blues #2” he wailed out more self-assured harmonica solos than fans have heard in years, swaying back and forth as the harp voodoo took hold.

Too obstinate to veer anywhere near a greatest-hits act, about half of both night’s tunes came from Dylan’s twenty-first century output (though nothing from his recent Christmas disc). Though casual attendees often come away irritated with the lack of solo-guitar “Blowin’ in the Wind”-style nostalgia and hardcore fans may grumble that in the course of two nights he played only one song from the ‘70s or ‘80s (1989’s “Man in the Long Black Coat), the post-Y2K material suits his latter-day croak. The warbly rasp complement the fading-light regret of “Forgetful Heart” and one-last-change hope of “I Feel a Change Comin’ On” (both from his 2009 album Together Through Life) and a deranged organ-grinder arrangement of 1997’s “Cold Irons Bound” turned Bob into a sinister carnival barker.

His forays into his early material (what few there were) were less successful. You could practically see the band’s energy evaporate away during lackluster encores “Like a Rolling Stone” and “All Along the Watchtower,” playing the crowd-pleasing choices in a half-assed way that pleased nobody. On night one Bob didn’t even bother enunciating half the words of “Rolling Stone,” perhaps expecting the audience sing-along to drown him out anyway. Only problem was the half-hearted delivery meant that many there didn’t even know he was playing his biggest hit, and those that did didn’t care. He only gave a sixties classic the care it deserved on the aforementioned “Ballad of a Thin Man,” turning the signature organ riff into a wailing Charlie Sexton guitar line that practically singed the hair off your eyebrows.

The folk material fared even worse in the transition to Oscar-the-Growler Bob. “It Ain’t Me, Babe” attempted a wholly inappropriate bass-heavy crunch to match his barren holler and the swirling imagery of “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” proved overpower for a voice not as nimble as it once was. “Some people, they tell me I’ve got the blood of the land in my voice,” Dylan sang in “I Feel a Change,” but the bloody-land approach turns a song like “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” from mournful to grating.

If Bob Dylan is no longer a sixties rocker or folk strummer though, at least he is once again something other than an apathetic songwriter rasping his way to the next hotel. Sexton’s guitar work injects a dose of adrenaline in the music and Dylan’s newfound Frank-Sinatra-meets-Tom-Waits frontman persona does the same to the performance. In almost fifty years of performing Dylan has never been much good at mailing it in, so thank goodness that after four years of steady decline one prodigal-son guitar badass has returned the fold to reignite the spark.

DOWNLOAD RECORDINGS
Coming soon…

SET LISTS

November 17, 2009
1. Cat's In The Well (Bob on keyboard, Donnie Herron on violin)
2. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue (Bob on guitar)
3. Beyond Here Lies Nothin' (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on trumpet)
4. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on electric mandolin)
5. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum (Bob center stage on harp)
6. John Brown (Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on banjo)
7. Summer Days (Bob on keyboard)
8. Po' Boy (Bob on keyboard and harp)
9. Cold Irons Bound (Bob center stage on harp)
10. If You Ever Go To Houston (Bob on keyboard)
11. Highway 61 Revisited (Bob on keyboard)
12. Ain't Talkin' (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on viola)
13. Thunder On The Mountain (Bob on keyboard)
14. Ballad Of A Thin Man (Bob center stage on harp)
(encore)
15. Like A Rolling Stone (Bob on keyboard)
16. Jolene (Bob on keyboard)
17. All Along The Watchtower (Bob on keyboard)

November 18, 2009  
1. Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again (Bob on keyboard) 
2. It Ain't Me, Babe (Bob on guitar) 
3. Man In The Long Black Coat (Bob on guitar) 
4. It's All Good (Bob on keyboard)
 5. Spirit On The Water (Bob on keyboard and harp)
 6. High Water (For Charley Patton) (Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on banjo) 
7. Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine) (Bob on keyboard) 
8. Forgetful Heart (Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on violin) 
9. Cold Irons Bound (Bob center stage on harp)
 10. I Feel A Change Comin' On (Bob on keyboard) 
11. Highway 61 Revisited (Bob on keyboard) 
12. Workingman's Blues #2 (Bob center stage on harp)
 13. Thunder On The Mountain (Bob on keyboard)
 14. Ballad Of A Thin Man (Bob center stage on harp) 
(encore) 
15. Like A Rolling Stone (Bob on keyboard)
 16. Jolene (Bob on keyboard)
 17. All Along The Watchtower (Bob on keyboard)

(pictures via Frank Beacham)

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary 10/30/09

2009-11-01T21:21:00.000-05:00

Normally the reviews on this site strive to be like a review you might read in a newspaper. Objective. Impartial. Unbiased. And, most of all, no first-person! This one’s going to break the mold. By virtue of necessity, it’s both a review of Friday night’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary show and a review of my personal experience at said show.

The reason for this break from form is that I got a free ticket through the marvelous 1iota.com, a site that gave away obstructed view seats behind the stage. Given that some regular seats in Madison Square Garden went for $2500, this was a hell of a deal. However, throughout the night both the sound and sightlines for those of us behind the stage were so shaky I can’t justify trying to give an “objective” view of the concert. I can, however, talk about experiencing a one-in-a-lifetime show from the cheap seats.

Though we were behind the stage, and behind a partition that blocked some of the performers from sight (generally just the drummers), distance-wise the 750 1iota ticket-holders were closer to the bands than many people who paid for tickets. As an added bonus, we got to watch the musicians hanging out backstage when they weren’t performing, hugging, chatting, giving interviews, waving to us.

Having two stages on a rotating platform eliminated changeover time. A brilliant move for a show with a lot of artists. One artist finishes, the stage rotates, and the next is ready to go. Then the crew set up the other stage for the next one, out of sight of the audience (except for us, of course).

Tom Hanks introduced the proceedings, but as tended to happen whenever anyone spoke, we in the back could not understand a word he said. In fact, the sound was so crazy-muffled for many acts (Jeff Beck being an enjoyable exception) it took a while to recognize even the most familiar songs. Generally it seemed the larger the band, the harder it was to hear.

As he did the previous night (where Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Wonder, Simon & Garfunkel and CSN headlined), Jerry Lee Lewis got the music going with “Great Balls of Fire.” As he did when I saw him at Farm Aid a year ago, the Killer killed it. He walks slower than he used to – he is 74 after all – but his fingers can still fly across the piano. And though a little rough around the edges, his voice still has the unmistakable rockabilly twang.

A Motown video montage led into Aretha Franklin taking the stage. With her enormous band, hers was the worst sound of the night, but from what we could tell it seemed like her voice was still excellent. The crowd who could hear certainly acted like it was. She brought out Annie Lennox of Eurythmics to duet on a blistering “Chain of Fools” and Lenny Kravitz for a sassy back-and-forth on “Think.” I look forward to viewing the video of this set more than any other, to see what I missed with the terrible sound.

Arriving with a three-piece band (including bass prodigy Tal Wilkenfeld), Jeff Beck provided a sound the backstage speakers could handle. His solos came through hot and pure, shredding out the proof that he was a worthy last-minute replacement for an ailing Eric Clapton. Not a singer himself, Beck stuck with instrumentals except with the guests came out. A heavily-bearded Sting first joined the Yardbird on stage, belting out “People Get Ready” with a vocal power unheard in his recent years with the reunited Police. The gospel cries coming out of this aging Brit shocked the crowd, many of whom declared it a highlight.

With Jimi Hendrix long gone, the only guitarist who could truly match the licks Beck was unleashing was the legendary Buddy Guy, who soon brought his axe out for a searing “Let Me Love You.” Guy’s underrated vocals almost stole the show from the dueling guitars though as he crooned and helped his way through the twelve-bar staple.

Guy was followed by Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top, the man with the biggest beard in rock and roll. After barreling through ZZ Top’s “Rough Boy” he led the crowd through “Foxy Lady” while a large image of Hendrix lit up a recently-descended screen behind the band. While this blocked the view completely for us 1iota.com fans, it only came down rarely, and we still had monitors to watch. Beck’s jazz-rock improvisation through “A Day in the Life” capped things off.

The only band that could top Beck’s distortion-blare was on next: Metallica. The legendary metal quartet alternated their own tracks like “For Whom the Bell Tolls” and “Enter Sandman” with rolls as backing musicians. They roared through the Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane” and “White Light/White Heat” with Lou Reed. The heroin-hipster valiantly kept up, delivering a better performance than his abysmal live reputation would have predicted. Nothing stunning, but Kirk Hammett’s guitar solos were worth even the most average delivery. Reed agreed, delivering a rare treat from the cranky punk: a smile.

James Hetfield introduced the next singer as “the crazy guy who epitomizes the rock and roll singer.” It couldn’t be anyone but Ozzy Osbourne. The reality star roamed the stage performing Black Sabbath classics “Iron Man” and “Paranoid,” yelling at a complacent audience to get on their feet and participate. No bats were eaten after Ozzy’s family-man makeover, but the mystique remained strong.

Finally came the most unexpected guest of the set: Ray Davies of the Kinks, “one of the original punks.” Metallica faithfully performed a loud and fast “You Really Got Me” and “All Day and All Night,” resisting any urge to metal-fy these riff-heavy classics. Davies delivered a boho-cool performance, one hand in his pocket as he delivered some of the most famous lyrics in rock and roll. Which no one could hear anyway, as the crowd was yelling them even louder.

A Queen cover and “Enter Sandman” later, U2 took the stage. Things kicked off in high gear with “Vertigo,” and “Magnificent didn’t kill the momentum too badly. Any slow-song boredom was soon shed though when Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith came out to perform “Because the Night” (a Smith hit they co-wrote) for only the second time ever (video). Since this review is first-person personal anyway, I’ll say this was the best concert moment I have ever witnessed. As Bruce soloed and Patti sung the bridge, they butted heads in a mini-duel while Bono laughed behind them.

As this once-in-a-lifetime performance rolled along (with Roy Bitten handling the piano part), many in the crowd hoped it would never end. So imagine the excitement when, for the only time the whole night, the band decided the first run-through had been too sloppy for TV. They had to do it again. Cue died-and-gone-to-heaven swooning.

Springsteen stuck around to duet with Bono on “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” bringing some much-needed passion to this lite-FM staple. Hugs all around and the Boss has left the building!

“Mysterious Ways” led into a cover of the Black Eyed Peas’ “Where Is the Love.” Except, oh wait, it was no longer a cover when the Peas themselves ran onstage. With this many mics the sound again turned questionable, but Will.I.Am dominated center stage while Fergie dirty-danced with the Edge. Quite a collaboration.

Will.I.Am moved over to the piano and Fergie strolled over to drummer Larry Mullin, Jr. while the lyrics to the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter” came up on the teleprompter. Those of us behind the stage gave a collective intake of breath. There was a rumor of course, but…no. It couldn’t be... Surely he wouldn’t…

But yes, Sir Mick Jagger strolled onstage to applause like I’ve never heard. Perhaps the only man alive who Springsteen was an appropriate lead-in to (well, him and McCartney), Jagger belted out “Gimme Shelter” like it was Altamont all over again (video). Fergie took on Merry Clayton’s female part, belting out such fierce high notes I can’t have been the only one wondering if this was lip-synced. But her trills and scales seemed so spontaneous and idiosyncratic, perhaps Fergie is the most underrated vocalist in music. Either way though, she couldn't fake that stage presence. Fergie and Mick: best onstage chemistry I've ever seen. If those two ever tour together, go.

Mick stuck around for U2’s treacle-fest “Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of.” Like Springsteen before him, Jagger brought new vitality to this alt-contemporary dirge in a duet with Bono, his face glowing with excitement. Jagger strutted offstage with the quartet, who returned sans-Stone for the entirely appropriate “A Beautiful Day.”

Five hours after we entered, the dazed crowd stumbled out into the streets, numb to everything we had just witnessed. Aretha, Sting, Ozzy, Lou Reed, Springsteen, Patti Smith, Bono, Mick Effing Jagger. Even now, it’s hard to wrap your mind around.

SET LIST

Jerry Lee Lewis:
 Great Balls of Fire

Aretha Franklin: 
Baby, I Love You 
Don’t Play That Song (You Lied)
 Make Them Hear You
 Chain of Fools (w/ Annie Lennox) 
New York, New York
Think (w/ Lenny Kravitz)
Respect

Jeff Beck: 
Drown in My Own Tears
People Get Ready (w/ Sting)
Freeway Boogie
Cause We’ve Ended as Lovers 
Rock Me Baby (w/ Buddy Guy)
Big Block
Rice Pudding
Rough Boy (w/ Billy Gibbons) 
Foxy Lady (w/ Billy Gibbons)
 A Day in the Life

Metallica:
For Whom the Bell Tolls
 One 
Turn the Page
 Sweet Jane (w/ Lou Reed)
 White Light/White Heat (w/ Lou Reed)
 Iron Man (w/ Ozzy Osbourne) 
Paranoid (w/ Ozzy Osbourne)
You Really Got Me (w/ Ray Davies) 
All Day and All of the Night (w/ Ray Davies) 
Stone Cold Crazy 
Enter Sandman

U2 :
Vertigo
Magnificent
Because the Night #1 (w/ Bruce Springsteen, Patti Smith)
Because the Night #2 (w/ Bruce Springsteen, Patti Smith)
 I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For (w/ Bruce Springsteen)
Mysterious Ways
Where Is the Love (w/ Black Eyed Peas)
Gimme Shelter (w/ Mick Jagger, Fergie, Will.I.Am)
Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of (w/ Mick Jagger)
Beautiful Day

Rey Fresco and Matt the Electrician at the Living Room 10/27/09

2009-10-29T21:29:00.000-04:00

Harps come up a lot when talking about rock and roll. In the mid-‘60s Bob Dylan brought the harp to the masses. The harp was soon adopted from everyone from Bruce Springsteen to Stevie Wonder. Currently, younger groups like Wilco to My Morning Jacket are bringing the harp mantle to a new generation. This isn’t surprising – pick a harp in the right key and there are no bum notes!

If you haven’t already figured it out, this is the mouth harp we’re talking about, the harmonica. When writing about rock music, the clarification hardly needs to be made. No rock band features an actual harp!

No rock band except Rey Fresco, that is. “Features” is the right word too, for this is no mere press-baiting novelty. This SoCal reggae-rock quartet performs the mean feat of putting harpist Xocoyotzin Moraza front and center. It wasn’t long into Rey Fresco’s funky set at Manhattan’s Living Room Tuesday night before you wondered why more bands don’t feature harps.

Part of the reason may be that harpists as skilled as Moraza are hard to come by. The all-wood 36-string instruments he plays come handmade from his father, with custom strings capable of handling Moraza’s flying fingers as they leap the instrument’s five octaves. Though when he plays chords it veers a little close to the steel drum, Moraza generally takes on the role most bands would give a lead guitarist.

With his unusual instrument it’s safe to say Moraza was the focus of much of the small crowd’s attention, but lead singer Roger Keiaho refused to let himself get upstaged. Keiaho’s soulful yelp pierced through the pretty melodies, giving the smooth vibes a set of balls solely lacking from most music that comes within ten feet of reggae. By the time the band closed with a cover of Compay Segundo’s “Chan Chan,” they had accomplished the most impressive feat at all: making the harp seem a perfectly normal rock instruments.

Austin’s Matt the Electrician stripped away the surfer-party vibe, his loner woodsman beard drawing instant attention as he quietly sang songs inspired by family members. “That was for my son,” he said after finishing “Animal Boy.” “All parents know that when you give one child something you have to give the other something of exactly equal value. So this one’s for my daughter.”

His daughter may have gotten the short shrift in the end – the first tune was longer –but hopefully she forgave pop. It’s not every dad who can open a set with two tunes played on a ukulele-banjo. Novelty Instrument Night at the Living Room came to a close when he picked up an acoustic guitar, his main axe, but his note-perfect whistling solos kept the unusual in the fore.

While Matt avoided the covers which have garnered him some recognition (he has an excellent new one of Journey’s “Faithfully”), his quirky originals about his cat and Japan kept the small crowd’s attention as he warbled and whistled his way through winsome songs. “Divided By” of his new Animal Boy sounded like a less-sarcastic Randy Newman and “Osaka in the Rain” made him seem an ideal candidate for Lost in Translation II. Matt’s career as an electrician may be behind him, but Matt the Musician is just picking up speed.

Patti Smith's "A Salute to Robert Frank" 10/17/09

2009-10-18T23:53:00.000-04:00

Robert Frank’s The Americans ushered in a new era for photography, focusing on the daily trials and triumphs of everyday people. He took 28,000 snapshots in his two-year trip across the United States in the mid-‘50s, selecting just 83 for the final book. Each shot invokes a uniquely American loneliness, whites and blacks separate in stature but equal in isolation. In the book’s introduction, Jack Kerouac wrote, “Anybody doesnt like these pitchers dont like potry, see?”

Decades later, art buffs worldwide do see. In September, New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art opened an exhibition of original prints of all 83 photos, arranged in the same meticulously thought-out order just in the book. To help honor the occasion, Patti Smith and her daughter Jesse organized “A Salute to Robert Frank, Artist and Friend.”

Patti Smith first collaborated with Frank when he directed the video for her 1996 single “Summer Cannibals.” As the evening progressed she shared many amusing anecdotes about the quiet shuffling man. She described humbly showing him her own photographs and the elation she felt when he told her, “I see what you’re doing.” “When Robert says that,” she asked aloud, “Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?”

Mostly though, her musings on Frank came through recitation and song. On the poetry side, Jesse Smith selected a broad spectrum of material from the well known (Walt Whitman’s “I Hear America Singing”) to the obscure (Patti Smith’s own “combe”). Throughout, the images of old-time America echoed the photos. The first onstage words, in fact, were Smith’s herself, coming from a personal notebook written in April 1971. Printed in the advertisements leading up to the show and the bulletin during, it framed the event around the point where Smith and Frank meet.

I keep trying to figure out what it means to be American. When I look in myself I see Abyssinia, nineteenth-century France, but I can’t recognize what makes me American. I think about Robert Frank’s photographs—broke down jukeboxes in Gallup, New Mexico, swaying hips and spurs, ponytails and syphilitic cowpokes, hash slingers, the glowing black tarp of US 285 and the Hoboken stars and stripes.

I think about a red, white and blue rag
I wrap around my head.
Maybe it’s nothing material; maybe it’s just being free.

Freedom is a waterfall, is pacing linoleum till dawn,
the right to write the wrong words.
And I done plenty of that...

Smith tackled her own American history with poems about her birthplace of Chicago (Carl Sandburg’s “Mag”) and her adopted home of New York (an excerpt from E.B. White’s “Here Is New York”). She never veered into the self-indulgent though, interspersing all her selections with messages from Robert, who had been forced to abandon his planned appearance. Before reading a section of William S. Burroughs’ The Western Lands, she commented that this was the piece Frank requested she read at the event. She shrugged her shoulders as she said it, saying she wasn’t sure why he chose it. The connections between the words and images didn’t need to be clear though; the feeling tied the two in a way specificity never could.

The songs Smith chose to perform veered away from her own material. She only performed four original songs (“Trampin’,” “Beneath the Southern Cross,” “Ghost Dance” and “People Have the Power”), instead imagining what Frank might have heard coming over the AM as he drove across the country in the mid-‘50s. She has never publicly performed before many of these songs before, and may never again.

The first cover came halfway through the evening with Smith’s take on “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” Originally written in 1934 for Roy Rogers’ band the Sons of the Pioneers, singer Kate Smith had a hit with the tune in the ‘50s. The tune evoked a wide-open America, the sort of James Dean lone-ranger imagery both terribly beautiful and terribly sad. “I’ll keep rolling along / Deep in my heart is a song,” Smith slowly sang. “Here on the range I belong / Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds.”

“The Wayward Wind” continued the home-on-the-range vibe. Gogi Grant had a number-one hit with the tune in 1956. As on most of the songs, Smith was accompanied by Jesse on piano, Michael Campbell on xylophone and her longtime compatriot Lenny Kaye on guitar. The latter two came together for a cowboy solo before Kaye took center stage (figuratively) on a cover of Paul Simon’s “American Tune.”

Patti sat cross-legged on the wooden stage while Kaye plucked the childlike folk melody with Jesse and Campbell accompanying. “High up above my eyes could clearly see / The Statue of Liberty / Sailing away to sea / And I dreamed I was crying,” he sang at the end of the song. Then, with a few nods of his head he masterfully segued into a bare-bones rhythm over which Smith projected Emma Lazarus’ “The New Colossus,” a poem about Lady Liberty herself.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles.

After the night’s only rock and roll moment (a “Power to the People” sing-along), Smith opened the encore by reading Ginsberg’s “Footnote to Howl.” “Holy! Holy! Holy!” she chanted. “The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy!” As one “holy” built to another, the cascade of images ushered in the evening’s most powerful moment. Like a good rock singer, Smith built the poem to a shouted crescendo before winding it down with the one final line: “Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul! “

It would have been a powerful way to end the night, but Smith had one more cover to get out of her system. The foursome on stage took on the Everly Brothers with a grinning “Bye Bye Love.” If Frank did in fact hear that song as he drove across the country, he couldn’t have smiled wider than the crowd at the Met. He couldn’t have smiled wider than Patti Smith.

SET LIST
Reading: notebook, April 1971
Reading: Events of ’55 and ’56 [Jesse Smith on piano]
Song: “Trampin’” [Jesse on piano]
Reading: “I Hear America Singing,” by Walt Whitman [Jesse on piano, Michael Campbell on xylophone]
Reading: “A Blessing,” by James Wright
Reading: “combe,” by Patti Smith [Jesse on piano, Campbell on xylophone]
Song: “Beneath the Southern Cross”
Reading: Excerpt from Here Is New York, by E.B. White
Reading: Excerpt from The Western Lands, by William S. Burroughs
Song: “Tumbling Tumbleweeds” (Kate Smith cover) [Jesse on piano, Campbell on xylophone, Lenny Kaye on guitar]
Recitation: “Mag,” by Carl Sandburg
Song: “The Wayward Wind” (Gogi Grant cover) [Jesse on piano, Campbell on xylophone, Kaye on guitar]
Song: “An American Tune” (Paul Simon cover) [Kaye on vocals and guitar, Jesse on piano, Campbell on xylophone]
Reading: “The New Colossus,” by Emma Lazarus
Song: “Ghost Dance” [Jesse on piano, Campbell on guitar, Kaye on guitar]
Song: “People Have the Power” [Jesse on piano, Campbell on guitar, Kaye on guitar]
------------------------
Reading: “Footnote to Howl,” by Allen Ginsberg
Song: “Bye Bye Love” (Everly Brothers cover) [Jesse on piano, Campbell on guitar, Kaye on guitar]

The Gaslight Anthem at the Brooklyn Bowl 10/16/09

2009-10-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

The three B’s of the Jersey shore: beer, bowling and Bruce Springsteen.

Add in a fourth B – Brooklyn – and you’ve got the ingredients of Friday night’s Gaslight Anthem show. The up-and-coming punk revivalists played a packed set at the Brooklyn Bowl while lager flowed, pins tumbled, and hipsters said the hell with ironic distance, crowd surfing, fist pumping, and uninhibitedly yelling along.

Oregon’s Broadway Calls kicked things off with a fast-paced set that largely provided mood music for a crowd busy checking out the merch, watching the Yankees game and getting pleasantly buzzed. The Bowl is right next-door to the Brooklyn Brewery, so instead of cheap plastic cups of Bud Light, hearty pints of Brooklyn Lager circulated freely (often becoming broken glass covering the dance floor).

Jesse Malin of Queens pushed the throttle one gear higher, touring behind his 2008 covers album On Your Sleeve. Sadly, he ignored many of the disc’s best tracks, including Tom Waits and the Hold Steady tunes, instead focusing on his back catalogue of original material. The sideways paper-boy cap came off a bit pretty-boy Joe Strummer, but the Mick Jagger swagger of his step screamed rock and roll authenticity. A tight three-piece band pounded out the riffs behind him, culminating in the first Bruce reference of the night when he closed with “Broken Radio,” his 2007 Boss duet. You can catch the video here, but the slow-burn arrangement of the record pales next to the guitar attack it becomes live.

The angry woodsman gutter-punk of Murder By Death finally drew the majority of attendees to the stage as mutton-chopped Adam Turla yelped out his Johnny Cash baritone over songs about whiskey, low-down women, and the devil. The set focused largely on the quartet’s latest Red of Tooth and Claw, kicking off with the steel-driving “Ball & Chain” and rapping up forty-five minutes later with the Inglorious Basterds-approved “Comin’ Home.” Cellist Sarah Balliet added extra grit and grind on the low end.

“We are the last of the jukebox Romeos,” the Gaslight Anthem’s Brian Fallon sang halfway through their set. I couldn’t put it any better. These four New Jersey boys wear their hearts and influences on their sleeves, singing the sort of unashamed rock and roll you didn’t think anyone made anymore. Within the set’s first three songs – “High Lonesome,” “Casanova, Baby!” and “Old White Lincoln” – they’d already quoted Springsteen four times, Tom Waits twice, with some Wilson Pickett, Gary “U.S.” Bonds and Tom Petty in for good measure.

The music came just as unabashedly referential as the lyrics, focusing largely on material from the band’s 2008 break-through The ’59 Sound. With no time for slow songs, Fallon led the boys through one high-energy basher after the next, hitting crowd favorites like “Great Expectations,” “The Backseat” and the title track with the passion of a band with a lot to prove. This is what it must have felt like seeing an early ‘70s Springsteen show at the Stone Pony.

A generous helping of covers kept the throw-back vibe running strong, with everything from Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” to Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” weaving in and out of the originals. Whether shouting out Gainesville buddies’ Hot Water Music with a “Trusty Chords” cover or remembering a favorite childhood soundtrack with Pearl Jam’s “State of Love and Trust,” these rockers used the old songs to claim their place up there with the legends. It won’t be long before these bands start covering their songs.

A New Yorker might well wonder how this would go over with a Williamsburg crowd. Brooklyn has the reputation of a bunch of cooler-than-thou hipsters standing around at concerts, arms folded, trying to out-scene each other. The Gaslight Anthem weren’t having any of that. Circle pits moshed, bottles smashed, and fights broke out on the packed floor while a crowd seemingly starved of good rock and roll tried to out-yell each other.

The show did have one heckler, but Fallon shut him down with curt humor. “You like pizza?” he exclaimed in response to some inane shout. “I like pizza too! We should hang out all the time!!!” Needless to say, he was promptly accused of being gay from said audience member, which just provided more fodder for him. “I don’t see that as an insult,” Fallon protested. “Hey Alex,” he called to his bassist, “you’re looking handsome tonight! Apparently I’m gay. So…whaddya say? Interested?” More than just the girls there would have taken him up on the offer.

Almost two hours after they began, the Southside Johnny-aping “Say I Won’t (Recognize)” closed things out in epic fashion. Again, Fallon summed up the mood better than any reviewer could. “We’re having a party,” he sang. “Everybody’s swinging. Tonight won’t you come down out of your tower, don’t make me dance alone!”

He needn’t have worried.

SET LIST
High Lonesome
Casanova, Baby!
Old White Lincoln
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Wherefore Are Though, Elvis?
The ’59 Sound
Film Noir
We Came to Dance
Miles Davis & The Cool
The Patient Ferris Wheel
Stand By Me (Ben E. King cover) / I’da Called You Woody, Joe
Angry Johnny and the Radio / Straight to Hell (The Clash cover)
Great Expectations
State of Love and Trust (Pearl Jam cover)
The Backseat
* * *
Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts
Trusty Chords (Hot Water Music cover)
Meet Me By the River's Edge
Say I Won’t (Recognize)

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at Giants Stadium 10/9

2009-10-14T01:11:00.000-04:00

“Bring on your wrecking ball,” Bruce Springsteen sang at the beginning of his Friday concert. He wasn’t being metaphoric; when they raze Giants Stadium in January, one imagines there will be quite a few wrecking balls on the scene.

To commemorate its demise, Springsteen brought the E Street Band for five final concerts. “Now my home is here in the Meadowlands,” he sang to rapturous applause in opener “Wrecking Ball,” “where mosquitoes grow big as airplanes / Here where the blood is spilled / The arena’s filled / And Giants play the game.”

Springsteen composed the song especially for these performances, but just as “Working on a Dream” survived debuting last fall for the Obama campaign, it’s hard to imagine this is the last time we will hear this one. The rare topical song with broader appeal, a few lyric revisions are all that stand in the way of it becoming a barn-storming E Street regular. Springsteen started singing alone on stage, a single spotlight silhouetting his electric guitar, when the chorus hit the band blasted in as if it were a Darkness on the Edge of Town classic. With the “woah-woah-woah” sing-alongs and holler-til-your-throat-breaks chorus, this reviewer was reminded of “Badlands,” not coincidentally the night’s second tune.

Giants Stadium may have as much importance in music history as the Newark Airport, but for Springsteen it looms large. E Street has run through the concrete behemoth dozens of times since 1985, most recently at a sold-out ten-night stand in 2003 and a quickie three-nighter last summer. Plus the guy lives about twenty minutes from East Rutherford, so affection by proximity helps connect him with thousands of Jersey fans.

Though the bizarre rumors circling the crowd before showtime (appearances by Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton proved popular) came to nothing, the E Street Band found a more fitting way to celebrate and remember: by playing Born in the U.S.A., the album that started it all, from beginning to end. Though this multi-multi-platinum disc shows its age more than some other Springsteen classics, the cheeseball sound of “Glory Days” and “Dancing in the Dark” got 50,000 rocking like it was 1985 all over again, dated synth sounds be damned.

It helps that the songs themselves haven’t aged a bit. As always, “No Surrender” gets fists pounding, “I’m On Fire” gets couples snuggling, and “Bobby Jean” gets tears streaming. Guitar wiz Nils Lofgren unleashed a whirling dervish of a solo on “Cover Me” and Clarence Clemons defied his age (67) by blowing album-perfect sax solos throughout. The album’ only real live rarity, “Downbound Train,” delivered the real emotional wallop though when fans sang every word as if the pain of tough circumstances and arbitrary layoffs were not soon forgotten.

Try as they might though, the audience rarely succeeded in outperforming the band. The absence of recently deceased organist Dan Federici hung over the proceedings (Springsteen dedicated “My Hometown” to his memory) but off-the-bench replacement Charlie Giordano handled every boardwalk swirl and accordion flourish with deft ease.

The rest of the band have lived on E Street far longer than Giordano though, and they showed their collective comfort with off-the-cuff performances like a second-time-ever take on the Rolling Stones’ “The Last Time” to satisfy an impromptu fan request. Returning to the fold after recent absences was Springsteen’s wife Patti Scialfa, performing an intimate duet with Springsteen on romantic endurance song “Tougher Than the Rest.”

Also keeping it in the family was Jay Weinberg, son of Max, manning the drum kit for “Born to Run.” It was a relatively easy night for Jay – this summer he has frequently taken over the whole show when his dad’s Tonight Show obligations kept him away.

Even E Street offspring couldn’t keep pace with Bruce though, who tore through the three-and-a-half-hour set with the energy of a hungry twenty-something determined to prove himself to his family, his home and the world. After a lengthy meander through the crowd during “Hungry Heart,” he decided the quickest way back to the stage was on top of the fans. This sixty-year old crowd-surfed his way stageward, gesturing the band to keep playing as he made his airborne journey. The only face to rival his joy the entire night was the middle aged man holding the “Bald men can dance too” sign when Springsteen brought him onstage to jitterbug (and dirty dance) during “Dancing in the Dark.”

“You’re only how old you feel,” the saying goes. Problem is, most of us feel pretty much like our age. Springsteen doesn’t just defy age though, he beats it into submission with a guitar windmill, knee slide, and mic-stand dangle. When he bounced around singing the “You Sexy Thing” lyrics to concert staple “Raise Your Hand,” he grinned like a teenage prankster getting away with a good one. When he tore into “Kitty’s Back” intro, he wailed on his guitar like it was the only thing holding him back from the boring-old-guy ledge.

Still, after three-plus hours even the most hopped-up warhorse needs to wind down. The new Celtic-punk “American Land” brought the band to the stage lip for intros and bows, but Bruce decided they had time for one more and launched into the Tom Waits song “Jersey Girl.” While setlist-watchers at home questioned closing Giants Stadium with a slow song, everyone in attendance sung along with such passion it made “Born to Run” look like a bathroom break. Waits wrote the song about his own wife Kathleen Brenner, but Friday night the girl in question was the stadium itself, given one last grateful pat on the back before New Jersey headed off into the just-started drizzle.

DOWNLOAD:
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=OKDZADO2

SET LIST:
Wrecking Ball 
Badlands
 Spirit in the Night
 Outlaw Pete 
Hungry Heart
 Working on a Dream 
Born in the U.S.A. 
Cover Me 
Darlington County 
Working on the Highway 
Downbound Train 
I'm on Fire 
No Surrender  
Bobby Jean 
I'm Goin' Down  
Glory Days 
Dancing in the Dark 
My Hometown 
Tougher Than the Rest
 The Promised Land 
Last to Die 
Long Walk Home 
The Rising 
Born to Run
* * * 
Raise Your Hand 
The Last Time 
Waitin' on a Sunny Day 
Seven Nights to Rock
 Kitty's Back
 American Land
 Jersey Girl

Elvis Costello's Spectacle with Bruce Springsteen 9/25/09

2009-09-27T20:12:00.000-04:00

Elvis Costello filmed the second season of his Sundance interview show Spectacle this past week at Harlem’s famed Apollo Theater, culminating in a Friday night session with Bruce Springsteen. Thanks to a generous giveaway via Springsteen fan site Backstreets, I was able to attend the taping with about on hundred other fans.

Due to the televised nature of the event, no pictures or video were permitted (not even crummy cell phone pictures), so until the show debuts in January these words will have to suffice.

The events kicked off with massive applause. Nothing unusual about that at a concert. The difference is, the audience was applauding for no one. Rather, the producers wanted to pre-tape applause of various volumes to use during transitions. The crew scampering around onstage must have thought they were the most popular stage hands ever.

When we were all but applauded out, Costello’s three-piece band the Imposters entered the stage (the audience mustered a bit more clapping). Brief introductory instructions from a producer preceded Elvis himself hitting the stage, thanking various people and giving the crowd a few last minute tips.

Things kicked off with an untelevised cover, as these recordings often do, to warm up the band and crowd. Costello has never publicly performed Bruce’s “Point Blank” before, but the distorted squall through one of the Boss’s lesser-known slow songs sounded like a concert staple. Costello made his guitar shriek and mode, wah-wahing for his life while his off-kilter voice twitched and jerked around the melody. Even the most hardcore Springsteen fan there had never heard this River tune sound so aggressive. It’s a crime this performance will not be aired.

Costello then introduced special guest Nils Lofgren of the E Street Band. He explained that his relationship with Nils predates his Bruce connection though; when Costello was performing covers in Liverpool bars he often played one of Lofgren’s original tunes as a crowd-pleaser. This was the point where Nils was touring with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers as his opening band, so Costello’s familiarity with his songs should be no surprise.

The song Costello used to sing was “Take You to the Movies,” a beautiful ballad that Lofgren dutifully performed with the Imposters while Costello stepped off. He wasn’t gone for long though, soon returning to lead the band (plus Nils) into “She’s the One.” The crowd had been warned that this was not a regular concert; things might stop and start. Stop they did here, as it took the band five or six attempts to get things running right.

When they did they knocked out a ramshackle version of the first verse before vamping while Elvis went into a beatnik rant by way of introduction to Bruce. His words came out a bit garbled in the theater, but a reference to the “Great Emperor of New Jersey” was made before the Boss himself quietly wandered out, applauding politely while the band finished the song.

Stools were set up center stage while Bruce and Elvis got comfortable. The ensuing interview covered Bruce’s early struggles, his sudden success with Born to Run, his songwriting process and transition into maturity, his kids’ musical taste (the Gaslight Anthem and Against Me!) and everything in between. The program took four hours after all.

The first bit of music performed by Bruce was his early rarity “Wild Billy’s Circus Story” by special request from Elvis. Bruce talked about the fear he had of carnivals as a kid and his constant desire to see behind the scenes, under the ringmaster’s clothes so to speak. Nils and Bruce’s pianist Roy Bitten joined him for the acoustic performance (the latter on carnival accordion). I was expecting old standbys like “Thunder Road” or “Born in the U.S.A.” to dominate the evening, but most of the performances were rarities.

Things then turned political, Costello inquiring about the public stoning that occurred when Springsteen wrote “American Skin (41 Shots)” about the brutal killing of. Police thought a condemnation of one action was a commendation on all of them, they freaked out, booed his concert, announced boycotts, etc. Stupid stuff. Springsteen’s acoustic performance was powerful and effective, the blaring choruses and pounding drums stripped away to a man telling a broken story.

The next performance didn’t need so much reworking. Costello talked about seeing Bruce on his solo Ghost of Tom Joad tour in ’96 (their past interactions were a frequent topic for reminiscence) and Springsteen performed “Galveston Bay” from that time with Bitten on spacey synth. “We gotta pick things up before this crowd kills themselves,” he joked after the second depressing tune in a row.

An impromptu jaunt through Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” did the trick, Costello and Bruce dueting up until the bridge, and which point Bruce forgot the chords. He didn’t forget about his stint singing on the Orbison tribute Black and White Night, for which Costello played rhythm guitar, claiming he actually gets asked about that performance more than any other (seems hard to believe). Costello said that was the best night of his life. A spontaneous verse of “The River” followed soon after, the audience groaning audibly when Bruce cut the performance short.

The common musical heritage discussion continued with a debate over whether Sam Moore of “Soul Man” singers Sam & Dave would have been a solo star. Mumbler Springsteen was at his most eloquent describing how the two needed each other so Sam’s voice could soar to the heavens while Dave’s stayed rooted in the dirt.

To prove his point, Bruce took Sam’s part while Elvis snagged Dave’s for “I Can’t Stand Up for Falling Down” with the full ensemble. The two had just praised classic band leaders, but they both seemed a bit lost without their guitars, standing off to the side of the stage instead of taking the center and demonstrating the balls-out frontman power they had been praising. Still, the vocal delivery was knock-out, rousing the audience to a frenzy after two and a half hours.

Then: Intermission.

Part Two began with the comedy stylings of Springsteen. Clearly he’d been building up a baudy surplus in his normal all-ages shows, as for this all-ages crowd he let loose with a zinger so filthy it got audible gasps. I won’t go through the whole thing, but the punch line was, “You’ve been eating grass for the last ten minutes.” You can fill in the rest.

That proved an awkward segue to talk about Bruce’s romantic life. Costello praised his wife Patti Scialfa’s musical ability for what seemed a strangely long time until he put his music where his mouth was, covering her “Black Ladder” with Nils and Bruce accompanying. This show was as much about Elvis as Bruce, so he followed it up with a raw performance of Springsteen’s treacle-fest “Brilliant Disguise,” a voice ravaged after a week of performances adding a welcome grit to the sappy tune.

More chit-chat followed before the night wrapped up with three songs that would have been worth the trip along. The band came back out and kicked off the finale with “The Rising,” a concert staple that has been boring fans who’ve heard it way too often for years. With the Imposters backing though, this song rocked out in a brand-new way. The crowd rose to their feet and it has taken off as the go-to topic of discussion on Springsteen boards. Costello took backing vocals on this brash version of the hopeful hymn, leaving the audience floored. “Bruce needs to take the Imposters on tour,” the fan next to me muttered.

Recent concert staple “Seeds” solidified that claim. The E Street Band rocks this out as hard as they got, but the Imposters gave even the already balls-out tune even more kick. Bruce played for all his was worth, thrashing at his guitar like you’d never see him during his energy-storing performances, unleashing the hungry 18-year old still inside him.

The band vamped while Elvis did another introductory rant – he said they could wind up using this one to kick the show off – before blasting into “Radio Nowhere.” It rocked hard, like it always does, before getting an extra kick with a segue into Costello’s “Radio Radio” reminiscent of the classic Saturday Night Live fuck-up. Bruce clearly got a kick singing this one into the mic with Elvis.

Then, just like that, the lights went up and the band left the stage. Four hours after we had first sat down, the crowd stumbled out onto 125th St, exhausted and agape. The only question that remained: how in the world will an editor cut that down to an hour?

John Fogerty at South Street Seaport 9/3/09

2009-09-07T13:20:00.000-04:00

John Fogerty can’t decide whether he’s washed up or not. Live at New York’s South Seaport, he certainly showed all the signs of it. He cranked out the hits as close to the originals as he could manage, he hammed it up as often as possible encouraging sing-alongs, he grinned goofily throughout like a man knowing he’s coasting.

At the same time, he exhibited the desire to remain relevant. He’s still releasing Grammy-winning albums and he gets decidedly not-washed-up stars like Bruce Springsteen to play on them. He’s playing plenty of new material live. And, more telling than anything else, he has made no attempt to reunite Creedence Clearwater Revival for a lucrative nostalgia tour (the fact that one of the four has passed to that green river in the sky helps).

During his 17-song set Wednesday night he straddled the line, playing just as many songs off his new album as old Creedence hits (seven of each). This would deserve praise were the new stuff not so truly banal. In August, John released The Blue Ridge Rangers Ride Again, the follow-up to his 1973 solo disc of country covers. “If you know me at all,” Fogerty said by way of introduction to “I Don’t Care (Just As Long As You Love Me),” “you know I looooove Buck Owens.”

It quickly became clear we wished we didn’t know him that well. Schmaltz with a capital “S,” these country clichés stripped Fogerty of the rebellious swagger that made him famous. The man who once turned “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” into an eleven-minute tirade of anti-war fury is now telling us about his “Never Ending Song of Love”? Come on now.

The poppier covers exhibited a bit more promise, letting the crowd joyfully sing along to “When Will I Be Loved?” and “Paradise” loud enough to drown out the cheese. The only cut from that ’73 album, “Jambalaya (On the Bayou)” proved the most successful of all, displaying an unbridled sense of goofy fun missing from the trite new disc.

Stripped down to a three, four, or even five-piece ensemble, even the most moronic of the country material could have had some life. With ten musicians behind Fogerty all trying to be the loudest person on stage though, any soul was crushed by overproduction. In a clear case of too many people with not enough to do, some songs had five guitarists all playing the same part. Next to the numbers singing though this seemed conservative. Factor in a solo-happy drummer thrashing away like he was in a Slayer tribute band and the overabundance of musician onstage crushed any attempt at nuance.

Unfortunately, that held for the classics as well. Creedence did a pretty good “Born on the Bayou” with only four guys; adding six more without a new arrangement proves that more is much, much less. Hits like “Green River” and “Fortunate Son” benefited from the original stripped-back attack that allowed Fogerty’s down-south twang to burst forth in all its fury. The lush wall-of-sound dulled the impact of these hits to such a degree that a crowd wanting hits and only hits grew bored of the half-hearted sing-alongs.

Fogerty hams it up so much he should be a butcher (speaking of cheesy…), but the man has such confidence he pulls it off…sometimes. His constant pointing to the crowd - loopy grin on his face, helmet hair on his head - made him seem friendly and welcoming while touches like a guitar made from a baseball bat on solo hit “Centerfield” were a cute touch.

The cheese went both ways though. Furiously tapping the fret board for a hair-metal solo on “Keep On Chooglin’” made him seem like a Twisted Sister wash-out and his constant need to turn to whoever was soloing like a proud father felt like forced humility. Still, he’s still a dynamite guitar player in spite of himself and ceding so many features of the pedal steel player wasted opportunities to shine.

The man’s voice has lost its angry-young-man edge, but he can produce a pretty good facsimile on old tunes, yelps and voice cracks exactly where you remember them. If that makes him sometimes sound like a karaoke singer trying too hard, it’s hard to blame him for imitating himself.

The inevitable closing trinity of “Bad Mood Rising,” “Fortunate Son” and “Proud Mary” finally brought the crowd to life. If the first two were hampered by a too-large band, the finale proved what Ike and Tina Turner had taught us decades earlier: “Proud Mary” will rock no matter how many people you throw at it. During the night’s first and only moment of perfect balance, the joy onstage matched that in the audience, the classic song’s riff lost nothing in the wall-of-sound delivery and, best of all, a schooner pulled in behind him as he sang about sailing down the river. For that final song, he settled on nostalgia, and figured out how to do it right.

SET LIST:
When Will I Be Loved? (The Everly Brothers)
Paradise (John Prine)
Born on the Bayou
Green River
Lookin’ Out My Back Door
Never Ending Song of Love (Delaney Bramlett)
Back Home Again (John Denver)
Keep on Chooglin’
Change in the Weather
I Don’t Care (Just As Long As You Love Me) (Buck Owens)
Jambalaya (On the Bayou) (Hank Williams)
Centerfield
Haunted House (Robert Geddins)
Rock and Roll Girls
Bad Moon Rising
Fortunate Son
Proud Mary

Photos by Chris LaPutt (via BrooklynVegan)

David Bazan at Pianos 9/2/09

2009-09-02T14:13:00.000-04:00

"Can you save my soul?" one unruly audience member shouted out during David Bazan's private press gig Tuesday night at New York's Pianos. The reply was curt and unsmiling. "No."

An ugly duckling in the homogeneous world of Christian music, Bazan has never been about saving souls. In his band Pedro the Lion he would preach questioning to the choir, forcing the faithful to reexamine their (and his) beliefs. He swore onstage, criticized God and Christians, and generally probed deeper than the "Our God Is an Awesome God" crew. A devoted group of Christian rock kids adored him; the rest were convinced he was traveling the road to damnation.

Today Bazan is farther from soul-saving than ever. Pedro the Lion is no more and with it has vanished what little faith Bazan had left. A July article in the Chicago Reader detailed the rocker's fall from grace on the occasion of him playing the Cornerstone Christian music festival as an, if not nonbeliever, at least a skeptic. His newest and best record, Curse Your Branches, details his journey from certainty to doubt. At his first full-band show at Pianos Tuesday, he let the songs do the talking.

"With the threat of hell hanging over my head like a halo," he sang in "When We Fell." "I was made to believe in a couple of beautiful truths / that eventually had the effect of completely unraveling / the powerful curse put on me by you."

This leads into the song's pivotal question: "Did you push us when we fell?" (the lyrics on Bazan's website are all presented in lower-case, perhaps to avoid the thorny issue of whether to capitalize the name of a deity he's no longer sure exists). That line encapsulates Bazan's struggle -- he no longer believes in God, yet he is still talking to Him, blaming Him for his nonbelief.

Bazan played through the entire record at Pianos sans one tune, "Harmless Sparks." One song after another artfully described his upbringing in a fire-and-brimstone brand of Christianity that left him too scared to ask the important questions. "Too full of prophecy and fear to see the revelation right in front of me," he sung in "Bearing Witness." "So sick and tired of trying to make the pieces fit / That's not what bearing witness is."

This sort of poetry could quickly become stifling were it not for the rocking four-piece band behind him, channeling U2 guitar echoes on "Lost My Shape" and Fountains of Wayne poppy crescendos on "The Devil Is Beating His Wife," one of two tunes not off the new album. Bazan's powerfully melodic voice glided over the songs' stop-start rhythms, hardly needing the microphone in front of him even when he leaped into a powerful falsetto cry.

Bazan's a singer, songwriter, and top-notch bass player to boot. Though the focus was on lyrics, he was content to delve into extended jams such as the fuzzed-out intro to "Hard to Be" or the rolling drum duel in "When We Fell." If Bazan's earlier material (and that of just about everyone else labeled a "singer-songwriter" these days) has a failing, it's that without a catchy musical underpinning his lyrical density crosses over into dreariness. Not so on his newest work, which rocks as hard as it ponders, adding hummable hooks to his confessions of confusion.

As has already become all too obvious, it is difficult to resist the temptation to lyric-quote ad nauseum when reviewing Bazan, and for good reason. Since Curse Your Branches cements his reputation as one of the most thoughtful, most poetic lyricists working today, please indulge me one more quote.

"I might as well admit it," he sings in "In Stitches, "like i even have a choice / The crew have killed the captain, but they still can hear his voice."

Whether God exists or not, Bazan is right about one thing: the introspective thinking-man's Christian rocker (ex-Christian rocker?) has no choice. He has spent the past ten years chronicling his faith, why should he not do the same for his doubt?

SET LIST
Hard to Be
Bless This Mess
Please, Baby, Please
Curse Your Branches
The Devil Is Beating His Wife
When We Fell
Lost My Shape
How I Remember
Bearing Witness
Heavy Breath
In Stitches

(photo by Kurt Christensen)

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in Boston 8/22/09

2009-08-23T22:57:00.002-04:00

“Let’s keep the hits coming!” Bruce Springsteen yelled three songs into Saturday night’s concert. A good portion of the crowd cheered accordingly, but a not insignificant number of eye-rolls could be seen as well from the folks who realized that many of Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. era hits have aged about as well as a fish in the sun.

Springsteen is supposed to be the rare past-his-prime (sales-wise that is) hitmaker who has always remained fresh and vital in concert, bringing something new to the table with each tour. The Working on a Dream tour is testing that legacy. Usually a third of a Springsteen set is made up of new tunes; within weeks of beginning this outing in March we were down to two new songs: “Outlaw Pete” and the title track. Half the album’s songs have yet to be performed. Did Springsteen’s optimistic “Yay Obama!” attitude crash with the stock markets?

Set list criticism inevitably becomes an exercise in frustration, but this notable choice is indicative of Springsteen’s play-to-the-crowd attitude this time around. If he’s verging on a nostalgia show though – and with his recent announcement to play all of Born to Run during several upcoming shows it is becoming just that – it’s a better nostalgia show than anyone else is doing.

“Jackson Cage” got the show off to a mediocre start, with cheese-fests “Working on the Highway” and “Hungry Heart” keeping the sighs from veteran fans coming. Springsteen and the band seemed to be phoning it in, playing with passion-less precision. Though these songs were actually an unusual way to start a show, it felt like he’d been playing them night after night. The E Street Band is never boring, but they didn’t seem exactly vital yet either.

Even the new tunes seemed a bit tossed-off, like Springsteen had resigned himself to the fact (largely untrue) that the audience didn’t care about the new material. He pushed through the two songs like a chore, robbing the crowd of the narrative story-telling of “Outlaw Pete” we saw last time around.

The lame attempt at background visuals made things seem even more half-assed. The giant screen behind the band, a million-dollar piece of technology, seemed to have been programmed by a Windows screen saver. A sun image for “Waitin’ on a Sunny Day?” Not very creative. The psychedelic red pattern behind the band for a few tunes? Inappropriate. Images of threatening clouds…for just about every other song?? I don’t even know what to say. By the end it was almost a joke.

It took a pair of reworked songs from yesteryear to finally ignite the band’s spark plug, “Seeds” and “Johnny 99” thundering along like the freight train Bruce conjured in the latter. Max Weinberg – no Today Show duties tonight – pounded his toms like a man possessed, his emotionless face betraying the intense concentration of pushing these tunes to their powerful conclusions.

The sound at the Comcast Center, unfortunately, meant that despite his hard work Weinberg sounded high-pitched and tinny, like you were hearing the music through your friend’s cell phone. Charlie Giordano’s organ playing was shoved far forward in the mix – appropriate for “Dancing in the Dark,” not so much for the guitar-driven “Born to Run.” Guitars went M.I.A. in the sound system though, rendering Bruce’s “Seeds” solo and Nils Lofgren’s “Trapped” behind-the-back spasm inaudible. Roy Bitten’s piano? Suzie Tyrell’s violin? Forget about it.

Sound quality frustration helped the slower, subtler songs become the night’s highlights. The ten percent of the crowd not loudly yammering about weekend plans were treated to a haunting “Point Blank,” Bruce repeating “It was all there, and now it's all gone” like a man who understood the pain of lay-offs and foreclosures. Later, a special request from Tom, here at his 224th show, led to a wondrous “If I Should Fall Behind,” Springsteen largely on solo acoustic while couples in the audience swayed…and most everyone else headed to get more beer. Their loss.

Most audience requests though – and there were quite a few – led to cover tunes. As has become a nightly tradition, Bruce waded out into the crowd during “Raise Your Hand” (a cover itself) to choose among a sea of cleverly-crafted signs. First up, the Elvis Presley 1972 classic “Burning Love,” played only once before by the band and joyfully performed by the band after some discussion of what key it was in. Two songs later, a cover that needed no rehearsal: Jimmy Cliff’s “Trapped.”

For one of the only few times that night, band passion and audience fervor connected in a wave of shout-along emotion that went from soft to loud faster than a Nirvana tune. “Trapped” never got an official release until 2003’s Essential bonus disc, but the frustrated energy released during the build-up to the chorus showed a crowd far more familiar with it than “outtake” implies.

Two more cover tunes in the encore, both unplanned. The first came from an unlikely source: a blow-up sex doll, decked out with a red wig, devil horns, and a dress. I incorrectly thought this a request for the bland-as-mayonnaise “Red-Headed Woman,” but then again I didn’t see the dress’s color. “What’s she wearing?” Springsteen asked the crowd. “A blue dress!” “And the horns mean she’s a…?” “Devil!” “Devil with a Blue Dress On” couldn’t mean anything but the E Street Band’s “Detroit Medley,” a cover of a series of 50s hits originally strung together by Mitch Ryder. “Good golly, miss Molly!” Springsteen shouted along with more joy than he had showed for his own songs, and the band grinned along, mugging for the cameras and jostling each other around the stage.

Appropriately, Springsteen bookended the show with more hits (“Dancing in the Dark” and “Born in the U.S.A.,” though he left the setlisted “Bobby Jean” unplayed), but not before the gospel-vocal workout of Stephen Foster’s “Hard Times.” There would seem to be no surer way to lose an audience than by unleashing a nineteenth century ballad, but the power of Bruce’s voice showed the willpower of his message, a prayer loud enough to shake the seats. Backup singers Curtis King and Cindy Mizelle, largely unused through the rest of the show, built the song to a blast-you-away a cappella climax before Jay Weinberg (Max’s son, sitting in for the encore) slammed it into the 21st century.

Springsteen has referred to his “Twist and Shout” as his “stadium-wrecker” and, while the Comcast Center’s foundations remained quite firm, fans enjoyed the unplanned dance-along bonus. In a set aimed largely at pleasing the casual fans, a song that everyone in the building knows the words to (“Ahhhh…Ahhhh…Ahhhh…Ahhhh!”) seemed an appropriate closer.

DOWNLOAD
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=GC8GFLXR

SET LIST
Jackson Cage
 She's the One 
Working on the Highway 
Hungry Heart 
Outlaw Pete 
Badlands 
Working on a Dream
 Seeds 
Johnny 99 
Point Blank
 Raise Your Hand
 Burning Love 
For You
 Trapped 
Waitin' on a Sunny Day 
The Promised Land
 If I Should Fall Behind 
Backstreets 
Lonesome Day
 The Rising
 Born to Run 
Rosalita

Encore
 Detroit Medley
 Hard Times 
American Land
 Dancing in the Dark
 Born in the U.S.A. 
Twist and Shout

Islands live at the Bell House 8/19/09

2009-08-21T15:24:00.000-04:00

Photo by Kathryn Yu for SPIN

Vapours doesn't hit stores for another month, but for all practical purposes last night was the album's coming-out party. "This is our first time playing all these songs," frontman Nick Thorburn said early on. "Apologies if I've got the jitters." But, clad in a rhinestone cape worthy of the King himself, he pulled it off, with the strong new material keeping request shouters at bay.

Read my full review:
http://www.spin.com/articles/islands-unveil-new-tunes-tour-opener

Brendan Benson on the Roof 8/18/09

2009-08-20T22:16:00.000-04:00

One day we will be able to talk about rooftop concerts without mentioning the Beatles legendary Let It Be show. That day isn’t today. The comparison turns out to be more appropriate than normal though, because last night’s rooftop artiste Brendan Benson clearly figures the Fab Four as a primary influence. He would sound like them too…if they hadn’t been very good.

To be fair, every one of the SPIN magazine employees and friends on that Manhattan roof had a great night (read the official take here). The elements – good weather, free beer - collaborated with Benson enough that had he performed a set of Barry Manilow covers, the experience would remain positive. They would have just not paid him too much attention.

Except, wait, they didn’t anyway. Audience chatter grew so loud at one point Brendan chastised the crowd. Fair enough, but the Wonder Bread-bland performance inspired little reverence. “Don't wanna talk now / Don't wanna know why / You say you're lonely / But baby so am I,” he sang in “Don’t Wanna Talk.” Lonely…or bored?

Anyone wondering whether songwriting prowess in The Raconteurs was divided evenly between Benson and Jack White, the answer stuck out like Brendan’s green thumb. The just-as-daft-as-it-sounds “Cold Hands (Warm Heart)” threatened to lull us into hypnosis and another song featured lyrics that may have been pilfered from Barney the Dinosaur’s “I love you, you love me” classic.

“Good To Me” proved the low set’s only high point and even that could have been more me than him; I was imagining the White Stripes cover the whole time. The three-piece band cruised along on autopilot, content to earn their paycheck without any unnecessary labor. The slightest energy would have upstaged Benson, so perhaps their immobility was a sign of respect.

Regardless, listening to a Brendan Benson CD as background music for the enjoyable rooftop gathering would have sufficed. Trying to force ourselves to pay attention to him proved an exercise in futility. Long, boring futility.

SET LIST
A Whole Lot Better
 Eyes On the Horizon
 Good to Me 
Don't Wanna Talk
 Cold Hands (Warm Heart)  
Tiny Spark 
What I'm Looking For
 Feel Like Taking You Home

TV on the Radio in Brooklyn 8/11/09

2009-08-14T14:27:00.000-04:00

My second show of the week at Prospect Park (after Grace Potter and the Nocturnals) started off negatively: it wasn’t free. Now it’s hard to bitch about that since charity stood to benefit from our ticket purchases, but someone should have said what charity we had all shelled out $30 for. A worthy cause I’m sure, but which? I pondered that during the first group I saw (long lines prevented many attendees including myself from catching Chin Chin’s set), thinking the cause better be pretty damn good to make me put up with Gang Gang Dance

Things immediately got off to a shaky start. Gang Gang Dance slowly trudged into an Animal Collective-esq ambient intro, wavering synths and irregular drum pounding getting the crowd ready for the beat to drop. But it never did. This bunch of seemingly random noise turned out to be the actual song. The band seemed bored.

Bad sign.

As they continued to sound like an Air record played backwards, they totally belied their name – I’ve seen crowds more inclined to dance at a Phillip Glass show. Could this be a joke? Was the band doing a last-minute soundcheck during their set, cleverly pretending it was a too-smart-for-you song? If this sonic seizure was an attempt to win over Brooklyn’s indie hipsters (who, too be fair, are often into that sort of thing) the band overdid it.

Rhythm surfaced during moments of the one-hour-that-felt-like-ten set, and occasionally even a tune. Though the latter could have just been hallucinations caused by brain cell suicide. The lead singer’s dolphin chips were no dream though; she seemed to be playing for those of the opinion that Björk is just too conventional. The guy behind me mocking her random vocalizations actually sounded better than she did.

By set’s end a few in the crowd had actually tried dancing, perhaps believing that that was the key to enjoyment. From the pained grimaces on their faces though, their efforts proved in vain. The only person enjoying the show seemed to be the guy who ran onstage waving a garbage-bag flag erratically. At a Gang Gang Dance show, that seemed downright normal.

It’s a testament to TV on the Radio’s drawing power that the aural insult of Gang Gang Dance only briefly dulled crowd enthusiasm. The five-piece came out swinging with “Shout Out Loud,” frontman Tunde Adebimpo pogoing around the stage liked a hopped-up Jack in the Box while he crooned over the band’s jerky electro-soul. A four-piece horn shadow added the all-important melodic element to balance out the synth blips.

Well, I assume they did – due to TV on the Radio’s notoriously bad concert mixing, they were inaudible until five or six songs in. The band took a lot of heat for a horrendous-sounding Saturday Night Live performance some months back, but it seems the man behind the boards has learned nothing from the experience.

Bad sound only encouraged the crowd to sing along even louder. Were TV on the Radio playing an audience unfamiliar with them, the sound problems could have been catastrophic, but with this crowd they only proved a minor annoyance for those of us who wanted to hear the songs we love, not just imagine them.

With the energy these guys bring, aural imaginings supplemented visual reality. The dour-looking Kyp Malone – possessor of the best beard in rock – confounded expectations by periodically leaping into the air while producer-cum-guitarist Dave Sitek looked over the proceedings like a proud parent, singing along to every word though he wasn’t within ten feet of a microphone.

This band may have five members, but in the end it really is the Tunde-Dave-Kyp show. The latter even took over vocal duties on songs like “Crying,” his balladeer croon melting your heart with every drawn-out sigh. But whenever things threatened to get too beautiful, Adebimpo roared in with some “ba ba ba”s, defying the band’s complicated attempted at sonic landscaping by just turning “Halfway Home” and “Wolf Like Me” into sing-along rockers. For a band that could so easily verge into the pretentious, the man is essential to remind everyone that rock and roll is fun.

Not surprisingly, the set list leaned heavily on last year’s Dear Science, the record that topped every best-of-the-year list except mine (though it did make the top twenty). Singles “Golden Age” and “Dancing Choose” brought the soul groove in a way older tunes often did not, standing up stronger live as a result. “Red Dress” and “DMZ” slowly built to Malone’s climactic vocal turns, passion seeping through even the thickest of beards.

One can only hope Gang Gang Dance stuck around to watch this set. For by the time the band brought family and friends onstage to percussion-jam along with "A Method," TV on the Radio had shown how to walk the fine line between electronic noise and funk bounce. It seems you can please hipsters without totally abandoning the idea of making music people might actually enjoy.

Photos by Bao Nguyen (via BrooklynVegan)

SET LIST
Shout Me Out 
The Wrong Way 
Halfway Home 
Golden Age 
Crying 
Wolf Like Me
 Red Dress
 Young Liars
 Blues From Down Here
 Staring At the Sun 
Dancing Choose 
DLZ 
Encore
 Family Tree 
A Method 
Satellite

Grace Potter and the Nocturnals in Brooklyn 8/7/09

2009-08-09T14:33:00.000-04:00

Prospect Park’s Celebrate Brooklyn! series has no right to get artists as cool as it does. David Byrne? MGMT? TV on the Radio (look for a review of that one next week)? All (or almost all) for free. If this was the only musical event Brooklyn had, the borough would still earn its rep as the hip fan’s place-to-be.

Add Grace Potter and the Nocturnals to that list of inspired bookings. Grace often gets unfairly gets lumped in as a“jam band," but that unfortunate labeling didn't deter Brooklyn's hipsters who knew better. Potter may frequent jam fests, but she substitutes soul passion for mindless guitar noodling. When she begins playing a song, she knows where it's going, and directs it there with enthusiasm.

First on the bill were local boys Jones Street Station. Like The Band at their most rocking (think “Chest Fever”) this five piece blasted through alt-country folk-rock tunes like Grateful Dead album cuts. One of the two main singers sported a harmonica tool belt, whipping out a different keyed harp for each song, either jamming in the background or wailing in the fore depending on the song. His soulful croon pushed the mid-tempo songs along while the band thumped along buoyantly behind him. The emotional highpoint waited until the end though, when all the members put their arms around each other up front to join only a guitar in the “Tall Buildings” finale. Like a better-written “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” even an audience who had never heard of these boys couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for the show just passed.

A local band with a national following, Deer Tick followed Jones St. with some their own so-called “alt-country.” Dennis Ryan walked on the dark stage first, laying into a furious drum solo that managed to keep a strong rhythm underneath the flailing fills. Bassist and brother Christopher Dale Ryan soon quietly joined in, laying the bed on which the two entering guitarists could lie comfortably. They began a slow chordal riff, ringing into “Easy” like Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Three as a bar band. Leading man John McCauley puts a Bob Dylan whine over his My Name Is Earl appearance, even lending “Mr. Tambourine Man”-style harmonica intro to “Song About a Man.”

Early in the set he mentioned many special treats, and he started the guest appearances early with Liz Eidenberg coming out to duet on their ghostly “Friday the 13th.” The goth-country tune galloped like a horseman of the apocalypse, providing a joyful darkness over the otherwise light proceedings. Chris Denny soon followed for a “Dead Flowers” Rolling Stones cover, his yodeling warble betraying his Arkansas roots as his mid-verse guitar riffs showed he’d studied his Dire Straits well.

The real special treat came with Nikki of Those Darlins. She duetted with McCauley on the unremarkable “Cake and Eggs” because, as the woman behind me said, “they’re good friends.” More than good friends, apparently; following the tune McCauley asked her to take off her boot and fished around in his pocket to produce a ring. A toe ring, to be precise. Regardless, a proposal is a proposal wherever the ring goes and the audience went crazy. Happily, Nikki said yes, and much hugging and kissing followed. The band played a few more tunes, closing with a rollicking “La Bamba” that got even the most bored people-watcher up and dancing.

After an unexplained appearance by Senator Chuck Schumer, hot off his success getting Sonia Sotomayer appointed, the Nocturnals walked on the rose-covered stage. They started laying down a rock groove when Grace herself walked on, shaking a tambourine and dancing around the stage as she went into “Some Kind of Ride.”

The woman is a phenomenon of nature, a tiny thing possessing a huge soul voice. She belts each tune effortlessly, never seeming like she needs to breathe or slow down. Whether channeling a spiritual-with-sin sound on “Big White Gate” or a sassy you-know-you-want-it swagger on “I’ve Got the Medicine,” her gospel-blues confidence proved irresistible. Each song seemed bolder than the last, each verse brasher. Even when she played the B3 organ she seemed a fountain of channeled energy, rising to her feet to pound the keys all the harder whenever she wasn’t singing.

The band behind Potter kept up remarkably. If they ever lose her, a “The Nocturnals” show would be well worth seeing by itself. Both tight and loose at the same time, the four people behind her were having a blast but playing like true professionals. Scott Tournet’s frequent guitar solos on songs like “Stop the Bus” always had a purpose, raging up and down the notes without ever seeming self-congratulatory or meandering. The drummer’s rough-and-ready rhythms recalled a more disciplined Keith Moon and all backed Grace up with ragged background harmonies that never got too pretty to lose the edge. Their interaction with Potter showed their five years together, stopping and starting as she sang to emphasize her pipes instead of trying to compete with them. No one could overshadow Grace, so this band propels their own brand of funky roots-rock that Grace can wail over.

No crowd could resist this energy. Young and old alike danced into aisles, clapping and waving along like they just got saved at an old-time revival. Anyone who would call this a jam band has never heard the music. Call it soul, call it blues, call it rock and roll, just don’t call it “jam.” Jam bands get teenage hippies twirling ribbons, the Nocturnals get all ages jumping and hollering.

This was nothing compared to the reaction to “Sweet Hands.” Potter started the tune on organ, forgoing the a cappella intro that often precedes the song. Her bluesy riffing was matched by the churning band as the gospel-soul number built and built to a frenzy of noise. Just at the volume climax the dam finally burst as every member abandoned their instruments to gather around the drum kit and just start pounding away on a shockingly coordinated five-part rhythm. After an hour leading up to this moment the crowd exploded while Potter returned to her organ and finished the song so loudly she probably didn’t need the mic to fill the amphitheater.

Nothing could match that, so for their encore the band went for a more low-key approach with a soulful cover of Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” If no one had thought to compare Potter to Grace Slick, it now became obvious, Potter’s voice being a perfect fit for the psychedelic “Go ask Alice” builds. This was only the icing on the cake though, the cigarette after the sex, a familiar way to wind the crowd back down from the dangerous levels of ecstasy they had reached before sending us back out onto the Brooklyn streets.

SET LIST
Some Kind of Ride
Joey
Mastermind
2:22
Big White Gate
I've Got the Medicine That Everybody Wants
Ah Mary
Stop the Bus
Apologies
If I Was From Paris
Sweet Hands
encore
White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)

All Points West Day 3: 8/2/09

2009-08-08T18:48:00.001-04:00

Day three we were back to All Points Wet, with lightning warnings so bad they didn’t let people in until four. That meant Steel Train, Kitty Daisy and Lewis and my personal faves the Gaslight Anthem were all cut. Disappointing for many, but the remaining sets made up for it.

I should note that I’ve already written a review in a best/worst format of day three that you can read over at SPIN.com.

The first act to get going once the gates were opened was PT Walkley. Unfortunately he went on right as the gates were opened, meaning no one had made it to the stage yet. The few of us press folks who had been let in early watched him glumly play his set in front of a nonexistent audience. The tunes were chirpy with “la la la”s aplenty which only made the depressed delivery even sadder. The fest’s organizers gave him the boot after two songs anyway.

By the time Akron/Family got onstage the fans had arrived. They began an inane “We like fun” chant that the audience thankfully had the class to ignore before going into a forty-five minute set that made me think they actually had a strong distaste for fun. Or at least a bizarre understanding of the term. Endless drum-circle jamming rivaled some deaf-pan-flute squalls from the four-piece horn section. Half the set sounded like the band was tuning different notes simultaneously, until they would spontaneously drop their instruments and being some faux-Native American chanting or attempted rhythmic clapping. Only the most stoned enjoyed the tom-tom solos and ambient-tuning blares. Maybe this set would have destroyed at Bonnaroo, but here it just hurt.

Hopefully Akron/Family stuck around to catch We Are Scientists, a band that shows you what fun really is without feeling the need to chant about it. The skinny jeans and hair flourishes would be hipster if the band wasn’t having such a blast, twirling and jerking around onstage as they ran through one hook-laden rock tune after another. “Let’s See It” into “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” into “The Scene Is Dead,” and that’s just the first ten minutes. Unfortunately their renowned stage banter was at a minimum due to the new time constraints, but their energy never flagged. The same couldn’t quite be said for the audience, who put forward a decent attempt at jumping around, but was ultimately succumbed to the heat. The best they could do was throw dirt at each other. I guess that’s what has to pass for enthusiasm in this weather.

Over on the main stage, Echo and the Bunnymen seemed to think themselves far more popular than they are. A lazy, energy-less performance can come across masterful if the audience has enough nostalgia, but in this crowd few seemed to know or care who these sullen middle-aged men were. “Lips Like Sugar” opened the set and from then on the only energy shown onstage was Ian McCullogh berating the stage crew for god knows what. The man may have lips like sugar, but he has a mouth like molasses. Even a “Walk on the Wild Side” cover fell flat. Most people seemed only there to secure a good spot for Coldplay, and Echo and co. didn’t try very hard to win them over.

The Black Keys, however, are crowd-pleasers. Whether that appreciation was expressed in jumping, clapping, or mud-wrestling, the fans were into the show. Guitar wild man Dan Auerbach showed himself to a more controlled Jack White, busting out loud bluesy riffs while Patrick Carney pounded the drums so hard he broke through his snare at one point (and splintered countless sticks). Blues rock like a louder ZZ Top has rarely been more satisfying.

Coldplay came on the main stage with sparklers, candles, and a rapturous crowd. Given that far more hipster-cool band MGMT was playing on the other stage, those who stuck around for Chris Martin and co. were dedicated. The foursome’s military jackets seemed an attempt to compete with their lights and lasers for the crowd’s attention, but they needn’t have worried. Playing like the seasoned pros they are, these four are master showman, cherry-picking the fastest songs from their often mellow catalogue to get fans moving. Martin joked that the half the audience was just guys dragged by their girlfriends and, while he may have been right, these sing-along rockers proved sure to win over the most uncomfortable boyfriend.

They kicked things into high gear straight off with a pair from their latest album, “Life in Technicolor” and “Violet Hill.” From there one hit followed the next, each performed with a passion that made even the most nauseating tracks like “Yellow” (“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you”) come alive (the latter aided by giant yellow balloons that bounced through the audience). The newer songs got sing alongs just as loud as the old – I guess selling eight million copies of your latest will do that.

Hits may have abounded, but that didn’t mean the band didn’t have a few surprises up their cuffed-and-tassled sleeves. Coming out onto a small platform in the middle of the crowd, the band performed “God Put a Smile On Your Face” and “Talk” before leaving Chris Martin alone with the piano. He sat down and began a slow, somber minor-key intro. “Here comes the sentimentality,” I whispered to my friend. Then Martin slowly began to sing: “You wake up late for school, man you don't wanna go / You ask your mom please but she still says no.” It took the audience a minute to realize what was happening, but slowly gasps and cheers swept the stage. Martin didn’t crack a smile though, slowly one-upping Jay-Z with his somber “Fight For Your Right to Party” cover in honor of the injured Beastie Boys (video here). Some younger fans may not have known what was happening, but for the rest of us it was an inspired moment that proved both that Coldplay is not too big to pay special attention to an individual audience and that they have a real sense of humor.

Later they cemented both impressions with another unexpected cover, a full band acoustic “Billie Jean” on a second platform, this one halfway out in the field (video here). “We have infinitely more respect for you guys now that we’ve had to walk through that shit,” Martin quipped of their mud-filled trek to get there. Busting out a harmonica for some shockingly competent blues riffing he let drummer Will Champion croon just-released track “Death Will Never Conquer.”

In all honesty though, the entire show was really just leading up to one moment and everyone knew it: “Viva La Vida.” The biggest song of Coldplay’s career, the biggest song of 2008, it doesn’t get much bigger. And to everyone who says it’s played out, the thousands of people in the Liberty State Park fields Sunday night apparently hadn’t gotten the memo (video here). Crowd excitement seemed matched only by band enthusiasm, Champion pounding away on his front-stage floor toms while Martin leapt, walked, and crawled around the stage trying to let his voice above the crowds sing-along roar. Coldplay could have truly half-assed this one and gotten a great response, and after playing it to death for over a year you wouldn’t blame them if they did. The passion they put into a song they know damn well they’ll be playing the rest of their life was, in the end, the final testament to their unexpectedly inspired stage show. I was one of those guys Chris joked about, only there because a girl dragged me along. Well, Chris, count me a convert.

Photos by Tim Griffin and Chris La Putt (via BrooklynVegan)

All Points West Day 2: 8/1/09

2009-08-02T18:12:00.000-04:00

Day two of All Points West brought one welcome addition: sun. Not enough to dry up the mountains of mud of course, but enough so that the experience could be pleasant from the knees up. Against all odds, the good weather lasted the entire day, allowing for the kind of roaming musical exploration for which festivals were made.

First up was alt-indie rockers …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead. From their aggressively melodic instrumental opening through the finale where singer/guitarist/drummer Jason Reece leapt off the stage and roamed singing through the masses the crowd was enraptured with every noise crescendo and short blast of feedback. The band got so into their emo-hardcore that everything onstage that couldn’t get out of the way took a beating. As a solo piano number picked up speed Conrad Keely hit the keys so hard the keyboard collapsed. A drum kit later suffered the same fate, as did a large stack of amps that almost landed on a stage tech.

With the passion the band played with though, they may not have noticed. The duel drum setup propelled the thrashing suites through their rhythmic changes. Songs like “Isis Unveiled” featured lengthy instrumental breaks characterized by Keely’s serpentine guitar lines and Jay Phillip’s crushing bass bombardments. After fifty minutes the audience still seemed generally alive, but the band certainly did leave a trail of stunned in their wake.

The auxiliary stage energy continued with Electric Touch, a group of four rock’n’roll revivalists with strut of the Hives and the sneer of Mick Jagger. Singer Shane Lawlor prowled the stage like a feral cat, daring the audience to call him derivative. Closing the set with a pair of Ramones covers – “Do You Want to Dance” (a cover of a cover) and “Blitzkrieg Bop” – didn’t get the crowd jumping like they should have, but showed that these boys know where they came from and are proud to wear their influences on their ripped-leather sleeves.

Over on the main stage the Cool Kids were generating far less excitement. They ran through all their hipster hip-hop hits, but even chant-along jams like “I Rock” and “Basement Party” failed to elicit much of a response. The crowd would cheer every tune’s intro as they recognized the song, and then quickly fall silent as the Kids delivered another half-hearted rendition. The stage looked pathetically empty with only the two of them and a DJ and they walked around it like an obligation. Even their frequent encouragements of participation seemed limp. The only excitement of the set came with the addition of a guest MC, who ran around stage yelling incoherently like a homeless guy on the subway. When a crazy hobo upstages you, bad sign.

Kool Keith put on a far more successful rap show for one reason: Ice-T. No one could quite explain the washed-up rapper’s presence onstage, nor did they try. Billing himself as “the most expensive hype man alive” (a claim Flava Flav might dispute), Ice mostly bopped along on the side, occasionally throwing in a line or two. He threw down song “real gangster” verses, but no one paid much attention to his actual performance. The novelty of seeing Ice-T was enough.

Keith and his two-man crew provided high entertainment value all their own, roaming the stage in capes and head scarves dropping rhymes that sounded more like the injured-list Beastie Boys than any of the acts paying tribute to them. “We don’t stop!” they frequently informed the crowd (stopping to do so). And whether people were truly into the music or merely the novelty, no one wanted them to.

The energy continued to be relegated to stage two though, as the Arctic Monkeys packed show on the main stage featured a lot of blank stares as the much-hyped quartet did…not much. The press-adored British brats seemed generally too impressed with themselves to pay he audience much heed, running through by-the-numbers renditions of their hits that somehow rendered even their brand of hyper-catchy dance rock boring. Even the new songs off their upcoming Humbug (including one, “The Cornerstone,” never played live before) came off jaded, like the Cars busting out “Just What I Needed” one more time. Perhaps the new manes of hair they sported made movement impossible or perhaps jetlag was taking its toll, but on this side of the pond we’re not quite as enamored with this group as the Brits and such tired performances won’t fix that.

All this may have been Gogol Bordello’s fault. Maybe they suck the energy from everyone around them death-eater style. Otherwise I cannot explain the excitement of each and every performance these gypsy punks put on. My fourth time seeing them was just about like my previous three. The setlist hadn’t changed much, but neither had the energy, making the umpteenth “Start Wearing Purple” and “Wonderlust King” destroy the crowd as expected. In only fifty minutes Eugene Hütz commanded his army of misfits in a medley of Eastern Europe yell-alongs while he poured red wine on himself, beat the hell out of a metal bucket or broke his guitar in turns. They’re the perfect festival band, and if they never change a thing the show still won’t get old.

The sweat-soaked crowd left Gogol panting, longing for the cool respite of Neko Case’s alt-country. Her crystalline singing pumped energy into the slow folk tunes as the sun set behind her. One can only imagine how nice lying on the grass taking in the scene would have been if, oh yeah, we weren’t still in a festering mud pool.

My Bloody Valentine really should have been paired more closely with Trail of Dead as they’re the only two bands remotely complementary to each other. Where Trail of Dead lays their fury in the hardcore riffage though, My Bloody Valentine expresses it in passive-aggressive waves of noise. Kevin Shields sullenly led the famed shoegaze quartet onstage, launching into swirls of sound that made bones rattle as the band played humbly onstage. As low-key a group of live performers as exists, the incredible stillness of the members onstage provides the perfect contrast to the pure volume. If they look like they’re about to fall asleep (as they always do), where is all that racket coming from? To give the crowd some visual stimulation psychedelic background videos accompanied each song, blurry colors floating on the giant screen as the reverb continued its onslaught.

Vocals have never been a major part of the Bloody Valentine sound, being just another instrument in the mix on their albums. However at least there they are in the mix; live they were completely inaudible. Playing absurdly loud is fine, guys, but make everything loud. The perfect balance of their classic Loveless is lost when the whammied guitars take over.

At all Valentine concerts earplugs are handed to the crowd and the brave few who made it thus far plug-less relented under the onslaught of “You Made Me Realize.” This traditional set-closer has reached legendary status among concert-goers, a fifteen-minute barrage of noise that makes the preceding hour seem tame. Vocals? Gone. Melody? Gone. Chord changes? Gone. The real instrument now was volume, and these guys are virtuosos. As the distorted reverb grew to ever more ear-bleeding level it became a religious experience, heaven for some, hell for others. Half the crowd was throwing the band the devil horns, the other half giving them the finger. If that doesn’t mean they’re doing something right, I don’t know what does.

In a way that fuck-you attitude proved an apt introduction for Tool, who channel their angst in slightly more crowd-pleasing ways. The army of Tool heads was as strong as at Bonnaroo two years ago, taking no prisoners in their drive to attain prime viewing position. Not that it mattered; lead singer Maynard James Keenan stage in the rear of the stage the entire show, throwing up robotic silhouettes as he warbles his tripped-out lyrics over the band’s prog-metal blasts. Videos of fire and explosions continued from all corners, lights and lasers flashing around creating a show visually fascinating if aurally a little painful. Tool is clearly an acquired taste though, and once a music fan get the itch nothing satisfies like Tool Time.

All Points West Day 1: 7/31/09

2009-08-01T23:53:00.000-04:00

Thus begin the first day of All Points West, hereafter known as Mudstock ’09. Much has been made of the curse of the New York music festival and this one, only in its second year, didn’t have a promising start. A steady rain fell all afternoon, quickly turning the grassy field into a mud pit from which there could be no recovery. The views of the skyline and Statue of Liberty from Liberty State Park are magnificent, but looking through them while ankle-deep in sewage dulls the appeal.

Nevertheless, the music soldiered on. First up was indie heroes The National, playing for a small but devoted crowd of raincoat-clad followers leaning on every word of Matt Berninger’s famed baritone to provide shelter from the storm. The five-piece focused largely on songs from their highly acclaimed albums Boxer and Alligator, eliciting elated cries upon the opening notes of “Fake Empire” and “Squalor Victoria.” Berninger swayed around the stage while the band gently recreated the songs’ layers behind him, exuding focus if not energy. The crowd was rarely acknowledged until the finale of “Mr. November” when Berninger joined us in drenched solidarity, climbing into the packed pit to deliver the closing verses. This isn’t a band that blows minds live, but distracting a cold and wet crowd from their misery for fifty minutes is no small feat.

The fest had two stages and one tent, but the tent was set so far away from everything else few realized that an opportunity to watch live music out of the rain existed. Those who did drifted towards Carolina Liar’s southern rock jams, tight tunes packing boozy hooks like early Kings of Leon. Vocalist Chad Wolf (great Lynyrd Skynyrd-ey name there) tried his best to keep a bedraggled crowd focused, leading the audience in half-hearted fist-pumping. Keyboard player Johan Carlsson provided the best reason to pay attention though, looking wholly out of place rocking one hand per keyboard like a lost member of Duran Duran. His blond mane waved as he nodded his head, eyes closed in ‘80s solo style so much I was tempted to yell a request for “The Final Countdown.” The rest of the band paid him little attention though, and the music took just as little heed.

Up next was DJ and Adult Swim composer Flying Lotus. The first visually-inclined act of the day, he mixed video collages to match his beats, colors and shapes morphing like a way-advanced iTunes visualizer. Given that the wet afternoon atmosphere was no place for a dance party, the images gave the crowd something to focus on while listening to the music.

The rain began to abate as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs conjured a storm of their own. The three-piece melded garage-punk with new wave, guitarist Nick Zinner thrashing around behind his jagged riffs as Brian Chase snapped out drum machine-precision beats and Karen O swayed, swooned and stalked around the stage. All of this happened, incidentally, in front of a giant eyeball. Tracks from their most recent It’s Blitz dominated the set, but the crowd response to new songs like “Zero” and “Heads Will Roll” confirmed they were already band classics. Karen’s forest-nymph ramblings did nothing to kill the momentum and her inexplicable cowering under a knit blanket for several songs only added an air of mystery. Like all great frontwomen, you’re never sure if she’s incredibly theatrical or moderately psychotic (probably both), but you can’t look away.

The big news before the weekend even began was the Beastie Boys’ surprise cancellation of this and all other dates due to MCA’s (thankfully treatable) cancer. Where Lollapalooza bunted with the Yeahs as their replacement headliner – a band that, while excellent, has not achieved a level of popularity to deserve the honor – All Points West knocked it out of the park by booking a last-minute Jay-Z. In current popular culture at least, Jay is arguably an even bigger name than the Beasties, so few missed the brat rappers.

Always the gentleman though, Jay did not let their absence go unmentioned. Just the opposite in fact; he hit the stage running with a cover of “No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn” as images of the city flashed on the enormous screen behind him (video here). That naturally segued into his own “Brooklyn (Go Hard),” the thematic appropriateness of the transition compensating for the fact that we were in fact not in Brooklyn, nor New York state at all technically. The crowd went hard regardless.

The Jigga man slammed at breakneck pace through a wide range of tracks, from new single “D.O.A. (Death of Autotune)” (already featured on his merch) to old-school material like “Can I Live,” played in honor of Michael Jackson after a prelude of a bit of “I Want You Back.” A man with quite a few hits, he managed to play just about all of them at such rapid-fire pace he avoided the nostalgia feel, ripping from “99 Problems” to “Big Pimpin’” to “Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem)” so professionally in the encore it never seemed obligatory.

All the credit cannot go to Jay however. His ace ten-piece backing band rendered the onstage DJ all but irrelevant, hitting every bump and grind in the beats to let Jay’s delivery flow naturally of its own accord. They dropped loud Linkin Park riffs for closing “Encore” and funky keyboard swirls for “Big Pimpin’,” but stepped back when necessary, such as when Jay premiered an impromptu a cappella verse off his upcoming Blueprint 3. Admittedly, most of the crowd probably didn’t care as much as he thought we did about that hard-to-hear teaser, but after two decades at the top of the game Jay-Z has earned the right to be cocky about his appeal. Confidence needn't lead to complacency though, and Jay played a man with something to prove. What? Perhaps he was proving simply that he has nothing left to prove.

Paul McCartney at Citi Field 7/21/09

2009-07-24T21:18:00.000-04:00

Paul McCartney knows how to please a crowd. That talent more than anything was on display during his two-and-a-half hour set at Citi Field (the new Mets Stadium). He walked the line between nostalgia act and “artist” (said pejoratively) beautifully, keeping familiar songs fresh and making unknown songs feel classic. Massive video screens on either side of the stage projected his every twitch to the back row while a main screen behind the band showed video clips to support the tunes.

The first proof of his performance ability, though, came in the song choices. For an artist of Paul’s stature, there are really two ways to go. He could make like Dylan and play loads of new stuff – and make the old stuff sound like new stuff – or he could make like just about everyone else of his generation and not play anything written in the last thirty years. With the Beatles catalogue being what it is, he would be more justified than most in going that route.

McCartney’s more clever than that though, or more restless. Don’t get me wrong; he played plenty of Beatles songs (twenty to be precise). When you look at the setlist, printed below, each one seems like a no-brainer. “Of course he played ‘Day Tripper,’ you say. “How could he not?” Well, smart guy, he hadn’t played “Day Tripper” in decades. Look at a setlist from a previous tour (like this one) and realize just how many “must-play” Beatles songs he has that didn’t get played tonight. “Magical Mystery Tour?” “Can’t Buy Me Love?” “Penny Lane?”

The point being, Beatles hits could fill five stadium shows. So cherry-picking them as he did proved a brave choice (though to be fair, it’s not like he has a dearth of well-known solo songs). The tunes he did pick were classic (“Let It Be,” “Hey Jude”), historic (“I’m Down,” played at the Beatles Shea show 44 years prior) and sentimental (“Something,” played on a ukulele George Harrison gave him). He even dusted off “A Day in the Life,” a song he had very little to do with writing, as a tribute to “my friend John.” You can imagine the cheers that met those three words. He upped the sentimentality even more by segueing into Lennon’s solo “Give Peace a Chance,” using the song as it was meant: mass sing-along.

Perhaps most amazingly of all, Paul performed even the most staid classics as if he actually still liked these songs. The Beatles broke up forty years ago; the fact that Paul seemed to still enjoy singing “Yesterday” was either a minor miracle or an Oscar-worthy performance. An astute crowd can tell when an artist goes through the motions with his mind on the next payday, so even though everyone would have cheered “The Long and Winding Road” no matter how he played it, the fact that he seemed invested in these chestnuts enlivened even the most nostalgic bits of the show.

The lesser-known songs provided some of the musical high points of the show though. Seeing Paul McCartney sing “Eleanor Rigby” is a moving experience for all sorts of historical/sentimental/personal reasons, but the unfamiliar material had to stand up on its own merits, free of nostalgic associations. It did, beautifully. The two tunes from his most recent album, Electric Arguments released under the Fireman moniker, bounced along like rough-around-the-edges Hard Day’s Night outtakes, the harmonica-driven “Highway” in particular throwing just a bit of grunge into the pop. McCartney seemed proud enough of the new stuff that he saw nothing indulgent about throwing in half a dozen new tunes. When the artist isn’t making self-depreciating jokes like “This is a new song, so go take a beer break” the crowd is more likely to take him on his word that they do deserve to stand alongside the better-known tunes.

Throughout the show Paul seemed as chipper as the audience. You wouldn’t know he’d played the same set in the same place two times already that week. Always the most angst-free Beatle not named Ringo, Paul’s enthusiasm cut through all the fancy technology around him. He seemed so genuinely happy to be there singing these songs, it was almost cute to watch. The man may be sixty-seven, but he’s a long way yet from senility.

His band, however, seemed a bit more jaded. They kept the energy up throughout, but it seemed more self-conscious, an act to disguise the fact the fact that they were sick of “Let It Be.” To be fair, they did seem kept on a pretty tight leash. Paul wasted the two guitarists’ talent by having them perform note-for-note copies of every song's original solo like a karaoke Guitar Hero. Drumming legend Abe Laboriel Jr. took a few more liberties, pounding out crashing beats and fills to songs that benefited from the extra jolt of energy he provided. He seemed almost too good. When tightness comes at the expense of spontaneity, maybe it’s time to stretch out.

The unfortunate idolization of the "Original Recording" led to the band synthesizing every sound that wasn’t a guitar, piano, or drums. I can understand the desire not to take a full string section on tour, but piping in the horn blasts for “Got to Get You Into My Life” comes off as cheap. Surely Sir Paul can afford a trumpet player or two.

Perhaps that’s why his few solo performances felt so refreshing. “Here Today” was a gorgeous finger-picked tribute to Lennon that brought tears to those of us who couldn’t even see the photos scrolling on the screen behind him. Even “Blackbird,” the bane of budding guitarists everywhere, emoted a refreshing purity without extra accoutrements.

Now McCartney may not be up to a stripped-down solo tour like Bruce Springsteen. Being the crowd-pleaser that he is, I don’t think he could bear to force an audience to suffer through a (gasp) string-free version of “The Long and Winding Road.” Still, the line between nostalgia and creativity runs thin and, though he hit the mark at Citi Field, his position was precarious. So keep playing your new songs, Paul, and maybe even consider revamping the old. The audience loves this music as much as you do. They’ve stuck with you for forty-five years; you’re not going to lose ‘em now. Trust us.

DOWNLOAD RECORDING
http://rapidshare.com/files/259503044/Paul_McCartney_CitiField_7-21-09_I.zip
http://rapidshare.com/files/259549410/Paul_McCartney_CitiField_7-21-09_II.zip

SET LIST
Drive My Car  
Jet  
Only Mama Knows
 Flaming Pie
 Got To Get You Into My Life  
Let Me Roll It/Foxy Lady
 Highway
 The Long and Winding Road  
My Love  
Blackbird  
Here Today  
Dance Tonight  
Calico Skies  
Mrs. Vandebilt  
Eleanor Rigby  
Sing the Changes  
Band on the Run
 Back in the U.S.S.R.
 I'm Down
 Something
 I've Got a Feeling  
Paperback Writer
 A Day in the Life/Give Peace a Chance  
Let It Be  
Live and Let Die  
Hey Jude

First encore 
Day Tripper  
Lady Madonna
 I Saw Her Standing There

 Second encore
Yesterday  
Helter Skelter  
Get Back  
Sgt Pepper's (Reprise)/ The End

Siren Festival 7/18/09

2009-07-22T21:01:00.000-04:00

In the gypsy carnival chaos that is Coney Island, locating the stages where the live music was coming from proved a challenge. Those that steered clear of the Island’s typical distractions like the Two-Headed Man and "Shoot the Freak" enjoyed a full day of free indie rock, courtesy of the Village Voice. Siren Festival started in 2001 - yes, that makes it older than Bonnaroo - and has become a summer staple for hipsters and families alike.

First up for me: Frightened Rabbit. This Scottish quartet kept their heritage clear with lots of checkered flannel and thick beards on three of the four (I'm guessing being clean-shaven is some sort of hazing rite). The display wasn't necessary; their country of origin from the moment they opened their mouths. Their set focused heavily on last year's much-acclaimed The Midnight Organ Flight, covering topics from religion ("Head Rolls Off") to diseased love ("The Modern Leper"), all amped up in volume to energize the crowd. Grant Hutchinson's pounding drums and brother Scott's brogue-ey yelps offset these charming little tunes, making this band sound significantly less than their namesake than they do on record.

Grand Duchy came on the main stage next. If you don't recognize that name, try this one on: Frank Black. Yes, the Pixies mastermind has a new band, and this one's about as "vanity project" as they come, being fronted by his wife and all. Her voice dug in with more edge than most indie groups, but the songs sounded like 4/4 plods that couldn't decide whether to be pop or rock and settled for some generic middle ground. Frank seemed a bit bored. When he could be playing "Gouge Away" or "Debaser," can you really blame him?

Luckily A Place to Bury Strangers soon arrived on the second stage and were well worth ditching a legend early to see. I already wrote about this set for Spin here so suffice to say I didn't know beauty could be so loud. Their rolling waves of noise cemented their nickname "the loudest band in New York” – they even threatened to top My Bloody Valentine as loudest in the world.

Back to the main stage for a band not quite as loud, but just as good: The Raveonettes. Their ’08 Chicago show was one of the best I’ve ever seen, so I had high expectations. Were they met? Ehhh… Their fifties fuzz was as tight as ever with the addition of a bass player, but the cute melodies Sune and Sharin produced seemed a bit lost in the afternoon heat. A small bar, like where I saw them last, proves an ideal spot for these Danes to get their Buddy Holly (Rave-on-) meets Motown (-ettes) tunes. A huge outdoor festival? Not as much.

That said, what was happening on the side stage was even more pointless. Every paper and blog had already decided that Monotonix was the breakout performance of the fest before Saturday even began, so expectations were high and the stage was packed.

Needless to say I was surprised when I got there and saw no band. I heard the band alright, blasting forth their Israeli “cock rock,” but the stage was filled with photographers.

I followed their lenses to the middle of the pit where the band had set up camp.

Again, in a tiny club this would be a great strategy. Down on the floor with your audience, rocking while mingling. At Siren I’m sure the two dozen people within ten feet of the band witnessed a show they’ll talk about for years. For the other thousand plus though, it wasn’t a bad show, it was a non-show. Not only couldn’t anyone see the band in the pit, no one could even see where the band was. A truly stupid move on their part. They compensated a bit by excessively crowd-surfing, but too little too late. Guys, the stage was there for a reason.

Spank Rock too bucked festival convention, but at least was more fan-friendly about it. A large VIP-only gulf separated the fans from the stage and Spank made it clear he was not a fan. It didn’t take him long to encourage fans to jump the barrier which they were more than happy to do. Security was less than thrilled, but allowed it. Their patience would soon wear thin.

Hipster kids went nuts for Spank Rock’s indie-friendly hip-hop, the tongue-in-cheek filth spitting from his mouth like an inside joke they were all a part of. Two DJs back him up as well as a percussionist and thing were going along well until the rest of the Spank Rock crew came in.

For Spank Rock isn’t just a person, it’s a collective. The Wikipedia entry gets so confused it switches back and forth between “him” and “they.” Technically the guy I’ve been referring to as Spank goes by Xxxchange. He just seemed so in charge everyone seemed content to consider him Spank Rock. When the others started rhyming though, he seemed to check out. He wandered around grinning while they rhymed and desperately tried to hype up a flagging crowd, but barely made a sound until he lay down on the floor and started trying to kick the amplifiers onto the audience.

This is when it became clear something was wrong. Security manhandled him away from the speakers, but he then proceeded to leap over the turntables and lie down behind them. Lie down or pass out, we couldn’t see. Regardless, he stayed there for twenty minutes while everyone onstage kept one eye on him to see if he was just wasted (I assume) or actually in trouble. The other eye drifted towards pixie rapper Amanda Blank, and up-and-coming Lady Sovereign type who, while undoubtedly as talented as Spank himself, faced the unenviable task of killing time until he got (or woke) up. The crowd grew bored, the performers grew bored, and boos began to ring out. I left at this point. Apparently Spank did eventually rally, only to be carried off stage by security after more misbehavior.

A bizarre end indeed to Siren 2009.

Photos by Chris La Putt (via BrooklynVegan)

The Dead Weather in New York 7/17/09

2009-07-19T18:14:00.000-04:00

I’m going to say the unthinkable: I wish Jack White wasn’t in the Dead Weather. I know that’s blasphemous, not to mention illogical; if the band was White-free, no one, myself included, would have heard of them. Live though, his presence is simply distracting.

Let me explain.

I’m as big a Jack White fan as they come. I’ve seen the White Stripes live four times (reviews here, here, and here) and the Raconteurs the same (reviews here, here, here, and here). In both groups he is the undisputed star of the show. Sure, he technically shares frontman duties with Brendan Benson in the Racs, but no one’s watching Benson. White’s stage presence is so commanding that even when he’s merely playing guitar in the background for a song or two, you can’t look away. All you want to do is watch Jack.

The same is true in the Dead Weather, and therein lies the problem. 90% of the crowd was there to see Jack White, Rock God. As a drummer though, there isn’t much to see. He’s perfectly talented at the instrument, clearly taking his cues from the fill-heavy style of Raconteurs drummer Patrick Keeler, but any band’s drummer is never all that much fun to watch. Yet through no fault of his own (in fact, to his credit), all eyes were on him as he…sat there drumming. It took a force of will to tell yourself, “hey, look at the other performers.” Jack White (dare I say it) is boring.

The moment one remembered to pay attention to the rest of the group – Alison Mosshart of the Kills, Dean Fertita of Queens of the Stone Age and Jack Lawrence of the Racs – the show exploded. As rock groups go, they don’t get much better, which is why it’s a shame Jack White overshadows the others by his mere existence. At Terminal 5 Mosshart prowled the stage like a feral cat, her shaggy hair covering her face as she twisted and jerked behind the mic stand. Her every movement emoted leather-clad punk like a young Patti Smith. She climbed on an amp to illustrate set opener “60 Feet Tall” and leant into the audience to lead – no, demand – participation for “So Far From Your Weapon.” She lit the only-pretty-good songs (of which these guys have many) on fire, drawing the eye even when the sonic pummeling sounded like an enthusiastic-but-uninspired high school punk band.

The guitarists thumped along gamely behind her. Lawrence lay down rumbling bass lines that threw a pinch of funk flavor in the garage-blues roar. Fertita, meanwhile, proved no slouch on guitar himself, riffing loudly and forcefully with more control than White could show to save his life. In fact, as a drummer Jack proved as frantic as he is a guitarist. The concept of “tight” is not in this drummer’s arsenal, but his raw pounding provided the distinctive backbeat for this sloppy blues. He slammed out on-again off-again rhythms in “Hang You Up From the Heavens” and proved able to handle the tricky singing-while-drumming combo in knock-out encore combo “Treat Me Like Your Mother” and “New Pony.”

His desire to sing makes me wonder about the future of this outfit though. For much of the show Jack seemed itchy, getting up from the kit between song and wandering around idly. Jack has “frontman” in his DNA and seemed a bit frustrated remaining in the background. He had two opportunities to sing up front and they seemed to prove the high points for him as much as they did for the audience. A brief solo turn at the stage-center mic for Them cover “You Can Never Win” gave the audience a little taste of what they wanted to see and when he finally picked up a guitar for “Will There Be Enough Water” the crowd seemed in danger of collective cardiac arrest.

He didn’t disappoint in this latter role, staccato-soloing all over the stage for the breaks between verses of this White-Mosshart duet. It was a glimpse of the Jack White the crowd loved, and it seems no stretch to surmise that his jerking and thrashing around behind his axe proved the climactic moment of the set for everyone there. At the same time, it just exacerbated the problem the foursome struggled with the whole evening. When Jack went back behind the drums for the encore the crowd breathed a silent sight of disappointment. He had whet their appetite, only to retreat. Talented though the other three unquestionably are, it’s hard to see the glass as half full when you know what Jack could be doing.

Like any so-called supergroup where one member is way more “super” than the others, the Dead Weather suffer from dynamic confusion. In everyone’s mind but theirs this group has two frontmen. The problem is that one doesn’t do much. Mosshart commands as much attention as anyone could under the circumstances, but when you’ve got the savior of modern music sitting on stage with you, there’s only so much a gal can do. When said savior seems just as frustrated with remaining in the background as the audience, you wind up with a musical Jenga tower. You have to wonder how many shows they have in them before the whole thing tumbles down.

Take away the trailing “s” in Screaming Females, and these openers would have one of the most accurate monikers in music. There’s only one female in this power trio, but she does do a lot of screaming. A tiny thing with a my-mom-did-it second grade haircut, Marrissa Paternoster played up here innocent pixie image in a dress that looked straight out of your local Amish market. No one in the crowd expected that goth-vibrato howl to come out of someone so petite, much less such windmill-tastic guitar-shredding. A lot of groups consciously try to ape Jimi Hendrix and his Experience, but the Females do so without even trying. The boys in the band providing a jerky, rolling backdrop that kept pace just enough to tell Paternoster, “Go wild.” She happily obliged.

SETLIST
60 Feet Tall
Bone House
Hang You Up From The Heavens
You Just Can't Win (Them cover)
So Far From Your Weapon
I Cut Like A Buffalo
Child of a Few Hours Is Burning To Death (West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band cover)
Rocking Horse
No Hassle Night
Will There Be Enough Water?
encore
Forever My Queen (Pentagram cover)
Treat Me Like Your Mother
New Pony (Bob Dylan cover)

Bruce Springsteen in Boston 4/21/09

2009-04-26T19:13:00.000-04:00

Though he’s from the Jersey shores, Bruce Springsteen has a long relationship to the city of Boston, all the way from a 1973 residency at Oliver’s to a Fenway double-header thirty years later. Springsteen’s last stop at the TD Banknorth Garden in 2007 proved to be longtime organist Danny Federici’s final full show before his death from melanoma. Boss-town fans are some of the most rabid and after both nights sold out in a matter of minutes, expectations were high for the Working on a Dream tour’s first stop to the East Coast.

Bruce wasted no time in getting the arena charged up, roaring straight into sing-along fan favorite “Badlands.” Fists pumped in the air while throats screamed the woah-oh-oh-oh-oh chorus for what would not be the final time that evening. A quick guitar change was all it took to lead him into “Adam Raised a Cain,” leading this reviewer to wonder whether he was going to play Darkness on the Edge of Town straight through, as he had previously hinted he might do with some albums on this tour. One of Springsteen’s most aggressive songs, it featured a searing guitar solo by the Boss himself, wringing layers of angst from each sustained note.

Springsteen is never much for crowd-pleasing special effects; even his Superbowl show in February was comparatively minimalist. So seeing smoke pouring out behind the stage exhibited a lack of visual theatricality rarely seen with the band. The lights dimmed, letting Bruce’s black silhouette emerge from the smoke to begin his epic “Outlaw Pete” off the new album. Pianist Roy Bitten cued the slow-burn orchestra sounds with his synthesizer while Susie Tyrell added the higher violin parts as the song slowly come together, verse building upon verse until finally Max Weinberg crashed in with his drums and the lights came on. Bruce indulged his newfound theatrical tendencies with a cowboy hat and frequent gunslinger tableaus which the addition of two backup singers led to seven vocalists blasting out the “Can you hear me chorus?” rivaled in power only by the surging crowd. Already a fan favorite, each refrain served as a release to the tension build-up of the quiet verses, and the audience took full advantage.

Not losing momentum, Springsteen quickly led the band into party anthem “Out in the Street,” which pleased the inevitable frat boy contingent immensely despite a botched solo from Clarence "Big Man" Clemons. I recently saw an interview with Bruce devotees the Hold Steady in which they complained that bands never smile onstage anymore. Well that’s not a problem with the guys (and gal) on E Street, grinning their way through a hit they’ve played hundreds of times before, thankful to let loose after the careful orchestration of the previous nine minutes. Bruce even gave everyone in the band a chance to sing the title line, relinquishing his lead singer duties, if only briefly.

Back to the new stuff for the simplistic “Working On a Dream” where the audience’s cries helped to mask the issues in bringing the pop craftsmanship of the new album to a live environment. Where previous effort Magic was rough-and-ready rock and roll, Working on a Dream is layered production, complicated effects bolstering otherwise pithy songs. In the Superbowl, this tune was given the necessary live boost by a full gospel choir, but without such here it fell to the audience to push it along. Obliged they did, singing along the chorus at Bruce’s prompting, but by the umpteenth time through it began to seem listless, a favor they were doing for an old friend rather than a true expression of emotion.

All that optimism faded quickly though as the band began was fans have referred to as the recession three-pack. The dark bluesy “Seeds” started things off, Springsteen stomping along as he half-sang/half-yelled about a man losing his house and wandering the streets with his family, oppressed by the cops and corporate fat cats who don’t care where he sleeps that night. “Parked in the lumberyard, freezin’ our asses off / My kids in the back seat got a graveyard cough.” There ain’t nowhere better we can just escape to, Bruce told us.

At the end of the song a friend says he might as well get a gun, and in “Johnny 99” Bruce explained what can happen to a desperate man with ammo. Originally a solo cut from 1980’s Nebraska, the full-band treatment featured plenty of soloing on violin and guitar between the character’s explanations of how circumstances led to crime. “Now judge, I had debts no honest man could play,” Bruce sang as the band brought it down to a murky rumble. “The bank was holdin' my mortgage and they were gonna take my house away / Now I ain't sayin' that makes me an innocent man / But it was more 'n all this that put that gun in my hand.” Little Steven provided more soloing to outro while Bruce stalked the stage, leading the crowd in a train-whistle whoo-whoo chant.

A second solo cut given the E Street treatment, “The Ghost of Tom Joad” made “Johnny 99” look like a pithy warm-up. The promise of this one was first seen on the Magic tour, when Rage Against the Machine’s Tom Morello blew Los Angeles apart with his furious soloing (video here). Not to be outdone, Nils Lofgren ripped into a furious, righteous solo that lept frets, octaves, and emotions as it screamed throughout the arena like Crazy Horse on speed. He jerked, he kicked, he spun in circles, and he damn near blew out his recent hip replacement as the band just looked on grinning.

The chords to a classic cover signaled the end of the recession special, but before Bruce started singing “Raise Your Hand” he asked audience members to raise not just that, but signs with requests on them as well. Dozens of prepared fans obliged as Bruce walked around the stage collecting them all. Glimpsing them as he put them in his pile, one saw requests both common (“Waiting on a Sunny Day”) and obscure (“Lost in the Flood”) enter Bruce’s imagination as he thought over which to select. His choice made, he began singing “Raise Your Hand,” climbing on Roy’s piano to more effectively encourage audience members. Jumping from a mad-dog bark to a shrill falsetto, his enthusiasm transferred to the audience, who didn’t need to know this simple rock classic to sing along.

As the song stormed to a halt, Bruce picked out the first sign and showed it around to the group. “The band does not know this song,” he said. “The band has never played this song.” he continued. And then: “Kevin…get me my guitar!” The song was ZZ Top’s “I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide” and he led the group through it after a few trial runs, starting solo guitar until he shouted the band in with a “Take it boys!” It was loose and ramshackle, Bruce reading the lyrics off of the request sign and giving solos to Roy and organ-man Charlie Giordano before Clarence “Big Man” Clemmons had his first sax showcase of the night. The band made it through without a falter as Bruce cried, “Don’t try to stump the E Street Band!” See a clip of how they did it here.

The next request chosen wasn’t as much of a risk, taking on the Born in the U.S.A. hit “I’m Goin’ Down.” The crowd dug it and the band seemed to use the occasion to take a breather after the previous tune’s challenge.

The break didn’t last long though, as the final sign pick was “Growin’ Up,” from Springsteen’s 1973 debut. Bitten’s piano backed the complicated Dylan-esq lyrics while Weinberg did his best to emulate the jazzy drumming of album drummer Vini Lopez. The song has lost some of its passionate urgency now that Bruce has actually grown up, but he digs into his pre-Born to Run catalogue so rarely it’s always an audience treat.

Reaction was decidedly more mixed upon the opening of “Waiting On a Sunny Day.” A tune he’s played consistently since releasing it in ’02, many feel it isn’t strong enough to deserve the prominent spot night after night. No matter how much people sigh when they hear the opening violin riff though, by the chorus few seem to be ignoring Springsteen’s cries to sing along.

Substitute harmonica for violin and 1978 for 2002 there, and the same could be said for “The Promised Land,” a never-fail staple that longtime fans have long ago tired of. If it may not quite have the thirty year staying power Bruce demands of it, the “Blow away!” bridge always gets the audience to peak fist-pumping volume.

Half the band left the stage in the darkness while Roy and Charlie dueted for a theme that sounded vaguely familiar. Wait, isn’t that…yup, it was the classic “Chariots of Fire” opening notes, leading into Bruce’s recent update on sporting redemption, “The Wrestler.” Bruce came to the microphone, standing motionless in the spotlight as he sang the Oscar-snubbed tune. An emotional highlight of the night, the heartbreaking lyrics about a man who “always leaves with less than I had before” as he tries to entertain a dwindling fanbase punch you in the gut harder than Randy “The Ram” himself.

Another new tune, “Kingdom of Days” seemed downright stagnant by comparison, Nils’ effortless slide guitar not enough to break this mid-tempo romance out of boredom. A casualty of trying to bring the pop sounds to a live band setting, “Kingdom” didn’t even effectively utilize the backing singers there to add depth, relying instead on lyrics far too weak to sustain interest. A fine song on record, live this proved the ideal opportunity for a pee/beer break.

A new face joined those onstage, son Jay replacing Max behind the drum kit in his training to take over his dad’s duties when the band goes to Europe and Max has to remain behind the lead the Tonight Show ensemble with Conan O’Brien. A sign request brought on “Radio Nowhere,” which proved made for this kid’s drumming style. Only eighteen-years old, he pounded the drums so hard dust was flying up as his long hair whipped around his face. Stealing the spotlight, his fills eclipsed even his dad’s in passion, a display by someone knowing they had to prove themselves to skeptics. Bruce even gave him a little drum solo to outro – has the E Street Band ever had a drum solo before?

He stayed on for a couple more new-ish ones, adding vitality back to “Lonesome Day” and helping reignite a spark inside “The Rising”’s message of hope and inspiration. Sure, he may have gotten the position because of his last name, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to be the next (temporary) E Street drummer and the band, looking on approvingly, clearly agreed.

For his final showing, he thumped the bass drum intro to “Born to Run” as the house lights came on and the audience, expectedly, went ballistic. I challenged and concert-goer to find a more passionate concert experience than the crowd during “Born to Run” night after night. Some dances, some jumped, some clapped, some fist-pumped, but all screamed their heart out to each and every word as if they’d never scream again. Bruce milked it with false endings, wandering to the front of the stage and even letting some lucky fans strum his guitar while the band mugged on. Clarence’s classic solo got a roar of approval that didn’t subside through the tune’s end, the band’s bows, and the wait for the encore.

The mood changed considerably when the band returned, lined up at the front of the stage to Bruce’s intro of “This is a song written in 1855 by Stephen Foster.” That song was “Hard Times,” as finally used the backing singers to their full potential as they helped the band blast through the a cappella-driven gospel that shook the bones and rattled the soul. The sound of pain and joy rolled into one, their blaring delivery whether with band or without (it went back and forth) felt like a release for the thousands in the crowd feeling the pressure on their wallets, their jobs, their families. It told them they weren’t alone, that if nothing else they could unite with their fellow man in fortitude and strength in hardship. Bruce opened the show by telling the crowd “We’re going to build a house!” and with this one he did just that.

Back to the twentieth century for “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,” a song given renewed notice by that frenetic Super Bowl performance, Clemmons hit the sax parts and Bruce gave write back, yelling “Now this is the important part” before he got to the section describing when “the Big Man joined the band.” They high-fived, did some choreographed arm-waving and a little two-step shuffle just like it was Steelers versus Cardinals all over again.

The band resurrected the Rising tour’s inspirational gospel-beat closer “Land of Hope and Dreams” to continue the inspiration, telling the crowd “This train carries saints and sinners, this train carries losers and winners” as the music built to a emotional peak. Then just when you thought it was over, going a slow-mo blaring first two lines of “People Get Ready” to keep the E Street gospel alive.

“American Land,” as closer of the Magic tour, was no surprise yet no disappointment, Bruce’s 2006 Irish immigration anthem that gets the crowd in the air and the band all clustered at the front of the stage. With band intros and much mugging, it seemed this would be the final song tonight too, but no! Everyone ran back to their normal positions as Bruce ripped into the classic guitar riff for “Rosalita,” a fan favorite that has more participation parts in one song than most artists have in their entire catalogue. This group didn’t miss a beat though, bopping along as they soul-clapped their part. “I ain’t hear on business,” Bruce yelled. “I’m only hear for fun!” The crowd, it seemed, felt the same.

Download the recording (mp3 format):
http://rapidshare.com/files/224860445/2009-04-21_Boston.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/224866499/2009-04-21_Boston.part2.rar

A Place to Bury Strangers at Dartmouth 2/6/09

2009-02-11T21:32:00.000-05:00

After a last-minute MGMT cancellation last year, Dartmouth’s Friday Night Rock has struggled to book well-known (at least in the college crowd) acts. Having spent much of ’08 opening for Nine Inch Nails, A Place to Bury Strangers looked to be a major coup for the group, getting a band used to playing for thousands to play for a couple hundred in a dank student center basement. The fact that the venue did not come close to reaching capacity, however, gives indication of one reason FNR struggles to bring viable acts.

Trying to engage the couple dozen lounging hipsters, openers Elks managed to be both ear-splittingly loud and mind-numbingly boring. Mixing abrasive metal riffage with classic rock guitar jams, their skinny-jean Metallica failed to win over anyone not personal friends with on of the band’s two Dartmouth students. The guitar work was tight and coordinated, showing potential if they tried to be an instrumental band, but anytime a groove started the build the lead singer leapt in like an barroom drunk yelling incoherently at the wall. Lead guitarist providing the saving grace preventing a collective audience eardrum removal, trying to steer the band towards Sabbath from Slayer with sharp riffs and clear solo potential. Too bad the other three seemed determined to drown him out with their meaningless wall of noise. In the battle of loud versus good, talent had to raise the white flag to volume.

A Place to Bury Strangers’ set hit a rocky beginning when their smoke machine set off the student center fire alarm and the police showed up to empty the building. Another talent that will never again pass Dartmouth way. Half an hour of waiting in the cold muck later, the band again gave it a try, smoke-free. The delay was soon forgiven as A Place’s soundscapes washed over the small crowd, deafening but beautiful. DEVO-style beats propelled along reverb-soaked guitar that echoed My Bloody Valentine and band heroes The Jesus and Mary Chain.

The A Place guitar effects put even those two in their place, however. And for good reason: lead singer/guitar man Oliver Ackermann’s primary claim to fame is not as a musician himself, but as a musicians’ tech guru, having founded the famous effects pedal company Death By Audio that supplies everyone from Wilco to U2. Ackermann knowing his way around reverb should no longer be so surprising.

More than just a gizmo band though, A Place employed chose unexpected chord progressions over melody, incoherent vocals only another ambient wave in the ocean of noise. Tempo-changing strobe lights helped the hour of noisescape keep a momentum, climaxing in Ackermann viciously ripping the strings off his axe and scraping them along the pickups, microphone, amps, other strings, other instruments…you get the idea. Total sonic meltdown, T minus zero seconds. The guitar was demolished, but the reverb lived on, and while the other two band members rocked on Ackermann then proceeded to play it by messing with – what else – his effects pedals while the audience craned their necks to see what he was doing. As feedback swirled and the band tried to rival with cacophony of their own, Ackermann stomped off. The show was over but the buzzing in our ears remained.