I've only been listening to Manchester Orchestra for about a week since my dear friend Burke-o-saurus-rex recommended them to me, so I wouldn't exactly consider myself the world's greatest authority on the band. Nonetheless, my impromptu decision to see Manchester Orchestra was a good one.
Lead singer Andy Hull jamming out (note: hat).
I can haz blurry picture of venue taken handheld at 1/4 second expozure???
The venue, Harper's Ferry, was sort of a far T ride for me and I had never really explored that area of Boston before (Allston) so I wasn't really sure what to expect. As we got off the Harvard Avenue T stop, I saw a kid in a flannel shirt with large headphones carrying a huge sketchpad also getting off, so my initial thoughts were "shit, this is going to be indie as fuck" as well as confusion over how this guy was going to do his emo-tears sketches at a show. Nonetheless, the venue wasn't actually that indie, it was more low-class bar scene that normally would have attracted low brow slutty blondes and bros rather than awkward high schoolers in high tops.
The scene was so chill that it would have been awkward, though easy, to push my way to the front of the stage, but I made the difficult decision to refrain from being "that girl" as a testament to my own self-integrity. The show started very low-keyish, since band members were on the (rather small) stage beforehand setting up their own equipment, so there wasn't that sense of the band members "presenting themselves" to droves and droves of audience applause.
Nonetheless, Manchester Orchestra put on a good no-frills show, and the audience was excited despite the lack of theatrical bravado. Andy Hull, lead singer, stole the show and definitely was the figurehead for the band. His beard also reminded me of pubes, which gave him a dual role as comic relief figure. One quirk in particular that made me LOLz in my head was Andy's black wool hat, which he seemed to obviously adore. He wore it nearly the entire show, even though he was clearly sweating balls and as a wool hat, this garment was impractical for body temperature regulation. He removed it briefly for one song, and then put it back on again. Oh Andy. I may or may not have a bit of a crush on your hunky Alaska-esque wildman ways.
Although I'm not that familiar with Manchester Orchestra's discography, I did find their live performance to sound much heavier than their recorded material. It definitely was way more "rock show" than I had anticipated, and although dancing was sparse, there were a few songs that at least made people put their bags down so they could clap their hands. For most of the show, I did that awkward head bobbing feet tapping thing that happens when music is almost danceable, but not quite.
It was also refreshing that Manchester Orchestra didn't take themselves too seriously. Most of the beginning of their set were old songs, which didn't bother me much because like I said, I just started listening to the band, but I suppose other people must have been sensitive to because Andy Hull's announcement that "this is the last of our new songs, the rest of our show is our old songs, all the shit you paid to see," was met with wild cheering.
Manchester Orchestra/Harper's Ferry
Chris Aschman Group, Chris’ Jazz Café
As I walked into Chris’ Jazz Café for the first time, I quickly succumbed to the dimly lit and quiet aura of a Wednesday night show. Though there was barely anyone there at 11pm, the group was playing away under the surveillance and scrutiny of hanging Dizzy Gillepsie, Miles Davis and Charlie Parker pictures. And as I settled in at my table close to the group, an incredible trombone player was riffing away on the instrument as if his life depended on it—I had a feeling this was going to be a fun experience. The background soundtrack to their playing was an especially distinct one that you can only hear at a live show- people whispering, giggling, and snuggling in corners. During the course of an hour (which literally flew by), the group played about 3 songs, each one extensively displaying solos from all instruments in a style that landed somewhere in between free jazz and bebop.
Each instrumentalist demonstrated their own style and personality. The bassist (questionably a cellist? there was a weird convo between him and a drunk audience member…I was thoroughly confused...but I will call him a bassist anyways since he was playing the bass part) plugged through with crisp walking bass patterns. He was energetically swaying back and forth, making jazz love to it with quick sweeping fingers roaming along the neck. The drummer was the musical flirt of the group, experimenting with all sorts of rhythms. He never stayed in one particular style or meter, moving between free-form, experimental patterns to swing patterns to emphasized offbeat patterns. Every time he led you on with one groove he abruptly changed to a different one. The guitarist, perhaps more of the serious type, started with often sparse chord contributions; but when it was his turn to solo, his were intricate. With three different colored pedals tossed casually by his feet, he added delays and reverb accordingly to emphasize his swift playing. The bass-sax player, seemingly one of the youngest in the group did less to thrill, but then he would whip out some improvisational solo that would convince you that he was holding back. The tenor-sax player played one great piece, starting in a minor key and shifting into belting solos. By the end, he was literally screaming through his sax in anguish. Unfortunately the keyboardist had little lime light, hiding behind the sax players for almost the entire performance; however, some occasional arpeggios would slyly slip by and catch me by surprise.
My favorite part had to be during one piece with an incredible drum solo backed by a steady bass pattern and guitar harmonics that chimed in (which with the effect pedal provided the background with an ethereal sound quality). I’m sure I had a goofy grin on, though I tried to hide it by sipping on some soda.
Overall this was a young band, with each member clearly belonging to the group but not at all shy about doing his own thing. They were having fun, laughing after every piece in joy, in retrospect at some of their mistakes (which often went unnoticed to my inexperienced ears) and even in wondering when that 1am performance end time would come (especially since barely anyone was there to enjoy it).
Marnie Stern (Zs, Gang Gang Dance) / Music Hall of Williamsburg
This was another one of the rare times I didn't go to a show to see the main band. To my surprise, Oh My Rockness lied to me, and Marnie actually wasn't at the top of the bill. Unfortunately, she wasn't in the best of health either. But with whiskey at her side to help cure her ailments, at least temporarily and pretty much artificially, she was able to pull through. This profile for Volume Magazine pretty much encapsulates my thoughts on her live performance.
Dear mother of four:
I’m afraid neither gardening nor pickling nor joining committees nor running PTA teas can save you from the omnipotence of patriarchy. Even in the grungiest of alleyways of the shittiest cities, The Man, not The Woman is going to grab you. Perhaps some music can lighten the burden of loneliness and dissatisfaction?
The you do happen to visit New York, take the 4 to the Upper East Side where you’re bound to find the most lovely/most badass of blondes sitting outside her rent-controlled apartment. All Kristen Dunsts in the wake of rehab. We will have a dinner party, we will invite Yoko Ono, Sleater-Kinney and Bikini Kill to feast on Slayer and Van Halen, and then casually regurgitate the amalgamation before nightfall.
You’ll find Marnie particularly inspiring because she’s found her own way of circumventing the trite patriarchy. Yes, she has ovaries of her very own, but she’s found yet another way. At SXSW she evaded another banal male-dominated line-up by replacing her back-up musicians with machinery. Who can a modern woman rely on for solace but her iPod (despite the hissing and moaning and dysfunction)?
She happens to belong to the rare breed of musicians that unapologetically embrace their generic indie rock roots. Not only will she admit her mistakes, but compensate in correcting them.
Don’t be fooled by lyrics about dolphins, songs about eggs and baskets, or stress-relieving mantras about diamonds and gold. Don’t get your panties in a bunch because she’s on the label Kill Rock Stars; don’t’ get super excited or get super bummed, because as much as Marnie is a Kill Rock Stars Rock Star, she’s not actually one at all.
Breathe and take a minute to learn from Marnie’s musical pyrotechnics. It’s not Van Halen shredding, Ian Williams tapping, not Dragonforce Guitar Hero shredding, nor Guitar Center Led-Zeppelin wanna-be shredding. This is straight estrogen-made-testosterone-fueled-I’m-a-bad-mama-jamma-shredding; this is guitar-virtuoso-eight-years-in-the-making-because-Karen-O-was the-only-cool-girl-back-in-the-day-*^@%!#&-shredding. The quick, high pitches she drums into her guitar and her banshee-of-Sesame Street screeching will simultaneously battle for your attention. Both will usually win, but sometimes they’ll both lose.
No matter. Just keep your fingers out of the line of fire, you soon-to-be-independent woman, you. You’ll need those hands of yours—hubby wants dinner on the table by 6:30. You can’t pass for Marnie or Rosie the Riveter quite yet.
Thanks hon,
Betty Freidan
Zs, Gang Gang Dance, (Marnie Stern) / Music Hall of Williamsburg
Ever since the venue Northsix was re-spawned as the Music Hall of Williamsburg (Note: I accidentally typed Williamsbarf the first few times) I've been itching to see it. Too much perhaps, because I arrived on time. Even before doors opened. Before the drunken few belligerently screamed with joy. Before the smell of weed permeated the air. Before the set music started playing. After visiting Terminal 5, with a mound of disappointment, the intimacy and floorplan of the Music Hall of Williamsburg has restored my faith in Bowery Presents.
Zs (pronounced Zee Ess) opened. The experimental/no-wave/progressive/noise/(take your pic of genre, just don't say classical or jazz!) trio plays hiccups of phrases, fading in and out of unison, in and out of meters, and at times, my realm of comprehension. At times their sound seems almost synthetic; the guitar and tenor sax often play in unison, creating a "melodic" (if you can call it that) line that almost mimics some sort of hybrid instrument. What makes Zs incredible is their way of incapsulating the feeling and sound of improvisation without improvising. It becomes immediately clear that their music is actually notated, once you hear the sax and guitar emerge from their own separate sonic worlds to converge on exactly the same pitch for the exact same duration of time. Don't believe me? The pictures on their website show them innundated with sheets upon sheets of staff paper. Percussion is a very tricky element of experimental/avant-garde music, and Ian Antonio artfully accents the other two in the trio, while maintaining his autonomy.
Girl Talk/Harvard Yard
Honestly, I'm not even sure this could be considered a show as much as a frusturatingly badly planned cocktease.
To be honest, I don't consider mashup to be a legitimate genre of music. I mean, I get it, it's technically a different song when there are different beats added into the background and it is mixed together in weird ways, but as a whole I don't dig the genre. Nonetheless, I had been listening to Girl Talk the entire week in order to hype myself up for this show, and I do have to say, Girl Talk's combonations of bad rap were quite acoustically pleasing as well as irresistable to dance to, so this show should have been awesome.
I arrive at the tail end of the pep rally that preceeded this (this show was free for Harvard students, it was a part of the Harvard/Yale football game, an event that basically constitutes waking up earlier than class to go drink alcohol, pretending to care about a sport you can't even begin to understand, and shitting on a school you also probably applied to.). It was maybe zero degrees out, so my outfit which consisted of two sweatshirts, a heavey jacket, and a wool scarf did not scream 'oh hey i'm at a concert that i'm going to be reallly sweaty and dance at". I'm one of those obnoxious bitches who thinks that there is a legitimate differnece between standing 20 feet away from the stage and being right there, so I pushed through the crowd to make it to the front,
Man oh man it was packed. It was the type of show where I'm pretty sure my feet weren't touching the ground. I dropped my cellphone at one point and had to bend down to get it, and honest to god that is how people die at these things. Naturally the show started a little late, but whatever no big deal.
The issue with what should have otherwise been an epic show was a combonation of Girl Talk's idealistic standards of "no barriers seperating him from the audience" in his contract, and the Harvard college event board's poor interpretation of this statement. The stage was a flimsy, temporary thing which apparently needed work done on it either than the show.
Unfortunately, the CEB failed to predict that a concert would break out at this event, and that perhaps the combined pressure of thousands of kids trying to get to the front of the stage would put unsafe pressure on the stage and cause it to shake, which was apparently unsafe.
Girl Talk played for maybe a total of 10 minutes, and those were an epic 10 minutes. The crowd was way into it, and it was so crowded that I did that thing where I didn't even move and ended up dancing just because it was unavoidable with the compression of the crowd. That thing also happend where one obnoxious jerk leaned to the side and subsequently the entire crowd ended up inadvertently swaying back and forth (with some people falling over).
About 10 minutes in, the police stopped the show because all the people touching the stage was making it unsafe, and apparently a girl had gotten caught under the stage. The police and the CEB people calmly (and completely seoriusly) told the crowd of over 1000 Girl Talk fans to take "10 steps back". Hilarity (and non-compliance) ensued.
It also did not help that Girl Talk said that he "loved crowds", which caused an additional crowd of people to surge to the front, completely destroying any efforts the police and CEB had made in getting the crowd to "take 10 steps back". Eventually, Girl Talk set up in front of the stage, and started playing again, at around 10:50 pM (and after a 40 minute interlude) for perhaps another 5 epic minutes until he was once again stopped by the police and the crowd was once again told to "step the fuck back".
Unfortunately, all events in Harvard Yard must end by 11:00, so there was no use in getting the crowd to back up and so the show pretty much ended there, after a shit ton of standing around and "backing up" we got to hear Girl Talk play for maybe 15 minutes. On top of it all, my scarf got lost in the crowd (although I did later enocounter it, stampeded into a dirt pile with 9824783 leaves). I've never been so frusturated with a venue's incompetence. If it was in Girl Talk's contract to not have a barrier seperating the crowd from teh stage (whcih I find rather idealistic, tbh), then why did Harvard not host him on a real stage, not a flimsy temporary thing? Or inside? Or at Tercentary theater, where Al Gore spoke to a crowd maybe 10 times the size and everything was handled calmly and logically?
At least Girl Talk isn't a sucker for Harvard elitism. 2 of the finals clubs offered to have him play, and he refused to endorse the nation's most exclusive and elitist institutions. (Although to be fair, one of these clubs offered to open the doors to everyone if Girl Talk would play there). All in all, it was maybe the worst concert ever.
Broken Social Scene/Land of Talk, Wilbur theater
What an epic show is pretty much the summary of this blog post. For real, I had a train to catch at 11:30 (for a show that started if I call correctly). My boyfriend asked me, "will Broken Social Scene play for over 2 hours", and naturally I was like "oh, of course not", and boy how wrong I was. Like most of the bands I have written about so far (soooooooo jaded), I've already seen Broken Social Scene, but I was truly blown out of the water for this performance.
Wilbur theater was a completely different venue than the one I had seen before. I had managed to nab floor seats (thank you, Cragslist!), and was litearlly touching the stage in the very center. I was actually mad thirsty, and the temptation to grab the water sitting on the side of the stage meant for the bands was a hard one to surpress.
One of my favorite parts of the concert was the opener, Land of Talk. I would not have known that the opener was even called "Land of Talk" had I not been close enough to the stage to read the tape labeling their equipment, because they never really mentioned their name. Needless to say, they were EXCELLENT. Their style reminded me a little bit of Rilo Kiley, and their casualness and modesty was truly admirable. At one point, someone in the (relatively vocal) crowd said "That song was fucking awesome!" and Elizabeth Powell, the lead singer, confessed that she "fucked up the bridge". The whole show had just a really personal feel, and people in the audience kept shouting stuff to them (which actually got like mad annoying after a while) and they just kept responding. The only time at which they didn't really seem to connect the audience was when they started talking about sports and clearly they were speaking to an audience that views sifting through racks at the Salv. Army strenuous excersize. Hipsters, how I love thee.
I acutally got to spend a little time with E. Powell after the show--I ended up having to leave the show a teensey bit early to catch a train so as we were leaving she was selling t-shirts, and I of course, had the shame to not only buy one (consumerism=so not indie) but to ask for an autograph (celebraty admiration=the devil). She really liked my bracelet. I'm listening to their EP Some are Lakes right now, and E. Powell did artwork for the cover of that too. (random piece of unnescesary informaiton).
Of course, I haven't even gotten to the main event: Broken Social Scene! What a fucking show is pretty much the summary of the event. Literally it may have been one of the most epic things I have ever seen. Elizabeth Powell was covering the female vocals (sorry, new woman crush of mine) and she did a great job. She seemed a little awkward at first but over the course of the show she really seemed to be hitting it off and meshing with the band. The best part about BSS in concert, in my opinion, is that they're just people having fun onstage. Like, they don't take themselves too seriously, and the fun they ahve onstage always seems to carry over into the audience.
Their set was honest to god spectacular. At one point in the show, they did this weird thing where they played a recording of this woman's voice (I think it was a Jamaican neighbor) and then they replayed the voice with a trumpet. It was really weird but also kind of cool. Definately the hilight of the show, for me, was Anthems for a Seventeen-year-old girl, which I could not believe that they would actually do live (esp since none of the female members of the band were there), and I couldn't fathom how it would work life, but everyone I talked to after the show was marveling at how epic that song was.
Unfortunatly, the show was abound with technical difficulties. At one point, I'm not entirely sure what happened, but they needed to turn the power from the instruments off or something, and so they could only play really quietly without electrical amplification. So literally the entire band sat down and started jamming and just doing whatever they could to continue the show. It was so great. I don't think words can communicate.
The Secret Machines/The Middle East
It was a Monday, and ish needed to get done. I had three essays and an art project due that week, and when I finally acquired some free time I decided to spend it in the most productive way possible--completely ignoring my workload and hopping one stop away on the T to see The Secret Machines. And my time was well worth it. Like TVOTR, I've seen The Secret Machines before, although the Secret Machines were a significantly different band I last saw them because original guitarist and backing vocals Benjamin Curtis, has left the band and is now replaced by Phil Karnats. In a three-person band, this makes a huge difference so I tried to go into the concert with an open mind. The Middle East is a weird music venue, because the atmosphere it gives off is far more bar-ish than concert venue. It seemed like a lot of the crowd was simply bar-goers (the most hardcore of the alcoholics...keep in mind that this is still a Monday night). Then again, I should use the word "crowd" in relative terms. Some of the high school concerts I went to that consisted mainly of pre-pubescent wannabe-stoners had much rowdier and far more numerous numbers attending. With that said, there was something to be said for being able to literally reach out and touch The Secret Machines without waiting at the show beforehand for hours and hours. Nonetheless, the absence of a real 'crowd" gave the show a very different feel than a typical concert.
The most notable thing about this show was that it was LOUD. Not loud like, "oh hey, this is awesome I really feel the music" loud, but the kind of loud where the beginning of every song made me jump because it sounded like an explosion, and every once in a while during the show I would notice how loud it was and cover my ears, noticing that it was still loud, and every time I unplugged my ears I could feel millions and millions of hair follicles being disabled for life. It was way unpleasent. I've made a resolution to wear earplugs the next time I go to a show. My ears were honest to god numb for maybe 2 days after seeing this. The other issue was the levels of the mikes--even though drums pretty much define the Secret Machines, they were way too loud compared to the rest of the band, and the voice mikes were way too quiet. You pretty much couldn't hear the lyrics to any of the songs, and singing along was weird because you couldn't hear either your own voice or the singer's voice so everythign was still sort of muted even if you were singing along. I don't think these sound issues were The Secret Machine's fault, becuase the show beforehand was equally as loud although I didn't notice any voice mike levels issues.
It's a shame that the volume was distracting to the show, becuase the music itself was acutally quite good. Unlike previous shows the Secret Machines did in the past (which were largely jam band-ish, playing for 25 minutes at a time, etc), this one definately featured more legit songs. The begining of the show was a nice mixture of a few old songs with a lot of their newer songs (which I am not that familiar with). This part of the show was good although as usual the crowd was more interested in the older songs rather than the newer songs they were trying to promote. It was a good mix though, so no one seemed too pissed.
The middle segment of the show was almost exclusively new songs. Not just old songs, but almost very mellow songs that were weird to dance to at a concert. At this point of the show, I was still enjoying myself, but the show was already running much longer than I expected. At a certain point, all their newer mellow songs started to somewhat blend together, and I began wondering if the show continued like this whether or not this was worth the 5 extra years of deafness the noise levels would inevitably cause.
What really shone was the end of the show, which featured nearly all old songs. I was really surprised that they did this considering 1/3 of the band was different from the time that these old songs were made. Regardless, it was nice to see that the spirit of the band was still there despite the membership shift. People were clearly most enthusiastic about the prospect of hearing the songs that got them hooked on The Secret Machines in the first place (slash drunk bar-goers had acquired the liquid courage to get themselves out there and dance). I was thoroughly impressed with the fact that they played literally without exception all of my favorite of their songs. "Lightening Blue Eyes" in particular was an amazing performance, although once again it was somehwat dissapointing that you couldn't really hear the singer.
In some ways, I wish that the Secret Machines had cut out the middle 45 minutes or so and just kept their show to the begining and end (as I have arbitrarily portioned this show into) segments. It was a two hour show, and with noise levels that loud it felt like longer. All in all, it was very worth my time and I really liked the Middle East as a venue (although I would STRONGLY recommend going with earplugs next time), I really and legitimately did spend a good portion of the show debating leaving, despite the awesomeness of the performance, just because it was so excessively loud and I truly felt like I was damaging my hearing by staying. It was not only unpleasent, but distracting. That said, it's hard to remove the volume issues from my perception of the show, but the Secret Machines had a great performance. They played as if they were filling an arena rather than a maybe 100 person (at best) crowd. Even though it wasn't completely member-wise the Secret Machines that I knew and loved, it sure sounded like it was.
Jay Reatard, Maxwell's
In the spirit of punk, let's try to keep this short and sweet. Jay Reatard, who I've affectionately dubbed "My Bloody Man", plays lo-fi garage punk so energetic and adrenaline-laced that he barely leaves time for you to breathe. No, actually. In his live show (hell, even in his demos), he leaves absolutely no space between songs. No pause. No break. No hiccup. No fermata. No nothing. Instead, he screams the name of the song he's about to play over the whir of noisy remnants from the last song. You're layered into 30 or so minutes of music, and you aren't allowed to escape. Not even for a second.
Ever since I first saw him on the cover of his album Blood Visions, covered in fake blood, half-naked, with messy hair, I knew it was love at first sight. After I listened to his demo, which is almost as energetic and adrenaline-laced as his live show, I'd realized the taste of Blood was just as alluring as the sight.
Jay Reatard happened to be playing two shows the night I saw him: one sold-out show in Williamsburg opening for Mission of Burma, and another in Jersey which he was headlining. I journeyed into the heart of Hoboken- a long and arduous journey made more difficult by wrong directions and inept police officers. (Shut up okay, I'm an ignorant New Yorker- Jersey is a trek for me). Despite the terror of leaving my venue comfort-zone, Maxwell's is well worth the trip: the space is intimate, unpretentious, and not far from the city once you know how to get there.
I ended up meeting some of the members of the band Tiger! Shit! Tiger! Tiger! from Italy who'd just played Lit Lounge for CMJ. They shared a cab with me, and were generally pleasant people. Unfortunately, we all missed Cola Freaks. Their music is very much in the Jay Reatard vein, except they're from Denmark, not Memphis, Tennessee.
There were no fights this time Jay played. He didn't kick anyone in the face. No one was punched. (Click here) for a youtube link to one of the incidents that, by my estimate, was the most blown out of proportion. The crowd wasn’t outwardly receptive to Jay Reatard at all, minus a group of moshing youngin’s at the front. But in some weird modern perversion of punk energy, despite the relative disinterested expressions in the room, I could feel very positive vibes. At closer look, I noticed people's microscopic headbanging and lips moving ever-so-slightly to mouth lyrics. Occasionally this reserved energy would explode when a crowd favorite was played. While apathy is usually irksome at live shows, the quiet crowd was more of a innocuous foil to the rock n’ roll chaos on stage. Just as abruptly as the set began, Jay Lindsey jumped off stage, his guitar still soaring, and fought his way through the crowd. That was his not-so-subtle clue that the show was over, and there definitely wasn't going to be any encore bull.
For a closer look into his bloody brain, check out his interview with Nardwuar, "The Human Serviette". Oh, Canadians...
Acid Tongue
Jenny Lewis, the reigning queen of quirk-country, recently dropped her latest, Acid Tongue. The smooth and streamlined sophomore effort relies heavily on the raw beauty of her scraping vocals and slick classic country infused with blues and gospel. Flexing her impressively well connected synergy muscle has led to new collaborations with Chris Robinson and She and Him's Zooey Deschannel and M. Ward. Oh, and someone named Elvis Costello. The former blossoming, ginger-haired child star (of Troup Beverly Hills 90210 fame) has blossomed into a thorny scarlet rose with the lyrical chops and arrangement sculpting skills to prove it.
And below, evidence that I should have caught a plane to California on September 13th to see Miss Lewis at the Echo in L.A.
Harlem Arts Ensemble/ Hettie Jones--“Our Inherited Dilemma”
A juxtaposition of introspective poetry reading from Beatnik writer/poet Hettie Jones and jazz performances from the Harlem Arts Ensemble, this was barely your conventional concert. Instead, I found myself in a medium sized performance space on campus, with rows of seats and some delicious refreshments in the back (yum). The Wednesday night show was an insightful look into how poetry and jazz have historically mated, giving birth to cultural transformations.
Serenading us with his gracious piano and soulful voice, Donald Smith started the performance by preaching of “a better world for our children.” Fittingly this notion of changing the world by acknowledging racial oppression, colonialism or war (basically the history behind music making) ties to Hettie Jone’s idea of the “inherited dilemma.” Every one of us carries around some form of cultural weight, whether we want to or not. This weight is inherited throughout history, but it is our personal and perhaps even musical choices that shape how we deal with/ change such cultural dilemmas.
Organize, riot, start a movement, create a revolution…form your identity!
The Harlem Arts Ensemble’s hard bop/free jazz played around with Charlie Mingus styled work-shopping (in-between performance and rehearsal), thrilling solos (“Meditations on Integrations”), and at one point some Latin flavored keys that made my teeth giggle. Jones experimented with extremely interesting breathing and rhythm patterns throughout her poetry readings of “Pale Face”, “Mother America” and “Air Jamaica”, which oddly caused me to hear words in a way I am not quite used to.
The last piece that HAE performed was particularly touching and nearly brought me to tears. The keys were playful and the trumpet melody pulled at my skin as it swayed back and forth. I truthfully don’t think I would have felt as powerful of an emotional towards the piece had it not been for Salim Washington’s explanation of why he wrote it. Knowing the personal history behind the song completely intensified the emotion I gathered from it. Now imagine the effect of one personal history on a song multiplied a thousand-fold--- that is the tremendous emotional effect history has on music or poetry.
For example—watch this modern interpretation of Mingus’ “Fables of Faubus” reinterpreted by flute-beat boxer Greg Patillo (who is awesome, check out his stuff), Peter Seymour and Eric Stephenson.
Now watch this historical depiction of the original version… and I’m pretty sure your perception of it will change.
As Jones put it, be “ear-minded, hear the world as you see it.”
TV on the Radio/Wilbur Theater
I guess a lot has happened since I saw TV on the Radio a full 2 years ago (at literally almost the same date) just after the release of Cookie Mountain in Brooklyn. I remember the crowd being wild, the music being insane, and the hipsters being ironic. Although there was still a fair share of hipsters, the crowd was noticeably "less alternative", not to mention slightly older. Additionally, the venue was a lot stricter, so perhaps the absence of mysterious puffs of weed gave the show a more mature feel.
This show was at the Wilbur theater in boston. My enjoyment of the show was probably a little impaired by the fact that there were two different types of tickets available, balcony and floor, and that i was way up in the balcony seats in what was probably a really intimate show. it was also impaired because another friend who was going to see the show was literally touching the stage while giving me the finger and making a "look how close i am, suck my dick" motion. ah well.
Quite honestly the opener, The Dirtbombs, were one of the highlights of the show.
a lot of openers piss me off because they try and upstage the main band, and pretend that the crowd is there to see them. particularly awkward is when the opening band stops singing assuming the audience is going to fill in the lyrics, and then are met with an awkward silence. The Dirtbombs were thankfully conscious that they were the opener, but yet still maintained high enthusiasm and the crowd was really into them. Randomly during the show one of their two drummers put down his drumset into the crowd and just started playing there, which was funny and probbaly really cool for people standing there but sort of awkward in retrospect. I guess that's something you can only get away with when you're not that famous/ surrounded by hipsters who would never dare show enough enthusiasm to run their hands all over his body in a Jonas Brothers prepubescent fashion.
The first thing I noticed when TV on the Radio got on the stage was how different their overall appearence was. Their look was a lot more clean cut and almost preppy compared to Tunde Adebimpe's wild afro of 06. Perhaps it was because I was not really in the crowd of dancing people, but the tone of the show seemed much more subdued than prevoiusly.
To be honest, I was a little dissapointed with their set. I'm not too crazy about Dear Science and nearly all the songs they played were from that, which is understandable and predictable considering they're trying to promote their new album but still annoying. Additionally, their old songs they picked were somewhat odd choices, like "A Method" The crowd seemed to want more old songs as well. Even when the newest single "Golden Age" came on, the crowd was enthusiastic at first but the hype quickly died down as the song progressed. I found their rendition of "Staring at the Sun" to be particularly dissapointing, because they sort of adopted the whole "all you have heard this song 32987899873427923 times so therefore we don't need to play this well" mentality.
One highlight of the show was "Wolf Like Me." Everyone was dancing for it, including me, precariously leaning over the nosebleed balcony. Don't get me wrong, many of the songs were performed well, but few of them were powerfully dance-y enough to make me want to brave falling down into the assholes who managed to nab the General Admissions tickets. Another awesome thing about their show was the transitions between songs--a lot of the songs blended into eacho ther in rad ways.
Even though I have a lot of complaints, keep in mind my objections are partly because of my "I must whine" Jewish prerogative. It was all in all a sweet show, although not as good as it could have been, and not necessarily the most memorable concert of my life.
Type rest of the post here
Sunset Stallion
Little indie bands in the Midwest have a habit of making cheap thrift store sunglasses look good without Gucci purses and irony to go along with 'em, so in that spirit, OUTdependent decided to pick one of the many indie bands in the Chicago area on TheNextBigSound.com that shows promise. So we set about getting a little virtual face-time with the Sunset Stallion to see what they've been up to, and lo and behold
they answered us promptly and primly like a good band should. So without further ado, the co-ed voice of Champaign, Illinois, Chad, Marty, Hannah, and Otto.
Outdependent: So band, what've you guys been up to this summer?
Outdependent: Under your influences, you guys list a whole lot of very American-sounding American bands: Ben Folds, Wilco, Sufjan Stevens. But lets say that in a dystopian future-world where the United States is shunned culturally and musically, you were forced to pick a music favorite from off the continent. Who would you choose and for god sakes why?
Outdependent: How did you guys pick your instrumentation, with two vocalists and all of that?
Outdependent: Are you guys looking to stay together throughout the college years, and do this for a living?
Outdependent: If music were not an option, what would you each like to do as a dream profession?
Think they talk pretty? Listen to them SING.
These Are Powers, People's Center
Good thing my NY legs can handle walking, and my Brooklyn street-senses can handle sketchiness, because the People's Center is pretty far away from my neck of the woods.
Turns out I had no reason to worry, however. The People’s Center is a cute New England house, with a wood-floored first room and an out of tune piano, that is used for shows and events for the community. Bands set up shop and sell merchandise, and vendors sell vinyl. I was greeted by two smiling Manic Productions employees at the door. This is what I dreamed speakeasies would evolve into in the modern age; a modest communal space, without messy rivers of alcohol, for a new kind of 'prohibited' material- weird, new music.
But, uh, when are the people going to arrive?
I was the only concert-goer in the room for a little over an hour. After a few awkward moments sitting, reading and staring by my lonesome, the throng began to gather. The crowd ended up just as amiable as the folks from Manic Productions, but with much more facial hair. Beards are the new black these days.
I missed most of Open Star Clusters' set, but they did their fair share of moshing, screaming and noise-making.
The Massachusetts trio Neptune followed, with one of the most impressive instrument set-ups I’ve seen. Most of their equipment was handmade, including synths controlled by lightswitches, guitars made out of scraps of metal and gas-mask vocal processors. Here's a photo from Brooklyn Vegan from another show:
These are Powers did a 30 minute set featuring some "world premieres" of newer material. I've mentioned before that opening bands can reveal a lot about the main act, and this show was no exception. Though I've felt These are Powers' heavier influences, they've always been shadowed by the music world's new emphasis on the diverse new-primitivist scene. Live, These are Powers seemed to exemplify exploding hardcore and punk leanings in the context of other deep influences: 3 parts punk, 2 parts dance and 2 parts "new-primitivism". Maybe 1 part miscellaneous darkness and mystery for good measure. (A while ago I promised to define this genre, but today is not that day.)
Lead singer/howler/”ghost punker” Anna Barie is not your typical ball of energy- dry and sarcastic but deliberate and only slightly sporatic. She spent most of the show hovering over her cup of (who knows what), spitting occasionally. During her set, she’d go on tangents about random things as if everyone watching knew exactly what she was talking about. I was amused, but the band just ignored her. She cried, “You can sing along because you already know the words...because they can be anything you want...they could be the last VHS you watched…” Near the end of the show, she jumped on her mic stand as if mounting a horse, and rode through the audience.
Seems appropriate. "These" are precisely "her powers". Her powers lie in ghost-like ambiguity of words and general vocal obscurity, ghost-like amalgamation of genres past and present; and the darkness, freedom, and punch of art punk. (EMPHASIS ON THE 'PUNK'. BRING EARPLUGS.)
Black Dice, Sebastian Blanck, Wassaic Project
While some of us here at OUTdependent sat through the pounding, chaotic existential mind-fuck cacophony that is Black Dice, I made my way upstate to the house of Mr. Sebastian Blanck, once the fourth member of the Black Dice. I tagged along with my friend, the talented young percussionist Kiril Sandor Orenstein Bauch, to a rehearsal with Mr. Blanck for a festival he has been asked to play at, up in Wassaic, New York. Everything about Sebastian Blanck, from his
disheveled Wafro to his fingers that have dragged paint across the white-washed walls of his massive one-room studio how a man content in his station. Once a member of one of the loudest thrash-post-punk-noise-rock-oh fuck it they were just really loud. Stop trying to put baby in a corner with your genre-bending, Black Dice! Anyway, the last thing Sebastian Blanck is now is loud or genre-bending. Blanck’s pop-folk-rock stands firmly in the footsteps of 60’s and 70’s giants like Neil Young or The Band. Not in any sort of pretentious way, or with an overwrought sense of irony. Blanck’s music approaches its influences with grace and humility, and is comfortable and worn in just like the Blanck home in the peaceful recesses of New York State.
In the days since Blanck departed Black Dice (mid 1990’s), he’s made quite a name for himself as a painter: his practice studio’s primary function is that of a painting studio: his own work is filed in massive canvas-holder-things that dwarf everything else in the room. Vivid monoprints of people parachuting onto lawns in their Sunday best hang on the walls. Sebastian explains that’s the work of his wife Isca, who paints as well. They have a one year old son together. All this domesticity plays a part in Mr. Blanck’s tunes, which have an affection for past places and events which only the healing salve of time can cultivate. There’s romance and retrospection in songs like “I Blame It On Baltimore,” and simple, unpretentious melancholy on “At Arms Length.” Sound delicious? It is.
That same inner peace that floats through the songs is reflected in Sebastian’s attitude towards Black Dice. “We were just a bunch of kids making noise and breaking stuff. I realized that the music kind of wasn’t my thing, but we remain really close friends, we’ve known each other since college.” When asked about whether he fancied the new, electronic material Black Dice is putting out these days, Sebastian sort of shrugs. “To be honest I haven’t heard all of it. I’m excited that they’re still excited about what they’re doing.”
The practice I attended was in prep for a festival up in Wassaic, aptly named the Wassaic Project, which showcases mostly artwork, but has some great musical acts as well. You can learn more about the project at this exact location.
The man paints to boot: the picture to the right is a painting of Sebastian and his wife Isca on a small stroll. Enough plugs for now, but I really like this guy, so you should too.
Gang Gang Dance / Black Dice / BATTLES, Central Park Summerstage
Part III-
They came on stage in business causal -button up shirts, dress jeans and dress shoes- amongst a crowd of band shirts, ripping skinny jeans and Keds. The infamous yellow drum-set sat at the front of the stage, with the cymbal set a few feet above the rest of the set, carefully mic-ed. It was refreshing to know that while I waited a year to see them, not much had changed.
The preciseness of the drummer and the energy he exuded was almost frightening at times. I watched carefully as his shirt became exponentially sweatier, and only a few minutes into their set, sweat had eaten every dry spot on his button up. The drummer's preciseness is particularly interesting when juxtaposed with the sound technicians' sloppiness. While Battles played, they all but begged for someone to come out and fix the broken connections and wires, and despite the disappointment on their faces and the very audible glitches, no one came until it was virtually too late. "Race:in" actually screeched to a halt, and the band scrambled to reconfigure their rigs. So, uh, what's the point of a soundcheck, again?
Live, Battles’ music lacks compexity, and the mathematical precision that defined their album, Mirrored, despite the drummer's intensity. Precision is needed, however, for music with such brief, heavily layered phrases that are passed around, broken down, and then built back up all in a matter of seconds. Part of the fun of seeing Battles live is being able to discover who actually plays what part, and to witness how they communicate and interact onstage. You can visibly see phrases being passed between the musicians, see them get broken down, and then built back up. But this is no easy feat; most of the band play multiple instruments at a time, and loop phrases so often and heavily it's difficult to remember what was originally played. Tyondai, (“singer”, keyboardist and guitarist) does a sort of interpretive dance as he plays, kind of emulating a recently greased and programmed robot (and I mean that in the best way possible, seriously); he embodies the simultaneous fragmentation and collective synergy of Battles' music.
While Tyondai was dancing, the drummer was sweating and the rest of the band was playing until their brains exploded into millions of pieces like shards of glass (the mirror reference is obligatory), the crowd stood motionless, much to the chagrin of the anti-hipsters. “It’s Battles, fucking dance!” Their pleas were eventually answered in the middle of "Atlas". “Atlas” began in a much higher key that made it impossible to recognize at first, but a few minutes into the song, not even at a significant change in the music, the crowd went absolutely ape-shit. It was as if someone bumped into some magical 'crazy switch'. I couldn’t breathe and police dragged at least one guy out of the crowd. Both the po-po and the crowd-goer disappeared instantaneously.
Three minutes later, as if nothing had even happened, Battles let the crowd down gently. That's precisely what Battles does best live- they aren't afraid to really end a song: rests, patience, space and all. The crowd listened to every ending note and then continued as perfunctorily as before. Not only did the crowd stand silently, but semi-dormant, not dancing or even moving for the entire rest of the show. Somewhere between sickeningly tame and sickening energetic, I was hoping the crowd would find a happy medium. They never did, but I enjoyed the show anyway. Where else do people sing along to songs with no words or take the time to decipher the most undecipherable of lyrics?
On the topic of undecipherable lyrics... I was hoping to hear “Ddiamondd” for an encore. I even memorized all of the words- yes, Tyondai IS speaking English, here is proof. A couple others in the crowd shared my hopes, and screamed for them to play it. Tyondai just looked into the crowd- "I wish I knew how to play that song." I would have found his response more clever had they played the song anyway. Instead, Battles played “Bad Trails”- an odd choice for an encore. While most bands leave their hits for the very end, Battles chose to leave one of their least recognizable, least popular songs (according to my unsubstantiated assessment of Battles' fanbase) for the encore. I'll take this as proof that they have incredible confidence in the oddness of their music. Not to mention, of course, that they should have just listened to me and 'learned' how to play "Ddiamondd".
GANG GANG DANCE / Black Dice / Battles, Central Park Summerstage
Part II-
There’s something about aging rock stars that warms the cockles of my little ole’ heart. Not aging rockstars like Mic Jagger, who should be dead, or at least offstage by now. But rockstars who are just beginning their careers or aren't as well known. Those who break through the pervasive 20-something monotony. Inherent in their age is a resilience to ephemeral fads and a genuine devotion to their craft. No one on stage, looked a day under 40, and no one in the front of the slowly gathering crowd seemed to mind. However, only a few brave souls made sure the last part of the band's name wasn't added in vain.
Gang Gang Dance, a Brooklyn group comprised of a drummer prone to spontaneous dancing, a man who controls pedals and electronics, and a charasmatic singer, sounds like the soundtrack to an Arabian mystery in a house club in the jungle. Somewhere between the amazonic leaves and techno keyboard is a guitarist...I guess. He was in the corner of the stage and didn’t seem produce much sound, despite constant strumming motions.
The lead singer looked a bit like Bjork, with gapped teeth and semi dreaded hair accented with a large burgundy ribbon. She whined with a childlike voice that boomed sometimes, and stayed quiet and pleading at others. At one point, the amps started rocking and swaying; the indie rock equivalent to an opera singer breaking glass. It was as if some ancient primal spirit possessed them and caused them to move. The balance between the vocals and the other instruments was sometimes off. I would have wanted to better distinguish between when the singer was reciting lyrics (and her voice should be a bit above the mix) and when her vocals were atmospheric (and should be set further back in the mix). The dynamics of her voice seemed haphazard.
At it’s worst, Gang Gang Dance sounds reason-y and amateurish. Often times the transitions between songs were more intriguing than the songs they actually morphed into. But as soon as I would think, “this is kind of cheezy” I would hear something surprising and interesting. And as soon as I would realize, “this is actually kind of nice” the motif would already by finished, or continue seeming cheesy.
At it’s best, Gang Gang Dance is repetitive but wandering and extremely danceable. As I’ve said before, opening acts can often reveal a lot about the headlining act. Gang Gang Dance’s music certainly alluded to Battle's math-rock repeition and Black Dice’s new-primitivism. (This term will come up again, and I’ll be forced to finally define it). The layering of percussion alluded to both math-rock precision and new-primitivism; at times every member of the band was banging on something or had some kind of percussive element to their playing. Sometimes the banging was so vigorous, that their instrument began falling apart. Gang Gang Dance is fun and playful without compromising the music to make it sound cheap or like simple presequenced music; Gang Gang Dance certainly tows that line pretty closely. Fortunately, they stayed on the right side of it.
Gang Gang Dance / BLACK DICE / Battles, Central Park Summerstage
Black Dice -
Saturdays With Thom in Jersey
A band like Radiohead has little prove, financially, artistically, or otherwise, and yet Saturday night at Liberty State Park saw them firing on all cylinders, working as hard as any up-and-comer to deliver. Two hours and fifteen minutes after coming on almost exactly on time, having completed a two-encore set that swept comprehensively and satisfyingly through some of their older material, there wasn't a sad face in the crowd. And then, as you begin to look around the crowd, you realize that the baseball-cap-toting ironic-tshirt-lacking mid 30's crowd that has permeated right through the thick crust of hipsters is not just a sad contingent of Aunts and Uncles who want to hang out with the cool kids. This is the meat, the very soul of the now-aging Generation X, the people who pulled us out of the vapid 80's with a little bit of edge and a whole lot of vigorous headbanging and worn jeans. And now they've come back to their Mecca, and that Mecca is your Mecca, and that Mecca is Radiohead. Amen.
"This first song is for Kings of Lee-Own. If we were that good looking, we'd be famous," said Thom before the band opened up with Reckoner. All of In Rainbows made it into the set, and after a longer-than-usual period of working over the same material (five years in between Hail to the Thief and this new one), the material seems to keep evolving to the point where the band is more comfortable with the songs now than ever, studio, Lollapalooza, anywhere.
Dr. Dog, Soundfix
Oh wait. This didn't happen, due to a "throat injury" in the band. I bet it'll mysteriously disappear for their show tomorrow.
Oh wait. Black Kids played at Virgin Megastore today. (I saw The Black Knight instead).
NOTE: The throat injury has been confirmed. Some of Dr. Dog's show dates have been resecheduled. I'm sorry I was hasty and cynical. I was just super disappointed I couldn't see a band I love listening to.
Siren Festival, Coney Island
I can't intellectualize music forever, all the time. So instead, thanks to advice from a friend, I'll dish out some advice of my own. For the most part, I took my own advice.
DOs: (I followed 3.5/5)
*PLAN what bands you're going to catch before you get to Coney Island. Don't be stupid and try to see too many, but be a little ambitious. Run the plan by the people you're going with. 9 hours may sound like forever, but it absolutely isn't.
*LEAVE during the last song of one band's set to get a good spot for another band at the other stage. I know, it's your "favorite song". Bull. You can listen to it while you push sweaty people out of the way and run from falling cups of beer.
*MOVE as close as you can to the stage. People will scowl. Scowl back. Flip them the bird. They'll tell you there's nowhere to go, but there's always room for one (or a few) more. Follow chains of people that seem to be succeeding at weaseling through the crowd.
*PAY attention to the DJ. If you're a music nerd, you could be pleasantly surprised. For example, I learned that Ted Leo from Ted Leo and the Pharmacists is a terrific DJ.
*BITCH and moan about condos.
DONTs: (I didn't follow 6/7)
*WEAR a Joy Division shirt. Really, stop!
*DRINK some random guy's bourbon. You might not die from alcoholism, but you sure could die from lots of other things...
*CROWD surf. You will fall. You will be laughed at.
*TAKE all of the free vaginal contraceptive film. It's not going anywhere, and you'll find another bimbo if your current bimbo bounces.
*JUST see the bands you've heard of. Experimenting will not make the event any less f. r. e. e.
*WEAR lots of clothing. If you decide to be skanky, be skanky on Siren day. Regardless, it will be hot and you will smell. You might as well be naked and more comfortable so you don't simmer in hot, sweaty clothing.
*SMOKE in people's faces. That's just obnoxious! Curb the habit until you're not in a crowd or at least have the decency to be aware of your puffs.
Fiery Furnaces, East River Park
(Pretend this post isn't incredibly I'm late).
Opening acts can often reveal something about the headlining band, and Drug Rug certainly exaggerated Fiery Furnaces' folkish tendencies. That, and their surprisingly low-key nature. It seems like no one is talking about their upcoming August 19th album release, and the attendance at the concert was lower than I anticipated. Low-key seems like such an odd adjective for such a quirky band with such a distinctive musical niche. However, Fiery Furnaces' quirk is distinctively mature: singer Eleanor Friedberger delivers spoken-word tinged, gritty vocals that almost verge on lacking pitch quality all-together, there are constant tempo/key changes, the songs carry dark undertones, careful schizophrenia and intermittent honky-tonk keyboard classical piano interludes. Particularly in a live setting, listening to Fiery Furnaces makes me feel like I'm experiencing being an adult through an infants eyes and the reverse- at the same time.
While there is certainly a lot of thought that goes into their music, there is simply too much to digest live- a lot of abrupt musical changes, wordy lyrics, and a vocalist with a pitch-to-noise ratio that resembles that of a timpani. Their ability to deconstruct and reconstruct a song but keep it cohesive is impressive, but difficult to follow unless close attention is paid. It's interesting that with all of this complexity, Fiery Furnaces chooses non-dynamic instruments. Non-dynamic instruments are just what I call instruments that don't respond to idiosyncrasies in the artist's changing velocity when playing notes. MEANING it sounds more mechanical, because the instruments cannot convey an artist's idiosyncratic expression.
That being said, the quality of the sound systems and the balance of the instruments were excellent, and the two drummers (count 'em, TWO) were fabulously in-sync and provided perfect rhythmic accompaniment. Plus, Eleanor looked like she was jabbing her guitar every time she played it and did the "walking-backward-awkwardly-while-clapping-thing" I love to watch (click here, then here).
St. Vincent, Castle Clinton
Castle Clinton is a beautiful setting for a concert. Orderly, timely, historic, and peaceful. The chairs reminded me a bit of a graduation or a wedding. But despite being a bit reminiscent of such vomit-inducing occasions, it was lovely. Seeing elderly people at concerts makes it even lovelier. Especially when they read sex columns in Time Out New York unabashedly.
St. Vincent is a terrific live performer. Recorded, her music is beautiful, but live it is beautiful with a twist- funkier, edgier and wittier.
Her choice of instrumentation was superb, and the sound translated perfectly to the audience (at least from where I was sitting). Could it be? A real sound check? The keyboard was very close to a real piano sound (at least compared to other concerts I've attended this summer). French horn, saxophone, flute, guitar, bass, violin and drum where carefully layered into each song. The violin was the main melodic accompanying instrument. I couldn’t even tell what it was connected to, but whatever equipment St. Vincent used, it worked well. The violin produced a beautiful natural tone on some songs, and strange highly processed distorted guitar- sounding tones on others.
Annie Clark, the woman behind St. Vincent, reminds me of a bird in her live performances. She doesn’t walk around the stage much, but she bows and pecks at the ground in fits of excitement. The way she holds her guitar in her hands in the middle of her small frame reminds me of an impatient mother-bird with a worm in her beak.
Annie has such a diverse range of songwriting. Though it’s not quite storytelling, it feels that way. Her music feels intimate, and the structure of the songs is a bit tangential and vagrant but somehow still cohesive. Soft and tender to loud and piercing, most of her songs encompass these contrasts and embrace an incredible, satisfying completeness. At times her music feels like a ball of energy gasping for ways to escape; at others it’s floating effortlessly. All of her songs place special attention on timing, silence and space within a piece- something that is lost in many other live performances of alternative music (as opposed to classical and sometimes jazz).
There are tons of people on stage, but I get the impression it's mostly Annie who is creating everything. Not only because she's the lead singer and because I know she wrote the songs, but also because of something less tangible about her presence. It’s not that her performances seem like improvisations, because they definitely don’t. But it does seems as if she’s giving the music breath, and its organically coming out of everyone's fingertips through her- the band is an extension of her voice, instead of just accompanying it. She couldn't always hit the high notes. But unlike seeing Cold War Kids in Prospect Park, I didn't really care. It didn't seem sloppy, but human. No one should ever need to strive for Itzak Perlman / Yo-Yo Ma perfection. Sometimes that type of proficiency gets mechanical. The point of music is to convey something. That process of communication gets lost in sloppy performances, but is facilitated through normal, human expression. Annie's vocal flukes were just that- normal, human and a bit expressive.
Her weaker moments are when her songs lose their completeness and don't have range. Without the range of familiar, weird, soft and edgy components within her songs, they become boring. The musicians on stage even give off a different vibe when her songs aren't diverse. The new, self-proclaimed "Prince-inspired" material she performed is just that- repetitive and too much like a parody of a "slow jam". (She used the word "slow jam" first, for the record... but plural, her slow jam songs would absolutely have a 'z' at the end). Alright, maybe a ‘parody’ isn't quite the right word, but it does feel like the new material she sampled is yearning for something else- some twist, some departure, some more Annie quirkiness.
Also, wouldn’t you think that someone who is constantly reminded of their past with the polyphonic spree would make sure to NOT choose all-white concert garb?
Whatever. Welcome to Brooklyn, Annie…like everyone else…
Who the hell is Ziggie?
Well, despite the tons of releases that dropped on Tuesday, I'm going to play a little catch-up. Sorry, no time to discuss the new Beck or the new Cocorosie 7 inch or the new Albert Hammond Jr. right now.
I forgot to mention one of the best parts of my July 4th: the train ride to Red Hook (even despite the J and F trains, and my horrible lack of intuition when it comes to directions). Some women in front of me were discussing philosophy. Deep. I, on the other hand, was discussing my fatty cut (deep) and how gross it was...
A black man dressed in all black clothing walked onto the train. A spiked collar perfectly outlined the circumference of his neck, and a tourist's hat squished the top of his naturally dreaded hair. His smile revealed, well, nothing- he was missing most of his front teeth, and a light lisp trailed his speech. Whale noises came from the suitcase in his right hand.
I looked to the thirty-something amateur philosophers in front of me. It's an unspoken rule that when something out of the ordinary happens on the train, you're allowed to break the tacit code of indifference, sangfroid and antisocial behavior to assess the situation at hand. They looked back at me to assure me that they'd heard the whale noises too. Together, we figured out the suitcase held an amp.
I looked at his amp and printed in white stencil was "ZIIGGYY.com". A homeless man with a website? Huh? Okay, maybe I was presumptuous. Maybe he wasnt homeless. Maybe he thought he looked really cool. According to some, much to the disdain of everyone else, dirty/worn-out stuff is the new black these days. Some choose the look, while others adopt it because of circumstances they can't control. He could have been some mix of the two.
I go to ziiggyy.com a couple of days later and it redirects me to a myspace page. He has friends. More than I do. He has pictures, even one with Citizen Cope. I don't like Citizen Cope, but, you know, people know him. He's on an indie label. Even with a few strong connections, I can't get a job at a label. People say things like "miss you baby" and "come back to England!" on his wall. My wall has messages like, "you're sketch," "traitor," and "get me a job...now...please!"
I realize that despite college, I'm probably going to struggle a lot when I get older. He'll be happy and dead by then. Shortly after that I wished I gave him the 5 dollar bill in my pocket...
Lots of bands, Afro Punk Festival Day 1, BAM parking lot
The Afropunk Festival continues until the 12th (possibly the 13th), but so far I've only caught the first day. Lots of people with lots of melanin in kind of weird clothing, stuffed in a parking lot. (# 34 and # 2 are the most appropriate...) Sounds like a good time.
I haven't seen the Afropunk film yet, because I've missed all of the 2309480293842 screenings near me. Perhaps I'll get to see James Spooner's newest film. Click here for more on the film/movement/etc....
The Apes:
I don't really get them yet. I have a feeling they are a band that sounds better recorded. Think Celebration vs. DJ Spooky vs. Gravy Train's odd-ball kitschiness without the excessive sexual innuendo. The bassist seemed to be having a conversation with someone in the audience the whole time. I seemed to keep yawning the whole time. Find out for yourselves.
Afrika Bambataa:
I had no idea Afrika was going to be there. What can I say? The Master of Records (capitalization is required) in the flesh with Zulu Nation. Except now he's older, bigger, without his shades, and spinning mediocre sets for an older crowd featuring James Brown and Stevie Wonder...and then Beyonce and run-of-the-mill dancehall. What happened? I don't know but God, I would kill my first born for one of those dookie beaded zulu nation chains.
Janelle Monae:
She was the act I really came to see. After a longer than expected set from DJ Prince (eh), and after having to peer between the annoying free posters that were given to some in the crowd, Janelle jumped on stage singing her poppiest, most danceable single to date: "Violet Stars, Happy Hunting". This girl has taken cues from the most unlikely of places: Disney, for example. Her entrance very obviously imitated the kind of announcement you'd hear waiting online for a ride at Epcot: robotic, child-friendly, and full of fog. Her onstage persona is the marriage of a cartoon character and a wind-up doll; like a cartoon she's only seen in her character black and white threads- a white and black jacket, highwasted slacks, cummerbund, and bowling shoes. Her bug eyes and quirky dancing might as well be part of her outfit.
Janelle crowd-surfs and throws water, ripping a page out of the aging rock n' roll handbook, but sings with an absolutely mellifluous, controlled, and expressive voice taken from Leena Horne's book. Hell, she even looks like Leena. I'm not sure if she's been influenced a lot by working with Outkast or if they're just on the same funky wavelength, but the wigged, heavily costumed guitarist might as well have been born with the name Andre 3000.
I appreciated seeing the live drummer and guitarist, but it would have been great if she could have recreated onstage a lot of the polished background music present on the record, instead of just having a DJ spin it from colored vinyl. I'll give her a break. She's a relative newbie so she can't quite roll with a deep musician crew just yet. That word 'musician' is key, though. As if I were attending some jazz concert or an old-school rock concert, she gave the musicians a bit of time to show off their skills, herself included. With jazz guitar backing her, she sang "Smile", a song well known in Nat King Cole's repertoire. It is this era she exudes in the very essence of her being, and it is this era she has recreated and given a futuristic edge in the essence of her passion.
Is this really music of the future like people proclaim? I wouldn't go that far. It's not that novel- it's pop music with a twist, and admittedly, it's a bit corny. Other people have blended genres before and in a much more unique, unnerving way. Of course, it doesn't have to be earth-shattering to be interesting. Is it good music? I'd absolutely say yes. The little twist she puts in pop music is just refreshing enough to work.
Palatable uniqueness is the first step to expanding the public's musical palate. Thanks Janelle, you "afropunk" (of sorts), you.
In honor of the newest DIY, The Bodega...
DIY venues are terrific and horrible. They're terrific for their horrible-ness, and horrible for their terrificness.
Though people seem to lament New York's past, the 80's maybe, when venues weren't filled with blog-hyped bands and weren't getting "shut down every two seconds", I don't. Maybe it's because I barely popped out of my mom's woo-hah before 1990 approached. Maybe it's because I got into fringe music pretty late (for whatever reason). Maybe it's because I have a hunch that smaller venues aren't getting busted any more frequently than before and because the "hyped blog bands" shouldn't be faulted or denounced for playing more intimate venues. Music for music's sake is a beautiful thing. And for goodness' sake: it's not Clearchannel, LiveNation or the now ginormous Bowery Presents. Yes, breathe a sigh of relief.
Pros...
-fringe music
-'music head' crowds
-little fluff
-ALL AGES!
-LITTLE/NO MONEY!
-more bands
Cons...
-shotty equipment / bad sound (usually)
-little ambiance: basements and unfinished walls could be a con for those looking for atmosphere
-no liquor license=potential trouble with Johnny Law...and no more venue...
A few notable DIY/ smaller Venues in BK, NY:
-Death By Audio: my highschool grad party was thrown there, and then everyone got kicked out for a broken sink
-The Bodega: owned by the folks at ChiefMag. Follow the murder sign downstairs. (more on the July 4th show, later)
-Goodbye Blue Monday: right next door. Looks like your g'ma's attic threw up. I like it.
-The Woodser
-Soundfix: okay, it's not DIY, it's an instore, but it's pretty damn close.
-Asterisk* Art Project
-Issue Project Room (though rumor has it that they're moving to a more permanent location soon)
-The Yard
***I forgot to mention
-Silent Barn
-Market Hotel
DIY/smaller Venues in the city:
-@ Seaport 219 Water Street: (brought to you by the people who produce the free summer shows at the Seaport...I'm not sure if it's still around)
-The Stone
-The Tank
-Less Artists More Condos
THERES TONS. Todd P claims he's booking less, but check his page anyway. He's a good place to start. If anything, I respect him for a genuine interest in giving artists a voice and a place to play, and for giving underage kids a place to go in a 21+, 18+ city.
High Places, Stuy Town Oval
So I was supposed to post things like "this is one spin off of the new primitivism movement" and "this brooklyn duo..."
But that won't happen. As soon as my foot touched the Stuy Town grass, I heard Mary Pearson say, "Thank you, have a great evening". As in, I heard Mary Pearson say, "Hey slow poke, the show ended before it even begun for you. Try being on time!" That's it. "Have a great evening." Damn. But don't be fooled, I still have something to say.
Summer in the city has always been full of music, but it seems that concerts are even appearing in the city's butt cracks this year. I don't mean butt cracks derogatorily...maybe I shouldn't have used that term. Listen, all I'm saying is people are getting more creative with venues, and I think it's a good thing. It reminds me of site-specific pieces or Le Blogotheque minus the French. ALL. SUMMER. LONG. I mean, stuy town? REALLY? At least one of Robert Moses' (many) failures can be used for some good- for anyone that can show up on time. Unlike me.
The crowd was very placid. Yes, a bunch of artsy kids in the middle of "the projects" are expected to be a bit on the quiet side, but I wasn't quite expecting deafening monotony. Even the children in the playground seemed to be under the constraint of some large mute button. Were people *gasp* listening to the music? I don't know. I wasn't there.
Anyway, I happen to like what I've heard of High Places. Even if they play the same song over and over again, I kind of enjoy listening to that one song. I've tried to pinpoint their sound, and I've realized I can only describe it this way:
Imagine watching 60's rerun television with your children on some sort of imaginary (hence the word imagine) legal hallucinogen- it must be legal. You and your children watch some show that has something to do with a washing machine filled with adorable children's clothing adorned with cartoon characters, small pieces of metal (nuts, bolts, etc...), and fragrant bubbles. Lots of bubbles. You just drank some tea with honey, and you and your children begin to sing. It's windy outside.
That whole scenario is what High Places sounds like. Go listen. Don't go to myspace.com/highplaces. You'll get this guy.
I've had enough of these 'I should have been there' posts. You should be sick of it too. REVOLUTION IS NIGH- I'm going to be on TIME.
Apologies!
As I edit this page and alter lots of html code, there will be lots of slip ups and accidental emails sent (I'm afraid I've already sent 102938102938019283 of those).
Sorry again, and please bear with me!!!
Subtle, Knitting Factory: old show, new post
This was originally written for something else...
My ticket read:
DJ Thanksgiving Brown / Jel (Solo Set) / Black Moth Super Rainbow / Subtle
Knitting Factory
Friday May 3rd
I knew who was playing, but this was a rare show where I didn't go to see the headlining band. Apparently no one else did, either.
Jel, one of the members of Subtle, began by showcasing live beats. The crowd was prepared to stand in a typically apatehtic, zombie-ish stance, but Jel's instrument-like mastery of the drum machine forced the crowd into a dancing trance.
That trance only lasted about two minutes. People were there to see Black Moth Super Rainbow. I thought I was there to see them too- until they started playing. If it weren't for their bizarre video projections (that would even throw Dan Deacon and his Wham City Collective for a loop) I might have died of boredom in their cloud of aural LSD. At times, I felt like I was walking inside of a Pratt student's acid trip. At other, I felt I was severely missing out on some huge joke. All I was certain of was that their brand of psych-electronica is absolutely best enjoyed recorded. At home. Without hippies.
An exodus of mass proportions followed Black moth's set, so I decided to stay and figure out what it was about Subtle that people didn't bother to try to relate to, or just couldn't grasp. A black guy with glasses popped into the doorway to take a picture of the crowd, and then disappeared. Oh my god was that Tunde Adebimpe from TV on the Radio? Yes it was!
Subtle goes on stage wearing white. He's stands near an altar fixed with skulls, fur, chattering teeth and other, much less identifiable objects. Doseone, the pint-sized firecracker of a lead singer struts on stage with a shadowy chin and an overgrown mohawk. Some Asian twenty-something in the crowd mutters something about hip-hop staying alive. Some bald middle-aged man in front of him pesters me about back injuries in old age. Forks were hurled, Obama was mentioned and so was Hitler. What the hell kind of group is this? A cult?
Maybe it wasn't a cult, but it was something strange. Subtle's stage presence seemed to hint at the music's peaceful dichotomy between respecting the past and forward progression: live instrumentation vs. turntablism, Doseone's primitive banshee voice vs. the technology he runs his voice through, a cello played with slide guitar bottlenecks and connected to effect pedals. These aspects of their live show were subtle bridges between the past and the present.
When listening to him at home, Doseone's esoteric 'raps' (some may prefer the word 'rants' or 'tangents') go right over my head, but somehow in the dark, cramped hall it feels like it makes perfect sense. Somehow it's logical that something so 'subtle' hits me like a brick. I understand the crowd, the costumes, and the altar. It's obvious: I've been welcomed into the cult.
Cold War Kids, Prospect Park - you get what you pay for
I'd planned on seeing a friend's band, The Baby Train, but my friends and I lacked IDs and extra dough. So, yes, as usual, my plans flopped, and I ended up at Cold War Kids. I had a feeling their lo-fi bluesiness wouldn't translate onto a big stage in the middle of some park.
Lo & behold I was right! I was pretty confused after the show, and if I wasn't already familiar with the songs on their set list, I wouldn't have enjoyed the vast majority of the concert. Also, not that this has anything to do with my disappointment, for some reason the band seemed to have a greater likeness to the French Kicks than they ever had before. I didn't notice that on my own, but apparently multiple people felt the same way.
So were they drunk? Were they sick? Were they tired? Maybe a little of all three?
I don't know, but overall, the band's sound was pretty muddy. Their sloppy, inconsistent tempo changes (especially the drummer's playing...aren't drummers supposed to keep time or something?), pitchy, scratchy vocals, and nearly energetic delivery was pretty disappointing considering how much I loved the recorded tracks.
I don't know why bands insist on using cheap-sounding piano sounds on keyboards. I only wish Cold War Kids could have been the exception, especially because they use a lot of keyboard in their songs and because the sound they use for the recorded material is so distinctive- you know, the almost-kitschy-five-cents-out-of-tune-upright-piano-sound that the Walkmen also use. For one song, Cold War had the audacity to use a synth. Really, guys?
The fellows from Elvis Perkins in Dearland lent their woodwinds and brass to a couple of the songs. It could have really added to the performance, if only it were mic-ed properly. I'm not much of a fan of Elvis Perkins in Dearland either, but to be fair, I haven't spent much time listening to them.
To Cold War's credit, they showed their versatility by exchanging instruments between band members every few songs. The flow of songs, and integration of the older album and the new one was pretty well crafted as well. The set list included "Welcome to the occupation", "Devil's in the details", "Something is Not Right With Me", "Hospital Beds", and "St. John" (my personal favorite). Seeing this jerky clappy dance-thing that all these guys in bands seem to do was reason enough to go, if anything. Almost.