The Polyphonic Spree is a spectacle to be witnessed: numerous robed singers and musicians, an assortment of instruments (cello, an array of horns, various percussion, etc.) and an outlook that can make any dreary day sunny. But this is live music, and just looking good doesn't cut it. Where the Spree earn their accolades and separate themselves from many other large pop-oriented ensembles is in the full presentation when 14 people (the smallest I've seen them, actually) are completely in synch with each other. There are moments when it seems like everyone in the band is functioning off of one brain. It'd be easy for Tim DeLaughter's symphonic choral rock band to come off as a gimmick. But a lot of their songs would still sound good if by a standard 3-piece band. The extras just sweeten the deal.
Excitement was in the air Saturday night as concertgoers eagerly awaited Andrew Bird to step onstage. Bird hasn't been backed by a full band during his Chicago tour stops over the past few years, as he lent his talents to unconventional and extraordinary venues, such as his 2011 show at the Museum of Contemporary Art introducing his innovative exhibit collaboration with Ian Schneller, or 2009 and 2010 when he played intimate, magnificently beautiful sets at Fourth Presbyterian Church. Having attended each of those shows, I was unsure of how the acoustics would travel in such a large venue as The Auditorium Theatre, but I knew somehow it would exceed my expectations.
Mucca Pazza opened the show, and until you see them perform, you won't truly understand the scope of their musical efforts. Andrew Bird put it perfectly during his set when he complimented them and described them as "30 people all committed to the same idea," while their website pegs them as being an "astounding circus-punk marching band," if that's something you can even hone in on as a genre.
The Subterranean was packed Thursday night with fans of three diverse bands, as The Dirty Feathers, The Shams Band, and Dastardly all played sets. What I like most about the Subterranean is how intimate a venue it is, where the space is small but comfortable. Everyone enjoys the music together like they're in the company of old friends, dancing and swaying to the music. Chicago-native bands The Shams Band and Dastardly co-headlined the show, where comedic and obscure antics played out as The Shams Band and Dastardly set out to resolve their longstanding "battle."
Opening up the evening was Chicago-local band, The Dirty Feathers. Hailing from Champaign, their sound is gritty and bold, with electrifying guitar solos peppering their set. Frequently the lead singer would wail emphatically as Wolfmother-esque guitar riffs ascended in the background. This five-person ensemble is well on its way to perfecting their Southern grunge rock sound, and were a great way to start off the show.
It is easy to pre-judge bands. One look at the thick-framed-glasses-wearing, happy-fun-time-haired, trio of Pearl and the Beard, and I had already labeled them HIPSTER is bold, judgmental letters. I mean they are from Brooklyn for Christ's sake. But, being a huge fan of their 2011 album "Killing the Darlings," I also knew they were really effin' talented. As I headed into Schubas on Saturday night for their sold-out show, I was prepared for a night of solid jams with a hint of the traditional detached coolness hipster affect.
But Pearl and the Beard is one of those bands that makes you eat all of your stupidly preconceived notions and wash it all down with a healthy non-ironic gulp of PBR. They were warm, friendly and really freaking funny on stage in addition to just looking really freaking cool in those thick-framed glasses. They also immediately engaged the crowd. Halfway through the second song, the audience was already out of traditional stand-and-stare mode, and was clapping along with "Sweetness."
I remember sitting in music business classes while our professors assured us that you can't make it in the music industry if you give away your music for free. No matter how radical our new thoughts (at the time) were that you could, they refused to budge. Well, years later I finally have a perfect case study to refute their claims in The Weeknd. Sure, other bands have given away their music for free (the almighty Radiohead) and most bands now find it standard to give away music, but few have had the trajectory from obscurity to having a choir of fans. The Weeknd has done just that. With three free releases under his belt, and only a handful of shows, he sold out his Lincoln Hall show in nine minutes. It's a different industry than most people visioned, but clearly it works.
The rambunctious duo, Craig Nice and Andy R. of Gauntlet Hair (Dead Oceans Records), may seem like two typical, young, and energetic mid-western gentlemen, but their onstage demeanor draws an opposite conclusion. Praised in the local grunge scene, Gauntlet Hair drew quite the crowd at Schubas Sunday night, where they headlined with tour mates and fellow Chicago natives, A Lull.
The duo that make up Gauntlet Hair, now-Denver dwellers, are familiar with the names, faces and places of Chicago. The audience was filled with friends and family, and Gauntlet Hair gave shout outs to Mom and Dad. Oh, the sweet adoring families doting on their offspring on stage — a truly heart-melting occasion. Sentiment aside, the duo made sure this fact was known: their undeniable stage presence is a force to be reckoned with. Chicago is their home turf and it would have been a damn shame not to witness them in full-unabashed fervor.
Nashville native Justin Townes Earle has gradually carved out his own name for himself in the music scene. Son of legendary musician Steve Earle and named after songwriter Townes Van Zandt, it was basically predestined for Justin Townes Earle to mature into the dynamic country/folk musician he is now. Earle's tumultuous early life was spent wrestling drug addiction and playing short-lived stints with a variety of bands before setting off on a solo career. This path allowed him to hone in on a mature sound and create an intimacy in his music that is unprecedented in the songs of many other country/folk musicians. The struggles brought pain to Earle's early life also created raw emotion that he pumps into his music with every song.
[This review comes to us from reader Jason Duarte.]
New Brunswick, NJ's Screaming Females are not just another three-piece punk band. It would be unfair and inaccurate to pigeonhole their sound as simply punk, garage or indie because it's all too vague. If you threw indie, garage, punk, noise, pop and a dash of darkness into a blender and set it to high, walked out of the kitchen, forgot about the blender, then came back an hour later, you'd come back to a huge mess, blended to perfection. Soak it up, wring it into a glass, introduce some radiation from your microwave and then you have Screaming Females.
Screamales, as the band's fans refer to them, played the Subterranean in Wicker Park Thursday night in support of its new fifth studio full length; the Steve Albini-engineered Ugly, out on Don Giovanni Records. Screaming Females' vocalist/guitarist Marissa Paternoster has a voice that carries the Riot Grrl torch. It isn't "pretty;" actually, it's quite an acquired taste, but once the taste graces the palate, a Screamales song to a fan is the bell to Pavlov's dog.
Anyone who's considered the option of aging gracefully needs to spend an evening in close proximity to Charlie Gabriel, the 79 year-old clarinetist and saxophonist who plays with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, and has a penchant for shaking his booty onstage. Gabriel's family has been playing music since the 1850's, and Gabriel himself has played with jazz luminary Lionel Hampton, among others.
Tuesday's lineup of PHJB musicians read like a who's-who of New Orleans Jazz: trumpeter Mark Braud; the aforementioned Charlie Gabriel; trombonist Freddie Lonzo (who's bio omits his birth-date, stating simply that he was "Born in New Orleans, Louisiana;") pianist Rickie Monie; clarinetist and vocalist Clint Maedgen; drummer Joe "Little Joe" Lastie, Jr.; and tuba player Ron Johnson. The group, whose members number at least in the teens, appeared at S.P.A.C.E. in Evanston as part of their 50-year celebration tour. They will continue to tour through mid-August, playing in venues from coast to coast, and internationally in Canada, Brazil, and Argentina.
It happens to every band fortunate enough to make it past its second album. The act of compiling a set list when it's time to tour becomes a sheer balancing act--deciding what new songs to debut on tour but still mixing in enough old fan favorites to keep audiences appeased.
This was what I was afraid of when I went to see Say Anything last Wednesday (April 4). Fresh off the release of their fourth album, Anarchy, My Dear--and factoring the double-disc element of their sophomore release, Say Anything have quite the arsenal of songs to select from. Despite my instant affinity for Anarchy and the well-deserved attention the album's been getting from publications like SPIN and Rolling Stone, I was still hopeful to hear hear some old gems at the pop punkers' headlining show at House of Blues.
There has been a lot written over the years about second acts in American lives, or the lack thereof. Many musicians have tried to follow up great success with different success. Some have triumphed. Others have crashed and burned. While it might be silly to some people to suggest that Wild Flag, born from the ashes of Sleater-Kinney, Helium and the Minders, could somehow live up to the sum of those acts, perhaps nobody told that to the ladies in Wild Flag. They have a fresh approach, unlike anyone who'd be cashing in on past successes with a phoned-in product. On their self-titled debut, the guitars are aggressive, the keys add pop and Janet Weiss' drumming is frenetic, as always.
At last night's sold out Metro show, the band was top-notch performing most of their debut, as well as new tracks and a few surprises. They began with "Electric Band", which is as close to a theme as they'll get without something called "The Wild Flag Song." Once the crowd settled after a couple familiar tracks, the band dropped in a few new songs that stayed consistent with their fiery tempo; one even coming across with a little Gang of Four-like angular sound. The set was front-loaded with Mary Timony-led songs that inspired her to strike rock star poses as she wailed, as long as they didn't interfere with her and Carrie Brownstein's little kicks. (At one point, Brownstein commented about the Nationals/Cubs game across the street and appeared shocked by the boos from many White Sox fans in attendance.)
Even though most of the album tracks didn't stray much from the record, "Glass Tambourine" and "Racehorse" featured significant diversions with a little psych-rock influence before falling back into place. A frenzied "Romance" closed out the main set to wild cheers from a mostly respectful crowd. For the encore, Wild Flag went to one of their hidden strengths in three covers - Television's "See No Evil", Bobby Freeman's "Do You Wanna Dance?" (closer to the Ramones' version) and Fugazi's "Margin Walker." They may never be revered like the bands the members are best known for, but that doesn't seem like their objective. Writing good songs, being entertaining, having a hell of a lot of fun? That's more like it. And they're certainly getting that done.
Hospitality opened with a set of catchy yet conventional indie-rock songs that sounded like if Camera Obscura had a bit more bite but less melody. Their set was also plagued with a strange mix in which the vocals took a while to get right and the bass guitar dominated, which led to one of the few times I've ever heard an audience member yell, "Turn it down."
The Congress Theater housed a UK dubstep invasion on Saturday night. If you kept reading past the word "dupstep," I'll now attempt to review just what that show was like. However, I feel that given the recentrumblings surrounding the Congress as of late, it's definitely worth addressing the differences that I noticed in the Logan Square venue since it was slapped with an April 17 Deleterious Impact/Public Nuisance Hearing at City Hall.
But first, let's talk about Feed Me. Now, I'm just like a lot of you, Chicago. I came from the land of the two to five hundred-person rock show. So seeing several thousand furry-boot-wearing, pacifier-sucking twenty-somethings bum rush a stage that doesn't actually hold a single instrument is not the norm for me either.
The first time I heard the Icelandic band Of Monsters and Men, it was instant love. They are not a band you have to listen to over and over to "get;" Of Monsters and Men are a solid septet of Icelanders supplying memorable melodies, thoughtful lyrics and general good vibes. Looking over the sold-out, packed-in crowd at Park West on Friday night, I got the sense that Of Monsters and Men has that effect on a wide range of people.
From hoodies to button-ups to flannels, the social genres blended together in the standing room only space at Park West. The band gave enough beat and energy for an occasional fist pump and enough pensive lyrics for a romantic sway or two.
Of Monsters and Men at the Park West (photos by Steve Stearns)
[This review and photos come to us from reader Rachel Angres.]
Following the energetic set by opening band Dry The River, there was a sense of disjointedness as Bowerbirds began. The stage was somber — in mood and lighting. The first few songs were hurried; Beth switched from keys to accordion as if it was a game of "capture the flag." Phil sang in his own timing, as the percussion rushed the songs into an abrupt ending.
Eventually, seemingly after realizing how loyal and forgiving the fans were, all five members of Bowerbirds loosened up and began to sing and play in synchronic bliss. Their faces relaxed and their eyes closed slightly. It felt as if the band had a need to share their emotional tie with each song, a longing to express their life stories through music. The enchanting harmonics of Beth Tacular's voice, soothed the rugged tenor of her counterpart — and real-life love — Phillip Moore was as beguiling as it was symphonic.
Clyde Petersen of Your Heart Breaks opened for Kimya Dawson at Sunday's show at the Old Town School of Folk Music, introducing his first song with: "This is a song about sneaking out of your parent's house to smoke weed in high school." It was like listening to my kid brother jam out on his guitar... if I had a kid brother, and if he was a musician. Like Dawson, Petersen is from Washington State, and had positive things to say about his visit to Chicago: "I like the bean, I enjoy your bean," he said, and: "I like that there are a lot of animators in your town who are cool ladies."
Petersen's songs ran the emotional spectrum from teenage nostalgia, to finding his way in the world as a transgender person. Dawson joined Petersen in a song dedicated to the memory of a deceased transgender activist; her metallic, animal-print leggings and halo of hair contrasting with Petersen's dressed-down aesthetic.
Petersen ended his set with an amazing piece titled "God Speed John Glen" about the 1961 space race between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. that included recorded feedback loops of his own guitar playing, acting out both parts of a conversation between an astronaut and ground control, and a nod to both Elton John and David Bowie in the lyrics: "I think it's going to be a long long time... ground control to Major Tom."
Protest The Hero shows are a rare breed. Typically, a show's energy starts off strong and, if it's good, that energy--both the band's and the audience's--continues to build momentum throughout the set. If it's its bad that energy tends to trickle out of the venue and by mid-set it's clear that everyone is simply counting down to the final song. Protest The Hero's music, however, puts their shows into a narrow category. The overall upbeat, fast, and aggressive nature of this Canadian metal act's songs leads one to believe that the crowd would respond to them with nonstop movement--be it in the form of moshing, fist pumping or serious head banging.
Photo by Steve Stearns
The problem is that Protest The Hero's songs are also persistently complex. There's barely time to recover from each tempo change before the next one hits. It's nearly impossible to be concerned with rocking out when you're eye locked on guitarists Tim Millar's and Luke Hoskin's fancy finger work. The rhythmic synthesis of bassist Arif Mirabdolbaghi and drummer Moe Carlson is almost too impeccably tight to believe without visual confirmation. The problem with Protest The Hero is not that they are not fun to watch. It's that they are nearly impossible to take your eyes off of.
Ten years ago I saw Andrew WK at Laga in Pittsburgh. Half of the crowd (those there to see Lost Prophets, mostly) had no idea what to make of him. Strange looks like "Who is this guy to have fun with metal?" and "He must be a joke" came from all corners of the room. Of course, those of us who knew what we were in for had a grand old time. People screamed the lyrics. They jumped on stage. They moshed and pogoed. A kid who sat in front of me in an Internet law class ended up on Andrew WK's shoulders. It was all great fun with a party leader who created energy for everyone else to feed from. Even some of the early scoffers jumped on the bandwagon.
Now it's 10 years later. Andrew WK's headlining the Riviera and he doesn't have to win over anybody. He can be looser with a friendly audience. Feel like playing your first album front-to-back and interrupting it to show off your classical music training with some "Rhapsody in Blue"? No problem. Need four guitarists? Sure. Get the crowd to chant "Pizza"? Why not? Like anyone at this level of success, there's not much of a challenge anymore. He still preaches about having fun and making the most out of every second alive, but there's no one in the back corner having an epiphany and thinking, "This guy's right!" Devotees dressed in his signature white t-shirt and jeans were everywhere. A girl did her makeup to mirror I Get Wet's album cover. A kid with "Party Hard" written all over a cycling cap crowdsurfed at least a half-dozen times. Only Morrissey sees more people trying to join him on stage. With that hysteria surrounding him, the energy never stops.
Andrew WK, his wife and a backing band of six churned out chunky riffs that wouldn't be out of place in hair metal, fist-pumped until they physically couldn't, encouraged circle pits that'd level towns if they were made of water instead of people and sang/screamed with tremendous gusto. (Andrew WK's a little hoarse.) A complete performance of I Get Wet (with "I Love Illinois" substituted for "I Love NYC"), clearly the highlight to most everyone in the crowd, was followed by some scattered hits from later albums. An encore of "We Want Fun" produced absolute chaos on the floor. Was it the most musically proficient show? Not exactly. But is it hard to top as far as entertainment? For sure.
[This review and photos come to us from reader Rachel Angres.]
After an abbreviated performance by DJ Brady, The Big Sleep, a Brooklyn based noise-psych band, opened the show Wednesday night at The Empty Bottle. The crowd trickled in as local group APTEKA played a short but lively set. Within 20 minutes, the entire venue was packed. People shoved each other to get to the front and catch a glimpse of A Place To Bury Strangers members setting up for their performance. "I love their pedals. I want to take them apart and create something even more crazy with them," said an audience member, motioning towards the homemade creations splayed along the stage floor.
A Place To Bury Strangers' lead singer and guitarist, Oliver Ackermann, sang with a calm and buzzing tenor. He dragged the neck and body of his off-white, rusted guitar across the ceiling and dropped it down to the floor. One of Ackermann's signature techniques is to experiment with the instruments while on stage. In one instance, he placed the guitar directly in front of the floor amp, creating aching and abrasive feedback. The bassist, Dion Lunadon, sang eloquently and shredded it on the bass. Lunadon was by far the hit of the evening — with fog and fluorescents flickering, his frame luminous and stoic. His fingers frantically manipulated the strings with fervent perfection.
[This review comes to us from reader Brian Kutanovski.]
The sign outside Subterranean last night read "All Pigs Must Die," which gave a distinct feeling that inside was a punk rock show. Not meant in a purely derogatory sense toward police exactly, lead singer Kevin Baker mentioned in an interview with The New York Times that the band's name regarded "a pig" as "anyone who is irreversibly corrupt." Even with an antagonistically political band name on the bill, the All Pigs Must Die set itself was light-hearted and doused with practical jokes. The much anticipated band had a shoulder-to-shoulder Sub-T crowd chanting along to "God is War," (a track from their latest album of the same name), but the hostile dirges didn't translate into a hostile show attitude. It was more like an old family reunion.
Co-headlining were San Diego-based hardcore rockers, Narrows, promoting their latest album, Painted. With unrelenting fist-pumping speed playing to feedback-filled breakdowns, Narrows set the tone for a show of what would be a crusty chomp of distortion with intervals of noise and cock-rock guitar riffs. "From a venue that looks like it should be a brothel, it sounds more like a basement," said Narrows lead singer Dave Verellen into the microphone during their set. Considering it was the last show of their month-long tour (both bands appeared at SXSW last week), the concert was treated as a somewhat legitimate basement party. During the end of Narrows set, a member of All Pigs Must Die stage dived pantsless onto Verellen and was thrown into the crowd. From then on, the crowd participated in consecutive stage dives and piggy-back rides, all in good fun. These two bands are relatively new popular acts, yet all veterans in the hardcore scene since the '90s (the two bands' members also played in Converge, Botch, and The Hope Conspiracy), ended their sets with hugs and ear-to-ear grins.
The opening band was Pittsburgh youngsters, Code Orange Kids, who also made an appearance at SXSW, stomped the hell out of the stage with their short-shorts and slip-ons while the drummer threw haymakers into his floor tom during a song. Their female guitarist had the deepest growl by any vocalist last night, and their volatile energy was intensely cathartic.
Even after more than two decades of near-consistent world-wide touring, the old-hand members of Narrows and All Pigs Must Die seem to never quit their assault in the American hardcore scene. They certainly proved this point last night in Chicago.
Fiona Apple at Lincoln Hall Monday night (photos by Stephanie Griffin)
Fiona Apple probably only needed to show up and stand on the stage with her tank top, long skirt, and combat boots and a sea of adoring fans would have been pretty content. What the packed house at Lincoln Hall was treated to on Monday night, however, was an intimate (though brief) show by the emotional singer. Apple played for just under an hour, but she hit almost every high point from her last three albums, while providing some glimpses into her upcoming new one, The Idler Wheel is wiser than the Driver of the Screw, and Whipping Cords will serve you more than Ropes will ever do (Epic - release date TBA).
Armored in her classic mid-'90s outfit (she could have been keeping it in storage since 1996 when Tidal came out) and rocking some seriously enviable arm muscles, Apple wrapped some of her long hair up off her face and half-engaged, half-ignored (half hid from?) the sea of eager fans at her feet. Her openers "Fast As You Can," "On the Bound" and "Paper Bag" wound the crowd up and brought out some professions of love (which the songstress politely acknowledged and demurred). The sing-a-longs continued through "Mistake" and then came to a hushed halt (quite literally) when Apple went into the first of three new songs, "Anything We Want," with a length of copper pipe in her hand as supplemental percussion. Her next song was a very quiet number (more loud "SHHHH"'s from the audience who demanded full attention from their neighbors) titled "Valentine" which has a haunting refrain, "I root for you / I love you," that's still stuck in my head.
Just in time to usher in days of sunshine and warmer weather, local trio Unicycle Loves You conjures a collection of tracks worthy of a season of beer-soaked house parties. Their third and latest album, Failure, finds the group (singer/guitarist Jim Carroll, singer/bassist Nicole Vitale, and drummer J.T. Baker) furthering their already-established sound: dreamy boy/girl vocals buried under a blanket of jangly guitar and loopy keyboard flourishes, typically with a earworm-catchy '90s feel reminiscent of everything from Guided by Voices and Dinosaur Jr. to My Bloody Valentine. (Even their video for "Piranha" smacks of a 120 Minutes vibe.)
Whereas their second album, 2010's Mirror, Mirror, was decidedly more relaxed, tapping a space pop-meets-Belle and Sebastian vibe, new songs like the opener "Garbage Dump" and "Wow Wave Cinema" are revved up and angular. The first half of Failure focuses on the party-party, while the second half winds down into something a bit more calm bordering on dawdling. But with a track like the breathy, make-out sleepy "Brand New Pillow," it turns out that the lull is just fine.
[This review comes to us from reader Sarah Brooks.]
An avid fan for years, I bought my ticket to see Punch Brothers months ago, though they're not just loved by me, but clearly Chicago, too. I make this statement based on the sold out crowd that packed Park West Thursday night, eager to see the Brothers perform. Having recently released their third studio album, Who's Feeling Young Now? in February, Punch Brothers have gained steady momentum since the release of their debut album, Punch, in 2008. It's easy to see why — Chris Thile, lead vocalist and talented instrumentalist, has been a notable figure within the music world for years, from his time in inventive country-bluegrass-folk hybrid outfit Nickel Creek, to numerous solo releases, and even an instrumental collaborative side project with Yo-Yo Ma titled The Goat Rodeo Sessions. With five different instruments comprising the group and a stellar lineup of talent, it's not surprising that the Punch Brothers attracted such a crowd.
Punch Brothers at Park West (photos by Sarah Brooks)
When the Darkness arrived on the scene in 2003, a common question among casual listeners and even industry folks was, "Are they for real?" With songs that sounded 30 years old and a look to match, it wasn't hard to see why some people were skeptical from the start. Music and fashion popularity may be cyclical, but the Darkness' supposed schtick wasn't in line with the mainstream. Their homages to the hard rock and metal of the 70s and 80s even came across with a wink and a smile. NME lauded them, especially their live performances, and that fervor carried across the pond where people continued to ask, "Are they for real?" But the more important question is always, "Are they good?" After last night, it'd be hard to say no.
Following a hiatus on the heels of a less than successful sophomore album, the Darkness are back. They played a sold out Metro on Saturday where the crowd consisted of all types from the diehards catching multiple shows (of a static set list) to the reluctant significant others who caved in to hype. Singer and guitarist Justin Hawkins emerged on stage with Snidely Whiplashesque facial hair and a red, white and blue vest with matching pants. (His trademark open-chest unitard followed midway through the set.) Over the first few songs, he gave the crowd a hint of his excellent vocal range - from numerous high notes to exaggerated wails. But it was on a cover of Radiohead's "Street Spirit (Fade Out)" where Hawkins' vocals really rose for the occasion when he belted out the chorus. A 10-minute "Love On the Rocks With No Ice" also featured his impressive falsetto at its best. His and brother Dan's guitaring was top-notch, taking us to riff city and harking back to solos that're only imaginable in hair metal. You see, underneath all of the ridiculous hype, their debut album Permission to Land actually is a pretty rich music product instead of the expected schlock rock. But it's also tongue-in-cheek, like on "Get Your Hands Off My Woman" or, as it was re-titled by Hawkins toward some gentlemen in the audience, "Get Your Hands Out of My Grandmother's Wardrobe."
The promise of an entertaining live show certainly didn't fall short with handstands, jumpkicks, air splits and attire changes from Hawkins, who's clearly seen a lot of David Lee Roth and Freddie Mercury at their peaks. Through a 100-minute set (featuring all of Permission to Land and a slew of new songs), the band joked with each other, engaged the crowd and delivered the type of rock'n'roll show that's just plain exciting to be a part of. Between the busted relationships and substance abuse suffered by members of the Darkness, it seemed like a relief to just be able to play live for adoring fans again. (Speaking of fans, how did all of the rowdy folks end up on the right side? I saw numerous shoving matches and beer dumped on people who wouldn't step aside for stage rushers. But I also noticed wild exuberance, dancing and singing along to every song. It was even enough for Hawkins to comment. By comparison, the left side was dead.) Closing out the night, Hawkins played guitar on a victory lap around the floor on a security guard's shoulders and then took a dive from a PA stack into outstretched hands. Now, that's entertainment (and commitment).
One of my favorite things about writing for Gapers Block is that I'm often introduced to bands that I otherwise might never ever known about. As was the case this week. It took about 20 seconds of listening to "Already Mine" (see below) for me to jump at the chance to check out Dance Floor Plans' show at Martyrs' last night.
Lately it seems like there's been a resurgance of funk and soul music in Chicago. Bands like JC Brooks and the Uptown Sound and The Right Now are gaining some national attention and other talented local gems like Dance Floor Plans keep popping up on the scene.
Despite the fact that DFP are a fairly new act, last night they sounded like they've been grooving for years. That's probably because in many of the band members' cases, they have. Guitarist/vocalist James Johnston spent years in Chicago's similar sounding Bumpus. Singer Tina Howell claims in her lyrics that shes a "simple woman," but her voice is anything but simple. Her velvety croon and Johnston's rich tenor created a unique harmony that drove the band's robust instrumental department.
Dance Floor Plans finds the balance between funk and soul, giving members a chance to showcase their talents--shout out to trumpet player Ethan Bulak for whipping out an electric clarinet mid-set. Was that a Whammy pedal you were playing it through?--and keep the flow of the songs moving. Yes, dancing is obviously their end game and I was amazed to see so many folks cutting loose so early in the night.
Sadly, a previous engagement forced me to leave towards the end of Dance Floor Plans' set, but I literally stopped half-way to the exit, turned around and rushed back to the front of the stage when I heard the opening notes of Michael Jackson's "Rock With You" blast through the sound system. An excellent rendition further proved that Dance Floor Plans deserve some attention.
I've already scrapped what I had written for this review twice. I started writing my first draft about Jack's Mannequin's frontman Andrew McMahon, where he's come since his years fronting Something Corporate nearly a decade ago and his effect on the Drive-Thru Records generation. Not long after I decided to start over, I came across this article, written just one day after I saw Jack's Mannequin play at House of Blues on Wednesday and took it as a sign that surely I'm not the only one that still remembers the golden era of pop punk.
Much like many of the bands that came from the same beginnings as McMahon--Dashboard Confessional, New Found Glory, Midtown--I can't help but feel that Jack's Mannequin has been overlooked because their California-sun-kissed songs' appeal to a polo-wearing, lite-beer-drinking college crowd. But as I watched Andrew McMahon--who's fronted two successful bands, written five albums, toured the world over before his 30th birthday and survived a bout with leukemia--on stage the other night, it's hard to think that he's not doing something right.
The cab-ride discussion on the way to Congress Theater on Friday focused mostly on what sort of "stops" Sound Tribe Sector 9 would be pulling out for the first of their two-night "Great Cycle Spectacles" series, one that the band promised to be a "one of a kind performance celebrating a spectacle of music, art and imagination." My friends and I didn't quite know what to expect.
Photo by Mike Ferguson
I've seen some stuff in my days of concert going. I've also already seen this band a handful of times. So, I was a little skeptical that this would be anymore that just an average STS9 show--which, for the record, is one hell of a show.
Spoiler alert: if you've ever seen this band play live before, you knew what to expect. I can't stress enough that this is not necessarily a bad thing. The light show was pure eye candy--an LED backdrop shaped like an Aztec pyramid to reinforce the fact that these shows were indeed a tribute to the end of the world. The sets were still awesomely long--a combined total of close to three hours.
On Thursday night Active Child and Tycho played at Lincoln Hall as part of the Tomorrow Never Knows festival. Both acts performed sets of hazy electronic music that fit the growing winter wonderland outside.
Active Child quickly filled the air with a characteristically exceptional set of modern chamber pop. Singer Pat Grossi's celestial voice soared over the accompanying classically tinged sun warped electronic pop. For an hour Lincoln Hall fell into natures hidden web and was transported to an elaborate Elven courtship ritual. Active Child performed almost the entirety of their recently re-released debut album You Are All I See to a receptive crowd.
I think we can all agree that pleasant surprises really are awesome, right? That's exactly how I felt last spring when I made it out to Audiotree's launch party, headlined by Portugal. The Man (also awesome). I got there early enough to snag some free sliders and mini tacos, but also early enough to catch the opening set from a sweet little band out of Grand Rapids call the Soil & the Sun.
I didn't know much about these guys and gals, but by the end of their set I was lined up at their merch booth to pick up copies of their EPs. So, when I found out they were headlining last night at Subterranean, I jumped at the chance to go.
There's so much music out there right now. This means that there are more options than ever for listeners, but it also means there's a lot more crap that we have to sift through in order to find the good stuff. Amidst the sea of up and coming bands, here's what the Soil & the Sun are doing right:
There is a certain perfect energy when you see a band on the steady rise in popularity. They attack each set with a fierce and primal sense of urgency and passion, as their life and success is finally being recognized on a larger scale. Couple in the fact that the band is known for conjuring up nostalgia with their sound, and you've got a dance floor full of adults that are probably dreaming of a not so far off youth. M83 dosed out their version of a perfect past Thursday night to two sold out audiences at Lincoln Hall.
Merrill Garbus of Tune-yards (photos by Steve Stearns)
Make no mistake about it: Merrill Garbus a force to be reckoned with.
At the Tune-yards concert on Wednesday, Nov. 9, (the first of two sold-out shows at Lincoln Hall), the audience fairly vibrated while waiting for the band to appear. Snippets of conversation could be heard from all direction, fans describing to friends Garbus' mad-scientist methodology. In the restroom, two girls applied colorful face paint to each other's cheeks in emulation of the Tune-yards founder and front woman.
Chicago has been all a-swoon over the band ever since Tune-yard's raucous performance at this year's Pitchfork Music Festival. Appearances on "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon" and other shows have only boosted their visibility. Not bad for a gal whose first album, Bird-Brains, was self-taped with only a handheld voice recorder.
It was a blustery night starting out a long Halloween weekend, but there was no pretending for neo-soul outfit JC Brooks & The Uptown Sound as they celebrated their newest album release for Want More (Bloodshot). The band started with playing hits off the album to a nearly sold-out crowd at the Double Door Friday night and rocked the socks off of all of those present. Occasionally adding on a pair of energetic, tambourine tapping sirens in the form of two backup singers, Brooks commanded the stage with a striking white jacket and red scarf, replete with gold chain. With a mohawked 'do and a smile that can only be eclipsed by his happy smile up on stage, Brooks and the band seemed to be having just a little bit of a party in front of a few hundred friends and well-wishers.
If lineups were made on performance alone, Gauntlet Hair would have headlined the show at the Empty Bottle Thursday night. The Denver-via-Chicago quartet play projectile jams of billowing reverb somehow wrangled into neat, tight hooks.
Their 7" on Forest Family records last year, I Was Thinking..., is as good of an explosive pop jam as you're likely to hear, though they came to the Bottle in support of their recently released self-titled debut LP. The record illustrates the difficulty of pulling off this massive sound—for every dynamite hook there's another seemingly lifeless moment that gets tripped up by its own gratuitous reverb. At some points, they may as well be playing chillwave.
But what gets lost on record gets found on the stage, and their show finds the lively presence in each song by turning the whole thing up very, very loud. Each of their selections benefitted greatly from expanded volume, and really it was only set closer "I Was Thinking..." that seemed to drag underneath a weak guitar mix.
While the most identifiable parts of Gauntlet Hair's sound are the glistening guitars and yodeling vocals, the most important part might be the drums. The bedrock rhythms help ground the spacious treble, and do a better job of it the louder they are. That's the story with everything in Gauntlet Hair's set—proficiency through volume—and to nobody's surprise, it yielded more than a couple broken guitar strings.
Chicago set a gloomy stage for last night's sold-out Thrice show at the Metro. Just as the night's first opening act O'Brother prepared to take the stage, a nagging drizzle began to douse the bearded and plaid-clad 20-somethings that flocked through Wrigleyville towards the venue's doors. As a whole, the night's entire lineup--O'Brother, Moving Mountains, La Dispute and illustrious headliners Thrice--could be tossed into several genres: melodic hardcore, prog rock, heck, some might even tag this bill as "emo," but I feel like we should just agree on "rock." Last night was a rock show, and this should come as no surprise to anyone who has seen any of these bands before.
Dustin Kensrue of Thrice (Photo by Katie Karpowicz)
Last night was undoubtedly a Thrice show, however it would be an injustice to go without mentioning La Dispute's overwhelming representation in the crowd. Two weeks off the release of their second album Wildlife, this five-piece from the nearby Grand Rapids, Michigan has been developing a following in Chicago at an unbelievable rate over the past several years. Their last Chicago appearance in May was a sold-out headlining show at the Beat Kitchen and a hint that this band will only continue to gain momentum.
A hush settled over Lincoln Hall as the assembled mass of neo-gothic Blade Runner enthusiasts counted backwards through Zola Jesus' intro instrumental. Singer Nika Danilova strode out draped in a white photo-reflective shawl flashback recalling of Jarodowski's Holy Mountain psychedelia come horror dystopia. The audience was held rapt by the singer stare as her cheeked reddened and a smile spread across her face. "Thank you, Chicago" the elven singer whispered before the pressure dropped and her mile wide voice rode across Chicago's north side as she opened up "Hikikomori" the first song of the night.
Zola Jesus laid heavily on the white light urban futurism of the recently released Conatus. The new songs expanded and shone brighter live. Nika's backing band continues to prove itself that last summers Pitchfork Festival performance was not a fluke. Her backing band consisting of producer/keyboardist Alex DeGroot, drummer Nick Johnson, and keyboardists Nick Turco and Shane Verwey bring the sonic tide in to mach Nika's expansive voice. The band projected foam tipped waves of sound to break upon an audience. Gone was the awkward muddy Zola Jesus of last year, replacing them was a collection of reborn star children projecting charisma.
Slowly but surely, I think Dee Dee is finally figuring out that nobody really cares about the Dum Dum Girls all that much. The black-haired songwriter whose real name is Kristen Gundred has gently eased her band's way into our collective consciousness with a slew of 7"s and EPs over the last three years, acting as a reluctant pioneer for the surge in lady-fronted bands that create glimmering '60s ballads with a hefty dose of elbow grease over the same time span. But while bands like Vivian Girls, Best Coast, and Puro Instinct are all losing favor for their own reasons, everything for the Dum Dum Girls has come to a head now. The quartet sold out the Empty Bottle Friday night, and their new LP, Only In Dreams, has cast away most of the complaints anyone might have had about the complexity of their performance.
Dum Dum Girls' back catalog is an impressive collection of quick, loose hooks and shy, charming vocals; but Only In Dreams is a mostly slow-burning affair between Dee Dee's powerful vocals and instrumentation that seems to shy away from its intimidating presence. Like, where the hell did that come from?
There are some things in life that are worth the wait. Yes, I wish I would have seen Portishead before now and yes I wish they put out albums more frequently, but if that was the case, would I love and respect their work as much as I do? Clearly their craft is a labor of love, each album carefully worked on until they see perfection in their vision, and the same can be said for their live show. Production wise it was near perfect, from the lighting to the quality of the sound (amazing since the Aragon is usually plagued with horrible acoustics) to the spot on perfection of each musician's part all set to a background of a perfect mix of visuals.
Ten years ago, five seasoned Seattle musicians got together to form the group that would soon be known as Minus the Bear. Nine years ago, that band released their debut album Highly Refined Pirates. On Tuesday night Minus the Bear celebrated their ten-year anniversary and performed Pirates from front to back in front of a sold-out crowd at the Metro.
While further releases from Minus the Bear have taken the band's sound in a darker, more isolated direction--their third album was aptly named Planet of Ice--the band's performance of Pirates brought the members back to a poppier era of their career. However, the classic Minus the Bear song structure was still very much present on stage. The songs were intricate and highly technical but still maintained easy listenability and evoked a packed room of bobbing heads.
After a concert, chatter is usually in the neighborhood of "That was really good" as the euphoria settles. After Bryan Ferry's show at the Civic Opera House, the first three people I overheard said some variation of "The sound here is terrible." Muddy sound and key instruments buried in the mix plagued 100 minutes of Ferry and his six-piece band rolling through songs from all eras of his career. For 40 years, he's had a hand in glam-rock, pop and new wave. He's also been a significant influence on many bands who've created an aesthetic brand. (And, my goodness, does he ooze style.) But what looked like a great show last night didn't always sound the part.
Ferry and his 4 backing vocalists came off unclear at times and Jorja Chalmers' saxophone began the night drowned out, especially during "If There Is Something", which Ferry introduced by saying it would "test some of [the audience]." Following that was his version of Bob Dylan's oft-covered "Make You Feel My Love." In his solo career (and even occasionally with Roxy Music), one of Ferry's strengths has been arranging covers and owning them to a point where a listener thinks, "So this really wasn't written specifically for him?" But he seemed flat for much of the relatively tame first act, coasting through tunes that he's had much better command of in the past. However, that first act ended on encouraging notes with Roxy Music's standout "Oh Yeah" (backed by images of a road trip from inside a Mercedes Benz, of course) and an epic take on Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane" that, while without Young's trademark guitar sound all over it, featured dynamic solos from all-star session guitarist Chris Spedding. (Ferry's other guitarist, Oliver Thompson, didn't return for the second act. A very capable Spedding had no trouble picking up the slack.)
Riot Fest returned to Chicago for its seventh year this past weekend, for a full five days of heavy hitting punk rock, some metal, and a bit of power pop. This year Riot Fest brought us sets from X, Danzig, All, Social Distortion, Descendents, and Weezer. I was able to catch the two big shows at the Congress Theater Saturday and Sunday. Riot Fest has gotten a bit of flack for adding "Red Bull" to the title of the festival, with many fans saying it was a sell-out move. However, I was surprised to see that there seemed to be much less advertising as a whole at Riot Fest this year, as I had not gotten bombarded with various booths upon entering the Congress Theater as I have in years past.
It'd be understandable for a person to initially raise an eyebrow when someone says, "Hey, I'm going to see a (mostly) instrumental surf rock band from Auburn, Alabama." On the surface, that doesn't sound terribly exciting. However, the fear that it'll be dull should be quelled before the band in question even plays. You see, Man or Astroman performs on a stage that looks like a punk rock astronaut's workspace - a mishmash of neon tubes, spinning lights, hexagonal and triangular screens, a Tesla coil and theremin (that were used within minutes of each other to close out the night), a half-orb covering floor lighting and too many pieces of computer equipment to name. (This is also a band who collected television sets on a tour. If I recall correctly, donating a television over 25" wide got you into a show for free.)
Now, it should also be noted that Man or Astroman's been on and off for the last few years - playing a handful of shows, but never touring much. And it showed in some songs where they sounded raw and even borderline proficient. A few times they stopped to fix gear, get in the right key or make other adjustments. Sometimes they simply weren't on the same page at all. But when they were on and that muscle memory kicked in on songs they've been playing for nearly 20 years, it didn't sound like they'd been off. (They hardly played anything from the last few albums that divided fans, instead digging way back for almost all of their 60-minute set.) The surf/punk/new wave hybrid that they developed, which some other bands tried to gank and never quite got right, has a lot of energy embedded in it. While the band members aren't as spastic as they once were they're still pretty energetic, especially Coco the Electronic Monkey Wizard (not his real name, actually) on bass. He's the one who talks most and seems to be the funniest. Whether it's scoffing at linear time or talking about cryogenic freezing, Coco always stays in character and appears to be having a blast.
In a tribute to Steve Jobs, Coco wheeled out an Imagewriter II to perform the technological marvel "A Simple Text File", even miming drum fills. Also highlighted in the second half was a cover of the Rezillos' "Destination Venus." It's a perfect cover for them, seeing as how it's already fast-paced and space-related. However, of all of the audio clips to skip (and they played just about every clip from every other song), that one just happens to be one of my favorites as a girl asks Venetians about their stay on Earth in some daytime talk show parody. Also, incredulously, they missed an opportunity to use the vocals of new female member, Avona Nova, during the Fay Fife parts of its chorus. But these are small gripes because, even if I've seen them better numerous times, they still bring a tremendous life to their music and rile up a crowd that's at times literally listening to manipulated Star Wars sound effects and some Ventures-like guitars in a punk aesthetic.
There are some musicians whose physical look and presence live shocks you based on their studio sound. Jens Lekman is not one of those people. He looks exactly like the soft-spoken indie pop Swede I imagined. This was perfectly lovely for me and the indie crowd who packed the Lincoln Hall on Monday night with a their disproportionate amount of black-rimmed glasses and flannel.
Like all truly great Scandinavian indie-pop-singing storytellers, Jens has maintained a moderately sized and loyal U.S. following despite only releasing one five- track EP since 2007. His fan base has grown large enough to sell out Lincoln Hall on a Monday night with the space even filling up for a not well-known Australian opener, Geoffrey O'Connor.
[This review comes to us from Jason P. Olexa. He can be found on Twitter at @TacoHugsPHD.]
"We are a fucking triumphant band" is the house creed of Chicago post-everything guitar army Pelican. They occupy the borderlands between the foggy mountainous kingdom of post-rock and the Viking strewn hills of the tribal metal warlords. Pelican has launched daring goat riding barbarian raids into both neighboring territories and grown into a thundering bombast of metal sinking into the psychedelic haze of post-rock.
Sunday was Wire Magazine's yearly Adventures in Modern music at the Empty Bottle. Headliners Pelican took the stage for their first hometown show in more than a year. In the time since we've last seen them guitar wizard Trevor de Brauw has retreated into the mists with his power ambient ensemble Chord, fellow guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Lebec has been crafting the bar at Big Star into a beer spewing monster, and the brothers Herweg have relocated to LA.
[This review comes to us from writer Dave O'Connor.]
Waves battered the seawall along Lake Shore Drive in the lead up to Friday night's Joan of Arc show, sending sprays of liquid fireworks ten feet in the air and higher, mother nature's sharpest proclamation yet that indeed summer is over. Meanwhile, an equally emotional riptide and another ending of sorts rolled through the Hideout Friday night.
"I believe in this calendar year, this is our 113th show as a band," said Joan of Arc lead singer, Tim Kinsella no earlier than midnight, three quarters of the way through their headlining set. He followed this observation with a more ominous update one song later: "this will be our last show for a really long time."
Friday's rich and steady hour-plus set could have easily been dubbed "accidental retrospective" as Kinsella pulled out dusty, decades old staples and newer jams alike; among them "Anyone Can Have a Good Time," from Owls, which drew one of the evening's many instantaneous and gutteral applauses.
Throughout the show, Kinsella's signature tumbling guitar scales popped with conviction and whispered an admiring reference to his former outfit with brother Mike Kinsella, American Football, but way more ferocious. The drum lines snapped relentlessly from start to finish, with noteworthy praise on a few complicated time changes nailed down with poise. Victor Villarreal's throbbing rhythmic backup guitar, which at times could have easily been mistaken for an electric organ, soared playfully around Kinsella's more vocal guitar angles. Combined, this sometimes sweet, always schizophrenic force ripped forth from the stage in near perfect unison.
The Hideout's tiny, no frills back room transformed into someone's parent's basement Friday night. Joan of Arc found a perfectly intimate setting for Kinsella to bring longtime loyalists together for what sounded the unit's last hurrah, at least for the foreseeable future. One can only hope it will be just another momentary pause in Joan of Arc's marathon lifespan.
It may not have been the actual Talking Heads on stage last night but it was hard to tell the difference. This Must Be the Band burned down the house (so to speak) Friday night with their recreation of the live concert film (and album) Stop Making Sense at the Vic. The recreation was so on point it was hard to tell the difference between the film and concert. As he mentioned after the show, it was obvious Charlie Otto watched the movie everyday for a month.
The crowd was full of Talking Heads fans young and old, toddlers to grandmothers (yes, I saw a grandmother and a toddler at the show). No matter how old they were, everyone enjoyed themselves dancing and singing at the top of their lungs. Just like the film, the show began slowly with "David Byrne" (aka Charlie Otto) singing "Psycho Killer" with his acoustic guitar and a boombox. The rest of the band was slowly brought in through the remainder of the show and soon the entire house was rocking to "This Must Be The Place."
Once the band finished their recreation of the film they came right back on stage to continue playing until they were "kicked out" of the Vic. Ad-libbing the entire rest of the show by taking requests from the audience couldn't have made a better ending to the night. It was clear the real Talking Heads fans appreciated This Must Be The Band's dedication to bringing to life a band everyone enjoys.
Beirut at the Congress Theater (photos by Andy Keil)
Ah, how time flies. No more the 17-year-old Sante Fe-based wunderkind piecing together an album in his bedroom, Beirut frontman Zach Condon has grown into his own, and nowhere was this more apparent than at their show at the Congress Theater on Monday night. Where before Condon was a bit gawky and awkward onstage, he is now a self-assured, 25-year-old trumpet-playing crooner who knows how to keep an audience captivated.
My thoughts on the success of the Hideout Block Party this past weekend depends on when you asked me. If it was while I was enjoying food truck fare, sitting in the sunshine, while a lazy crowd milled about during Booker T.'s killer set, then I would have given a resounding two thumbs up. If you asked after the food and beer ran out, when the lines to go anywhere (inside the Hideout, inside a toilet) stretched far and wide, and I was freezing as the temperatures dipped, then I might have growled. Weather aside, I was surprised at the lack of organization, but given the fact the actual party has been on hiatus a few years (The Mad Decent Crew and Bloodshot Records took over for a bit), I'll chalk it up to being a bit rusty and hope that next year they don't run out of beer or food.
There's a strangely sparse yet full atmosphere in Grandkids' music that sounds partly like a band making conscious efforts to stay reserved and partly finding the right recipe. It's not difficult to hear the influences of current indie-folk, but there are all sorts of random hints bubbling underneath their music from a little garage-rock to some avant-garde stuff that reminded me of Imperial f.f.r.r. to 60s girl-pop and beyond. With a cello as a bass substitute, the foursome has some interesting room to explore by bringing it out from just being a rhythmic device. Even though this college band has a lot of promise in their songs, their greatest asset might be the spirited fans who crowded the chapel at the Channing-Murray Foundation, which actually reminded me of the defunct Epiphany, though without awesome steel supports. (Grandkids will be at the Fireside Bowl next Saturday, the 4th.)
They Might Be Giants' John Flansburgh (photos by Steve Stearns)
I never expected the 1972 song "A Horse With No Name" to get stuck in my head after Friday night's They Might Be Giants show at the Vic, but when I woke up Saturday morning there it was — it's unimaginative two-chord self fixed into my eardrums. Midway through the show John Flansburgh and John Linnell invited the entire Onion AV Club onstage, acoustic guitars in hand, for the purpose of playing a song that has only two chords in it. "Join in, don't act like you don't know the words," Linnell called into the mic, prompting the sold-out audience to sing along to what is possibly the most boring song ever written, and transforming it into a wryly humorous piece that only TMBG could pull off.
The show was full of such playful moments — the audience dance contest, for example, with one lucky fan winning a vinyl copy of TMBG's latest album, "Join Us", and three other not-so-lucky fans that came away with booby prizes like a copy of a Rick Springfield LP. At one point the band went backstage, appearing on a giant screen in the form of sock puppets reporting "live from London", in order to appease their newest sponsor, "Epic Fail Bologna Sandwiches." And in a moment of playful hilarity, they broke into the chorus of the 1997 Chumbawamba earworm "Tubthumping," with lively audience participation.
The showcase event at this year's Pygmalion Music Festival was the Polyvinyl 15th Anniversary show that took place in a parking lot behind the Highdive on Saturday. Despite less than favorable weather (chilly, sporadic drizzling), a large crowd showed up to celebrate the Champaign label that's heralded numerous acts from our backyard to Sweden and Australia, from hardcore to ambient.
Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin (all photos by Rory O'Connor)
Now, I must begin by admitting that I cannot take Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin seriously because of their name. (See also: Let's Get Out of This Terrible Sandwich Shop, Natalie Portman's Shaved Head, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, et al.) Even when they described a rather serious song about three missing girls, I couldn't get past their name. And it turns out they're really just safe indie-rock with a few punchy hooks.
[This review comes to us from writer Kyle Sparks.]
It's an awkward time to see Japandroids. It's been two years since the two-piece garage-rock group from Vancouver, British Columbia, dropped their debut LP, Post-Nothing, and we've heard nothing but a trio of 7" records last year to remind us that they even exist. Their forthcoming record is all but done, but nobody's heard any part of it. So the entire atmosphere behind their show at Schubas Friday night was a collective state of bated breath for what comes next.
That's a pretty complicated question for Japandroids, because it would seem that immaturity is a cornerstone of their success. Post-Nothing was a brilliant concoction of pop songs teeming with youthful vigor, and perhaps the best way of describing Japandroids to the uninitiated is "boyish." Brian King and David Prowse are like two energetic puppies, incapable of sitting still long enough not to play extra-rowdy renditions of their inspired rock 'n' roll gems. For roughly an hour, the duo ran through the majority of their catalog like there was nothing else in the entire world that mattered near as much. There's hardly a person at a Japandroids show who enjoys their set more than they do, though there were those who came close. The onslaught made a lot of middle-aged concertgoers get rowdy like they were kids again, and made this 22-year-old think twice about his plans to go straight home after the show.
I happened to run into Bottle Rockets drummer Mark Ortmann in the lobby of the Old Town School of Folk Music as they waited to go on for an encore with Marshall Crenshaw at the earlier of their two shows Friday night. Exchanging a pleasantry, I complimented him on the show, and he smiled and thanked me, commenting that "This tour is so much fun." I was glad to hear it, but I don't think I needed the confirmation, as the performances of both The Bottle Rockets and Marshall Crenshaw were consistent with good artists having a good time plying their trade.
Temporarily reduced to a three-piece as guitarist John Horton attended to a newborn at home, the remaining Bottle Rockets, guitarist and vocalist Brian Henneman, drummer Ortmann and bass player Kieth Voegele opened the show with an acoustic set that included many of their classics such as "1000 Dollar Car" and "Kit Kat Clock". The acoustic versions hew closer to the songs' origins, and brought into sharp relief the quality of the band's songwriting, exploring various aspects of Joe Six-Pack existence. Even with stripped down instrumentation and a shorthanded band, songs packed emotional depth while managing to remain light, often weaving dark themes with levity as in "Lucky Break", about spending time on workman's comp.
Finishing their set and coming back in rock band mode, The Bottle Rockets returned to support Marshall Crenshaw as he led the attentive audience through a retrospective of his thirty year career. Crenshaw dipped into his vast repertoire, playing a variety of songs from all stages of his career, as well as some choice covers including Richard Thompson's "Valerie", and Buddy Holly's "Cryin', Waitin', Hopin'" and "Rave On". Wielding a disconcertingly shiny candy-apple red Strat, Crenshaw played songs written with writing partners stretching from his teen years to more contemporary collaborations with artists such as Dan Bern.
In fact, if there was anything wrong with the show, it was somewhat mirrored in the pristine finish of Crenshaw's guitar. Under the plain white lighting of the Old Town's stage, and in front of an attentive but subdued audience, the performance occasionally felt a little too sterile, at times seeming more like a workshop on what a show should look like than a living, breathing show. Though the room itself seemed a little flat at times, it's ultimately hard to argue with the success of the night's lineup. A stage full of tested musicians having a good time is never a bad thing.
It was just over two months ago that Cut Copy dominated a late afternoon set at Pitchfork. (And it was just this past Tuesday that they played a packed Riviera on the last leg of US touring.) They've come a long way from the band they used to be even three years ago - ditching t-shirts and jeans for dress shirts and trousers, using lighting more efficiently and scaling back when appropriate. It took a couple songs for them and the crowd to warm up at the Canopy Club on Friday night, but soon enough everyone got their bearings.
First nights of music festivals, even established ones with stellar lineups, can be a mixed bag with the culmination of months of planning, little hiccups and the sense of anticipation jumbled together. On Wednesday, the 7th year of Champaign's Pygmalion Music Festival kicked off with Common Loon, Viva Voce and Explosions in the Sky at the Canopy Club. It wasn't perfect, but the flaws weren't major and the anticipation is clearly warranted.
[This review comes to us from writer Davis Inman.]
Freelance Whales at the Empty Bottle (photo courtesy Eventbrite)
On Saturday night, Chicago was part of a simultaneous five-city, five-concert series put on by the San Francisco-based event ticketing start-up, Eventbrite. While The Hold Steady rocked The Beekman Beer Garden in New York and Wavves played L.A.'s The Troubadour, the indie-pop quintet Freelance Whales took the stage at Chicago's Empty Bottle.
The New York-based Whales drew a respectable crowd, and what the fans lacked in numbers, they made up for in enthusiasm, singing and dancing along with the band's multiharmonied baroque pop gems. The band opened with the song "Generator First Floor," a catchy ode to a haunted house, which also scored a spot in Twitter's quirky site redesign video. The group displayed plenty of musical dexterity with a stage full of instruments — guitar, banjo, synth, glockenspiel, harmonium, mandolin — which members seemed to trade between each song. Frontman Judah Dadone came out on banjo, but throughout the evening also played acoustic and electric guitars, bass, and a small synth at the front of the stage. The band's "bassist" Doris Cellar sometimes did double-duty (mid-song!) on harmonium, which Dadone joked was on its last leg after tipping over during one particularly raucous jam-out.
The free show was also a benefit for local charity Rock For Kids, which provides music education programs for underserved kids in the Chicagoland area. The band, who are not currently touring and had driven all the way from New York to play the show, were clearly excited by the opportunity to support a good cause, encouraging audience members to donate. Eventbrite's Vanessa Hope Schneider says the five concerts were a huge success. "A hundred percent of the money we collected will be going straight to the charities," she said.
[This review comes to us from writer Jason P. Olexa. He can be found on Twitter at @TacoHugsPHD.]
"Dixie" Dave Collins strode onto the stage of Reggie's Rock Club in Chicago's south side with his bass slung low. He braced his legs into a perfect sea captain's stance and directed his steely glare across the mass assembled to see his band, Weedeater, perform. After taking a long draw from his tall-boy of Old Style, Dixie smiled, revealing a mouth of gold, and lead his band of warriors into "Hammer Handle," the first crushing reverie from Weedeater's newest album Jason... The Dragon (Southern Lord, 2011). Drummer "Keko" Keith Kirkum and Dixie annexed large swaths of sonic low end in their quest to find the perfect rollicking laid back beer-in-a-paper-bag rock groove. Dave "Shep" Shepherd's guitar amp spit purple fog as the words of Dr. Stephen Strange from Marvel Team-Up, Volume One, Issue 21 flashed across his mind "There are few things in the infinite cosmos that are far beyond my power to command". Shep conjured a psychedelic metal riff from the ether that slithered its way onto the audience's amygdalae. Dixie lolled his head back, feeling the groove roll over him and hunched over the mic ready to deliver. The spirit of Bon Scott was called back to this level of existence through Dixie's whiskey soaked vocal chords. The gathered Chicago metal warlocks raised their hands in elaborate eldritch claws and rasped the lyrics into the rapidly shrinking space between the audience and the performers. The assembled spell casters with precognitive abilities knew this was the beginning of another masterful display of muscular southern metal from Weedeater. In the dim corners of the rock club one began to imagine a gathering of spirit animals taking shape and tapping a keg for one hell of a cosmic party.
Last weekend welcomed the inaugural Brilliant Corners of Popular Amusements festival to West Town's Eckhart Park, a combination carnival/music festival/circus/vaudeville show. The park was separated with two tents — the Criss/Cross Tent with live music and the Magic City Tent with several circus and cabaret acts. Between the tents lie an assortment of carnival games and rides, a smaller version of the Renegade Craft Fair, and a few wandering jugglers and other performers.
Brilliant Corners certainly didn't lack in entertainment, but was strangely absent in attendees. The crowd was sparse throughout the entire weekend, and Sunday's rain showers certainly didn't help. Over the course of the weekend I mentioned the festival to several people I know who would probably enjoy seeing Shellac or Dan Deacon or School of Seven Bells in a circus tent, and not one person had even heard of it. The festival had two entrances off Chicago Ave, but I did not see any sort of sign facing the street that a festival was going on inside the park.
[This review comes to us from writer Jason P. Olexa. He can be followed on Twitter @TacohugsPHD.]
Bass rumbles and spits from my breathing regulator as I was deep under the sea in some gear that makes me look relevant to a goth's steampunk fantasies. Trying hard to focus on the reason I'm in this Batman wet dream get-up to find the long hidden entrance to Atlantis. My attention kept drifting to the species of aquatic life striped in colors humanity didn't even know existed. A deep-sea dub beat explodes and I find myself straddled on a Pegasus lifting me high out of the ocean, climbing effortlessly through the air. We're talking post skyscraper high, post supaman high, post rainbow high. As my vision adjusts to the brilliant light I make out St. Peter, Pimp C, and the metaphysical spirit of the Jodeci album Mad Band given human form in a candy colored hot tub. A clean-cut young man on a harp is dropping these R. Kelly romance jams straight out his vocal cords. I'm taking it in. I'm smiling. I'm in heaven and even if that Pegasus takes me back down to earth I have a new goal. This whole heaven deal seems all right with me and I'd like to spend more time.
The Pegasus taps the dulcet toned harpist on the shoulder and informs him of an earthly engagement. As a man who can't stop moving, partially due to the bends induced by my rapid accent into the metaphysical cosmos, I key in on the cut of The Pegasus' jib and hitch a ride back down to earth. I find myself in a candlelit neo-Gothic tavern named Schubas as my partner in travels hoists his harp onto the stage. Two fellow members of his sonic clergy on bass and drums join him; he introduces himself as Pat Grossi and his band is Active Child. Led by a rumbling bass tone, they launch into their fist song and I'm back at that heavenly poolside party.
Marissa Nadler, a singer-songwriter from Boston, draws on the haunted minor key dirges of Gillian Welch with some of the atmosphere of Kate Bush. But with long black hair, a white dress, and black stockings, singing songs about loss and death, she could also be the ghost of Joan Baez, ca. 1963.
Nadler pulled mostly from songs from her new self-titled, self-released album. Whereas album versions feature weeping steel lines and occasional synths, on stage it was Nadler, alone. It's hard to be entertaining in a quiet room these days, but it helps to have a great voice or great songs, and Nadler has both.
There is this unique phenomenon at smaller music venues in Chicago. Promoters smash together random bands (usually all under the general "indie" category) and see what happens. Sometimes the Frankenstein created is hideous, but other times, like Friday night's "Orange Tree" music video premiere at Schubas, it is legendary.
The line-up for the night was odd and seemingly backwards in intensity. It started with the energy and fury of Sleeping in the Aviary, moved to the rock-infused bluegrass of Dastardly, and ended with the sweetly catchy pop of Paper Thick Walls. But the sequence worked for the Schubas crowed, who got riled up with Sleeping in the Aviary and rode the buzz through the video premiere.
I was initially drawn to Friday's show because of a familiar name. Sleeping in the Aviary was a hit Madison-based screamo band (in the best sense of the word) when I was a Badger (back in good ole 2008). I was jazzed for a piece of college-life nostalgia even if SITA is now officially a Minneapolis band. I was pleasantly surprised to find the band has matured from emotionally-fueled rockers to a more ridiculous, less serious and more varied rock group. SITA jammed from classic indie rock to '60s pop with barely time for a key change in between. The band seems to have learned growing up right means letting go of the angst and embarrassing the insane. To start their opening set, lead singer Elliott Kozel, took off his shoes and threw them at (not into) the crowd. With his feet free, Kozel, along with the rest of the band, jammed on stage heavy with bass and guitar with an occasional touch accordion and plenty of rock n' roll antics. SITA gave show reminiscent of a classic rock era with a strange familiarity to a drunk '70s prom band. The set could only have been better if it ended with a pantless encore.
Oh, North Coast. A stoner's oasis. An epileptic's worst nightmare. While Day One started off slow and steady, Saturday seemed to go from zero to sixty in a matter of minutes. Union Park remained almost eerily barren through the first couple rounds of acts Saturday afternoon--too much raging on Friday night, I suppose--but once the rain started around 2:30pm, festheads started pouring into the park like moths to a flame.
What followed was a bit of sensory overload. Bass thumping from three stages simultaneously at almost all times; strobes, lasers and glowsticks everywhere you looked; the overwhelming scent of a certain, ahem, herb in the air; and a day and night-long battle between waves of sweat and rain made for quite the experience on Saturday. I'm honestly amazed at the relentless energy Coasters were still able to produce though despite the natural and chemical elements that, in the end, helped turned Saturday into the ten-hour party that it was. -Katie Karpowicz
My Saturday at North Coast involved a lot of soggy kids tripping on a variety of things, yelling at a kid who almost tipped over a toilet while dancing on it, yelling at some other kids who almost toppled over a girl in a wheelchair, and watching a bunch of kids buy nitrous balloons from some sketchy guys on a corner. Needless to say Saturday got a little rude and sloppy, but it didn't stop the artists from giving it their all to the more than entertaining crowd. -Lisa White
Well, we avoided the rain on Day One of 2011's North Coast Music Festival, but fest goers still suffered through a sweltering September evening. Things got sweaty once the bass started bumping throughout Union Park. Organizers of this year's NorCo fest organizers admittedly bulked up on electronic acts and DJ performers--an effort that was already noticeable after just one day with acts like SBTRKT, Wolfgang Gartner and headliner David Guetta all hitting the stage on Friday. -Katie Karpowicz
Before I even hit the festival grounds, I received a simple text from a friend that "this crowd is an odd mix." Her sentiment was spot on, since North Coast brings together a mash of ravers, hippies, hip-hop heads and everything in between. It's your best bet for seeing a guy wearing high end Nikes next to a girl wearing fairy wings while hooping. Yet one thing is obvious by the enthusiastic demeanor of the crowd; they came here to dance. -Lisa White
If you hear anything about Lollapalooza on Sunday, I'm sure it will be that it
rained..twice..hard. But the true brilliance of the rain, was the ingenuity of
Lollapalooza goers to adapt to the torrential downpour. From stacking tables on
top of each other to rooting up fencing to take shelter, fans everywhere seemed
to construct make shift forts to wait out the rains. And after the rain abated, fans
rallied, soaked but ready to take in the last day of Lolla. When the second wave
of storms hit in the middle of Foo Fighters, the field was a mud pit but fans rocked
away with impressive dedication. -Niki Fritz
Lollapalooza crowd by Steve Wrubel for Lollapalooza
Saturday was off to a difficult start before I even got inside Lollapalooza. I was wedged next to a guy trying to get into the overcrowded Monroe entrance, his toe torn open and bloodied. Not a good sign of things to come, as temperatures crept up and some of the crowd was whiny and clearly on edge. I did appreciate the brutal honesty of the guy out front, who I assumed was selling tickets but instead asked me "do you have a blunt I could buy?" while standing less than two feet from a Chicago police officer. Lollapalooza; where all manners and human intelligence tends to fall to the wayside. Meanwhile Niki Fritz also encountered some problems upon entering the grounds.
On Saturday afternoon, the 20th anniversary wristbands that Lolla organizers no
doubt spent months designing, failed to do the one thing they needed to do: work. A
large majority of wristbands failed to scan. Instead of allowing wristband wearers,
fans $200 invested in Lolla, to pass, they made swarms of hot wet fans wait while
two employees jogged from one entrance to the next scanning people in manually.
EPIC FAIL. -Niki Fritz
I kicked off day one like many Chicagoans going to Lollapalooza, heading to my regular day job in business casual festival attire before trekking down to Grant Park after an early exit to jumpstart my Lolla weekend. I'll be reporting all things Lollaplooza this weekend for Gapers Block, along with contributions from writer Niki Fritz. Keep reading for more about Friday at the festival, and keep checking back all weekend for more Lollapalooza coverage from Gapers Block.
It's amazing what people will endure for the sake of nostalgia — 90 plus degree temps, oppressive humidity, noticeably absent a/c, short people jammed into taller peoples' armpits, random sprays of liquids (sweat in the worst case beer in the best case). According to the Metro crowd, it was all worth it when the first deep beats of Alkaline Trio's Derek Grant's kick drum pounded over the heat or when Dan Andriano's bass line commanded head convulsions. The hometown punk trio ran through an athletic 22 song set, including one Violent Femmes cover, in front of their signature skulled heart, awash in aggressive red lighting.
Alkaline Trio on Monday night at the Metro (Photos by Katie Hovland)
The last time The Decemberists rocked our fair city in February, snowmageddon had just howled through Chicago, forcing concert-goers to dig their way to the Riv. The Portland-based band was greeted on Monday night with a slightly different scene, as thousands of sweaty Chicago fans packed into the Aragon, bringing summer energy and a fair share of pit stains. From sold-out concerts in the snow trap of Chicago winter to sold-out concerts in the heat pit of Chicago summer, Decemberists fans prove they are willing to bundle up or strip down to hear the melodious indie rock band sing songs, weave stories and rock out in full suits.
Ten years ago Ted Leo released his first real solo album, The Tyranny of Distance. (That Tej Leo thing shouldn't count.) To commemorate it this summer he's played it front-to-back a couple times on the east coast. Early Monday afternoon, he tweeted that he was considering playing it again at the summer's last New Music Monday concert at Millennium Park. A few people replied that it would be perfectly satisfactory with them for him to do so. And so when he and his longtime band walked out on stage, he quickly confirmed it. But before that, they'd need to warm up with a few other songs. Kicking off with perhaps his biggest hit, the Specials-inspired "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?", he got the crowd jazzed up from the get-go. From there it was onto "Me & Mia" and a handful of songs from his latest 2 albums. Even with a banged up knee, Leo bounded around the stage with the enthusiasm that's been a staple of his live shows forever.
Bela Fleck and the Flecktones concerts always seem to draw a diverse crowd, and last night's show at The Vic Theater was certainly no exception. Middle aged couples in dress casual stood elbow to elbow with aspiring teen Deadheads in tie dyes and cargo shorts. The crowd is telling, however, when one considers the wide gamut of musical styles that bubble up in a typical Bela Fleck show. Fleck's two sets evidenced his mastery both of his chosen instrument, the banjo, and the sometimes odd, yet usually fantastic stew of different genres that he has turned into his signature sound.
Fleck is currently touring with a throwback Flecktones lineup that includes Chicago local Howard Levy, who was a founding member of the band, but left in 1992 only to return in the past year. The remaining lineup remains unchanged, with standout bassist Vic Wooten and his brother, percussionist Roy "Futureman" Wooten forming a dynamic rhythm launchpad for Fleck and Levy's explorations of sound.
We've had the week to share some of our interviews from Pitchfork Festival with you, and some time to wash all the Union Park dust off and apply aloe to our sunburns. Now we wrap things up with Bonnie Page's thoughts on the last day along with more lovely photos by Stephanie Bassos. We here at Gapers Block hope you enjoyed your Pitchfork Festival 2011, and we'll see you next year. -Lisa White
Off to a sweltering start, the Sunday Pitchfork crowd was noticeably sparse and more inclined to sit on the sidelines if that meant shade rather than sweating it out under the sun. There were a number of festival-goers that started out their day with the garage/power pop rhythms of San Francisco band The Fresh & Onlys. The foursome, lead by tie-dye clad singer Tim Cohen, played clear and classic sounding guitar riffs for the crowd during "Waterfall" then added some throw back country twang in "Strange Disposition," accompanied by lo-fi vocals. It wasn't enough to get many people moving, but it was day three after all. -Bonnie Page
With regards to a wide and varied assortment of past experiences, there are few things that spell out "summer" more than being pressed against a thigh-high stage in a dark club, breathing in air that's almost too thick to pass through your lungs and screaming along to whatever band is assaulting that stage with sounds and sweat. Last night, Make Do and Mend played the first non-basement show in Chicago proper of their five-year career at the Beat Kitchen and things definitely felt summery.
Before the East Coast hardcore pros hit the stage though Heartsounds, hailing from the other side of the States, played what could have easily been a headlining set. Formed after the members of a now defunct San Francisco-area heavy metal act decided to return to the core roots of punk rock, Heartsounds has been quickly fostering a dedicated following since the release of their debut album Until We Surrender last year. The band's sound is punk rock done right. None of that oversimplified three-chord nonsense. Guitarists Ben Murrary and Laura Nichol can shred and, after watching their set last night, that statement applies to both the record and the stage. The quick-fingered licks on bass and a sweaty massacre of the drum kit that the other half of the band contributed would have kept things sweltering in the Beat Kitchen even without the 93-degree temperature outside.
Easing out of the heaviness of Cold Cave, Wild Nothing and Radio Department lulled the 4pm-6:45pm hours. The one-man band of Wild Nothing (with the addition of a touring live band) came out in full plaid and ray ban glasses, giving off a sorta clean-cut '50s feel. They eased right into the smooth sounds of "Chinatown" and "Gemini." Wild Nothing was the perfect mix of dreamy electronic sounds and hazy vocals for the shady Blue Stage. Radio Department, with the same dream pop sound, made for a good follow up right after. -Bonnie Page
Saturday at Pitchfork meant interviews all day for myself; meanwhile Bonnie caught a good mix of acts gracing the stage at the festival. The day kicked off with weather warnings from festival officials, and they installed two cooling buses, passed out free water to the first 6,000 attendees, and had the security barricades stocked with water to hand out and pour on the packed crowds. Heat or not, it didn't hold back artists from dishing out a day of solid sets.
It was time for a little bit of a palate cleanse after Moore's earnest introspective set, so I moved to something a lot more lighthearted: the Brooklyn trio of hip-hop jokesters, Das Racist. The group rose to Internet fame with their 2008 song "Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell," so obviously these guys definitely don't take themselves too seriously. They've been downplayed by some, but they show smart rhymes and a tongue-in-cheek style humor that pokes fun of pop culture. For instance, the song "Fake Patios" talks about the authenticity of rappers, pointing the finger at a number of "authentic" hip-hop artists who use fake accents and massive production. All the while they sing the track with an obvious fake Jamaican accent and autotune. They opened up their set with "Who's That? Broooown," the dirty beats stretched to match the elongated chorus line while a sitar and Casiotone noises add to the lazy yet catchy delivery style. -Bonnie Page
We've got some interviews with artist coming up this weekend at Gapers Block, but Friday we kicked things off by enjoying the first day of Pitchfork Festival with a handful of veteran acts, much buzzed about bands, and Animal Collective.
Gapers Block writer Bonnie Page and I, along with our photographer, Stephanie Bassos, will be bringing you coverage of the fest, interviews, and photos all weekend long. Keep checking back all weekend for more Pitchfork Festival 2011 coverage. Now onward to our part one coverage of Friday!
In 2007 local label Red Scare digitally released Four One Five Two, a twelve-track debut from artist Sundowner. Four One Five Two was full of acoustic tracks ranging from whimsical jaunts to self-deprecating wallows, but the most notable element of this release was the voice that accompanied the music. The man behind this album was Chris McCaughan, guitarist and co-frontman of Chicago punk favorites The Lawrence Arms.
On Saturday, more than four years later, Sundowner aka McCaughan celebrated the vinyl release of Four One Five Two with a show in the intimate upstairs bar area of the Bottom Lounge.
On the final day of the Dave Matthews Band Caravan, the 64-year-old country legend played her afternoon set on the smallest of three stages, acceding to the vagaries of popular taste, but she stood out as by far the most historically significant artist of the weekend.
"One of my personal heroes," Dave Matthews said in a brief introduction before she took the stage Sunday, and it was hard to disagree after Harris and her superb backing band, the Red Dirt Boys, rolled through an inspired selection of bluegrass and gospel favorites with a few songs from her new album.
They might have been the oldest band at the festival, but we saw only the benefits of those 40 years of experience: Emmylou's easy command of the stage and rapport with the crowd, and the impeccable work by her bandmates on guitar, bass, drums, mandolin, violin, piano and accordion.
While some bands this weekend struggled to hold the audience's attention whenever the tempo slowed, Emmylou's clear, soaring voice was more than enough to keep fans from wandering off to the craft beer tent between Rickie Simpkins' virtuoso fiddle runs.
After the opening shuffle of "Six White Cadillacs," the set was loaded with haunting ballads, from Gillian Welch's "Orphan Girl" to the Carter Family's "Hello Stranger" and the gospel standard "Green Pastures." The best of a strong bunch was "My Name is Emmett Till," an appropriately stark and powerful ballad about the Chicago teenager murdered in Mississippi in 1955.
Simpkins' mandolin riff on the bouncing closer "Get Up John" was still echoing in my brain as I headed over to the main stage to check out David Gray. I was ripe for a rude awakening.
I'll admit, I've never been the biggest Dave Matthews Band fan, but with a handful of not-to-be-missed artists (namely, The Flaming Lips covering Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety), I've been looking forward to the DMB Caravan more than any other music festival this summer. Still, I had my apprehensions.
Upon arriving Saturday afternoon, the first thing I noticed was the dirt. There wasn't any grass to be found, anywhere. Not that music festivals are known for their cleanliness, but large, sharp rocks scattered among the dirt made walking uncomfortable and sitting nearly impossible. The area directly in front of each stage was covered in wood chips, but if you wanted to relax further away from the stage, there were hardly any options, save a bench or two in the middle of the field.
The advantage DMB Caravan has over the other big summer music festivals in Chicago is space. I never had any issue whatsoever walking from one stage to the next in 10 minutes or less. The large festival grounds also afforded room for a plethora of non-music related activities, from the giant ferris wheel in the center of the festival to some sort of off-roading track at the side of the grounds.
The weather has been good, the music has been great and the mango Starfruit with blueberries has been a revelation. But after two days at the Dave Matthews Band Caravan, it's clear Chicago has major work to do if it's going to host more massive events at the former site of the U.S. Steel South Works.
One problem is the fairgrounds themselves: a dusty dirt field, half-covered in mulch and scrub brush, strewn with rocks, tree roots and stumps and lingering bits of steel wire. It's potentially dangerous and inescapably filthy, especially with no running water available to clean yourself up. But this is the inaugural event, and that all can be fixed for next time with a little effort.
No, the major problem is getting to and from the site. It's not the raw number of concertgoers; we handle 30,000 or 40,000 people all the time without much fuss. It's the massive difficulty the Chicago Transit Authority has had getting to the show whatever large percentage of the crowd is using public transportation.
Whether their arrivals are staggered throughout the afternoon or they're leaving en masse at the end of the night, fans at the DMB Caravan have seen huge wait times both on the Red Line and the inexplicably-not-free shuttle buses running loops from the 87th Street station to the festival grounds. It's tens of thousands of people pinned in by the lake with only one escape route.
I've never entirely understood the animosity so many people have for Dave Matthews Band.
Ten-plus years past their chart-topping peak, they are loved by a core of diehard fans, enjoyed by a few, and virulently scorned by just about anyone else who follows popular culture even slightly. If you don't like them enough to buy a ticket to one of their concerts, you wouldn't be caught dead at one.
Maybe you never saw the appeal, and grew to hate Dave Matthews Band as they became inescapably popular in the late-90s.
Maybe you never cared much, but used to be a fan, buying their CDs and going to a show every summer because that's what everyone in your high school did.
Maybe you loved them deeply and passionately for a few years and now feel vaguely embarrassed, as their music stands in for everything you can't believe you liked when you were too young to know better.
So it is that I wince whenever it's revealed -- because no, I don't broadcast it -- that Dave Matthews Band always was and still remains my favorite band. I'm right now fighting off the urge to deflect with a joke along the lines of "Feel free to disregard everything I ever write about music."
My usual response, or at least my instinctive, screaming desire, is to make sure the person to whom I've revealed this shameful secret understands that I'm not one of those DMB fans:
I'm real. I'm authentic. I'm more sophisticated and savvy and worldly than I was as a suburban teenager in the mid- and late-90s, and you just don't understand, man. It's great music, and hey, if you don't like it, that's fine. Just give it a chance.
But if you're typically annoyed by bros in ball caps and cargo shorts, preps in boat shoes and polo shirts or willowy girls in long, flowsy dresses, steer clear of the South Side Lakefront this weekend. The Dave Matthews Band Caravan rolled into town yesterday for three full days of rock/country/pop/folk/blues at the vast former site of the U.S. Steel South Works plant, and yes, most of the usual suspects are out in force.
The festival kicked off Friday with 14 acts, most of which Transmission missed entirely because Friday is a weekday, even in July, and we have Actual Work Obligations. But stay tuned for full coverage of Saturday and Sunday, during which I will be joined by colleagues who will help me suppress the urge to burden you with 3,000 words on Carter Beauford's drum kit.
[This review comes to us from regular GB photographer, Rory O'Connor.]
Downtown Sound crowd, June 27th (photos by Rory O'Connor)
It was an unlikely pairing at the June 27th installment of Downtown Sound: New Music Mondays at Pritzker Pavilion; one which may have taken more than a few people by surprise depending on their reasons for attending the evening's event.
Glen Hansard got things started off, as he walked out on stage armed with only a worn out acoustic guitar and a bit of Irish wit. Hansard, perhaps best known as lead singer of the band the Frames and half of the Swell Season, proceeded to treat the crowd to a spirited 45+ minute set, which included a rousing rendition of Van Morrison's "Astral Weeks." Shortly before delving into the cover, Hansard delivered a quick tale about learning his trade by performing on the street and one could see how his humble start had paid off. Hansard appeared completely at ease with his guitar on the pavilion's spacious stage, working the crowd with a bit of humor between songs. His easy manner kept the performance light, even among some of the sadder numbers. Hansard also delivered on what a large contingent were presumably there to hear, when he performed his most well known song "Falling Slowly," for which he won an Academy Award.
Junior Boys' Jeremy Greenspan (photos by Steve Stearns)
The Canadian electro-pop duo (Jeremy Greenspan and Matt Didemous) that is Junior Boys brought their cold romanticism through Chicago's Metro on Friday night. The pair is currently on tour in support of their fourth album release It's All True, but their Metro show was culmination of their eight year career, with a heavier focus on past versus present material.
The non-nonsense duo went straight to work with set opener "Parallel Lines" (from third album Begone Dull Care) and didn't take time out for much else 'til curtain close. The cold "Parallel Lines" took percussive beats from a slew of sources while Greenspan's characteristically whispered vocals floated in falsetto above, ironically speaking to final amends. Greenspan himself never became attached to the emotion behind the lyrics he whispered. The detachment of "Parallel Lines" defrosted with crystalline organ-synth to warm it (and the crowd's dancing feet) up before blue lights aided the imagery of the bereft nostalgia of "Please Don't Touch". The latter song's bouncing beats and snare effects contrasted the desolation of the lyrics: common objects, with their lived-in comfort, held sentimental history. Greenspan, seated behind his keyboard, begged through the chorus that the sentiments not be altered ("Please, please don't touch").
Junior Boys' Matt Didemous (photos by Steve Stearns)
Far too many people claim that far too many bands must be seen live to be fully appreciated. Now, there are a lot of bands who use their live performances to add respectably to their recorded catalogs and are usually very good on stage. However, few are actually entertaining enough to be must-sees night after night. But Les Savy Fav is one of those. And we've been lucky in Chicago to see them often over the years. Neither Saturday at Subterranean nor Sunday at Green Music Fest were exceptions.
For as much as people talk about Tim Harrington's antics as the main draw, the band behind him is totally underrated. Like Jon Spencer, Drive-By Truckers and anything with John Reis, Les Savy Fav figures out how to turn studio weaknesses into live strengths. Post-punk hooks that don't stand out on a record come across monstrous. Choruses that should be anthemic find life. Now, don't get me wrong, it's unlikely many people go to Les Savy Fav shows to hear some riff pop out, but it's not uncommon to see a lot of heads faced toward the stage no matter where Tim Harrington ends up. But he'll always be the star.
On Saturday evening, Harrington walked out in a wig, a woman's red shirt, striped shorts and he'd taken some liberties with eye black. He doled out Ritz crackers like holy wafers (and then spit a chewed one into a fan's mouth), adjusted the lighting rig, hung upside down on the spiral staircase, drank a beer poured to him from the balcony (though it mostly ended up on his chest), used every available inch of microphone cord in a 10-block radius, walked to street level, made his way to the soundboard a few times, lost clothing at regular intervals and on and on. After a lengthy delay on Sunday, he emerged from backstage looking pretty dirty (though we've seen him dirtier) in a knitted poncho, a Paisley-patterned shirt and normal pants. His first order of business was pulling two ropes from the mobile stage corners, tying them together and using them to balance on the barrier railing and leaning over the crowd. The ropes held, but not for long. Soon enough, he was in the crowd, encouraging Moshing 101, dogsitting, ending a song on top of a tent, crowdsurfing in a chair (though no competition to crowdsurfing in a garbage can), smearing eye black (again) all over his body, finding his way to a 2nd-floor apartment and Lord knows what else on street level that could only be seen by immediate bystanders.
Through it all, the band plowed through their set and treated Tim as if he were just a large child who gets crazy sometimes but will always work his way out of trouble. They know what they're in for and look like nothing he'd do would surprise them. The same probably goes for most people who've seen them a few times. Yet they still command attention like few bands and always leave people shaking their heads and saying, "I've never seen that at a show before." Of course they didn't. They're a must-see for a reason.
Night 3. It's all over. While it's clear that I was far from enthused with everything that passed their year's Neon Marshmallow stage, Sunday was the kind of straight flush seen maybe one or twice in a poker player's life. Everybody on tonight's lineup kept the crowd on its toes, and the usual night three exhaustion didn't seem to creep in as it did last year.
Booker T Jones was a musical prodigy who got his start at Stax in Memphis while still in high school. That was nearly 50 years ago and his career shows no signs of ending. Saturday night he was at the Old Town School of Folk Music for two shows. Playing in support of a new album, The Road From Memphis, it was no surprise when the early set began with two of its tracks - "Harlem House" and "Down in Memphis." The former was a nice introduction that showcased some of Booker T's absolutely sick skills on a Hammond organ. The latter was a rather pedestrian bluesy number.
But then the fun began with "Green Onions", one of the most iconic instrumental songs of all-time. It wasn't completely faithful to the version everyone's heard a hundred times, though. A few guitar licks differed and the tempo was just barely slower. But if you figure Booker T plays it at every show, the man's allowed some leeway. At any rate, it certainly excited the crowd. That trend would continue on numerous songs with freestyling and improvisation peppering music that's been in his repertoire for years and even some that's new. After the first of three from 1968's Soul Limbo album ("Born Under a Bad Sign"), Booker T (now on guitar) and his backing band rolled through covers of "Take Me to the River", "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" and "Ain't No Sunshine."
Now that the second full night of the Neon Marshmallow Fest has come and gone, it's becoming easier to chart the peaks and valleys of the festival, its overall feel, and the tenor of the crowds. Because of the reduced number of acts from last year, the flow from act to act becomes more pronounced and concentrated, and bands with vastly different methodologies are even more pronounced by their proximity. What I mean by all of this was that I really liked the stuff I liked, and for the other stuff, well, there's always the pool room.
One-third of the 2011 Neon Marshmallow Fest has already come and gone, and with a new venue and a new emphasis on different types of artists, there's plenty to talk about, so let's get started.
First off, the Empty Bottle was able, as ever, to accomodate a wide range of sonic and visual requirements. Slide projectors and LCD projectors are scattered through various rooms, projecting curated images on the walls -- tonight's visuals were by Loo Tapes, and they ranged from washed out slides to viscous purple and green washes of computerized texture. There was also a giant print of a cat's head on the wall near the bar that was reproduced, ad nauseum, hundreds of times all of the walls of the Bottle's (ad nauseous) bathroom.
Frontmen's solo efforts can be a mixed bag of why-didn't-you-use-these-songs-on-your-band's-album and this-is-dreadful. Gruff Rhys' solo albums are not exactly an intercontinental flight away from his day job at Super Furry Animals, but they can run on a path far from that highway. Rarely is there anything dreadful about them, though. His latest, Hotel Shampoo, sounds at times like a laid-back SFA with keyboards often leading the way. Thursday's set at Schubas began with the album's closer "Rubble Rubble" and Rhys deadpanning that "not many people have reached the song." From there he moved onto selections from 2007's Candylion, a few from 2005's Yr Atal Genhedlaeth and even from the weird 2010 collaboration with a person named Tony Da Gatorra while playing piano, guitar, digital air drum sticks and using a turntable as accompaniment for sound effects.
A half-hour into a 100-minute set, he reeled off a slew of Hotel Shampoo songs that were rather faithful to their recorded versions. While they were received with nice applause, all night it was the Candylion songs like "The Court of King Arthur" and "Cycle of Violence" that received the biggest hands. When Rhys last came through Chicago to play those, it was a simple acoustic affair. But with a full band, those tunes were fleshed out and showcased from psychedelic to straight poppy rock.
It wouldn't be Summer in Chicago without free music Monday in Millenium Park; it wouldn't be free music Monday without having to battling wine sipping afterwork types, suburban transplants and a smattering of hipsters for lawn space (or in the case of this past Monday night, concrete space). To give you an idea of the expansiveness of the crowd who came out for headliner Iron and Wine and opener Head and the Heart: people spilled off the lawn onto the concrete sidewalks and all of the tree filled areas surrounding the pavilion. But, once (and if), a spot was found, snacks were passed around and wine opened, the hassle of getting to that point evaporated like sweat on skin. If, however, you were unfortunate enough to arrive post-5:30 pm there wasn't a plot of grass to be sat upon. There's just no such thing as a free lunch, or concert, as the case may be.
Monday night started out with the Seattle based Head and the Heart (much, much beloved in their Western state of Washington). The warm, folk-rock band played a brief 5 song set, which featured strong vocal harmonies and popular track "Lost in My Mind". The song perfectly paired with Iron and Wine's indie-folk sung tales. Notably, Iron and Wine's (also short 60 minute set) was a lot more up-tempo with a full-band, and a lot less lo-fi, bedroom recording sound the band is known for - but this jives with the band's album progression. Iron and Wine's latest albums Kiss Each Other Clean, and preceding Shepard's Dog feature layered and texturized instrumentation, full bands and projected versus whispered vocals. Iron and Wine lived this statement with Monday night with opening song "Rabbit Will Run"; a rhythmically layered track. And the crowd may have been glad to see Sam Beam's breathy vocals give way to something with more projection. Otherwise, his lyrical story tales may have been lost in the expansively hot Chicago night, amid wine and conversation. That plus Pritzker's great sound system and the full band held their attention, for the most part.
The Bouncing Souls are performing four consecutive nights at Reggie's Rock Club - 2105 South State Street - June 9th through the 12th. Each night they'll play two albums from start to finish, beginning with their first record and concluding with their most recent full-length. Thursday, 6/9 gets underway with The Good, the Bad and the Argyle and Maniacal Laughter, with supporting bands The Flatliners and Old Man Markley. On Friday, 6/10 it's their self-titled album and Hopeless Romantic, while The Arrivals and The Brokedowns open. Saturday, 6/11 will feature How I Spent My Summer Vacation and Anchors Away, and The Falcon and Night Brigade play first. Lastly, The Gold Record and Ghosts on the Boardwalk will be performed on Sunday, 6/12, with opening acts The Copyrights and The Reaganomics. All shows start at 7:00 PM and are all-ages. Tickets cost $18 in advance / $20 day of show and can be purchased here.
For two hours Friday night, Ozomatli was exuberance personified.
That's been their game since they emerged from Los Angeles in the late '90s: an only-in-L.A. brew of rock, salsa and hip-hop tossed with an earnest message of social consciousness and a high-energy show sure to punch through the ironic detachment and cynicism of the most jaded Pitchfork reader.
They turned the Congress Theater into a summer block party with a potent seven-man attack featuring trumpet, saxophone, guitar, bass, drums and loads of percussion. The horn blasts and rock riffs of "Saturday Night" and "City of Angels" got the crowd moving, and salsa favorites like "Chango" and "Cumbia De Los Muertos" had them shaking their hips.
Justin Townes Earle's slender frame looked tiny as he walked out onto the stage last night at the Jay Pritzker Pavilion as part of the Downtown Sounds series running all summer at Millennium Park. However, as soon as the Nashville-born singer/songwriter opened his mouth any vacant space was immediately occupied by Earle's silky Southern croon.
Earle serenaded Millennium Park while its occupants celebrated what truly felt like the first day of summer and the musical backdrop he provided could not have been more appropriate. Joined onstage by two lovely female backup musicians — providing fiddle and acoustic bass sounds — and his acoustic guitar, his set dallied between playful blues tunes and soft, sometimes even somber, lullaby-like melodies including a heartfelt ode to his mother, "Mama's Eyes." His music captured the enthusiasm of the day as we finally caught a glimpse of the light at the end of the never ending tunnel that is the Chicago winter and also the dreamy qualities of lazy summer evenings.
Supporting musicians, half hidden behind black draperies, half hidden by the disorienting strobe light's negative space who sound tracked heavy percussive beats under pre-recorded industrial noises held the Metro audience in a state of suspension for a solid 3 minutes before black robed singer Lykke Li made her dramatic appearance. The Swedish singer wasted no seconds before getting into the equally dramatic song "Jerome"; a troubled love song which evoked Dolly Parton's "Jolene" but in a much darker, almost pagan kind of way.
Like the Metro show, Li's newest album Wounded Rhymes, varies from dance tunes to tribal beats. And, as album title suggests, it's a mature, and darker, take on subject matter similar to that of 2008 release Youth Novels. That subject matter being matters of the heart. Li used repeating bass lines and hard hitting drum beats to emphasize her angry, wounded heart in the aggressive "Youth Knows No Pain" and the furious rapid-fire drumming of "Rich Kid Blues". The latter song's mood further set by harsh red lights. Each of these three songs were in vast contrast to the breathy, bubble-pop song "Lil Bit" (from Youth Novels), played mid set, where Li revealed that she may be "a lil bit in love".
In anticipation of their upcoming album, Codes and Keys, Seattle indie rock heavyweights Death Cab For Cutie embarked on a small tour of much smaller venues than the band has been accustomed. In a show that sold out almost instantly, the band swung by Metro Friday night to debut their new tracks and play some old favorites. The last few times they've come through our fair city, Death Cab played Aragon and Lollapalooza, making this night at Metro a rare experience for fans.
Most nights you can walk into a venue and gauge what's coming from a band based on the appearance of its fans. This canon did not hold true Saturday night at the Metro. The crowd was all over the place: electro glam rockers, tall model types, young hipsters and drunk married couples. Their attire spanned from high heels to converse, lumberjack plaid to androgynous hot pants - you get the idea. The uniting principle: people came to dance! It almost goes without saying that this principle included Brazilian electro, rock band CSS.
CSS is an acronym for the Portugese phrase Cansei De Ser Sexy and translates into "got tired of being sexy", but they should seriously consider renaming themselves "Richard Simmons Turned into Rockstar And Went on a Sugar Binge", whatever that translates into. Because, when translated into physical action, CSS meant an hour long, sweat-inducing conglomeration of heavy bass, electro rock, disco beats and glam punk references spanning the band's two album history. For 60 minutes not a body on the main floor stood still. Including curiously face-painted rock star and lead vocalist, Lovefoxxx.
Throughout the night, Lovefoxxx made the most of her cheeky Brazilian charm and her salacious lyrics were highlighted by the Metro's shocking pink lights; she was the PERFORMER. She erratically jumped around to the heavy guitar riff intro of Blondie-esq "Music is my Hot Hot Sex", got all hardcore in the electro-glam "ArtBitch" and bob-jumped along with the chorus "I ain't no Artist /I'm an Artbitch/lick lick lick my arttit".
"You know, when I wrote that I really meant it," remarked The Airborne Toxic Event's frontman Mikel Jollett after singing the opening lines to "Happiness Is Overrated" ("And speaking of little miss Catherine. I feel swell, oh well...") during last night's performance, the first of a two-night residency at the Metro. Maybe that's what happens when two (plus) years and a mountain of surpassed expectations separates a songwriter from his earliest songs. Maybe the songs begin to feel less like intimate artistic expressions and more like the products of just another performance.
Last night The Airborne Toxic Event played a perfectly executed 18-song set...but unfortunately that's about all they did. It wasn't until the second to last song of the encore performance, the whimsical "Missy" off the band's self-titled debut, that The Airborne Toxic Event chose to incorporate any instrumental elaborations or even decided to appear passionate about the words and sounds pouring through the speakers. For a lyricist known for his tendency to dissect singular moments down to their most intimate qualities, Jollett let songs like the rambunctious "Doesn't Mean A Thing" come and go without as much as a pang of uniquely personal emotion in his voice.
The BRGC rocks the house at Fizz as part of Mortified Turns Bright Pink, a fundraiser for the women's health organization Bright Pink.
The Blue Ribbon Glee Club, an a capella group that performs covers of classic punk rock songs, opened Tuesday's Mortified show at Fizz with what I eventually realized was "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits. It took me a verse or two to figure it out, but when I heard the lyrics "I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch, you better think about it baby," being sung in sweet, four part harmony, I knew my instincts were right.
The Mortified reading series, in which willing participants read ephemera from their youth, teamed up with BRGC for a benefit show, raising $1,070 for Bright Pink, an organization that provides education and support to young women who are at high risk for breast and ovarian cancer.
If there's anything more incongruous than an a capella singing group using curse words, it's a fully grown woman reading a diary entry that she wrote at age nine that includes the phrase "don't pull my dick, bitch". I can't think of a more apt pairing than BRGC to set into words and music the angsty and awkward real-life moments that were shared onstage by brave women who, in their own words, read about struggles with weight loss, aspirations of becoming the next Christian rock pop star, being boy crazy, and being sent to bed without any dinner, to name a few.
Today marks the official release of the debut full-length album from Pretty Swans. The album is entitled We Got Hot & Died (Pattern Hungry Records), and is based on the Chicago fire of 1871. As you can image it is not the most upbeat album, but it is unique listening experience. The album combines several style from simple acoustic melodies, to the heavy and lazy fuzz of "Go Die in a Car Fire". The album really touches the a full scale of sounds, there are slowed down beautiful melodies, and scorching tracks filled with flames and an array of instruments. This is the latest project from Russ Woods (aka Tinyfolk).
My favorite track is "You Fell Over" with its looping and almost frantic guitar line-up working in director opposition to everything else in this song. It is a perfect juxtaposition, and just one of many in this album.
Chicago crowned a champion Thursday night at the Double Door. Twenty contestants took the stage, strapped on their air guitars and shredded for greatness, but only one could could take home the title of Chicago's air guitar god.
And in the end, it was a familiar deity: Three-time Chicago champion Nordic Thunder will once again represent his home turf when the National Finals rock the Metro July 23 after a near-perfect score in the first round. But in the process the crowd met some amazing air guitarists, and fell in love with a worthy rival to Nordic Thunder's greatness -- a manimal by the name of Dry Ice.
While it's an old hip-hop trope to cajole the audience to raise their hands in the ay-yer, I can safely say that Kid Koala's show at the Abbey Pub last Saturday was the first time I've seen an entire audience of adults stretch their hands to the ceiling to emulate growing bean stalks.
From the get-go, Kid Koala, aka Montreal-based turntablist Eric San, made it clear that the night was going to take an interesting turn. "I want to get away from the dance floor," he said, referencing his career, which certainly hasn't followed a normal house DJ trajectory. While he's certainly capable of weaving unlikely samples together into a riotous dance fest, he tends to veer toward unlikely caches, including brassy jazz, swampy bayou blues, shredder guitar rock, and atmospheric space trips. He opened his set with slides from his graphic novel, animated storyboards from a breakdance cartoon he's illustrating, and previews of other musical projects.
There's not much of a chance that the band Here We Go Magic won't have fun shows. There's pogo-ing, head to toe bobbing, hip shimmying, and overall glee (and that was just the folks on stage). The group brought their joy to the intimate confines of Schubas Tavern Monday night and wowed an eager group of fans new and old.
Lead singer Luke Temple, guitarist Michael Bloch, bassist Jennifer Turner, and drummer Peter Hale were all rocking out in Chicago, with keyboardist Kristina Lieberson absent, her role was filled by the extremely capable hands of Andrew Whiteman (Broken Social Scene, Apostle of Hustle) and wife Ariel Engle. The duo also formed the opening act, AroarA which came off at first as a bit of a performance piece, but with their remarkable singing and interesting percussion experimentation, it was actually a fine intro to the night's entertainment.
Celebrating a kind of pre-release night for their new release The January EP (available as of yesterday from Secretly Canadian), the band seemed at once polished and still grooving in experimentalism. Not afraid to take some risks, their songs, new and old, range from the straight ahead songs of love and loss, to hooting, looping riffs that take you right off the cliff and into the ocean. It's not a surprise that they're spending part of this tour with tUnE-yArDs (sadly, not this stop) who also thrive on risk taking and vocal interplay with their music.
The band rang through it's past two albums with great ease and grace, hitting songs like "Collector" (with its orchestral sweeps of guitar) and "Fangela" (hand claps!) out of the park with the audience. They played some of the best tracks from last year's Pigeons including the lamenting "Casual" and "Surprise" as well as songs from the band's self-titled debut, and a few from the new EP including the (downloadable) "Hands In The Sky". I really liked what they did with "Hibernation," as they slowed it down and made it lower, funkier, with a stronger bass line which took the '80s throwback tone out and made it much more like a revamped reggae song. The loops and sibilance, whispered through the background of "Tunnelvision" were mesmerizing, and the band encored with "Only Pieces" to the crowd's sheer joy.
All in all, the crowd that ventured out on Monday got exactly the kind of auditory cornucopia that Here We Go Magic can provide so well. The band will do well to keep bringing their big sound to venues where art students and dance freaks can get groovy, though I wouldn't be surprised to see them at an outside festival this summer, where a guy or gal could get their twirl on, spinning around the grass.
Gongs rang and unearthly voices chanted eerily over unseen speakers, filling the air over an empty Bottom Lounge stage. Four guys entered stage left and the noise stopped; silence for two seconds. "That was pretty fucking awesome!" screams ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of the Dead's Jason Reece. The band brawled into the guitar builds of "Strange News From Another Planet". And that is how Saturday night began.
Of all the things which could be written about Trail of the Dead, the one thing that could not be written about the band is that they are boring subject matter. They are not one of those bands that stands there and just plays their instruments. Frontman Conrad Keely lamented into the microphone, jugular veins popping, open mouthed and face scrunched, Jamie Miller's cymbals didn't come up for air, and Reece jumped and swung his arms around the strings of his guitar. The band doesn't write boring songs either. Their second song, "Spinal Jetty," was a dark Alice in Wonderland meets Chronicles of Narnia journey of "falling down through a hole in the ground/let[ting] the minute men carry you back to the winter queen's home". The song is not lyrically sparse on the band's new release Tao of the Dead, but it seemed to be so live as the three stringed members rocked out to one another for extended periods of time. All three moving back to their microphones only scream choruses into them in unison.
scrap•py/ˈskrapē/Adjective: Consisting of disorganized, untidy, or incomplete parts; Fragmented; Full of fighting spirit. There is no other word which more accurately summates The Felice Brothers set Friday night at Lincoln Hall; from the musical arrangements, to the plaid shirts and shaggy haircuts. The down-home five piece, consisting of a pair of Catskill raised brothers surnamed Felice, a former traveling diceman and two close friends, can't help but make authentic, backcountry folk-rock music. But as down-home as that may sound, they are most certainly not just another backporch washboard band. They took their root sound and disjointed and dirtied it up with an old-world like accordion, 808's, trumpets, samples and synthesizers (yes, synthesizers).
The ragtag bunch took the stage, to an almost full house, lead by the Dylan-like vocals of Ian Felice (guitar/vocals) and supported by James Felice (accordion/keyboards/part-time vocals), Christmas Clapton (bass/part-time vocals/former diceman), Greg Farley (fiddle/drum machine/part-time drummer) and Dave Turbeville (full-time drums). They've gained a certain notoriety over the past five years, particularly due to a Newport Folk Fest set in which they played acoustically because of a weather induced power outage, but also for getting their start as subway musicians and recording their first three albums in chicken coops — Like I said, scrappy. After a few warm up songs, the recognition was obvious and on lips of the front row Lincoln Hall crowd — most of them repeated lyrics back to the band while dancing in a disorganized manner.
"Do you speak French Chicago?" purrs Yelle to her sold out audience Friday at the Bottom Lounge. The crowd chimes back an immediate and ecstatic "Oui," but language isn't really a barrier when your music clearly exist for the sole purpose of dancing, fun, and sex.
Of Montreal's Kevin Barnes (photos by Rory O'Connor)
For anyone that's ever seen Of Montreal perform before the typical questions when seeing this band the next time aren't "Will they play a good set?" or "What will the encore song be?" The questions on return customers minds are probably more along the lines of "What types of circus-like antics will Of Montreal bring to the stage this time?" and "How many wardrobe changes will lead singer Kevin Barnes incorporate into his performance?"
Three. That's the answer to the later question in regards to Thursday night's show at The Vic. Of Montreal strive to be more than just bodies on a stage, strumming guitars and plunking keys on a keyboard. Every song is a theatrical production for this band and attending one of their concerts is akin to taking a psychedelic journey into the minds of Barnes and his bandmates. Thursday night's musical voyage was accompanied by an eight-piece band, two giant video screens serving up tasty neon images, and fat suits. For real.
It can't be easy for a band to celebrate 20 years on the road. Everyone in every city only wants to hear old songs and new material essentially needs permission to be played. But this isn't Face to Face's first rodeo. (Remember, this is a band who had a "farewell" tour in 2004.) They know they owe their successes to the fans, so they're prepared to give the fans what they want. And, oh my, was Thursday's show at the Bottom Lounge ever for fans of old songs. Other than three new tunes that were almost begrudgingly accepted and one from 2002's How to Ruin Everything, the set list could've been lifted from a show in 1996. Ten seconds into opener "You Lied", the crowd was singing, pogoing and moshing (or, at least, something resembling it) along to the punk power riffs and angsty lyrics that've defined Face to Face.
Aside from singer Trever Keith being a little ill and his voice lagging a bit, Face to Face sounded top-notch with tight guitaring as the highlight. (Longtime bassist Scott Shiflett, guitarist Chad Yaro and a drummer I didn't recognize filled out the band.) Some of the songs from last night have been kicking around for 20 years and most of them live mirror the recorded versions everyone's heard hundreds (thousands?) of times, but they still pack just the right punch. Rarely did they stray. From "Struggle" to "Pastel" to "Complicated", the crowd was engaged and energized; singing along to every word, hurling fists in the air, picking up strangers who couldn't keep balance and blocking out moshers so that someone could find a dropped Blackberry. Even though they do have a new album coming out in a couple weeks (Laugh Now, Laugh Later), last night felt more like a greatest hits show with a band probably past their prime but far from over. And if they continue in that vein, no one'll be complaining.
Last night Cubby Bear played host to Q101's new music series, "The Q-Up Show" featuring St. Louis, MO breakout act Greek Fire and Chicago's own AM Taxi. The few of us in attendance that didn't overindulge in overpriced Bud Light woke up this morning with the fresh memory of an excellent show.
Pieced together by members of St. Louis's veteran alternative act Story of the Year and other local musicians, Greek Fire's intense on-stage energy and its ability to transcend typical alternative rock conventions have caused a lot of buzz within the band's own local music scene. Judging by crowd's reception of Greek Fire last night, that buzz is starting to filter out nationally.
"I write moments," says Sharon Van Etten. Judging by her lyrics, Sharon Van Etten has had many heavy-hearted moments. On Saturday night at Lincoln Hall, she let the audience in on those moments as she sang the universal feelings of frustration, betrayal, obsession and the let down that comes with love that isn't, doesn't and just can't work. She does it all with minimal instrumentation and an emotively sweet folk sound.
Symbolically, Sharon Van Etten opened her Lincoln Hall set alone. There were no backup singers, no costumes, no displays of multi-colored lights, no smoke; just Sharon and her slow electric guitar strums. With which, she beautifully portrayed her feelings of anguish and frustration in "Consolation Prize" from the album Because I was in Love. The moral of the story was: no one wants to be a consolation prize. And Lincoln Hall stood silently letting the message fall over them.
Based on recent hype, it wouldn't've been surprising to see a full house (instead of a stream of late arrivers) for Tamaryn on Wednesday at Lincoln Hall. Her debut album The Waves has been fawned over for its ethereal shoegaze sound, something like a very laid-back Jesus & Mary Chain. However, it never veers far from that airy comfort zone of distortion. And that's why, despite Tamaryn's lovely soothing voice, her show simply isn't very exciting. The Waves is fantastic as white noise; not so much as a performance.
Projections of oceans and deserts fit the music perfectly. Songs vary slightly in tempo, but almost never in aesthetic. Tamaryn spent the first half of her 40-minute set obstructing her face and singing through her hair. She never said a word to the audience. That behavior is understandable as mystique, but there has to be a good reason for it. (Although, I suppose everyone has to start somewhere.) Her 3-piece band sounded fine while they rolled through the majority (if not all) of The Waves. Yes, there were some great moments like "Mild Confusion" and the upbeat "Love Fade", but too few.
Let's face it, if Chicagoans have bragging rights in one area (aside from our unfair ratio of cold to warm-weather months) it's our punk scene. With loads of local labels, venues, festivals and artists, in addition to a constant influx of national acts, it's not hard to find a good show around the city on any given night. As was the case Sunday night at the Beat Kitchen. Red Scare put together yet another great lineup combining both local great Brendan Kelly and national bands White Wives and The Haverchucks.
The Haverchucks, native to Richmond, VA, celebrated their first ever Chicago show last night. Judging by the sounds off their free demo and the sights at last night's show, The 'Chucks aren't reinventing the wheel when it comes to pop punk, but they're certainly staying on par with other up and comers in the genre. The band rocked their way through a fast-paced set and didn't seem to have much trouble getting the few dozen folks who showed up early to take notice.
[This review was contributed by Gapers Block: Tailgate writer Brian Lauvray.]
It's about 20 minutes since Dan Bejar and his revolving cast of musicians that he and we call Destroyer have left the stage. He's outside crouched and cramming instruments into the tour bus. "Bejar, do you need a hand?" I shout. "No, I'm OK, man. Thanks for coming out." We chat for a few minutes about the times I've seen Destroyer in Chicago — in 2005 as an opener for The New Pornographers, in 2006 as a solo act at the Abbey Pub, '06 again at Pitchfork, '08 at the Logan Square Auditorium, '09 (solo) at the Empty Bottle and now, tonight, at Lincoln Hall.
Every Destroyer show is a great show. The sound engineering, the tunings, the aural roar and the measured silences are amazing. From a technical standpoint, the proficiency of the sound engineers, the musicians, even Bejar's patented slurring, sliding and "La-la-la-la-la-ing" his way through his songs, were all top-notch, exactly what one expects for a Destroyer show. The venues are the non-constant in this equation, and the venues are more often than not the culprit. This evening — and caveat, oh, please, caveats, dear reader — the rote predictability of the venue, the audience, the set list, me bitching about "rote predictability" all converged to make for merely an "OK" Destroyer show.
Bear in mind, this isn't a bad thing necessarily. An OK Destroyer show still batters the ever-loving stuffing from most shows, it was just, y'know, a relatively sterile venue jam-packed with holier-than-thou college kids (yes, in 2001 when Streethawk: A Seduction came out, I, too, was a holier-than-thou college kid.) The set list, consisting nearly entirely of Destroyer's latest Kaputt, was simply just not enough to showcase the voluminous back catalog of Bejar. Nor, did it highlight the uniqueness of the musicians as in shows past — typically there have been impossibly stripped down versions of (Bejar solo) or jazzed, tweaked, and more "rocktacular" versions of originally bare songs. There were a few moments like that, the version of "It's Gonna Take An Airplane" was unbelievably cranked up and rocked out version that bore little resemblance to the barren, acoustic version from Your Blues.
Still, the setlist, the ambience, the crowd — it mattered little when able to witness the sly and winking lyrics of Bejar converge so perfectly with such a tight band. An OK Destroyer show was more than enough on a random Tuesday night in March.
Godspeed You Black Emperor's hiatus has done wonders for their publicity. This weekend's Metro shows sold out six months ahead of time and the queue snaked around Gingerman before doors had opened. And all of this for a band who, in my experience, basically has contempt for the type of people who'd pay money to see them perform. (Let's just say I was not pleased when I last saw them eight years ago minus a week. Though, while I have an aside, the first time I saw them is one of the best performances I've ever heard.)
The 8-person collective (3 on guitar, 2 on bass, 2 on percussion, 1 on violin) took the stage one by one shortly after 10PM and built into "Hope Drone", a low-key drone while "Hope" flashed on a screen. (Good title, right?) From there they transitioned into compositions spanning their career, from sections of their debut F♯ A♯ ∞ to two lengthy parts of their breakout Lift Your Skinny Fists... and their last official release Yanqui U.X.O. They even dropped in something that never made it to an album. And the evening closed with both sides of their brilliant Slow Riot for New Zerø Kanada EP. They excelled with crescendos and were absolutely enthralling when the tempo picked up, and even sometimes when it didn't and their dense brooding style tugged at emotions.
There are a few things that I was expecting from London's Chapel Club at the Double Door on Wednesday: polished new wave sounds and a certain knee quivering baritone that can't help but hint at Ian Curtis or Jim Morrison. What I wasn't expecting was five oh-so-humble-and-endearing yet really young looking twenty-somethings.
The five members of Chapel Club took the stage with anthemic guitar soundscapes of "Five Trees" set to blue house lights. The stringed instruments controlled most of the groups short set. Aside from Bowman graciously thanking the crowd, the most endearing aspect may have been lead singer Lewis Bowman's baritone vocals. Bowman introduced "Bodies" as a pleasant little love song before richly lingering over each song's lyrics. Most of the previously mentioned knee quivers occurred during the stripped down choruses of "Bodies". The only complaint about the song was that the vocals needed to be turned up.
From there, the group played the leisurely "Paper Thin" off the group's debut release, Palace. Bowman lightly held the microphone while breathing over the lyrics to "Window" and contemplated life choices, like either settling down or messing around with someone else's wife . They went into "O Maybe I", finally ending the set with the pop-y "Eastern Girls". While there was nothing ground-breaking about the set, as a longtime sucker for a baritone, I had nothing to complain about.
Thankfully, in music, unlike monarchies, people are not simply born with royal titles; they earn them over decades of success. Last night at Lincoln Hall, it didn't take a genius to figure out why Wanda Jackson's been dubbed the Queen of Rockabilly. The 73-year old Oklahoman has been performing over 50 years, is a major influence on countless women in rock'n'roll and country music and has a thorough arsenal of hits.
Of course, being a queen also means there's a little bit of drama involved. She missed rehearsal for her first night with Nashville's Hi-Dollars, forgot lyrics and cues, rambled on tangents, lost her trains of thought, etc. Her signature growl is still in good shape and she was very animated and gracious, but the 70-minute set rarely built any momentum. She roared out of the gate with the Lieber/Stoller classic "Riot in Cell Block #9" and then gave a lengthy introduction that was followed up with two Elvis Presley songs, notably a rambunctious "Heartbreak Hotel."
From there she lauded Jack White for pulling her from the verge of retirement and played 4 songs from her latest album, The Party Ain't Over. She had amusing stories for each before getting back to some of what initially made her famous with "Fujiyama Mama." (I always thought it was crazy that that song was a phenomenon in Japan with lyrics like "I've been to Nagasaki [and] Hiroshima too. The same I did to them, baby, I can do to you.") An endorsement of the Lord almost completely lost the crowd, but "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" revived us. She ended the set with her smash "Let's Have a Party" before returning for a medley of hits as an encore. When she was performing from her regular repertoire, she was a tour de force. But when she ventured outside of her wheelhouse, results were a bit more mixed. Since last night was the first night of the tour, hopefully, those kinks get worked out.
Despite the wishes of their most ardent fans and even the band themselves, no discussion of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark is complete without mentioning "If You Leave". Although OMD had a string of brilliant, and far superior, songs prior to appearing on the soundtrack to John Hughes' 1986 film "Pretty in Pink", "If You Leave" catapulted them into Stateside stardom. Success can be a double-edged sword, however, and as the song became an icon in its own right, it quickly eclipsed much of their other work. It came as little surprise then that Andy McCluskey introduced it on Saturday night at the Park West as the song that nearly ended their career. The earnestness with which they performed it, however, proved that the best way to face the parts of the past you like least is by embracing them.
Obits have often been quoted as saying, "We're not into innovation as a band." The Brooklyn foursome's debut album was a full-on rock'n'roll powerhouse and the forthcoming Moody, Standard & Poor is no different. Singer/guitarist Rick Froberg (Pitchfork, Drive Like Jehu, Hot Snakes, et al.) pulls from a similar vein as his other projects with a distinct wail as the calling card over a pummeling rhythm section and ominous surf-rockish guitars. Saturday's set at a packed Empty Bottle began with a few new tracks that were received with the typical applause and whoops of unheard music from a trusted source, but it wasn't until they dropped in known tunes ("SUD", followed by "Widow of My Dreams") that the crowd came around with manic cheers and hollers.
From there, Obits indulged the fervent audience with recognizable songs mixed with new ones. As evidence of how new some of them are, even guitarist Sohrab Habibion muffed a title, to the amused chagrin of Froberg. But who really needs to know song titles when the musicianship is so spot-on? Obits barely missed a beat, which shouldn't be surprising for a band that supposedly rehearsed for a couple years before their first live show. What's remarkable about Obits is that, on the surface, nothing they do seems like it isn't being done by a thousand other bands right now. Yet they pool their ingredients in a way that no one else does and come across harder and leaner than nearly anyone.
Audience members reaction to The Get Up Kids' set Friday night at the Bottom Lounge was as expected: eruptive excitement during any pre-breakup tune and respectful tolerance of anything off their first post-reunion full-length, 2011's There Are Rules. This can be expected of almost any band touring after a post-reunion release. Even the most loyal and accepting fans are still most likely in attendance to hear the songs that they waited years to hear again, not the ones that have only been around for few months.
After an awkward opening song — "Tithe" off the aforementioned TAR — things took a definite turn for a better when the opening chords of Something To Write Home About's "Action and Action" came blaring through the speakers. This pattern persisted throughout the night. Crowd members raged with excitement during songs off Four Minute Mile and Guilt Show, and kept conversation to a dull murmur during songs off the band's most recent release. To their credit, The Get Up Kids put on a great show and did a fair job of rotating new and old tracks.
Sporadic bursts of synthetic smoke, strobe-like lighting effects, five-minute bluesy breakdowns. All in a night's work for Portugal. The Man, a band that has come a long way since its origins in the unlikely town of Wasilla, Alaska to its recent major label signing with Atlantic Records.
Last night the quirky foursome was the guest of honor at one of Chicago's newest record labels, Audio Tree's, official launch party, hosted by Lincoln Hall. Openers included The Soil & the Sun and Audio Tree's first signed act, Kellen & Me.
Greg Gillis has a sweet gig and you'd be hard pressed to find anyone to argue that point. Every night is a party for Gillis —performing under the pseudonym Girl Talk — and he's always at the center of it. Gillis has been dominating the world of mash-up — a genre that he helped to create — for almost 7 years now. On Nov. 15, 2010, Girl Talk surprised everyone in the best way by releasing All Day, the DJs newest album — released for free download (via Illegal Art) with no prior advertising.
This weekend Girl Talk made his triumphant return to Chicago. GT has played some legendary shows here in the past, so it's no surprise that he was able to sell out the 4,000-person-capacity Congress Theater two nights in a row.
Cheap Time and Ramma Lamma bookended a very rock'n'roll night at the Empty Bottle with tight sets leaning toward garage rock. Ramma Lamma's male/female vocals are always good for wailing and the short songs keep their momentum humming. Cheap Time's catchiness fits perfectly in with other current gritty rock bands leaning toward power-pop. Though their new record Fantastic Explanations (and Similar Situations) doesn't pack the same jolt as their self-titled debut, its songs came across lively and the band, like Ramma Lamma, left little room for chatter in a brief set. Perhaps as a statement to living in the now (after some personnel changes), they relied mostly on Fantastic Explanations for the set and only played "Glitter & Gold" from their first LP.
But it was Zoobombs who brought the spectacle. The Japanese foursome plowed through psych-rock, punk, a little metal and a lot of noise. Singer Don Matsuo flailed around the stage, spastically playing his guitar, smacking the keyboards and using whomever's microphone he was closest to. He sang, he screamed, he yelped. When Zoobombs rocked, they did so with gusto much like a Jon Spencer. (I guess they learned something while on the road with him.) Although their highs were the highest of the evening, their lows were the lowest. Seemingly endless noise - meandering organs, guitar feedback, intermittent percussion - broke up songs that had been chugging along. The sparse crowd took it as breaks to amble between the bar and a comfortable distance from the stage. But when they had focus, they brought the heat and that certainly outweighed the lulls.
Yuki Chikudate of Asobi Seksu (photos by Steve Stearns)
It's been said that Asobi Seksu Asobi Seksu is plays somewhere in the dreamy pop realm of ambient shoegaze — or something like that. While it's easy to see why singer/keyboardist/cute front girl Yuki Chikudate would fit those sorts of descriptions with her soft and often operatic soprano, at Empty Bottle on Monday night those descriptors just didn't fit. Asobi Seksu may have released shoe gaze albums in the past, but Monday there was just too much noise (of the really fantastic variety). Asobi Seksu seems to be pushing the experimental envelope, and while not completely leaving shoegaze behind, they took it to harder places on Monday night.
Generally, it is Chikudate's vocals that are at the forefront of the groups tracks, but as song "Put the Drummer in Front" suggests, that isn't necessarily the case all of the time. Throughout the set guitarist James Hanna wailed out thunderous guitar riffs which sounded more punk-like, with their rowdy tempos, than anything shoegazey (although Hanna did look at his shoes a lot). While Hanna was gazing, drummer Larry Gorman's sticks flew across his kit with heavy hits so fast that it looked like Empty Bottle had a strobe light on him — they didn't, he's just really fast.
Al Barr of Dropkick Murphys (Photos by Katie Hovland)
It doesn't take much urging for Chicagoans to boast their Irish pride, love for good music ans appreciation of cold beer. The same can be said for Boston-based punk rockers the Dropkick Murphys. So it's no surprise that these two collectives meshed Saturday night at the Congress Theater. Celebrating the release of their seventh studio album, Going Out In Style, this Tuesday and more than 15 years of being a band, Dropkick Murphys plowed through a 90-minute set with relentless energy.
But before the spectacle that was the Dropkick Murphys took the stage, attendees were graced with a performance from iconic members of the Chicago punk scene Naked Raygun. Since Naked Raygun's official reunion in 2006, fans that first fell in love with the band thirty years ago have been given another chance to see and hear classics like "Surf Combat" and "Wonder Beer" played live.
Naked Raygun's Jeff Pezzati (Photos by Katie Hovland)
Dum Dum Girls bassist Bambi (Photos by Dave Knapik)
There's an obvious formula to girl groups: a few attractive females plus revealing clothing and any sort of gimmicky feature equals record company cash. For the most part, it's played out. The Dum Dum Girls, however, manage to pull off girl group without it feeling formulaic. Even though the Dum Dum Girls are four good-looking females, in a band, they strummed the girly-goody-goodiness out of their guitars (or beat it out of their drum kit) at the sold out Empty Bottle show Thursday night.
The Girl's ability to dodge formula may also have something to do with the fact that the group's album I Will Be was born out of lead singer Dee Dee as a bedroom solo-project. Dee Dee combined a buzz sawed up garage-pop sound with dark lyrical themes and dressed them up with sweet sounding harmonies and '60s girl group "baby baby" choruses. Adding band mates, Jules (guitar and vocals), Bambi (bass), and Sandy (drums and vocals), for live purposes. They are often lumped with other in vogue retro bands like Best Coast, but they are much darker, even though both write about drugs and boys.
"The only thing worse than bad memories/ Is no memories at all" goes the Dismemberment Plan song "Spider in the Snow". If that's how The Plan felt, then Sunday's Metro crowd would probably rephrase that lyric slightly to match their collective feeling: "The only thing worse than the breakup of your favorite mid-'90s indie band is no reunion tour". The post-punk band, known for their math-rockish arrangements, broke up in 2003 leaving many an angsty-early-adulter to find their relatable angst rock elsewhere. Now a bit older, the typical Dismemberment Plan fan, piled into the Metro Sunday night for day 2 of 2nd of the Dismemberment Plan's Chicago shows.
Interestingly, Dismemberment Plan named themselves after a phrase spoken by the insurance salesman in the movie Ground Hog Day. The Ground Hog Day tribute seems to suit the quartet's sense of humor and they manage to work it into their straight forward lyrical style the quirky and ironic (such as "Do the Standing Still" and "Dismemberment Plan Gets Rich") which were interspersed between the more emotional of their Sunday night songs. And they've always highly regarded for the goofy, feel-good energy of their live shows. Sunday night was no different.
Some things are just hard to describe. Like trying to describe the torment and intensity inside of Future Island's front man Sam Herring. Or Herring's theatrical command over Empty Bottle on Saturday night. Or like trying to describe the genre Future Islands fits into. Luckily, Future Islands has already solved the issue of trying to describe their sound by creating their own genre; they call it post-wave. It's something like a heavily texturized post-punk slash new-wave set to growling, howling vocals. The Saturday night show was a little harder to depict. It was like the moody, jarring and distorted saga of the band's album In Evening Air (plus a few new tracks) were taken over and re-enacted by Herring with irrepressible drama.
Herring commandeered the Empty Bottle from the second he took the stage. With an ominous eyeball he isolated and stared down the individuals in front of him before stepping further into character and growling into opening track "The Great Fire". Herring, balanced out by stoic band mates J. Gerrit Welmers (keyboard) and William Cashion (bass/guitar), proceeded with two more unreleased tracks before getting into the reverbed, industrial noise that opens up beat driven "An Apology". The song won instant recognition from the Bottle crowd. Following the song, Herring stepped out of character for a minute, to exclaim "I am so fucking happy to be in Chicago! Goddamn!".
To Encyclopedia Britannica "Gang of Four" is a notorious faction of the counter-revolutionary forces to the Chinese Communist Party who were responsible for massive societal chaos. To a Friday night Metro crowd "Gang of Four" is THE politically motivated post-punk band from the late '70's early '80s who were responsible for an hour and a half set of fervor- inducing, hard-angled music.
Despite their graying hair and softened bellies, the remaining two of the original Gang of Four members, singer Jon King and guitarist Andy Gill, reassured the packed house that they haven't lost their edges and angles. Leather outfitted King jerked around the stage with almost reckless abandon, gyrating against the microphone, arms crossed overhead. Antithesis to the antics of King was Gill's deadpan backing vocals, steely persona, and familiar, aggressive staccato.
I should mention up top that I went to this show in place of another Transmissioner who was under the weather. However, until Tuesday's early gig, I hadn't consciously heard the Radio Dept. in nearly 7 years because [name redacted] adored their first album, listened to it often and then ended our relationship in a brutal manner. After that their presence just sort of eroded in my memory. But every band deserves a second shot, even if the people who introduce them to you don't.
The Radio Dept. once came off as a Jesus & Mary Chain soundalike that happened to incorporate electronic beats. Over the years they've flipped it to where the focus appears to be the electronics. (They even ditched the live drummer.) Distorted guitars still play a major role, but now the band sounds like a noisy male-led Saint Etienne with elements of jangly C86 music. Songs become recognizable on the beats and then bring in guitars and vocals like clockwork. The Swedish trio eased into their set thanks to each tune's reception of hoots, hollers and excited applause (and requests for "Bad Reputation") from a clearly rabid audience.
Once they fell into their groove, they plowed through 45 minutes that hit across the stages of their career. From their most shoegaze-like "Why Won't You Talk About It?" to the recent "David" sounding like the Junior Boys to numerous other songs between those styles. (A guy standing behind me said he only knew them from Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, so I don't feel too bad about forgetting some song titles.) With every song clocking in under 5 minutes and the night being on a timer, it wasn't a surprise that the band ended early to the disappointment of the crowd. They got on stage, played well, cracked a joke about it being too early to be drunk and made their exit. How about it for Swedes and their efficiency?
Four years ago, longtime ska-punk scene members Less Than Jake were granted a release from their contract with Warner Bros. imprint Sire Records and began their own label, Sleep It Off Records. This was arguably one of the best moves the band has made throughout the course of its nearly 20-year career.
Fan's reaction to LTJ's final record with Sire, 2006's Out With The In Crowd, was painfully dismal. As the band continued to drift further and further away from its ska roots, even longtime fans began to remark that it might be time for Less Than Jake to throw in the towel.
If it weren't for the resilience of these ska-punk veterans, last night's show at the Bottom Lounge would not have been such a good time. Not long after LTJ's departure from Sire the band began replacing Warner Bros.-produced singles with older catalogue selections during touring cycles and recording what would become 2008's GNV FLA, an homage to the band's beginnings in Gainesville, Florida. Less Than Jake fans wanted the old Less Than Jake back and that's what the band was finally giving them.
The last year was a good one for Steve Dawson's current project, a collaboration with a tremendous backing band — Frank Rosaly on drums, Jason Roebke on bass, and Jason Adasiewicz on vibes. In May of 2010 they celebrated the release of Dawson's second solo album, the organic and emotive I Will Miss the Trumpets and the Drums with a release party at the Old Town School of Folk Music, and followed up with regular gigs at city and regional venues. Last weekend's show at the Hideout (a venue whose sepia tones befit the alt country scene) — where they were joined by Alton Smith on keyboard and accordion — is evidence that they're only getting better. While on the surface it might seem like the jazz cats in Dawson's group would be overqualified to play singer/songwriter fare, this group not only excels at weaving an emotional fabric around Dawson's expressive vocal and guitar lines, but also sneaks in free jazz style jams throughout the set. This is a group that clearly has fun on stage, and likewise is fun to watch.
Following a lively and engaging set by Melanie Budd, one of Dawson's overachieving songwriting students at the Old Town School of Folk Music, Dawson's band gently eased into "The Monkey Mind is on the Prowl." Murmurs in the crowd revealed that the strange keyboard instrument that Diane Christiansen (Dawson's wife and Dolly Varden collaborator) blew into was a melodica. Patiently building the set, Dawson's band followed with his fingerstyle gem "Long Overdue." This tune — performed with only bare guitar and vocals on the album — was given a little extra kick from the band's shuffling groove. It wasn't until the third song that Dawson picked up the energy with the anthemic "Obsidian," followed by a cover of Buck Owens' "Your Tender Loving Care."
Josh Grier's black Sturgis slogan'd t-shirt was a fitting choice; Sturgis tends to represent a rough and tough rock n' roll crowd. The same kind of raw energy that Greir's Minnesota-based indie-rock band Tapes n' Tapes pounded down on Saturday night's Lincoln Hall crowd. The quartet, framed by Erik Appelwick's visceral, fuzzy bass lines and Jeremy Hanson's insistent drum beats, compelled the crowd into a jerked dance motion from the first chords of "I'll Leave the Light On" to the house lights coming down after critically acclaimed "Insistor" and every song in between.
T-shirted Grier complimented his shaggy hair and '70s throwback mustache with plenty of hints of hazy Southern rock as the band, to percolating crowd fervor, intermixed songs from 2005's The Loon and 2011's The Outsider. The Outsider hasn't received the same critic fanfare afforded to their earlier release, but it's hard to follow up genius. Overall, tracks from The Outsider are softer, poppier and less stylized. The album also lacks the emotion and drama of the band's debut. Not one of those adjectives, however, applied to the band's Lincoln Hall show. The show could be described as hard hitting, jammed out rock n' roll anthems texturized by Matt Kretzmann's horns and keys plus a dramatic echo'd vocals — a straight up rock show, never mind the indie part.
The best of shows are the ones that are just as enjoyable for the performers as the audience. Luckily for attendees of Saturday night's Banner Pilot show at the Beat Kitchen, such a balance was struck and the result was just plain fun.
As the late show headliner, Banner Pilot kicked off just before 11:30pm in front of a wildly receptive crowd. Of course, it's no wonder that Chicagoans would be drawn like moths to a flame to a band that cites both Alkaline Trio and the Lawrence Arms as direct influences. What ensued next was forty minutes of fist pumping, hand clapping, anthemic punk rock.
Saturday night was a juxtaposition of elements. It was old to new, experience to inexperience, Chicago legend to Chicago's latest club, Felix Da Housecat to The Mid. Felix is no newbie. The Detroit-born / Chicago native / L.A. relocated DJ started making house music in the middle of Chicago's second wave house scene at 15 years old (his first track "Phantasy Girl" blew up in Chicago in the summer of '87). And his 20+ years of throwing down is no joke.
Pre-Felix the Mid was primarily seated or hanging by the bar. As soon as he hit the decks the Chicago native took the Mid on a Rocket Ride. Post-Felix everyone from the Felix fans to the kids who just showed up were up, shaking with their arms waving overhead. As for the music, most people would have expected Felix to drop his usual catchy electro-clash-pop (see acclaimed Kittenz in the Glitz ), but on Saturday Felix focused on a more electronic sound, throwing in an eclectic mix of Chicago house classics and in-your-face-disco. Proof that "House music doesn't go anywhere, they just give it different names" (in an interview at Real Detroit Weeky ). It was a mix all two-stories could get down to.
The Concretes' latest album WYWH is a bit of a departure from the style that most people would associate them with. It's much more reliant on electronic beats than any of the organic indie-pop that they've released over the years. For that reason, their set list on Saturday sounded as if it had been picked from two entirely different bands. On one hand were non-WYWH songs where guitars led the way and on the other hand were WYWH jams that sounded as if their origin was based out of a drum machine. (This clearly was not a bother to the proud drunk who sauntered on stage uninvited and sloppily danced during one of WYWH's more upbeat songs, inciting her friends to scream approvingly.) Years ago there would've been no reason for two sets of keys/synths at a Concretes show. Now those instruments are used for nearly half of their songs.
Fans can split into two separate groups when a band A) loses the dynamic vocalist that led them to initial fame; B) alters their musical style: 1) carry on as if it's no big deal and be open to the change (AC/DC effect); 2) mope about it not even being the same band and deride new material (Genesis effect). While WYWH songs weren't heckled or anything, it seemed clear that most people at Schubas fit into the latter category and saved the biggest applause for old songs like "Say Something New" and "You Can't Hurry Love" (played with almost a garage-rock dirtiness) from their first album. Singer Lisa Milberg's voice may not carry the same weight as Victoria Bergsman's did, but she handles herself well and lets the music pick up slack. Covers of Robert Palmer's "Johnny & Mary" and the Rolling Stones' "Miss You" showed the band having a little fun with their new disco-influenced sound.
Concretes bassist Martin Hansson (Photos by Kirstie Shanley)
In the world of Gangsta rap, where stereotypes abound, the weed smoking rising and the misogynistic lyricism coupled with the constant chanting of "Fuck Police" during Friday night's Freddie Gibbs show might only perpetuate these ideas. But all the negative stereotypes fall to the wayside when you look at the raw talent the charismatic (and easy on the eyes) Gibbs possesses. The Gary, IN native had a bit of a homecoming party, the stage packed with an entourage milling about, while the simply monikered MC G hyped up the crowd with songs about kush and gunfire.
There are some shows you just don't want to end. The Besnard Lakes last night at Lincoln Hall was of those performances. Their ethereal albums are hypnotizing enough, but live everything is bigger, louder and more wicked. To look at the husband and wife team of Jace Lasek and Olga Goreas, you may expect flower power folk; instead you get a wallop of psych rock with modern electric touches.
The Besnard Lakes' Lasek and Goreas (Photos by Kirstie Shanley)
Last summer the Montreal pair opened Millennium Park's Downtown Sound series at the open air Pritzker Pavilion. It seemed the most fitting way to hear the group, under the night's sky, but last night being up close and personal was that much more powerful — a different but equally compelling feeling. Their set got underway almost a half hour earlier than their scheduled 11 o'clock time since opening girl-group Frankie Rose & the Outs played for only 20 minutes. As the room filled up, the band hit full stride by "Land of the Living Skies". It was at times a transcendent experience, juxtaposed by the casual banter and stories from the band (including one about being compared to David Koresh!). We got plenty of Lasek's mighty falsetto on songs like "Chicago Train" and "This Is What We Call Progress", and he brought out a captivating white 12 string electric guitar for "Albatross", on which wife Goreas takes the lead on vocals. The contrasting sweetness of "Albatross" made the following song, "Like The Ocean", all the more haunting.
It'd been almost two years since the Helio Sequence played Chicago. Back then it was opening for Keane at the Aragon. Last night they were at the friendlier-sounding Lincoln Hall for the first night of Tomorrow Never Knows Fest. After a lengthy delay between sets, guitarist Brandon Summers and drummer Benjamin Weikel emerged from behind the curtain and immediately put forth an engaging performance highlighted by Weikel's energetic and chaotic drumming. The Portland duo have made a career of blending the raw Pacific Northwest indie-rock sound with ambient music and some psychedelic leanings. Take a little Quasi, a bit of Tristeza, some American Football and you'll eventually get the Helio Sequence.
Helio Sequence drummer Benjamin Weikel (Photos by Kirstie Shanley)
Hordes of lurching shoeless drunk girls shivering in tiny dresses, boys covered in glitter and sweat, and a dance floor littered with popped balloons and an air of bad decisions is just another typical New Year's Eve in Chicago. Maybe it was the unseasonably warm weather or maybe people were just ready to say good riddance to 2010, but the crowd packed into the Flosstradamus New Year's Eve party at Lincoln Hall were not content with just standing on the sidelines; they came to dance.
"You and I will be having words, sir," Tim Kasher called out to a heckler last night at the Vic Theatre. Kasher's one hour set at the Vic last night began with a nearly antagonistic audience. Murmurs of animosity rose from the audience Thursday night. Whether staged or actual, the shaky beginning of Kasher's set may have left many to believe that the mounting agitation of the crowd was planned in advance as a means of theatricality. Given Kasher's penchant for the dour and melancholy, this wouldn't have been a stretch.
However, Kasher seemed to be rollicking in the awkwardness of it all, and would often stop between his songs to add more self-flagellation to his already self-deprecating songs with statements like "It's true; I'm no good." Though Kasher immediately veered into deeply anguished territory, he just as quickly regained the audience he initially lost. Perhaps sensing that his audience, mostly 20-somethings, were disconnected from his unfolding suburban midlife crisis, he prefaced one song as being "the most slow and painful thing I will put you through at the Minus the Bear show." However, Kasher masterfully revived the audience back in time for Minus the Bear's set by pulling out old favorites like "Bloody Murderer" from the hugely successful Cursive album The Ugly Organ. But before Kasher played, the Canadian alt-country pop rockers Rah Rah opened with their danceable country-infused rock.
Emergency Room's Dan Andriano (photo by Katie Hovland)
"His voice sounds familiar; I feel like I've heard it somewhere before" says a girl at Subterranean as Dan Andriano's distinctive voice strained to reach a note. Andriano sounds so familiar because (a) his voice is so unique — vocal power builds from his stomach and mutedly emanates from somewhere in the middle of his throat for the climaxes while lisping over the chorus lines, and (b) because Adriano is, and has been, the bassist/singer for Chicago punk rock band Alkaline Trio since 1997. Aside from the comfortable familiarity of Andriano's voice, his Emergency Room side project is distinctly different from Alkaline Trio — it's all acoustic. And, while some of Andriano's angst seems to have softened over the past 13 years, his songwriting still expresses the same somber futilities of being.
Each of Emergency Room's songs felt like it was written alone, at a small table in a half-lit hotel room after days on the road. Fittingly, Andriano was on stage alone; just a mic and a guitar. "It's Gonna Rain All Day" and "September" were the first of the night to convey the theme. Underlining the lyrics, Andriano wailed out the AAAA AAAA's with his eyes closed and mouth wide open to the ceiling in "September". Later on Andriano weaved "Me and Denver" and "This Light" into the set. It was about waking up alone in hotel rooms, staring at the ceiling (It's Gonna Rain All Day") and missing and praying to get home soon ("Me and Denver"). It was about awkward silences over long distance discussions and being asked to come home ("This Light"). Emphasizing the message, Andriano even added a raspy cover of the Carole King song "So Far Away" (Doesn't anyone stay in one place anymore?).
The Hood Internet's set at last night's One Night Stand's Wobble Wobble Wobble (held at The Metro) didn't actually start until this morning--12:11 a.m. to be exact--making it the most enjoyable show I've ever attended on Thanksgiving. Alright, so I don't think I've ever been to another concert on Thanksgiving Day. Still, superlatives aside, it was awesome.
Reviewing any DJ set is difficult, mostly because the experience feels more like a giant party than a live show. Immediately following a set by fellow Chicago DJ duo Team Bayside High, one half of The Hood Internet, Steve Reidell aka STV SLV, took over the booth and kept the party raging for the entirety of his hour-long set.
Sometimes you leave a show wishing you'd kept the $15.00 ticket price in your pocket. That feeling is especially disappointing if you went in expecting an hour or more of abandoned gyration to charged noise slash pop-punk and all you got was diluted pop-punk slash garage rock. Unfortunately, that was the general feeling after the (much anticipated) No Age show at Lincoln Hall on Sunday night.
The stripped down duo of Randy Randall (guitar) and Dean Allen Spunt (drums/vocals) stepped out from behind a white-sheet-made-projection-screen, clamped onto Lincoln Hall's normal black curtains, to an amped up, mostly wristband-less, crowd. Under pink lights (and to an inexplicable absence of fog), Randall strapped himself into his guitar and Spunt took a center-stage seat behind his drum set. The first spurts of feedback and heavy drum beats to "Life Prowler" (from latest album Everything in Between) incited instant mosh-pitting amongst the more angst-ridden members of the crowd and headbanging from the 21+'ers in the rows behind them. But as the set progressed, the collective mood averaged out to a dull boredom.
No Age's Dean Spunt (left) and Randy Randall (photo by Rory O'Connor)
Although emerging Chicago band Dastardly has rightfully received some early critical acclaim for its unique blend of melodic roots with quasi-angstful experimentation, the band's self-description is as accurate as any: "Hear a man croon and howl about death, booze and love over a band that seems to understand what he's going on about; harmonious voices and instruments of the past collide with a confused and desperate present." Despite the early successes of his band, front man Gabe Liebowitz was jittery about their breakthrough first gig at the revered Metro. During the days leading up to the show, friends of the band's Facebook page could follow the charming chronicle of his pre-gig nightmares ("showing up onstage naked and our drummer puking during the first song. Have at it, aspiring psychologists!") and dreams ("I was hired by the Chicago Trolley Company as chief Muppet advisor...").
When showtime arrived, Liebowitz may have still been nervous, but he had no trouble transferring his nervous energy to a more productive and outwardly frenetic state. The opening track "Villains" began as gently and melodically as a 1930s country ballad, gradually introducing vocal harmonies by accordionist Sarah Morgan, before Andy Taylor's drum rolls thundered the piece to a higher energy as John Humbracht's banjo bled into the mix. The lyrical message wrapped up early in the song ("So I think you should gather yourself another hero/'cause I tried but if you really know me you'd be horrified") just as the electric instruments — Patrick Lyons' guitar and August Sheehy's bass — kicked up the intensity with straight time riffs. By now Liebowitz began to resemble a distant relative of Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson — hopping around the stage and up to the drummer's platform, transferring his energy first to his bandmates and then to the audience. The song built to an instrumental crescendo, before settling into one of the band's signatures — a subdued four part vocal harmony ending a capella.
The critics have started speaking on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, and so far it's been straight A's across the board. Not least of all is the weigh-in from Pitchfork, who awarded their first non-reissue perfect ten score since fellow Chicagoans Wilco released Yankee Hotel Foxtrot some eight years ago.
Delorean's strength is also a glaring weakness. The Barcelona electronic quartet has carved out a nice career over the last decade with gliding synths, pulsing beats, sturdy rhythms, long builds, and bridges galore. They sound at times like Cut Copy (or another synth-heavy rock band) in Ibiza. Their latest album, Subiza, is full of atmosphere with carefully constructed layers. It's a sonic marvel showing tremendous progression in their sound. But it has a flaw - sticking to the template too closely. Even though Subiza is one of my favorite albums of 2010, I have trouble differentiating between tracks and often hear it as background music. That's something a band can get away with on a record, though.
At Delorean's Chicago shows earlier this year (opening for Miike Snow at Metro in April, Pitchfork Music Festival/Empty Bottle in July) they displayed edginess under the guise of a rock band. They were loud and abrasive, relying on guitar hooks as well as synthesizers. At Wednesday's sold out show at Lincoln Hall, however, they appeared much more comfortable as a straight electronic outfit verging with rave/house. Programmed blips and bloops dominated the night. The guitar was audible, but not overwhelming. Even the vocals were a secondary element. Each song began soft and slowly built to a mid-range tempo. At some point, it'd inevitably break down and then shoot back up. Sometimes it ended with a cool down, other times with a hard stop or seguing into the next song. Rinse and repeat. Yet still it was entertaining. Delorean's music is extremely danceable and even the chatterboxes were at least tapping their feet, if not busting a move or two. (The same can't be said for those who were dragged along by a significant other.) An hour-long set flew by and the band sounded great for what it is they do best, even if it was a bit repetitive. But why fix what isn't broken, right?
Do I look like a pop star, Khaela Maricich asks, posing with a chin up, a back arched, a leg forward. She flips her new long hair over her shoulder. She is on stage all by herself, like, she just gets up there without a band or anything--just Melissa Dyne running the music offstage--and the performance is entirely minimalistic yet engaging. Do I look like a world famous lesbian, Khaela asks. To signal a comeback, Khaela throws up flame arms in one of her anecdotes between songs. I wish I had a capture of her repeating this gesture. It's great. She is great.
Khaela Maricich faces a blow of indoor wind and hot light.
The narrative told by The Blow on Saturday night is a love story, as always it is about love, and when you listen to songs about love being a fortress and couples making a pair of parentheses and Khaela dedicating a brand new song to her girlfriend in the back of the room somewhere, what else can you in the audience feel but this impatience to fall in love, if you are not already experiencing it at the moment.
Brooklyn based Twin Shadow and L.A. based Glasser are sort of like the odd couple as far as concert pairings go. Twin Shadow is the "Wonder Years" set to velvety new wave vocals and dreamy '80s synthesizer. Glasser is more like "Dark Shadows" set to bewitching Enya meets Fever Ray vocals and complicated layers of instrumentation. The only common element between the two musician's sets was an overachieving fog machine. But Felix and Oscar made it work and the Lincoln Hall crowd seemed to think that Twin Shadow and Glasser did too.
Silhouetted in a red-lit cloud of smoke, Twin Shadow's George Lewis, Jr. entered the stage and launched into a set that sounded like flipping through a photo album to a new wave soundtrack. In a golden haze, the four piece band took the crowd back to secret handshakes and bike riding suburban cul-de-sacs with warm synth supported vocals in "Yellow Balloon". And then, with throbbing drum beats, flipped ahead to pre-pubescent crushes in "Tyrant Destroyer". Lewis' sincere whisper lured the crowd into his muted adolescent longings ("As if it wasn't enough to hear you speak / They had to give you lips like that"). Finally, frustrated with the whole thing, Lewis insisted in "Slow" that he "doesn't want to believe or be in love" in a high anathematic chorus sung over electric guitar riffs building to his dramatic finish.
2010 is shaping up to be Robyn's year. After too long being unhappy with the politics of the music industry, Robyn is now making and distributing music her way. This year's Body Talk EPs are more cohesive than her self-titled album; they tackle love, heartache and power directly and carry enough punch that the lyrics can't be just glossed over. Although she might not be on top of the pop charts, she's definitely found an audience. Saturday's Metro show sold out almost as soon as it went on sale and the crowd was eating out of her hands immediately.
As soon as she walked on stage, Robyn was pumping up the audience going back and forth from left to right sides. She is a ball of energy, constantly in motion and clearly having a blast. Even in ridiculous thick platform boots, she had the best moves all night. (Then again, it was so crowded hardly anyone had a chance to really show off.) The set was heavily skewed toward newer songs with grooving electronic hooks. Three of the first four were from Body Talk, Pt. 1; the highlight being "Dancing On My Own", a devastating electropop floorburner about watching your ex with their new squeeze. If it wasn't so upbeat, the protagonist would be considered psychotic. The soaring chorus had the masses in hysteria. "We Dance to the Beat" followed up to cool everyone down (and Robyn had a chance to eat a banana), but it wasn't long until the BPMs got a bump with "Love Kills" and the Royksopp collaboration "The Girl and the Robot." Her latest single "Indestructible" and "Dream On", one of only two cuts from her self-titled album, led into the Kleerup collaboration "With Every Heartbeat" that again had the crowd bouncing all over the room.
Where Robyn succeeds as a performer is not just in having good source material, but in being the life of the party. Only rarely and for dramatic effect does she not look like that stage is the only place for her. She playfully toys with the crowd, laughs with band members, dials up the appropriate campiness and generally appears like the happiest person ever because people are singing along to her music. (There was a great moment at the end of "Konichiwa Bitches" in the first encore where without a cue the entire crowd yelled, "You is a punk." Her joyous reaction displayed everything you'd need to know about the delight of a musician knowing their music is loved.) Only a tease of the first verse of ABBA's "Dancing Queen" felt a little generic (pandering to the crowd a bit?) before she ended with a very downtempo "Show Me Love" accompanied only by keys. If anything's to be gleaned from Saturday's show, it's that Robyn's on the way up and there ain't no stopping her now.
I don't think it is possible to see Ben Folds live and have a bad time. Between his goofy songs, exuberant audience sing-a-longs, dorky sweaters, mopped hair and glasses, he never fails to be entertaining. Ben had a piano and backing band in tow for Friday night's performance at The Riv, and as usual, he delivered.
With Ben playing piano with his feet and constantly joking around with the audience, typically a Ben Folds show is not terribly serious. However, usually he sends away the backing band for a few songs to slow it down with a short solo performance. Friday night's show lacked any such break, with his standard fast-paced piano thrashing dominating the set, so much so that when Ben left the stage at the end of the night, I was completely surprised that it was already over. For me it felt like the show had just begun. While I am not saying that every one of his concerts needs to be formatted in the same fashion, possibly throwing in "The Luckiest" or "Boxing" or any one of his more emotion-filled tracks could have helped break up the set a bit.
Aloe Blacc's latest album Good Things is basically about anything but. It harks back to the R&B and soul of the early 70s where money's tight and times are generally tough. That era was responsible for mounds of progressive and socially conscious R&B. And with many of the same economic issues in the news today, it's by no means a stretch to drop the same themes into current music. Blacc's "I Need a Dollar" ('The boss man let me go / He said, I'm sorry but I won't be needing your help no more') and "Life So Hard" ('Families on the street with nothing to eat / Baby boys and girls, no shoes on their feet') capture narratives of difficult lives. His smooth baritone adds depth far beyond his years. (He's in his early 30s.) The mostly mid-tempo R&B is reminiscent of simmering southern soul music. It's all very aware of its roots and it's all put together very well.
At Friday's sold out show at Schubas, backed by the Grand Scheme (in matching letterman jackets), Blacc veered from the down-on-his-luck singer toward more of a strict entertainer. Between chunks of Good Things as full songs or in limiting medleys, a trio of covers (to punctuate that soul comes in many forms) and an old song, he spoke at length about performing, making the audience a part of the show and the Church of Love and Happiness (in a sea of tunes about the opposite). Often he rambled on so long that he lost the crowd's attention. (Even through my earplugs the chatter was loud.) What's worse is, based on reviews from other cities, it's been the same exact banter each night. However, when Blacc's actually performing, instead of name dropping or something, he's pretty good. He never really cuts loose, but he can put on a show. When he cedes some control to the musicians and just sings, he's finally the performer he talks about being and, thanfully, the one that most people want to see. If he ever learns to trim the fat and make an hour-long set even close to an hour of music, he'll be in good shape.
Bas van Koolwijk and Gert-Jan Prins are...SYNCRONATOR
It's a musical duo, it's a DVD, it's a device, it's an investigation into audio/video interfaces in art...it's SYNCHRONATOR! Sound artist Gert-Jan Prins and visual/video artist Bas van Koowijk have unveiled a device of their own making, an unassuming-looking box with three audio inputs and one video output, allowing the user to turn three channels of audio directly into a video signal.
The Synchronator DVD displays the process via ten short films ranging from a minute-and-a-half to six. The audio that drives these pieces is almost uniformly low-end and buzzy, sounding as much like a badly-grounded speaker cable as anything you'd associate with music, the multiple streams of sound nonetheless combine in the synchronator box, spitting out rhythmic, slightly hallucinatory patterns and effects onto the TV. Although 90% of the DVD is black and white, the Synchronator is also wired for color, as each of the three inputs controls the Red, Green, and Blue on the screen.
Is the Synchronator for you? First of all, be aware that the DVD, while being a region 0 DVD is also shown in PAL, so you will need some sort of all-region player to play or (or a laptop, possibly). If that's no impediment, then this disc is recommend to fans of The Flicker, the films of Viking Eggeling, the Paper Rad collective of Providence, RI, and the 2003 video by LoVid, who will also be playing Lampo in about a month.
(This Saturday, Lampo's Fall season continues with the duo of Gert-Jan Prins and Bas van Koolwijk, performing with the Synchronator at the Graham Foundation's Madlener House, 4 W. Burton Place in Chicago. The event is sold out, but click here to get added to the waiting list)
[This review was submitted by Chicago freelance writer Nathalie Lagerfeld.]
Heavy bass is something you feel in your body as much as you hear it with your ears. It reverberates in all your hollow spaces — your throat, chest, your Eustachian tubes. It rustles the hair on your arms and neck. Really, it was no surprise to feel these effects at this Friday's show at the Double Door, where three of the four artists who performed were signed to dubstep pioneer Flying Lotus' Brainfeeder label. But one of these artists was monome maestro and wannabe Victorian dandy Daedelus (aka Alfred Darlington), who's better known for his fanciful costumes than he is for throbbing beats.
Daedelus had ten full-length solo albums under his belt before he came to Brainfeeder, and none of them sound very much like dubstep. His songs have eclectic influences, but they're mostly light and upbeat; for instance, he once put out an album built mostly around samples of children's TV soundtracks. Even his album with Brainfeeder, 2010's Righteous Fists of Harmony, tempers its thumps and drones with bossa nova influences, cello samples, and dreamy guest vocals. Daedelus has always seemed unable to commit to one single style or set of influences; he's always trying out new things instead of deepening his engagement with old ones, a trait that can leave his albums feeling frustratingly unfocused.
Eugene Kelly of the Vaselines (photos by Dave Knapik)
The Vaselines have long been known as 1980's/1990's obscure ghosts of inspiration, an unknown then broken up duo made famous mostly by another band that no longer exists. When music is poured out in to the world by others, it might be difficult to gauge the authenticity of appreciation. That was back in the 90s, now the hype of another's love for the Glaswegian band has died down considerably and all the ears in the room at Thursday's Lincoln Hall show were for The Vaselines only with no memories of how most of us first discovered this band.
The pace of the room was calmer than could be expected. Granted, the band toured last year getting out a lot of pent up excitement for the then recent reformation, but the vibe filling the room was best described as excited chill, people coming together to celebrate the music that got them through high school and remembering that we are still having the good old days right now in this moment. That is one of the strengths of this band, to be able to live in both worlds.
The set started out just like the feeling in the room, only with a a little more oomph as cheers indicated that the band was taking their places and quickly played "Oliver Twisted" as an energetic and classic opener to the marathon set.
It's perplexing to think that Gary Numan supposedly didn't appreciate The Pleasure Principle for years. While it wasn't exactly the first of its kind, it's definitely in the conversation for catalysts of the synth-pop explosion in the early 1980s. Luckily, he's come to his (and everyone else's) senses by warming up to the album and playing it live in its entirety to celebrate its 30th anniversary. Its songs were originally written for guitar with the Tubeway Army before Numan's fascination with synthesizers took over. And to look at the stage at Metro on Tuesday, that fascination is still alive and well. Four synth setups were accompanied by drums and bass guitar. Although the drums were ridiculously high in the mix (and Numan's vocals were often low from where I stood), there was no question that the synths were running the show.
"I'm gonna sing to this girl right here, and I know you've got a boyfriend but I don't give a fuck," croons Kevin Brereton, better known as rapper k-os, one of the smoothest performers in hip-hop today. With a backing catalog sampling everything from Joni Mitchell to Ozzy Osbourne and a flirtatious and confident stage persona that could make any girl swoon, k-os offered up a solid set to a crowd of devoted fans Saturday night at Lincoln Hall.
This story was submitted by freelance writer Mia DiMeo, who writes for Art Slant Chicago.
Midway through his almost two hour set at the Chicago Theater, Sufjan Stevens paused to apologize to the sold out crowd for any bewilderment concerning the lack of banjo on his new album, The Age of Adz. Five years since the release of the folk-orchestral masterwork, Sufjan Stevens Invites You To: Come on and Feel the Illinoise, there have been mixed feelings, understandably, about Stevens' latest portrait of Americana, that, on Friday night came complete with Auto-tune, a laser light show, and backup dancers dressed in gold lamé.
Stevens' fragile falsetto and skeletal plucks began the show with the haunting intro to "Seven Swans," the quiet prologue to the apocalyptic dance party to come. Under red lights, the band thundered into the song, as Stevens sang his way into the new material with the old favorite and a serious intensity, "If you run/He will chase you/'cause He is the Lord."
Spirituality isn't uncharted territory for Stevens, and neither are synthesizers. Live, it is clear he is just building on the bleeps and glitches in 2001's, Enjoy Your Rabbit with a seasoned sophistication that is closer to the epic nature of Illinoise.
For any fan of punk music, Riot Fest is a mecca. If it is not the world's largest punk festival, it is certainly up there, and each year they somehow continue to expand and bring in even more exceptional acts. Now that we've had a full week to recover from Riot Fest (and I've had a week to recover from the massive flu I somehow caught at the festival), let's take a look back at the memorable moments at this year's explosive fest.
Scotland Yard Gospel Choir's Mary Ralph (photo by Steve Stearns)
On Friday night, Lincoln Hall celebrated their first anniversary as a Chicago concert venue and to mark the occasion in style they found an ideal line up for this intimate venue. The night opened with an energetic performance by Chicago's own Scotland Yard Gospel Choir. If you don't know them from their music, you may have heard about them from the terrible accident they had just over a year ago when their van rolled over on the way to Cincinnati. While the pain and debt of that accident may still linger, the band puts on a great show with no signs that anything ever went wrong.
Scotland Yard Gospel Choir's music is ripe with dark comedy featuring lyrics like, "I hope that you catch syphilis and die alone," and, "Oh my god, my life is so fucked up." Those lyrics are then mixed with wonderfully energetic instrumentals that practically compel you to dance and sing along. Overall they are a bit reminiscent of Morissey for his knack for blending seemingly a seemingly happy sound with cynical lyrics, but they have a far more humorous quality that really shines in concert.
Tristan Perich plugged in his latest composition, flipped the switch, and...pow! Just like that, a shower of blipping tones rained down on the crowd in the darkened hall at the Graham Foundation's Madlener House (one of the locations currently hosting Lampo events regularly) and looking at a row of five small black and white TVs. His 1-Bit Symphony looks like a CD, but is actually an electronic device. Mounted inside a clear CD jewel case is a small microchip, some machinery to actuate the microchip's "idea," an on/off switch, and a headphone jack.
While the "CD" ran its course, Perich returned to his seat at the side of the crowd, his fingers sliding elegantly over five separate sets of receptors and tiny circuits. As he manipulated each one, light patterns began to scroll across the screen. First, it was just lines, left to right, a few screens still blank, others in motion. Sometimes, it would seem as if a pattern would "jump" from one screen to the next, as if it were a long snake sliding through the row of TVs. Soon, more complex patterns began to form -- honeycomb textures, visual 'noise' that seemed to be trying to spell out words, and ziggurat-like sawtooths. The patterns always cycled from left to right, forcing you to either choose between looking at all five screens as a whole or focus on each screen's repeated motifs. The effects were created by Perich's homemade system of electronic gadgets that were controlling the cathode guns in the TVs, treating the TV's picture tube like an un-tagged subway car.
The music itself sliced the air with a sharp crystalline edge. The blipping, high-velocity runs and controlled forays into white static were not random patterns, but nuanced, emotionally stimulating compositions -- in fact, it would not be hard to imagine "1-Bit Symphony," with its lightning-fast arpeggios and mournful bass pedals scored for an especially dexterous organist -- but the execution on a set of electronics that sounds like the beeps and buzzes an Atari 2600 cartridge would make when it overheated made the harmonic and melodic complexity all the more affecting. Like Nancarrow's player piano pieces, the medium is always a factor -- you do tend to think about the mind (and hand) that had the idea to punch all those tiny holes in order to make this deeply alien music, but it only enhances the listening experience.
The first performance of Lampo's Fall 2010 season looks like an inspiring set of performers -- all four programs emphasize creative and/or "wrong" uses of low-cost electronic equipment to achieve amazing ends. It's a reminder that waiting to experiment until you've saved up enough to get a "decent rig" is time needlessly wasted.
Triple bills on a weekday night are always a tough lot for the opener. Once, a Canadian rap-rock group named Kazzer opened for The Roots at the House of Blues — the audience was stone silent through some uneventful rapping and pseudo-breakdancing, causing the lead singer to shout "Who likes beer!? Who likes the Roots!?" in between songs. The audience declined to answer.
Luckily for Jon Hopkins, he held the fortunate advantage of some lead-in popularity (collaborations with Brian Eno on a score and album) as well as being a fine match to the performers following him. With tunes displayed Pet Shop Boys-pastorality to the thwomping bass of MSTRKRFT, Hopkins utilized three KAOSS pads to great dramatic effect, showing the energy of a drummer instead of a man squinting at a laptop.
Matthew Dear and band came up next — their Black City logo had been hanging behind Hopkins forebodingly, but they looked all smiles and blazers upon entry. Dear's blazer and cropped hair looked Chris Issak, but his sexy was tinged by sinister. "You Put A Smell On Me" found Dear channeling his best Sign O' The Times-era Prince — a goofy synth line and 4/4 high-hat acting as background for the lustful sneer of "little red nightgown" ad nauseum. Tracks like "Monkey" showed more Bowie-like pop, and a trumpet and double cowbell came out for a spirited rendition of "Little People", which the crowd danced to with approval.
If the large, dancing panda in the middle of the Riviera Theatre was any indication of how Monday night's Miike Snow concert went, it was very wild indeed. Of course there wasn't a real panda — although who could tell the difference amidst the abundance of strobe lights — but instead a 20-something bopping around in full-on costume on the ground floor.
Opener Étienne de Crécy started the night with a strong DJ set, deliving an insanely catchy remix of "Make It Pop" by Diplo & Don Diablo. The French producer took turns experimenting with some ambient noise, at one point mixing in what sounded like a distorted laugh track. I was frightened.
Four and a half years after their last visit to Chicago, Belle & Sebastian returned on the eve of their new album's release. Considering the long break, the fervent audience and the middling early reviews for Write About Love, the set was loaded with older songs. And that was just fine with everyone at the Chicago Theatre on Monday for a "sold out" show. (I'm using the quotation marks because it's what the marquee said, but there were dozens of people selling tickets outside and there were numerous empty patches in the seating.)
Even though 2002 and 2003 were pivotal years for Belle & Sebastian, due to the departure of a founding band member and the introduction of a slicker recording style, it's clear that the band has no regrets about the direction that those moves have resulted in. Where they were once reserved and revering of a lo-fi pop sound, they've embraced the clean and upbeat. "I'm a Cuckoo" and "Step Into My Office, Baby" from 2003's Dear Catastrophe Waitress were early reminders that what was once practically treason to die hard fans is now well-accepted. Both songs were received loudly, and played impeccably. (The strings added nice depth to a lot of songs.)
Belle & Sebastian's strength as a live band revolves around singer Stuart Murdoch. When he's on his game, their dynamic is hard to beat. They play loosely, have fun and everyone in the crowd knows it. But when he goes through the motions or loses interest outright, they lose a chunk of appeal. Luckily, those moments are short and far between. They only included some of the banter between songs (accounting for far too much dead time) and most of the audience participation. (If you're pulled on stage to dance, you'd better cut a mean rug. Don't just mug for 3,500+ people.) Otherwise, he was very engaging and respectfully patronizing of Chicago.
As with any band that's mastered set list construction, there came a point when it was obvious that the finale was under way. On Monday, the infectious and summery "There's Too Much Love" began it. From there they moved on to fan favorite "The Boy With the Arab Strap" that persuaded some folks even in the balcony to stand up and dance. But then a few technical issues arose as Murdoch's microphone cut out for half of "If You Find Yourself Caught In Love" and pianist Sarah Martin appeared to have trouble with the Wurlitzer organ. As professional musicians, they got around it for "Simple Things" and a knockout "Sleep the Clock Around." After a rapturous applause, they returned for an encore of "Judy and the Dream of Horses" and "Me and the Major." What's striking about Belle & Sebastian is that they seem to know precisely what their audience wants and they deliver it seemingly effortlessly. If you're going to make an event out of such rare appearances, you might as well excel at them. And that's exactly what they did on Monday.
It's been a decade since Nick Lowe toured with a full band. The British singer/songwriter's recently toured as a solo musician, just him and a guitar churning out best-of sets sprinkled heavily with songs from his last few albums. Now, Lowe is completely capable of entertaining a crowd on his own, but Sunday's full band show at Old Town School of Folk Music was a perfect example of how valuable a backing band should be.
Lowe's first three songs, including "Heart", were solo and totally acceptable. But when his all-star band joined him, it was a whole different show. They filled in the gaps where Lowe's solo performances have occasionally lacked and accentuated his wide-ranging appeal. There's only so much that can be done with an acoustic guitar. Once drums, bass, keys and a second guitar were added to the mix, then they were cooking with gas. From the country-influenced songs ("Lately I've Let Things Slide") to the R&B slow burners ("The Other Side of the Coin" in tribute to Solomon Burke) to the straight-up rockers ("Cruel to Be Kind") to the jazzy numbers ("You Inspire Me") and on and on, the band's versatility was key in showcasing that Lowe's songwriting prowess has extended beyond the pub rock, new wave, and pop that he's often associated with.
Nick Lowe's been in the music business for a long time. He's seen numerous trends appear and fade. He's not exactly doing the same things that he once did when he was in Brinsley Schwarz or Rockpile, but he's not too far off from it. He's just kinda mellowed out a bit while exploring his options. Nobody puts together such an arsenal of catchy hooks without getting a little outside of their comfort zone every now and then. (As good as he is, he's simply been widening that zone.) And it was all on display last night for an enthusiastic crowd. The only negatives were the anticlimactic closings - a tranquil "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding" following a roaring "I Knew the Bride" to end the main set, then a cover of "Go 'way, Hound Dog" after a brilliant "When I Write the Book" in the encore. It was equivalent to a fireworks show ending on wimpy comets. Minor quibbles, though, because it was pretty fantastic getting pummelled by great songwriting for an hour and a half.
If there were ever any doubts that Swans has made some of the most illustrious experimental music in recent years, all were shattered after last night's show at the Bottom Lounge. The band, an ever changing gang lead by Michael Gira gave a strong performance that was rich with both new and older material as well as a testing of the audience's generous patience. You can gage a band's legendary status by the level of entitlement the audience has and Swans are well beyond this level. The fans needed to suck every morsel of sound and be as close to the stage as they could. Many were determined to get their way no matter how many people they had to squeeze through to get closer. It is a sweet testament for a large group of fans to show love for a band with a history as rich as Swans, you just don't want to get caught in the middle.
Riot Fest doesn't kick off until Wednesday, but the unofficial "secret" start to the festival began last Friday, when Chicago's own Smoking Popes played to a randomly chosen invitation-only select crowd of Riot Fest pass holders. The show took place at tiny Wicker Park venue AAA, complete with an unfinished ceiling and a stage made of plywood that wobbled as the band jumped and rocked out. The environment was reminiscent of the barnyard punk shows of my suburban youth, fitting for a band I've been listening to since grade school.
Everything was alright until Brendan Canning and Kevin Drew made me cry. At least it was a good cry, a cathartic one. And as I stood alone with tears rolling down my cheeks, feeling like the biggest asshole in the room, I felt like Broken Social Scene were patting me on the back and saying "there there, everything will be ok." I have a feeling I wasn't the only person wiping away some tears Saturday night when Broken Social Scene stopped at The Riviera Theatre for their show promoting their latest album Forgiveness Rock Record. It wasn't all stark realizations that made your lip quiver, but Broken Social Scene (specifically masterminds Drew and Canning) have a knack for writing the words that you wish you could say, then putting them against the backdrop of crashing melodies that sweep you up and away. But just as much as the downtrodden is gut wrenching, the lighter fare is uplifting and romanticizing, and the band showcased both sides Saturday night.
The line outside the Metro at 7:50 was a quiet affair — a boy and girl stood by their lonesomes behind the barricades, watching four spiders have what appeared to be a domestic dispute. Perhaps the 18+ limit kept all the potential young Justin Vernon swooners at home, or maybe on a Thursday everyone was just going to take it slow and smooth. Regardless, by the time Glasser was wrapping up their set, the crowd was dense and active, ready for more after singer Cameron Mesirow's rich Bjork-like timbre had cast its spell.
Let's pretend Skeletal Lamping never happened. Last time of Montreal was in town, band leader Kevin Barnes gave a phoned-in, lackluster performance behind the release of the schizophrenic album. It appeared that the self proclaimed indie star had given up, no longer having fun on stage and recording an entire album of sexed up, completely self indulgent, pieces of songs. But their Saturday night show at the very same venue and the recent release of False Priest was a complete turnaround. "I was hoping tonight would feel just like this," he said in the middle of the show. So were we. Kevin Barnes is back.
Throughout his esteemed career, Van Dyke Parks has been known more as a collaborator and accompanist than a star. A handful of solo records, most notably the lauded Song Cycle, have reached a cult-like status, but the bulk of his work has been behind the scenes as an orchestral arranger and producer. This tour with Clare and the Reasons is his first ever, and Sunday's stop at Schubas was his only performance in Chicago since 1964.
With that in mind, it wasn't terribly surprising to see the 67-year old pianist a bit off as the main attraction. He (along with Clare's Reasons) began the set with tracks from the Uncle Remus and Br'er Rabbit-inspired Jump album. Before continuing, he rambled about the demise of popular culture and not wanting his photograph taken. (When was the last time you went to a show where nobody took a picture?) From there he wove through folk (tipping his cap to Phil Ochs after a tirade on oil spills for "Black Gold"), bluegrass (with a brief story about the fiddler John Hartford), romantic piano composition (along with a history lesson about Louis Moreau Gottschalk), chamber music and pop. The biggest applauses of the evening were reserved for the Song Cycle tunes ("The Attic" and "The All Golden") and three that'll forever link him with Brian Wilson ("Heroes & Villains" and the first two tracks from their 1995 collaboration Orange Crate Art).
The knock against Van Dyke Parks is that his music is too complex only for the sake of being so, but on Sunday the simple setup (he on piano, the Reasons on strings) kept songs from becoming too heavy. Even with tweaked arrangements throughout the night, nothing was so far from its original version that it was unrecognizable. As a display in songcraft, it was masterful.
Clare and the Reasons opened with a full musical cabinet - bass, cello, clarinet, French horn, guitar, kazoos, keyboard, recorder, trombone, violin and washboard. (And I may have missed something.) They ran through a 40-minute set covering both of their albums evenly and included covers of Genesis' "That's All" (with that earworm hook played on trombone) and Harry Nilsson's "He Needs Me." For only seven people onstage, they sounded much bigger; as if a symphony were crammed in a back corner.
[This review and photos come to us from Taleen Kalenderian.]
It was May of 2007 the first time I saw Atlanta-based noise rockers Deerhunter. The band was opening for Chicago's own The Ponys for their headlining slot at The Echo in Los Angeles. Cryptograms had been released that January, but I was really into The Ponys' droning garage jams then and couldn't wait to see them for the first time. Deerhunter frontman Bradford Cox towered over the stage wearing a flora print mini-dress that night, singing with mic-in-mouth gripped by his teeth. He jolted around the stage along to Cryptograms' more angular tracks, putting everyone in a daze that thoroughly upstaged The Ponys' following set.
Saturday's free Deerhunter show was less about noise-making and more about fanservice and clever publicity, but that didn't make it any less entrancing. Hundreds of fans showed up early to the Chicago River underpass at 560 W. Grand, a location disclosed only a few days beforehand as part of Levi's + Urban Outfitters Secret Generator Series. Deerhunter previewed most of their new songs for the first time in advance of their third full-length album, Halycon Digest (out tomorrow).
Most attendees at Friday's concert (part of the Chicago World Music Festival) at the Chicago Cultural Center, a Hidustani classical performance between iconic musicians Aashish Khan (son of the world-famous Ali Akbar Khan), his younger brother Alam Khan, and tabla accompanist Swapan Chaudhuri, seemed to be seasoned veterans. Scanning the room, it was easy to see listeners transitioning with the musicians to the various sections of the ragas, applauding at natural ends to solos, and the occasional nod of recognition as titles of rags were announced. It was a crowd that understood the caliber of musicianship and emotion it was getting, absorbing every nuance, every call-and-response. It was not, by all accounts, the type of audience that was "waiting for the part when the drums kick in." We were here to exist in the presence of a historical continuum of master musicians reaching back to Mian Tansen (b. 1493), one in which the previous two generations pushed forward not just musical skill, but compositional innovation for the entire art. The emcee described Baba Allauddin Khan (Aashish and Alam's grandfather) as "The Mozart of Indian Classical Music," only stopping himself to note that, "That might not actually be expansive enough."
1. I like Shonen Knife as a band name a lot. They are a trio of women from Osaka, Japan who walked on stage by 11pm, waving at the crowd, then for like an hour, they directed genuine fun rock toward us, which the positivity was necessary for me personally, having traveled toward Schubas under a light drizzle and white-purple lightning flashes in the sky, which gave me anxiety. Plus I was alone last night.
2. Naoko Yamano, lead guitarist and vocals, is the only original member of the band left. I'm estimating that she might be in her 50s right now since the band started in the early 80s. My mother is nearly 50, but I would never be able to imagine my mother onstage with the smiles and energy of Yamano, who was playing this glitter blue electric guitar, rocking her long black hair up and down like I would do in my bedroom to get dizzy and drop down. It was great, too, because Yamano and Ritsuko Taneda, the glitter pink bass player, would synchronize their hair rocking to conclude some of the songs.
I've got a curse with Matt and Kim. Despite trying to see the band multiple times, something has always happened last minute, preventing me from witnessing the saccharine sweet pop duo live. I've always been a fan of their stripped down bouncy brand of pop, theirvideos, and they're two of the nicest people I've ever sat down and interviewed. So Sunday night was a big night for me, as I was finally able to break my Matt and Kim curse (barely).
Spending the night with a bunch of drunk people having an electro dance-off while a shirtless dashing man acts as your ringleader isn't a bad way to spend a Saturday night. Last weekend the Nylon Magazine music tour rolled into town at Double Door, bringing along with them a bill of synth happy bands with headliner Kele (of Bloc Party fame).
Late September is traditionally quite an exciting time for Chicago experimental music lovers, as it is when one of the most revered publications for the genre, UK-based magazine The Wire, brings its Adventures in Modern Music festival to the Empty Bottle. When it was first announced that Chicago would host its own version of Barcelona's Sónar festival this September, many were left wondering if it would conflict with Adventures in Modern Music, and if so, what that would mean for one of the city's most unique celebrations of far out sounds. Of course everyone involved found the perfect solution by simply joining forces to make it all one big party. Ironically, Sleep was one of the first gigs of the festival, but it would be in short supply the rest of the weekend for any die-hard fan unable to imagine missing a beat.
Drag City artists Rangda headlined Friday night's Empty Bottle line-up. An experimental supergroup comprised of Sun City Girls' Sir Richard Bishop, Six Organs of Admittance's Ben Chasny and frequent collaborator with the stars, Chris Corsano, Rangda faced the challenge of waking up a crowd already weary from several days of live music. Their fast-paced freakouts proved more than fit for the job, as the tight three-piece frenetically ripped their way through the first portion of their set.
When Sónar Chicago first announced that Ben Frost would be on its inaugural line-up, their commitment to innovative electronic music became clear. This wasn't going to be a watered-down sibling to their annual Barcelona event, rather it would present dance music and experimental sounds in equal measure. Frost was an ideal candidate for bridging this gap, as his uncompromising ambient noise explorations were introduced to dubstep fans on Mary-Anne Hobbs' 2008 compilation Evangeline. That appearance, coupled with powerful recent releases like 2007's Theory of Machines and last year's By the Throat, ensured this would be one of the most eagerly anticipated performances of the entire festival.
One look around the Chicago Cultural Center on Saturday night was all it took to see that this anticipation was not idle, as the Claudia Cassidy Theater could not contain everyone that hoped to see Frost deliver his ambient epics live. Fortunately, an adjacent overspill room had been arranged to accommodate everyone not lucky enough to fit into the main venue. Whether you watched his image projected onto a screen or shared the room with the man himself, hearing the hour-long set provided exactly what every great gig should: a sizable leap beyond what can be reproduced at home with a CD.
Pavement's Stephen Malkmus (photos by Katie Hovland)
Pavement was never a sentimental band. Sarcastic, dry, and annoyed, but never sentimental. As the saying goes though "time heals all wounds," and maybe that was the case Monday night, as the band took the stage in front of a very nostalgic audience. The crowd was smaller than I expected, the seated area sparse in places and the lawn spread out. I'm guessing the curious Pavement fans got their fix at Pitchfork Festival. The kids that grew up listening to Pavement in the late 90s/early 00s, discovering them long after the breakup, paid respect at the festival as they headed out after catching some of Sleigh Bells, probably quipping "oh, so that's Pavement, this reunion is big, I guess I should stick around for a song or two." There was none of this sentiment Monday night, as the crowd sung along to a good portion of the 28 song set, the median age looked to be mostly people that were 20-somethings during the height of Pavement's fame. The familiar feeling of the crowd seemed to rub off on the band, who seemed fully relaxed, throwing jokes and jabs back and forth, and overall happy to be there.
Although summer is slowly slipping away, festival season in Chicago carries on. The first annual Sónar Chicago kicked off on Thursday at Millennium Park's Pritzker Pavilion, starting the weekend early for electronic music lovers, curious downtown office workers and passing tourists. Whatever brought you to the first day of Sónar, you arrived at a rock gig, a dubstep club night and a live electro breakdown all rolled up into one.
The evening started at 5 pm with the soft sounds of Spain's Bradien. A three-piece combo incorporating guitar, synthesizers, melodica, trumpet and a single snare drum, Bradien's dub exotica provided a gentle ease into an action-packed weekend. Hailing from Sónar's native city of Barcelona, the band were put into the position of sonic ambassadors, underlining the fact that Sónar was as much a cultural exchange program as it was a music festival.
When more than 50% of a crowd is wearing earplugs, and building walls vibrate even before you enter an venue, you know you're in for an impressive show. Such was the case when Sleep took the stage at Logan Square Auditorium last Thursday as part of the Adventures in Modern Music and Sonar Festival.
Sleep made some of the most prolific stoner metal albums, the 1992 Holy Mountain being one of the defining examples of genre, as a trio in the early 90s. The band parted ways, mainly after problems with their label regarding their album Dopesmoker, which is one continuous song that last over an hour. The band members worked on similar endeavors (High on Fire and Om) before deciding to reunite for various dates starting last year with the ATP festival in England.
For anyone that loves a dark and murky tone, music that you can smoke out and nod your head along to in time, then Sleep is your band. Traces of 70s Black Sabbath style metal shine through at times, when guitarist Matt Pike isn't building up a massive wall of sound with a few chords for 10 minutes straight before exploding in abrasive visceral noise. If dragging a heavy object through thick wet mud had a sound, it would be this band.
There was no witty banter between songs, just three men playing some of the loudest music I've ever heard, so loud I could feel the vibrations in my teeth. Pike, shirtless with long strings of hair hanging down in front of his face, would teeter on the edge of the stage, as metal fists and devil horns raised high towards him from the audience. The crowd was mostly outfitted in black, a large amount of men sporting longer locks banged their heads in time. Pike and bassist Al Cisneros were completely entrancing as they slowly cultivated a build and vibrating crescendo of sound, especially on standout tracks like "Dragonaut." The music was heavy and abrasive, but the crowd polite and enthusiastic, the mostly male crowd even moving a bit to allow me a to move forward for a better view, showing that metal guys are some of the nicest dudes around. The show was dark and angry, yet still the artistry of each musician, whether building a dissonant tone or providing a driving back beat, was evident from the start. From the crowd to the ringing in my ear (despite wearing industrial strength earplugs) that lasted a few hours after, it was exactly what I expected (and hoped) this show would be.
Check back for more reviews of acts this past weekend at Adventures in Modern Music and Sonar Festival here in Gapers Block.
The last day of North Coast was heavy on the hip-hop, with a nice dose of dance and some curve balls of soul and folk pop thrown in the mix. Our feet were a bit tired but our spirits high as we started the last day of the last big summer festival in Chicago. George caught some of local outfit Maps & Atlases as he entered the fest, as seen above. I meanwhile caught duo Phantogram, who churned out dreamy electronic infused pop, like a darker less drone version of Beach House, very ethereal and stylized, a great warm-up to the day.
Another beautiful Chicago day kicked off North Coast on Saturday as our photographer George headed out early into the field and caught the beautiful shot of rocker Grace Potter above, and also was able to grab Daedalus, who filled in for Benga when he had some problems at Customs, for a quick portrait session backstage.
Fairy wings, furry boots, whippets, and enough glow sticks to light a small country took over Union Park this past weekend for North Coast Festival, dubbed "Summer's Last Stand," three days of electronic, hip-hop, and jam acts all in one place. Upon walking up to festival grounds Friday night, you knew a good portion of the weekend would be spent dancing, the heavy thumping beats from every stage flooding onto Ashland and Lake. Being the first year of the festival, there were some glitches (huge lines at an understaffed will call, confusion with security on what passes accessed what area, a lot of gate crashers, no water refill stations), but none that weren't a good lesson for organizers to learn from for future years. Overall security was friendly (as was the crowd, sober or not), and the festival got a break with amazing weather all weekend, cutting down on what could have otherwise been a lot of dehydrated sweaty fans. Click through and continue reading about my weekend at North Coast, and some thoughts from Gapers Block Tailgate Editor Brian Lauvray as well.
[Review submitted by reader Brennan Stacker, photos by Andy Keil]
After releasing their self-titled album in May, Stone Temple Pilots performed at Chicago's Charter One Pavilion at Northerly Island, on August 20th, and they proved that, after 20+ years, their music intoxicates more than a single generation of fans. The album debuted at #2 on the Billboard 200, giving the band a renewed presence on the stage and validating their position in modern rock.
It's all over, folks. After four days, 90-some-odd acts, and persistent exposure to just about every frequency on the sound spectrum audible to human ears, the Neon Marshmallow Festival departs the Viaduct Theatre, leavings the concertgoers fatigued, overstimulated, and slightly depressed about the prospect of returning to the real world, where things seldom get louder than a tepid hum.
This is the day of the fest where you get to razz me for being an old man — I arrived late, left early, and missed (by all accounts) some crucial sets. However, I didn't miss it all. Here's my last report before I return to my anechoic chamber:
As a teenager battling teen age in the 1990s, there were some things I felt I'd never be without: anger, sadness, the hours to fill and the endless conflicts that they ignited...etc. And I was right. If your teenage years were somehow spent without these things, I'm sorry. I don't know how else one might find a place to put them, a use for them. I found my way down many damaged roads, but I also found my way to music. Very early on, I discovered that I could store my sadness in a sad song--the same way one might turn into a skid to move out of it. I learned I could do the same with my anger: The simple anger that comes when one sees another throwing their trash on the ground, or the more complex anger that comes on around birth and eventually seeks roads the size of continents down which to run.
Day three of the Neon Marshmallow Fest at the Viaduct Theater, the most endurance-defying yet, has come and gone. Starting at noon and going well into the 3 a.m. hour with only an hour break for dinner, it was die-on-your-feet-or-live-slumped-in-theater-seating, and, by night's end, certain shows turned into little slumber parties, with people soaking up the electronic waves from a prone position. Some of the best performances of the fest happened today (sez me), and one loathsome event marred the night permanently. Read on....
Autolux is the most amazing band to have ever made music anywhere in the universe. This was the feeling last night at at Bottom Lounge when they played to a packed house. The band released their second album, Transit Transit ealier this month. Six years ago they released Future Perfect. The time in between the two albums might have been too great for fans and the release of energy was prominent and well known as the audience made various animal sounds, cheered non stop and paid respect with the groovin' head bop with no indifferent stares. There were smiles all over these hipster faces.
Local band Allá opened the night and then Space-Drone superstars This Will Destroy You played a set that was perfect in time. I was worried that a band with such an epic sound would ruin the mood of seeing Autolux as too much post rock can be like eating too much cheesecake, an extremely rich experience that will turn you off for awhile. But the band gave us just enough to appreciate their sound and promised to return to Chicago soon.
Back again with a day two wrapup from the Neon Marshmallow Festival at the Viaduct Theater (tickets still available for two shows today and one tomorrow). Friday was less consistent than Thursday, with a few great, unforgettable sets and, well, a few more forgettable ones.
I missed the first handful of sets — my apologies to Flower Man and Rust Worship — so that I could write up night one, and also so I could log a few extra hours in my sleep bank; me and three hours sleep are not a winning mixture. So, we pick up the story in progress...
We're only one day in, and already, the Neon Marshmallow Festival (Friday through Sunday at the Viaduct Theatre, 3111 N. Western) is off to a terrific start. Despite the quick pace of set-up and break-down between sets, just about every set last night fit snugly into its spot, with only a tiny handful of acts overlapping others. The rooms were sufficiently isolated from each other that little bleedthrough occurred, save for events with extreme volume differences, like Greg Kelley's ultra-quiet trumpet improvisations were backed by Slither's low-end booms in the next room. This was an exception, though. For all my concerns, it seems like the formula works, for the time being.
Here's everything my mind (currently running on three hours sleep) can remember:
My Morning Jacket has always put on shows appropriate for the large venues and audiences that've finally caught up to them. Back when they were plowing through mid-sized venues like Metro, their performances looked like arena rock shows. It wasn't in the lights or the backdrops, but the presence. Every time they played it felt like an event, like you couldn't imagine how anyone in the vicinity could have better plans for the evening. They naturally command attention in showing that there's nowhere they'd rather be than on that stage right then.
Sometimes you have to go back to the start to find yourself again. Interpol is doing just that on their forthcoming self-titled album, which they showcased alongside their classic material last night at The Vic.
Interpol is in a period of change, with the departure of longtime bassist Carlos D, and the label switch back to Matador. After the glossy and forced major label debut, Our Love to Admire, it seemed that many fans yearned for the original direction of the band. Live, the band is clearly allegiant to their early material, as their set list was comprised of 68% of tracks off of Turn on the Bright Lights and Antics. Not that fans seemed to mind. The standards are just as crisp and tight sounding as ever, singer Paul Bank's voice deadpan and unwavering as always. Standouts of the night was the wall of sound "NARC" which is still just as heavy and sleek as the first time I heard it live. Also the one-two punch of "Say Hello To The Angels" and "C'mere" got the crowd moving, shimmering in sound and the perfect soundtrack to the warm intensity of the lighting that Interpol always utilizes live.
The new live additions to the band, former Slint guitarist Dave Pajo on bass and keys and vocal addition Brandon Curtis from The Secret Machines, work in perfectly to the mix. And fans wishing for a departure from the previous album can rejoice, the new tracks following the original sound, as evident when they showcased three Sunday night ("Success," "Summer Well," and "Lights"). You can check out the video for the first single off the new album below.
It feels like a homecoming for the band, after a long departure from what they originally were. Nothing feels forced and strained, and live the band seems to not only be refreshed but having fun with both the new and old material. As they ended on a fan favorites, "NYC" and "Stella Was a Diver And She Was Always Down," the crowd sang along, and it felt fitting that the band is right back where they started from.
Interpol plays The Vic tonight, August 16th, at 7:30pm with special guests Twin Tigers. Tickets are $31.50 (about $40 with fees) and are available through The Vic's website.
With so much history attacking so many different styles of music over their career, it's nearly impossible to predict what can be expected at any Boris show. They could go balls out with heavy metal, make the room vibrate with sludgy drone music or deliver a completely experimental set. But, luckily, it's mostly some combination. And on Friday at Metro it was a well-constructed setlist of peaks and valleys that pulled selections from across their varied history.
PINK's "Farewell" got things started, sounding like a shoegaze/metal hybrid, before moving onto the relatively calm "Rainbow" with guitarist Wata on vocals. The straining psychedelic guitar solo in "Rainbow" (from Ghost's Michio Kurihara) was the first moment of the 90-minute set that drew wild cheers from an enthusiastic crowd, and with good reason. From there the music ranged all over - hitting highs with pummeling epic riffs ("Korosu") and bringing it down a notch with entrancing soundscapes ("16:47:52"). What it appears some people don't realize, though, is that Boris' history as an experimental band is just as critical as their history as a metal band. Some of the innovative guitar play on their quieter songs is as integral to them as the so-called facemelters. Every song has a purpose: balancing out a set to appeal to all types of Boris fans. But a lot of those quieter songs became a time for conversation in the crowd, as if just because it's quiet enough to chat means it's appropriate to. (What is this, Lollapalooza?)
There was a time just a few years ago when the National were a wildly sporadic live band. They'd play a show that left audiences dragging their jaws out of the gig, but the next night (and maybe the one after that, too) would leave people scratching their heads thinking, "What's the big deal with these guys?" However, it appears that they have finally learned how to deliver consistently powerful performances.
Even from a relatively soft starter like "Runaway" it was clear that the musicians were in their comfort zone. The Dessner brothers looked relaxed but locked in on their guitars while the Devendorf brothers carried a stunning rhythm section. Longtime accompanist Padma Newsome, Arcade Fire's Richard Parry and two extras on horns, percussion and guitar rounded out the top-notch musicians. The National's wildcard, though, is singer Matt Berninger. When he's on, there are few frontmen who can match his intensity. Through the first half of Saturday's Lollapalooza aftershow, Berninger was in fine form. But "Squalor Victoria" was the turning point. His searing calmness exploded as he screamed the title over and over. On the only pre-Alligator song of the night, he wailed "Available"'s 'why did you dress me down, and liquor me up!?' with startling conviction. And he didn't even need to sing "Abel"'s most famous line, but eclipsed the audience singalong with pure pandemonium.
In some High Violetpress it's been discussed that there is bit of a divide between Berninger and the rest of the band during the recording process. But none of that is evident on stage where their camaraderie shines. On Saturday they joked about depressing subject matter in raging songs, Berninger giggling through them, and established musicians who "are never going to get anywhere as a musician in a band" (in regard to Parry being late). When a band has such fun on stage, the feeling trickles into the audience to a point where only ridiculously drunk kids with enormous backpacks can dampen the enjoyment. (Luckily, HOB's utilitarian security took care of business.)
A majestic "Fake Empire" closed the initial set before the band returned with a 4-song encore highlighted by Berninger treating speakers like the Matterhorn during "Mr November." They ended the evening on a "Terrible Love" that put the recorded version to shame. The riffs were punchy (4 guitars!) and the percussion was abrasive. If a band's going to close a show with an album opener, they'd better do it the right way. From now on, I won't be doubting the National on such matters.
A chorus of "Boo" is one of the saddest sounds in live music. Nothing is more depressing then an angry crowd that have been standing around 2+ hours waiting for the band they love. Sadly this was the case Thursday night at the Congress, before Dirty Projectors or Devo took the stage. Have no fear, the sweet sounds of Devo saved the day in the end, but things were off to a rocky start.
The Dead Weather perform at the Congress Theatre (photos by Andy Keil)
Any day that ends with getting to see Jack White play guitar is a good day in my book. And a packed house was treated to just that Friday night, when White and his latest incarnation of a band, The Dead Weather, rolled into The Congress. Always a man of many talents, White actually plays the drums this time around, alongside members of The Raconteurs, Queens of the Stone Age, and The Kills. The band doles out a sultry brand of blues rock, and from the moment they took the stage the temperature rose, and it wasn't due to the faulty air conditioning in The Congress.
If the idea of a hot, sweaty, nine-hour, outdoor, shoulder-to-shoulder dance party doesn't exhaust you just to think about, if in fact it sounds like your typical evening out, then Wicker Park Fest is where you'll want to be tonight. Moneypenny, a DJ duo with the Loose Change music collective, has chosen a lineup of house and club DJs -- including LA Riots, Kid Color and Team Bayside High (no appearance by A.C. Slater, Kelly Kapowski or anyone else from the gang, unfortunately) -- who will be playing the Fest's center stage from 1 to 10pm on July 31.
Moneypenny will play a set itself at 9pm, and if you're still not done bumping and grinding with hundreds of other people when 10 o'clock rolls around, there will also be an after-party at Metro. The event is combined with the Metro's monthly 18 and over dance party, and it'll feature still more DJs, including Jokers of the Scene, from Ottawa, Canada, and a second set by Moneypenny. Cost to get in is $10 at 923 N. Rush St., and don't forget to bring your dancing shoes. Better yet, bring a couple pairs.
The Faint are known for their electric stage show, but what impressed me most when they came through town Friday night at Metro was the dedication of my fellow concertgoers. These past few weeks in the city have been fairly humid, and Friday was no exception. With the huge crowd, it was probably a good ten degrees hotter inside Metro than outside the venue, but that didn't stop anyone from dancing their butts off and crowding up front. I, on the other hand, had been boiling hot and, in an effort to keep myself from fainting (no pun intended), ended up situating myself all the way at the back wall with no one around me. I'd been bested.
The band walked on stage and ripped through the best of every one of their albums, from "Mirror Error" to "Worked Up So Sexual" to "Take Me to the Hospital". Besides an occasional thank you to the crowd and a dedication to Lindsay Lohan, the band hardly took a break between songs, instead providing a non-stop dance party revved up by their melodic synths and singer Todd Fink's magnetic stage presence. They ended the night with crowd favorites "The Geeks Were Right" and "Glass Danse", and if the crowd was at all exhausted in the sweltering heat, they sure didn't show it.
Even if the band had been terrible, the spectacle on stage might have been entertainment enough to make the show enjoyable. The stage was adorned with around twelve giant alien figurines, hanging off speakers and standing on stage like they were members of the band. Of course it wouldn't be The Faint without an insane light show, and in combination with the looming aliens, we might as well have been partying with the Martians.
Luckily, when the show let out, the city was immersed in a refreshing downpour. Did I mention how hot it was in there?
Gaslight Anthem's Brian Fallon (photos by Katie Hovland)
When the Gaslight Anthem played Bottom Lounge last April, singer Brian Fallon's vocals were a mess. (But he was pretty sick, as they cancelled the next couple shows.) When they came back around in August, it was my turn to be sick. (I barely made it through Constantines that night.) On Tuesday at House of Blues, though, everybody was in good health. Even if they weren't, they probably still had a good time.
Gaslight Anthem's Alex Levine (photos by Katie Hovland)
Touring in support of their latest album, American Slang, Gaslight Anthem was firing on all cylinders with a 90-minute set that featured sizable chunks from all three full-lengths. The show began with the new record's title track that quickly built up into their Americana-tinged punk with chunky hooks and Fallon's working class stories. From the onset the sold out audience was completely enthralled. After two more newer songs, the band went back a couple years for perhaps their most popular song, "The '59 Sound." It's a bold move to bust out your hit so early, but Gaslight Anthem clearly have the confidence in their other tunes to not let it be their peak. And soon enough they were pacing themselves (and the audience) by dropping the tempo with "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" and "Miles Davis & The Cool" before playing songs from their debut album seamlessly mixed in with some American Slang.
Gaslight Anthem's Alex Rosamilia (photos by Katie Hovland)
Three albums (and some EPs) into their career, each release has taken on a different angle of their malleable sound, so it's not a strain to hear songs from years ago alongside ones released last month. With that being said, a risk runs in songs sounding too much alike. Late in the show I twice thought they started a song they'd already played. Only when lyrics began did I realize my mistake. Of course, a strong majority of the audience were never in doubt as they screamed along to nearly every word Fallon sang. (Only "Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts" from a 2008 EP and a cover of Lucero's "The War" tripped up the most vocal.) With such devotion, it's hardly a surprise that Gaslight Anthem's popularity has swelled. The way things are going, I wouldn't expect a dropoff either.
"I been all around the world...but there's nothin' like comin' home." You cant help but like Miss Melisa Young, aka MC and rapper Kid Sister. She's got an exuberant energy you only expect to see come out of a child under 10, and she's as cute as can be. Last night she came home to Chicago to play a free Downtown Sound show at Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park.
One of the best things about music festivals is the sheer number of performances on offer over what is a relatively small span of time. Unfortunately, this can also be one of a festival's downsides, as artists play shorter sets and fans are forced to choose between simultaneous unmissable acts. Although sunshine and warm summer days are their specialty, Best Coast's early afternoon Pitchfork festival appearance always seemed easily missed by the temptation to sleep in. Considering the massive amount of dopetheysmoke, it seemed slightly wrong to set an alarm clock for a band I could stay up late and see at the Empty Bottle the night before.
After a brief tech check by guitarist Bobb Bruno, the full band took the stage. Make no mistake, however, for Best Coast's "full band" consists of three people, with this gig marking former Vivian Girls drummer Ali Koehler's first performance as an official, non-borrowed member. This minimal line-up is key to the effectiveness of their sound: short, simple pop songs that are high on fuzz, but low on fuss.
Before Chicago's indie set would begin to move and shake to LCD Soundsystem amid a cloud of booze and pot at Pitchfork in Union Park on Saturday night, a shorter, largely female crowd -- the majority of which wasn't old enough to drink or possibly even to drive -- was screaming and reaching for the stage at House of Blues as various performers of Jordin Sparks' Battlefield Tour did some moving and shaking of their own. The venue and musical acts represented a veritable rabbit hole of corporate entities (Live Nation via House of Blues; Sony Music Entertainment via Sparks' label, Jive Records; FOX Broadcasting company via Sparks' debt to American Idol for her rise to fame after winning the 2006/2007 season; and ad infinitum), and sadly the show itself did little to obscure its surrounding air of capitalist glad-handing.
Because I don't have cable television, I rely on my small movie collection to get me through those times when PBS doesn't deliver. A few weeks ago, I hauled out my copy of Wet Hot American Summer, the 2001 comedy masterpiece written by former The State members David Wain and Michael Showalter. As I watched it, I thought how great it was that Showalter and many of his talented former State castmates have had steady work in the industry (Party Down, Stella, Reno 911).
When Pitchfork announced its comedy lineup for this weekend's festival at Union Park, I was excited to see Showalter on the bill. I made my way through the crowd, found a nice place to watch the set, and for the next 30 minutes, I watched a surprisingly painful and embarrassing performance that made me wonder if after all the brilliant ensemble work he's done, Showalter works best in a scripted, more controlled setting.
Courtney enjoys a smoke on stage (photo by Andy Keil)
Back when I was 15, I caught Hole live for what ended up being the second concert I had ever attended. Back then, there were more chicks in the band, Courtney Love played the entire set topless, and a rude attendee in a Nirvana t-shirt spent the entire time heckling the band. Eleven years later Hole stopped by the Vic in support of their new album Nobody's Daughter, and Courtney was just as rambunctious, worn out Nirvana tees still proved to be a popular wardrobe choice, and the band was slightly more clothed. Having heard some not so great reviews of Hole's recent shows in other cities, I wasn't expecting much, but Courtney remained surprisingly lucid and on-point throughout the night.
Eric Sean Nally of Foxy Shazam (photo by Andy Keil)
To start off the night, Cincinatti-based glam rock band Foxy Shazam took the stage donning fur and sequins. Wearing what he deemed his "Jim Henson coat", singer Eric Sean Nally began the show by screaming into the mic, "I'm a stupid white guy and I ain't got no soul, but that is why I rock, and that is why I roll." Between their ridiculous stage banter, gyrating on the mic stands and jumping on their instruments, this band teeters the line between tongue-in-cheek and just plain idiotic, however it all just adds to the spectacle that is Foxy Shazam. While they may be more than slightly contrived, they put on one of the most entertaining stage shows I've seen in a long time.
Piano player Sky White of Foxy Shazam (photo by Andy Keil)
A large group of people awoke Saturday morning to bruises, dislocated shoulders and a case of tinnitus. These are the people that went to see Toronto band Fucked Up play at the Empty Bottle Friday night. The Bottle, despite the name of the bar was packed with eager fans awaiting to see the six piece ensemble. The show was a tribute to the spirit of early hardcore and a true resurrection if punk was ever really dead.
The night was opened by two bands that held their own in the intensity of the night. Vortis were delightfully loud and punk rock in both sound and beer spitting visuals. Tight Phantomz played a satisfying set infused with a harsh progressive-epic sound. By the time they were ending the place was shoulder to shoulder with Fucked Up fans, a pretty awesome energy to be a part of.
The band came on slowly, tuning while all around me the question was "Have you seen them live before"? We were a mix of loyal fans as well as speculators wanting to get a taste of what we knew we were missing. I being the later was a little nervous. The last time I could remember this kind of raw punk excitement was seeing Nomeansno at the Fireside Bowl in the late 90's. For a moment it was a quick homecoming back to those days and yet, I had very little understanding about this band or how they were live. All I knew was a few of their songs and that they had released Couple Tracks: Singles 2002-2009, a collection of their prolific body of work this past January.
Tuesday night, Lincoln Hall offered up a double helping of Texas hospitality served the right way. San Antonio's Hacienda got things started with a physical set that was equal parts blues, country, and hard rock. With cowboy boots and button-downs, each member looked the part of a Texas rancher, all while their own on the stage. Immediately, their heavy, southern rubber-band jam style resonated with the crowd. One highlight was an impromptu cover of "Wooly Bully," with keyboardist Abraham Villanueva on his feet pounding at the keys and taking over lead vocals to rile up the crowd. But, the band was at their best when they were the loudest. Each song breaks down somewhere in the middle into heavy jam sessions, with each member taking command of their instrument and the space around them. It was best exemplified in the final song of the set, a sprawling, raucous jam that showcased their heated style of country blues.
Hacienda keyboardist Abraham Villanueva
With the crowd geared up, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears hit the stage with some serious energy. They're a seven-piece blues band complete with a trumpet and two saxophones, but it was Lewis who clearly owned the show. Slim, wiry, and explosive, he's a Dave Chappelle look-alike who conjures James Brown.
I have such high hopes for young up-and-comer Sahara Smith. She's clearly a talented singer, has a sweet stage presence, and a charming, love-sick alt-country songwriting sensibility that would do well in radio play. In the dim light of her show Saturday night, couples moved close to one another on the broad main floor of Lincoln Hall and swayed to and fro to the sound of her voice. The only flaw I found in her performance, in support of Mason Jennings on last weekend, was her stage confidence. She's young, yes (all of 21 years), but she's got a pretty sweet set of pipes, as evident on her songs from her upcoming album Myth of the Heart. Songs like "All I Need" drive home the young Austinite's lovesick dreaminess that I'm sure we'll hear on XRT soon enough. But she's still a little green on stage — her voice not quite reaching its obvious potential. I want to hear her open up, watch her stand confidently in the spotlight, and sing to that man she loves (and the ones that got away). I want to be rattled by how her voice fills the room the way it fills the speakers on the stereo. Maybe that's some of T. Bone Burnett's magic (who oversaw the album) in what you can hear in her songs that's not quite traveling with her over state lines with her yet. Or maybe she just needs a little push in the right direction — solo in the spotlight — just her and her guitar and the microphone. I want to see her again after she's had some highway under her wheels, and maybe even a little more love, and a little more heartbreak, in her soul.
The opposite of a young ingenue is the veteran of the tour bus, Mason Jennings. Hailing from up the road in Minneapolis, Jennings played two shows in Chicago last weekend, both at Lincoln Hall. His second night, Saturday, he came on stage to thunderous applause, and announced the show, while acoustic, would also be shaped by fans' requests from the previous night. Jennings, who mentioned he'd been performing for 18 years, has a Dylan-like lilt to his singing voice, and a mop of curly hair I couldn't help but compare to writer Dave Eggers. But even in his well-worn Earth shoes he's mesmerizing on stage. The range of his songbook spanned two centuries. He went through newer songs like "The Field" off of 2009's Blood of Man and simple, playful (yet-unrecorded) ditties like "So Many Ways to Die". He ran through "Your New Man", "I Love You And Buddha Too" and the beautiful "Fighter Girl" from 2008's In The Ever. There was also the sweet "Summer Dress" from 2002's Simple Life and "Butterfly" from his self-titled 1997 debut album. Jennings has almost a Steve Goodman-esque storytelling quality in his songs. As they follow, one after another they are whimsical and then serious, beautiful and then brooding. He has a way of capturing an audience's attention (as demonstrated by the superfans down front who swayed and sang along to every song) and surely has many years of guitar playing and songwriting left in him.
Taking Back Sunday's Adam Lazzara (photos by Katie Hovland)
From the second Taking Back Sunday took the stage in front of a sold out crowd at the Metro Sunday night, I felt like I was 15 again. And I'm sure a majority of the crowd felt the same. Taking Back Sunday is one of those nostalgic bands for me, so you'll understand if my misty eyed recollection of my youth is gag inducing at times. Growing up amongst a sea of cornfields in Indiana, driving around with my high school boyfriend, windows down and the album Tell All Your Friends almost blowing the speakers in his car is how I spent most of my teenage years. The album yearned for something more, loud and angry, and pretty much summed up the emotions of growing up frustrated and not feeling like you belong in the world you've been plunked down into. The crowd Sunday night easily could have been a high school reunion for the kids who spent their Saturday nights at shitty basement shows. So for a band that meant so much to so many, it was no surprise the crowd was ready to go from the second singer Adam Lazzara threw his mic in the air and spit out the first lines of "Cute Without the 'E' (Cut From the Team)." Circle mosh pits popped up across the floor, fist stayed high in the air, as every person in the room started to chant along.
Though Phyllis' Musical Inn is the oldest music venue in Wicker Park dating back to its incarnation as Phyllis Jaskot's polka venue in 1950s, the quality of music varies wildly from night to night. However, due to proprietor Clem Jaskot's hands-off supportiveness of local music, it's a place where some more established acts return time and again, precisely for the low-key vibe that appeals to do-it-yourselfers seeking their very first gig.
For the last few years, Phyllis' has been the venue of choice for Chris Darby's bimonthly songwriter showcase, which began in his Logan Square apartment in 2004. Over the years the quality of these showcases has steadily improved, and the June 9th bill looked particularly promising — featuring four Chicagoans who recently made appearances at Schubas, alongside two veteran troubadours from out of state. It so happened that June 9th was also the most exciting night in Chicago ice hockey in nearly 50 years. Jaskot, smiling broadly, yelled, "Hey look up in the sky!" before disappearing through an unknown exit in the patio, just as fireworks shot up into the sky from all directions.
Inside, while Blackhawks revelers continued celebrating over a few more drinks, Patrick McGuan warmed up the songwriter night on banjo. Banjo turned out to be a particularly good choice for the moment; the instrument's natural volume and timbre once made it the instrument of choice in rowdy bars in the days before electricity boosted the guitar's prominence. As McGuan cranked through a series of old time standards better known in the years following the Hawks' previous championship in 1961 ("Colorado Girl," "Ballad of Hollis Brown," "Make Me a Pallet on Your Floor"), a growing group of folk music supporters constructed a human wall between the straggling Hawks revelers and the stage. McGuan, whose music recalled a bygone era, attributed the death of his computer to an increasing affinity for the simplicity of times past ("When you don't have internet, the whole world opens up to you").
The Stereogum website recently pre-released a track from Wheaton based psych/metal unit Nachmystium's fifth album, Addicts: Black Meddle Part II. Titled "Every Last Drop," it was released in anticipation of the album's June 8th release date, and bookends another album track (the catchy, synth-driven "No Funeral"), standing in stark contrast. While "No Funeral," which sounds like one of the new-wave/black metal hybrids you'd expect partway a mid-period Sigh record (though it should be noted that Sigh would have upped the ante by chopping the catchy hook up with smoked-out reggae riddims, film soundtrack ambiance, and boot-on-the-throat metal rasping just to keep you unsettled and/or doubled over with laughter), "Every Last Drop," while hardly orthodox black metal, at least has some precedent within the genre.
Midway through forthcoming The Five Ghosts at a sold out Lincoln Hall on Wednesday, Stars singer Torq Campbell acknowledged how awkward it is to play an entire album that a majority of the audience isn't yet familiar with and does not lend itself to the mania that often accompanies the introduction of anything recognizable. (The album's out June 22.) So it was appreciated that Torq had the sense, which he's probably developed over the course of this preview tour, to essentially say, "We know this is weird for you. It's a little weird for us, too. Hang on."
The Five Ghosts does not initially sound like a Stars album. It's more synth-heavy than anything they've done before. It's as if "The Ghost of Genova Heights" was used as a launchpad, as well as perhaps a little Saint Etienne influence. It clearly took time to sink in for some people in the crowd. But Stars is a professional rock band and they've been honing these tunes live. "Wasted Daylight", which Amy Millan seems to think should be a summer jam, was tight and especially vibrant on choruses. The dancey "We Don't Want Your Body", which begins by sounding like something from DFA, was a highlight. When Amy Millan takes over its vocals, it reaches its pinnacle. In fact, nearly every time Millan sang on her own the room was enraptured. However, it's when Torq and Amy sing off each other that Stars really hits their strides. Whether it's in a standard call and response or just switching vocal duties, the two of them have an impeccable sense of the other and how to match up with their intensity. "How Much More", an upbeat surprise on the back-end of The Five Ghosts, was where they shined most together during the first set.
Where their intensity was used most efficiently on Wednesday, though, was in the fan-selected second set. Offsetting the first set of unrecognized new songs were a slew of Stars' best. No longer were songs received with simple polite applause. Now people were raucous, beginning with the first bars of "Your Ex-Lover is Dead." Memories were jogged. Songs about reintroductions to one night stands, falling into old (bad) habits with exes and hanging on for dear life resonated with the crowd. They screamed lyrics they've sung to themselves a hundred times. They became giddy upon hearing that one song they went to Lincoln Hall to hear. (For a lot of people, that seemed to be "Take Me to the Riot.") And that energy flowed onto the stage, back to the band as they rolled out a set heavy on Set Yourself on Fire. "Elevator Love Letter" had a couple extra licks thrown in for good measure and "Ageless Beauty" took on some elements from The Five Ghosts. But overall it was pretty much what people wanted to hear and it's difficult to imagine that anyone who likes Stars would have been disappointed with this best-of. When they return in August for Lollapalooza, they should really be firing on all cylinders.
The eccentric soul songstress walked on stage, poised and ethereal, to grace an adoring audience during Wednesday night's performance at The Chicago Theatre. Dressed in a black trench coat, sunglasses and donning a thick mane of blond hair that cascaded down her back, Badu settled in between a laptop and an electronic drum kit, immediately getting into the first song of the evening, "20 Feet Tall," followed by almost two hours of non-stop entertainment.
While almost half of the songs performed were from her latest album, New Amerykah Part Two (Return of the Ankh), Miss Badu offered a 20+ song set for the packed house, pulling a selection of hits from every record in her six-album discography and showcasing a career that goes back 13 years, beginning with the acclaimed 1997 debut Baduizm, which won two out of its four Grammy Award nominations and earned the singer the deserved title of "high priestess of neo soul."
However, Wednesday night's performance proved Badu is much more than any title suggests. Her sheer physical presence commanded attention, despite her sartorially bland choice in clothing (underneath the trench coat, Badu wore a shabby t-shirt and rolled up sweat pants). She quite simply had a bewitching quality, and transfixed the audience, whose raised hands and occasional shouts of praise and joy reminded one of a Southern Baptist church service.
James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem (photos by Andy Keil)
James Murphy may look like an average unassuming guy in his plain white undershirts, but in actuality he's way more awesome than you, with way cooler problems. "It's kind of hard," he said about playing their seventh show straight at LCD Soundsystem's special concert at Metro on Wednesday. The show was nothing short of the most awesome dance party you've ever been to. An enormous disco ball on stage right was lit suddenly from all angles midway through opening number "Us V Them," and the energy never waned from there.
A tall man in short plaid shorts prodded his phone while holding up a peace sign to the passersby. Lincoln Hall was full, and although Mumford and Sons had only released their first album last year, they'd gained enough traction for a sold-out show (even after switching up from Schubas) and people looking for "miracles". The warm tones of Australian openers The Middle East were pumped through the speakers as the bar swarmed with people, and the floor and balcony had people utilizing every possible sightline (even occasionally standing on seats). By the end of the whistling, friendly finale from The Middle East, the crowd was finally lively again, but only a few moved — those at the bar had clearly drawn the short straw for beer-buying from their respective groups.
Against a backdrop of violent pops of light and the fuzz of feedback, Canadian indie rockers Metric took over The Vic last week to charm a sold out crowd with a set comprised primarily of their critically acclaimed 2009 album Fantasies.
As we reported early last week, Kin, a new Microsoft-based cell phone, brought rock supergroup The Dead Weather to Chicago Saturday night for an exclusive free show. The venue, announced only four hours before the concert started, ended up being a nondescript warehouse in the West Loop, with a capacity of a mere 500 people. The unconventional space only added to the intimate feel of the show. I'm told the line reached capacity two hours before the concert started, but that didn't stop hundreds people from waiting around just in case. I even caught a handful of people who were denied entrance waiting just beyond the outside barrier in the hope of catching a few guitar licks in hearing range. If Kin wanted to create hype around this event, they sure succeeded.
Josiah Wolf may be more stripped down and folky than the band he's more well known for taking part in with his brother Jonathan "Yoni" Wolf. Why? may be more of a band people follow at the moment but that should not diminish the indie folk loveliness of Josiah Wolf's solo material. Oddly, Josiah Wolf looks like a cross between Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals and José González His songs are neither that quirky nor as intricate respectively. However, they seem just as sincere and worthwhile.
Them Crooked Vultures' Josh Homme (photos by Katie Hovland)
"This is gonna be a good one, I can tell already. Let's get started." Them Crooked Vultures rocked the Aragon for the first hour of their show Monday night, and then the second hour. Somehow, the group managed to stretch their singular album into a two hour show, but fans didn't seem to mind, in fact they welcomed it. The crowd never dwindled, and most didn't budge for the entire performance, other than to try to wangle a better sightline.
Them Crooked Vultures is one of the rare supergroups that actually live up to the name. Made up of the dream team of Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age) on lead vocals on guitar, Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters, Nirvana) on (what else) drums, and the legendary John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin) on everything else, their material leans closest to the sound of Homme's principal group. It appeared a lot of fans at the show were primarily there to see one member of the group, donning the t-shirt of the band they were there to represent. Even the pink "Dave Grohl Band" tee, complete with red heart and Ghohl's face on it, somehow made its way onto the stage by the end, shown off by Homme. But, each member was a joy to watch play on his own. JPJ is a real pro--the man can even shred on the mandolin. Grohl took the stage wearing drummer gloves, a sleeveless tee and shorts--what else do you need to tell you that he is just going to blaze on the drums for the next hour plus. The best part was that everyone on stage looked like they were thoroughly having fun.
The setlist (which you can see in full in Greg Kot's review) unfortunately didn't contain any covers from their main bands, but they did play a couple new ones, including "Highway One", a song that was released as a special 10-inch for Record Store Day. And, no encore for this one. It's a rule, said Homme, never leave them wanting less.
[This review was submitted by reader Rob Reid, who also shot the photo at the show when Patrick jumped into the audience.]
What would a self-described "musical mad scientist," citing influences such as David Lynch, classical legend Eric Satie, and classic rock legend Neil Young, sound like? While it's unlikely that the world has heard anything quite like Wooden Arms, Patrick Watson's third album, it seems even more unlikely that the experiments of this band of musical chemists could have succeeded so brilliantly as to draw a near-capacity crowd at Schubas on a Monday night. Wooden Arms, a deeply-layered masterpiece featuring liberal use of strings, electronics, and found objects such as a tree branch, a bicycle wheel, and wine glasses, relies heavily on studio wizardry to create what could make for an emotionally dynamic movie soundtrack. But how would this music come across in a live setting in real time?
Following an all-too-brief opening set featuring the eerily beautiful vocals and lyrical poeticism of Chicago newcomer McKenzie Toma, Patrick Watson's band took the stage. Simon Angell eased into the opening song with a fingerstyle acoustic guitar pattern, joined by Mishka Stein on bass and later Robbie Kuster's shuffling brush rhythm. "After all the flames in the morning," Watson hushed into "Fireweed's" opening vocal melody, "the quiet ashes fell for hours and hours." Visually, the band kept a low profile on the dimly lit stage, dwarfed by their own giant shadows cast by shifting stage lights. Kuster launched the second tune, "Tracy's Waters," with a haunting wine glass percussion rhythm, and later took the sonic spotlight (still on a mostly dark stage) with a short drum solo in "Beijing." Meanwhile, Watson's piano playing sometimes resembled the whimsical soundtrack of mice running down stairs in classic television cartoons.
In some ways, one might think of alt country band Clem Snide as a bit of an acquired taste. Lead singer Eef Barzelay has the kind of voice that is subtly emotional and slightly reminiscent of a less raspy Mark Everett of Eels fame. Most of the time, the songs aren't nearly as profoundly sad as Eels. Yet, there's a sense of longing and familiarity that gets you through the night, a sort of comforting sound even at it's most passionate.
The Shout Out Louds played to their first sold out Chicago crowd on Monday at Lincoln Hall, and the Stockholm group couldn't hide their excitement. What started as a somewhat tame, yet solid performance, slowly intensified as the evening pressed on. They played a generous set lasting well over an hour and a half and by the end fans were jumping with their hands in the air.
"What the hell, we're doing a request," frontman Adam Olenius said after a fan shouted out "Normandie!" mid-way through their set. It was clear at that point and throughout the rest of night that rules were out the window and everyone was there just to have fun. They even worked in a little bit of "Walk Like an Egyptian" during the bridge on "Very Loud." The rest of the set leaned heavily toward new songs from the new album, WORK, which has a lot of the pep of their first two albums, but possesses a whole new maturity.
When the band played the song "The Comeback" a popular hit from their first album, Howl Howl Gaff Gaff, the crowd lit up, which felt oddly appropriate since there was a chance WORK might have not even happened. After completing an intense tour schedule for their second album, Our Ill Wills, the group split ways and went to their respective homes (on their respective continents) with no real plans to reunite. After six months apart, though, it was clear that they had to get together again when the demo for "Walls" arrived in their inboxes from Olenius. And lucky for us that they did, because sometimes an album this good can only come from insight gained by time apart. (For a little more on their "comeback" watch this charming documentary by bassist Ted Malmros.)
It was an exceptional trio of bands that played the Hideout last night, each with their own respective talents that brought together a cohesive evening with almost haunted melodies, lush feminine vocals, and music that was impressive in its originality.
The Whigs, fresh off the release of their third album, In The Dark, stopped by Bottom Lounge Friday night for an energetic performance. The threesome from Athens, GA literally wrote the album in its entirety while touring nonstop after their previous album. Their set wasn't too heavy on new material, but contained all the hits and hooks that this group has become known for on songs like "Right Hand On My Heart" and "Kill Me Carolyn".
Comparisons to Kings of Leon may be unavoidable, but for the most part, In The Dark is an album you just might find yourself listening to over and over without tiring of. Not unlike the album though, their live show lagged somewhere in the last third, with the crowd noticeably thinning. However, the energy on stage never waned, and their Americana charm is undeniable; from the passionate choruses to Parker Gispert 's endearing leg kicks — and it was near impossible to keep your eyes off Julian Dorio wailing on the drums.
If you missed them at Bottom Lounge, don't worry; you can catch a glimpse of them when they appear as Jimmy Fallon's musical guest on Tuesday night.
Being a music writer who is also a morning person isn't fair. I want to be able to stay awake and not fade as the night grows longer. Sometimes I don't always make it, but last night's show at the Subterranean had me very happy to be up. In fact, I didn't want the show to end.
I got there just in time to see Parlovr play a few songs. Post rock duo El Ten Eleven set up quickly and gave a wow factor to end most wow factors. I believe people were impressed with the mad skill of double neck guitar/bass player Kristian Dunn's ability to maneuver such an instrument. I however, was more impressed by his dance moves driven by the insane sound. The fact that I found him very cute complicated the set for me as I shifted from grooving to the lush ambient, yet danceable music to checking him out. It was a very difficult decision. The band covered Joy Division's "Disorder" which they made their own, while still paying homage.
Passion Pit at the Congress Theater (Photos by Sandor Weisz)
Passion Pit has officially blown up. Two sold out shows at the cavernous Congress have a tendency to solidify popularity like that. The first was in the midst of their current tour and Thursday's was sandwiched between Indio's Coachella and Vanderbilt's Rites of Spring. It must seem like a lifetime ago that they played Schubas and the Empty Bottle. Their ridiculously catchy electronic pop music has certainly caught on with the masses by now. The synth-pop ode Manners won over plenty, but countless more owe liking Passion Pit to their live shows. It's due to their frenetic energy on stage, the pure elation reached in anthemic choruses, the pulsating thumps and Michael Angelakos' terrific falsetto. (It's not hard to imagine that this is Hot Hot Heat in a parallel universe.)
However, on Thursday, it was clear that Passion Pit is tired. They have been touring the world almost non-stop for a year. Their stage presence was pennies on the dollar compared to Lollapalooza last summer and Angelakos' vocals are currently shot. But, luckily, they still have those glorious songs. The audience didn't seem to mind the band going through the motions much of the night as they greeted each tune with wild applause and general pandemonium. The thousands who filled the Congress' floor pogoed, crowdsurfed and one kid even made it past security onto the stage. (I thought I was at a Morrissey show for a second.) Only with the Strokes at their Is This It? peak have I seen a band get so much from an audience by doing so little. Without their best performance on hand, Passion Pit had to rely on the strength of their music. Their lack of excitement was made up for by emphasizing accessible melodies and soaring heights in choruses, which the crowd was only too happy to join in on, especially when Angelakos couldn't quite hit the highs. Sometimes showgoers needs to take on a little extra responsibility to make a show great and Thursday's were definitely up for the task. A huge ovation for "The Reeling" and an encore of "Sleepyhead" closed out the night just minutes before curfew. Hopefully, the band will get some rest before returning on July 4.
Smith Westerns opened with an encouraging set showing that they're well on their way to overcoming the nerves that sometimes kept them from reaching their potential live even just six months ago. Their lo-fi glam-rock sound is primed to explode one of these days.
Last night's show at the Metro was intense to say the very least. The music of Echo & the Bunnymen means so much to so many people and the expectation for a killer show was very much out there. Most of the crowd was a bit older than my modest 30 years and I knew that my age might be a factor to my experience. My first encounter with this band was very much a somber one. My babysitter would play them as soon as she thought I was sleeping, so my association with their music is recalling not wanting to go to bed as I was lulled with a dreamy sound. I can't think of any other band that would fit this mood or a better introduction. Going to sleep as a child can be sad as well as a bit comforting. I think this sums up the Echo & the Bunnymen sound and experience.
OK Go has received all kinds of attention lately surrounding their battle royale with record label EMI over YouTube royalties, which even included an op-ed in The New York Times from band leader Damian Kulash. All the drama ultimately ended with the band walking away from EMI (amicably supposedly) and starting their own label, Paracadute Recordings. If you saw their show at Metro on Saturday though, you would never have guessed any of this, outside of a couple remarks from Kulash that major labels suck, and an announcement of the re-release of Of The Blue Colour Of The Sky on their new founded label. Saturday night was all about the music, with fans singing along to every song (including all the new ones), proving that there is more to this band than quirky viral videos.
OK Go's Damian Kulash makes an adjustment. (Photos by Katie Hovland)
[This review and photos came to us from reader Rob Reid.]
As much as musicians and industry insiders bemoan the relative lack of venues in Chicago, from a listener's standpoint there has never a shortage of options on any given night of the week. With a musical radar cluttered by nightly shows at Schubas, the Empty Bottle, and the Hideout amongst many other noteworthy venues, sometimes the best performances slip by scarcely noticed. While anyone who's walked up Clark avenue just north of Foster has surely noticed the neon blue fish who's been holding the same neon yellow martini glass since Simon's Tavern first opened in the 1930s, a lesser known fact is that this spot also regularly features some of the city's best live music (typically on Sundays and Wednesdays) coordinated by the booking manager of the Green Mill.
On a recent Sunday night at Simon's, the tremolo of a lone violin initiated a graceful transition from a quiet night of drinking to a hypnotizing and haunting set from Ami Saraiya's current band. "The sky has no space for you," Ami sang, just before a brushed snare and upright bass groove launched "Vegas Moon," a tune with all the markings of a broadway jazz standard but with lyrics better suited for our time. The moon, Saraiya explained, gets forgotten behind all the bright Vegas lights.
That voice always seems to be the first thing everyone notices about Saraiya - and by the end of the first song she had handily out-dueled the liquor shelves for the rapt attention of everyone in the hushed bar. Though the press has never been able to concisely classify Saraiya's voice or her music, references to Billie Holiday abound. If her original "Sour Mash" recalled Holiday's adeptness at gracefully floating above the bar lines in her vocal phrasings, her cover of "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" all but confirmed it. And yet, the same voice that soothed and purred on some tunes growled in the rockabilly-esque "Memphis Train," and then captured a distinctly Eastern tendency to dance around fixed notes on "Familiar" and "Up, Down, and Charmed." This Eastern sensibility was all but confirmed on a cover of "Intaha Ho Gayee," a Bollywood standard.
No one I have encountered has ever been less than amazed at the power of an Owen Pallett show. His songs have a heartbreaking quality with a loop pedal symphony with lyrics that pluck your heartstrings as quickly as his pizzicato and a voice that soars out to where his gaze is focused. Saturday night's show at Lincoln Hall was just as I suspected it would be — sublime.
Daniela Gesundheit of Snow Blink (photos by Kirstie Shanley)
Quirky duo Snow Blink opened with a lovely set of eerily beautiful songs that warmed everyone as we set in. Singer Daniela Gesundheit rocks a vocal range Kate Bush would envy. One of the highlights of the entire show was their epic cover of Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" that made the room spin.
Owen Pallett's set opened with "E is For Estranged" from his latest album Heartland. This song was a heavy choice for an opener being incredibly sad, but it drew in the crowd. Sometimes I wonder if there is subliminal hypnosis laced within his songs, or if he just a very talented musician who has the gift of transporting an audience exactly to where they need to be within the moment of the song.
Sometimes people ask me, "Why do you wear ear plugs to every show? That's not very rock'n'roll." Well, I'll let you in on a little secret: I don't wear ear plugs because I don't want to hear a show. I wear ear plugs to mute the inevitable audience chitchat. A prime example of when I need to do so was Thursday's late show by the xx at Lincoln Hall. The London trio's set was plagued by chatterboxes with nominal interest in the performance. (One girl near me spent at least 20 minutes with her back to the stage while trying to drown out the xx to converse with friends. How dare a headliner try playing over her shrill voice, right?)
However, if one could somehow hear past the MPDG/trixie racket, they may have found themselves at a pretty good show. The xx unsurprisingly began with "Intro" before moving on to single "Crystalised." Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim, donned in black clothes and gold chains, traded indifferent and sensual vocals highlighted by a spectacular call-and-response on "Infinity" ('Give it up... I can't give it up'). For a band whose merchandise is only black and white, the show was wildly colorful. Reds and blues dominated the room as Croft stayed mostly still and Sim bounced around the stage intermittently, leaving beatmaker Jamie Smith to himself among tables full of gear. Throughout the evening all three were well in control of the melancholic atmospheres that their music subsists on. (Think if Robert Smith wrote some songs for Chairlift and Portishead produced them.) In addition to every track on their only album, they covered Kyla's "Do You Mind?" in a low-key fashion.
The crowd at Lincoln Hall last night was respectful and mellow even though it was a sold-out show that filled the floor and spilled up into the balcony. There were the standard ranges of mid-week concert-goer: the dude in a tweed jacket, the really tall guy who always stands in front of you, the superfans, the pretty pretties, and the guy who doesn't know what to expect because his roommate dragged him there at the last minute with little to no warning. What held everyone together like some delicious, sticky goo was the collective sigh of happiness that washes over a listener of the lovely ensemble work of Fanfarlo.
Opener Lawrence Arabia (aka James Milne, pictured, right), touring with backing band The Prime Ministers (also from New Zealand with delicious accents), will be with Fanfarlo for the rest of their U.S. tour and I couldn't imagine a more agreeable pairing. Charming songs like "Apple Pie Bed" were made even more pleasant by the band's Fleet Foxes-like harmonies, their shaggy haircuts (all seemingly cut from the same haircut cloth) and their youthful exuberance over the occasional gush from an on-stage fog machine (during the song "I've Smoked Too Much," naturally). The bass player's mouth-gaping grin was the same as a kid on Christmas morning. I can only imagine the hijinx on the tour bus.
Fanfarlo hit the stage with seemingly well-studied wardrobe styling — all pastels and cream colors. They blended a kind of turn of the century/steampunk aesthetic that honestly was just playful enough. (Trousers tucked into lime green socks? Ok! Suspenders and highwaters? Why not?) They're just innocent enough to get away with anything they like.
If I ever find myself in a drunken brawl in a back alley, I want the Black Lips to be my soundtrack to the massive ass kicking that is about to commence. Chances are if you're at the front of the stage at a Black Lips show, you might just get your ass kicked as well, back alley or not. With a massive swirling mosh pit, everything from keys to beer to cell phones being launched onto the stage, and the occasional head butt from the lead singer, a Black Lips show can be a dangerous place to be. But you're also guaranteed to have one helluva time, as evident by the spastic (albeit sweaty) show the band put on last week at Logan Square Auditorium.
Due to high demand, the electro-pop Trio from Stockholm, Sweden, Miike Snow, added a second show at Metro Sunday night with Delorean and Light Pollution joining them. Even as their second Chicago show, they still managed to sell over 800 tickets to an all ages crowd — Metro holds 1,100 — on a very rainy Easter Sunday.
I hopped in the barricade a few minutes before their set began and chatted with Metro employee, Joel, who was working stage security, "What's up with the bubbles," he said- looked up, and pointed up to the right balcony, "That girl has been standing there blowing bubbles the entire night."
High on Fire's penchant for pummeling rhythms, rapidfire riffs and gruff vocals in a style that could soundtrack a pillaging has won them numerous accolades since the band formed out of the uncertainty of Sleep. But where High on Fire have typically distanced themselves from colleagues has been on the stage where they are an aural tour de force. The Oakland trio led by Matt Pike, who apparently never wears shirts on a stage, carries a tremendous presence with them when in front of an audience.
Aside from some classic heavy metal stage moves (headbanging while playing guitar vertically, grand posing on stage monitors, etc.), they don't really do a whole lot, but still command undivided attention, as long as you're one of those people not fearing for your safety at the edges of the pit. (Although, I do have to commend Lincoln Hall's security for a great job watching out for bystanders and dealing with the bullies who haunt pits.) Pike was a titan with his growling and musicianship in top form. Ex-Holy Terror/Zeke bassist Jeff Matz has clearly made a smooth transition to HoF and drummer Des Kensel simply took care of business. Half of the set consisted of songs from 2010's Snakes For the Divine with the title track and single "Frost Hammer" at the forefront. Other highlights included "Hung, Drawn and Quartered" and early track "Fireface." By the time they closed their 90 minutes with "Holy Flames of the Fire Spitter", the band seemed to have found a second wind, but left the stage leaving the crowd wanting more. And, as we all know, it's better to go out on top than overstay your welcome.
Spoon's Britt Daniel likes the lights turned down low (Photo by Katie Hovland)
Anyone who's ever been to the Aragon Ballroom (and stayed sober long enough to actually hear a band) knows that the sound in the room leaves a lot to be desired. Britt Daniel shared the same sentiment as Spoon took the stage last night. "Do people always complain about the sound onstage or is it just me? In the 22 years I've been doing this I've never heard sound this bad. I really wanted it to be good." As much as he complained, you would ever know he was having issues hearing; the show was prototypical Spoon: tight perfection.
You know that phrase "If it's Mark E. Smith and your grandmother playing bongos, it's a Fall show"? Well, it's hard to not think the same about it being a Beulah show no matter who accompanies Miles Kurosky. Even though longtime members like Bill Swan and Steve LaFollette (among others) made significant contributions during their day, Kurosky's synonymous with Beulah, for better or worse. Four albums of sugary yet complex pop music and heart-wrenching subject matter carved them out a nice spot in indie-rock lore by the time they called it quits in 2004. However, for the first half-hour of Kurosky's set at Schubas on Thursday, there was nary a word about his career before his solo debut album The Desert of Shallow Effects.
Janelle Monáe's video for her single "Tightrope" off her debut album The ArchAndroid
The buzz surrounding Janelle Monáe is steadily growing into a roar, so when a top hat wearing MC announced "by now, you should have already tweeted," to both sold out crowds at Schubas Monday and Tuesday night, its clear the statement was only partially a joke. Monáe and her dapper crew took over Schubas to showcase tracks off her debut album, The ArchAndroid which comes out May 18th.
Even though Chicago native Danny Chaimson only spent a handful of years living in California, a SoCal slacker-cool vibe was definitely prevalent in Chaimson's performance Tuesday night at Schubas. Donning a faded t-shirt bearing the slogan "Keep on Chuckin'" that looked about 20 years past its prime, Chaimson appeared as though he could have wandered into the venue after a full day of drinking beers on the beach. Don't let his chill persona fool you; Chaimson has been playing piano since the age of 4, and his passion proves he has a hard-working Midwestern soul.
Chaimson maintains an LA-influenced pop sensibility, but with his combination of retro soul and funk, he sounds like he could have come straight from the South. At one point, Chaimson paused to ask no one in particular for a glass of whiskey. I never saw his request filled, but by the show's end he had somehow procured the beverage, as he capped off the night with 'Raise 'Em Up', the glass-raised salute to partying and easy living. Keep on chuckin', indeed.
Fun geek fact: Not only is Jed Whedon (brother of Joss) in his band, but Chaimson also provided his piano stylings to the Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog soundtrack.
Photo by John Brunner over at Radio Free Chicago. See his review of the show here, and full set of pictures here.
If P.O.S and The Doomtree Collective are the future of hip-hop, then the future is looking bright. The Midwest rapper played to a packed and rabid crowd at the Bottom Lounge last Thursday, a room that made his Momma proud (she and his stepfather were present at the show) as they chanted along song after song during his visceral set.
Before P.O.S whipped the crowd into a frenzy, another Doomtree artist charmed her way into our hearts. Dessa has a sweet and smooth neosoul sound, giving of a not-so-crazy Erykah Badu vibe crafting wonderfully heartbreaking forlorn love songs. Her music of heartache is eloquent, expressing the feelings we can never find the words to say. She delivered up an offering of tracks off her debut album, A Badly Broken Code, including standout tracks of the night "Matches to Paper Dolls" the single "Dixon's Girl" and her duet with hometown hero Matt Santos, "The Chaconne." Their vocals blended perfectly together, despite the fact that it was the first time her and Santos have performed the song live together. She ended her set with a bit of slam poetry (showing her roots), her music a true example of the perfect way to blend pure poetry and hip-hop into one.
Dessa was the calm before the storm though, as P.O.S took the stage and launched directly into "Let it Rattle," a mass of fans rapping along verbatim, fist punctuating the end of every line. P.O.S seemed truly grateful for the wonderful turnout, and you can tell how much he really cares and connects with his fans. He stopped to thumb wrestle a few fans up front, and promised everyone that after the show he'd be right down on the floor, ready to sign stuff and thumb wrestle anyone else. He clearly understands the importance of befriending your fans, and its shows in the rabid allegiance of the crowd that night. As he dropped the single "Drumroll (We're All Thirsty)" it was like a bomb went off, a sweaty mass jumping up and down all around me. From the crowd to the delivery of his rhymes, the punk influences are evident throughout his set, and he shines during the most vulnerable lines. It's a show like this, the clear mutual respect and obsession for the music, and a close relationship between the fans and artist, that reminds you what live music is all about. It's about community, and screaming the words to every song, sweat pouring down your face as you dance your ass off. Don't just stand against the wall with your arms crossed. You've got to earn your right as a fan. And the crowd at the Bottom Lounge earned their right that night. If this is in fact the future of hip-hop, there is no other place I'd rather be.
Apart from the print ads in the interior of the Aragon promoting brands like Miller Genuine Draft and Univision, and the disco ball hanging incongruously from the ceiling, the Ballroom looked as lush and festive as it might have when the Chicago Daily Tribune referred to it as a "Gorgeous Bit 'o Hispaniola For Uptown Dancers" in a 1925 headline. Bag inspections and body frisks at the entrance caused a bottleneck for incoming concertgoers, and concession stands sold beer in plastic cups that was advertised at $6, but cost $7. The sold-out crowd wore a respectable amount of green, both kinds of hat (pork pie and driver's), and at least two mohawks.
Frank Turner opened the show, making his final appearance with Flogging Molly's 6th annual Green 17 tour before heading back to the UK, followed by The Architects, who turned the volume up before Flogging Molly took the stage. The opening acts brought the crowd to a simmer, the occasional enthusiast surfed the crowd, and the front of the house moved in quick, synchronized movements. Flogging Molly raised the temperature and brought the audience to a full boil; mosh pits formed and disappeared like bubbles. Among the items thrown into the air over the course of the evening were: several items of clothing, a couple light sticks (one landed on the sound board), and a number of $6 $7 cups of beer.
Dave King of Flogging Molly (photo by Katie Hovland).
[This guest post was submitted by reader Ciara Shook.]
It was just the man that filled the small stage on Saturday night at Schubas — a rare solo performance by Jon Langford without the accompaniment of The Mekons or The Waco Brothers.
Langford's appearance was part of the screening of the short film "At Last Okehmah!," in which he makes a cameo appearance. The event was part of the Chicago International Movies and Music Festival, and "At Last Okehmah!" told the story of a hipster-turned-folkster who claimed he channeled the late Woodie Guthrie. Langford joked that because the film was just 20 minutes long, it worked to his advantage, because no one left during his set.
Langford's onstage persona is nothing short of engaging — he told colorful stories and carried tongue-in-cheek banter between each song. As two unlikely genres to be represented in the same set, Langford flawlessly blended the punk rock of The Mekons with the alternative country of Chicago's own Waco Brothers. Langford's tenure in both bands is prevalent in his solo songs between his honky-tonk chord progressions and his cow-punk vocals (delivered in a discreet-yet-noticeable British accent) that work seamlessly in both worlds. He joked with members of the audience about the origins of some songs, such as Prince Charles' low approval rating in 1986 (compared to Tom Jones' astronomical rating — a number he claims increases with each telling). The highlight of the set involved audience participation for the sing-along chorus of "Are You an Entertainer?" from Mayors of the Moon, a product of Langford's stint with The Sadies.
Ciara Shook is a senior journalism student at Columbia College and a campus editor for Columbia's paper, "The Chronicle".
Emerging from behind the curtains with, "Some Red Handed Sleight of Hand," Cursive began warming the crowd, a feat the Dear and Departed failed to accomplish. Vocalist Tim Kasher veered from a whispered murmur to anguished yowl on key tracks like "Art is Hard" and "The Casualty." Adding a single horn player on top of guitar, bass, and drums adds some live presence but still doesn't make up for the loss of a cellist or all the instruments that are used on the records. After "From the Hips," the fans settled in until Kasher unleashed that signature once again for their set closer, "I Couldn't Love You."
Matt Skiba of Alkaline Trio at Metro (All photos of Alkaline Trio by Katie Hovland)
As Alkaline Trio's famed heart skull emblem was unveiled, the crowd cheered and a fan remarked, "That's going to be on my body forever!" Shortly after, Matt Skiba, the master of disguise, strode on stage in a newsboy hat and black-framed glasses while beaming over the crowd. Night two of Trio's weekend stint at the Metro began with "This Addiction," a shameless plug for its new record of the same title, which was released on Tuesday, Feb. 23.
After the second This Addiction track, "Dine, Dine My Darling," the opening chords of "We've Had Enough" brought the crowd to a boil, followed by shouts of "Turn that fucking radio off!" Nearly the entire crowd shouted along with Skiba's every word.
Skiba ditched his hat and glasses insinuating, "we're just getting started," and took a quick breath before blazing through "Mr. Chainsaw," prompting a crowd push toward the stage.
The Smoking Popes were once one of the most well known bands in Chicago's music scene during the 90's. Although popular, they were under appreciated in the wakes of bands like Urge Overkill, Wilco and The Smashing Pumpkins. The band was unique bringing lounge music to punk giving them a softer pop sound with a bit of a classic bend. The band formed in 1991, broke up in 1999 and reunited in 2005 selling out the Metro in record time. They released eight albums all together and toured with bands from the likes of ELO to Jawbreaker. Ben Weasel of Screeching Weasel was a fan and helped launch their first release. They just released It's Been a Long Day earlier this month on Asian Man Records.
I was first exposed to the exquisite voice of Annie Clark, otherwise known as St. Vincent, back in 2007 when she opened for Arcade Fire at the Chicago Theatre. She only had to speak the words, "Jesus saves, I spend," and I was hooked. I didn't know a thing about her at the time, so discovering that she was a member of Polyphonic Spree and had toured with Sufjan Stevens, two acts I adore, was only icing on the cake. Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to catch her live since then (though I hear she gave a breathtaking performance in Millennium Park last summer). Seeing as though Actor was one of my favorite albums of 2009, I jumped at the chance to finally see her again this past Thursday at Metro.
The show was sold out and the place was packed. Annie's bombastic, haunting tunes were entrancing and, in combination with her intense blue and green lighting, she had no problem filling up the room. However, the major downside of the packed house came when she broke into some of her more downtempo songs. The crowd became disinterested, and there were times when I couldn't even hear her over their chatter. This most likely could have been prevented if I hadn't chosen to stand near the bar, which is never a good idea.
A Starbucks iTunes Pick of the Week, a KEXP Song of the Day and a full-length album on Barsuk don't exactly hinder a band's popularity. Neither does an ethereal electronic/pop/trip-hop sound like what Phantogram delivers. Debut LP Eyelid Movies can come off as a hybrid of Chairlift, Massive Attack and School of Seven Bells without being overbearing or polluted. The atmosphere is similar to that of the xx, in that it's not difficult to soak in the background if necessary.
However, on a stage the duo commands undivided attention. At Schubas on Wednesday, multi-instrumentalists Josh Carter and Sarah Barthel initially played it cool with a sleek detached vibe. Soon enough they thrashed at their gear, headbanging and flailing in controlled chaos for the near-capacity crowd. It didn't hurt that the music was ratcheted up with their self-described street beats at the forefront. But perhaps the most striking element of their performance was the shared vocal duties. It seems some bands keep the male/female dynamic simply as a gimmick. With Phantogram it sounds genuine. Even though Carter writes a majority of the usually dark lyrics, Barthel pulls hers off with aplomb like a haunting sweetness through crowd favorites like "Mouthful of Diamonds" and "When I'm Small."
At the end of their 40-minute set with a 2-song planned encore, it was clear that Phantogram on record and on a stage are two different beasts. And neither should be passed up. (Luckily, Phantogram will be back soon as openers for the Antlers at Lincoln Hall on April 22.)
Owen Pallett, formerly known as Final Fantasy, made waves as string arranger for The Arcade Fire, but that was only the beginning. While still a steady and integral member of the powerhouse Montreal group, Pallett has built an ambitious and impressive career by remixing tracks by Grizzly Bear and Stars, contributing string arrangements to Beirut and Pet Shop Boys and recording three solo albums. The second of those, the majestic but tragically-titled, He Poos Clouds, was the 2006 winner of the Polaris Music Prize. Pallett, because he just wasn't awesome enough, decided to donate his prize money to struggling colleagues.
His latest album, Heartland, is a far-reaching and often strange concept record concerning a farmer's one-sided conversation with his creator, Pallett himself. The record was recorded with a slew of artists, including the Czech Philharmonic, and his live shows draw all the more attention since he often performs solo or with the help of one or two musicians. When I saw him at the 2009 Pitchfork Festival, it was just him and his instruments, alone on a gigantic stage in front of thousands of sweaty hipsters, a bemused look of wonder across his face.
Schubas' moody, intimate space is a much more appropriate venue for Pallett's intimate aesthetic, and Saturday night, on the penultimate evening of the Tomorrow Never Knows Festival, he didn't disappoint.
The end of the decade was ushered in like a cryptic end of the world as a sparse countdown clocked asked a sold out crowd at the Double Door "Are you ready to rock?" Scott Lucas, dressed in full spaceman regal, sauntered onto stage as the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey boomed throughout the room, the start of a macabre night of sci-fi, space, and rock 'n' roll.
Before last night, it'd been over five years since I'd seen Fiery Furnaces. The last time had been such a ramshackle mess that my interest eroded greatly. But a friend of mine recommended I'm Going Away over the summer and said that, even with his previous disappointments in them, it restored his confidence. And I must say I was pleasantly surprised with the abolishment of endless tangents. The album is a streamlined effort that owes more to pop music than psychedelia.
Live, though, they're still all over the place. However, even that isn't as schizophrenic as I remember. (That was apparently just a phase in 2004 anyway.) Songs are actually structured in a similar manner as they are on the albums, but the arrangements have been thrown through... a Fiery Furnaces machine. They're sped up, slowed down, infused with a range of genres, etc. Blueberry Boat highlight "Chris Michaels" ran the gamut across styles and garnered a favorable applause from the engaged sellout crowd. Sometimes a tempo can alert the crowd what's being played, but often I found myself waiting for lyrics or a specific hook before acknowledging recognition. New songs were the majority of the 50-minute set (with a half-hour fake encore). Eleanor sang with an aptitude I didn't realize she'd acquired and Matthew practically hid in a shadowy corner while reeling off an array of slick riffs and licks as they tackled all sorts of times. (Multiple times through the show I noticed someone in front of me counting off to figure out a time signature.) As the show drew to a close with "Single Again" and "Tropical Ice-Land", it became clear that, even without any keys all night, the band had still managed to stay within their sound and bring a lot of worthwhile improvisation. Consider this fan a changed man. (Also, I must mention how nice Schubas looked with wreaths and garland sprawling the doorways and walls. They should decorate for every holiday.)
Last night was the first of the Fiery Furnaces' year-end run in Chicago. Tonight is the other half at Lincoln Hall. Los Angeles' Cryptacize and Chicago's Smith Westerns open at 9PM. The show's 21+ and will be $25 at the door.
Sunset was at 4:21pm on Saturday, but that didn't stop the lineup at at Martyrs' from playing into the wee hours of Sunday morning, winter doldrums be damned. The James Brown tribute band Get Up With The Get Downs kicked things off with their stellar brass section, front man Izzy's endless energy, and a guest drummer who filled in at the last minute with just a few hours to rehearse. The band roused the audience into singing along with Cold Sweat and Hey! Hey! I Feel Alright!, and secretly I hoped there would come a moment when Izzy collapsed onstage, only to be rescued by a cape-bearing well-wisher strategically waiting in the wings. Get Up With The Get Downs play every 3rd Thursday at the Cobra Lounge, and will be playing at the Hideout January 2nd. Catch them if you can, they put on quite a show.
Chicago Afrobeat Project took the stage next, with up to 14 people performing at once, including vocalist Antar Jackson, and dancers Tosha Alston and Imania Detry from The Muntu Dance Theatre of Chicago. This was CAbP's first time performing in Chicago in several months, and the audience was clearly glad to see them. Between the dancers and the hypnotic mix of funk, rock, jazz and Afro-Cuban music, the energy was unstoppable. Each song was its own production, and it was early Sunday morning before they finished their set.
Last Thursday was without a doubt the coldest day of the year thus far, with temperatures dipping into the teens and the wind chill well below zero. But Chicago hip hop outfit the Cool Kids didn't seem to mind, as they whipped a packed crowd into a frenzy with their signature bass heavy cuts and previewed new material at Reggies.
The duo first got attention with a slew of throwback retro jams like "Black Mags" and "Mikey Rocks" full of 80s era scratch and bass bumping sound back in 2007. Their lyrics are full of pop culture reference and sly snark, as Chuck Inglish and Mikey Rocks bounce and banter back and forth, clearly a perfect fit and balance for each other. They've come a long way from playing at Town Hall Pub, and Thursday night was a homecoming celebration of the long strange trip the duo has been on the past few years.
Rivers Cuomo has long been dressing as and writing songs like a 13-year-old boy, but at Tuesday night's Weezer concert at the Aragon, he started acting like one as well. Long gone are the days where Rivers stood in place while meekly singing into the mic. Instead, he's playing air guitar, doing jumpkicks, running out into the crowd, wearing wigs, and playing with beach balls. They even had a trampoline set up in the center of the stage. It felt more like eavesdropping on your kid brother playing rock star in his bedroom than watching a 39-year-old Harvard-educated veteran musician. Aside from the fact that more dancing and air guitar time leads to less time spent, you know, actually playing the guitar, I fully welcome this change.
When Winter Gloves were here for their first Chicago show in May, they put on a high energy act despite playing to a nearly empty room. Their show on Tuesday at the (not so) Empty Bottle was no different, but this time there were more bodies to share in and amplify the enjoyment.
At Friday night's show at the Empty Bottle, there were two bands with very different styles, but huge fan bases playing. Long Beach DIY heros Crystal Antlers and the UK's The Big Pink. Both bands have made recent music history. For Crystal Antlers their full length album Tentacles was the last new release issued by Touch and Go in April and The Big Pink won the Philip Hall Radar Award at the NME awards last February. As soon as I got to the venue the words SOLD OUT clung to the door letting everyone with tickets know that they were in the right place.
Lissie is a pop/indie/country band with a pretty blond front-woman, Lissie Maurus, who hails from Rock Island but now lives in Ojai, CA. Why You Runnin' is her new EP, fresh off the presses from Fat Possum Records.
Why You Runnin' is good, probably best when it's knee-slappin' indie-country, like in the single, "Little Lovin'," which kicks off the EP with delicate picking on an acoustic guitar and crescendos into greatness with the help of a tambourine and an electric guitar, among other things. Then there is the melancholy country cover, "Wedding Bells," with heavily layered vocals, reminiscent of those of My Morning Jacket, and "Oh, Mississippi," the hymn-like tune that I could have sworn was Mississippi's state anthem, but it's not-- it's just a homesick tune Lissie wrote in London. The EP ends with "Everywhere I Go," which is a little too sappy, and "Here Before," the poppy ballad in which her voice really shines; all twisty and soulful.
Disclaimer: This review is insanely late due to the fact that two days after Halloween, I caught swine flu. Yup, swine flu. I wish I was kidding about this fact, but I'm not. Sorry to Andy for just now posting his wonderful pictures from the night, and sorry to all the readers for just now reporting on this fun night of music in Chicago. And go buy some hand sanitizer, try and get an H1N1 vaccination shot if you can, because swine flu was the worst sickness I've ever experienced, and trust me, you do not want it dear readers. Now on with the review!
Sweaty masses of underage kids packed into The Congress is a typical affair in the Chicago music scene, but only one weekend a year is it normal to add in a few dozen green men, a plethora of slutty outfits, and a crowd surfing horse into the mix. Such was the case at the packed Crystal Castles, Chromeo and Boys Noize show Halloween weekend.
Listening to Leonard Cohen's music is like listening to your own conscience; seeing him live makes you realize that your conscience is a 74 year-old man in a dark suit and fedora. For over three hours last night, Leonard Cohen kept the rapt attention of an adoring audience as he performed songs that have been so deeply etched into the memories of his fans that its hard to think of a time we didn't know them. He frequently began songs in a kneeling position, as if the weight of his own voice were too much to bear, then rose to a standing position with his body curved into a question mark, for who asks deeper questions than the troubadour from Quebec?
Mr. Cohen received numerous standing ovations, recited the lyrics to 1,000 Kisses Deep as a poem, and received applause from the audience upon hearing key lyrics throughout the evening, such as: you told me again you preferred handsome men but in my case you'd make an exception; and I was born like this I had no choice, I was born with the gift of a golden voice. After what seemed like the last song, he came back for an encore that went four songs long. He sang Closing Time, a sure sign that he was finished, only to come back with I Tried To Leave You, getting a big laugh from the audience.
Between now and November 13th Leonard Cohen will be appearing in North Carolina, Tennessee, Missouri, Nevada and California. Catch him if you can, this is one concert you'll never forget. For more information visit Leonard Cohen.
When I hear the phrase "actor-turned-musician", I normally think of boringvanityprojects set to stroke one's ego, with fewexceptions. Luckily, Ryan Gosling's new project Dead Man's Bones falls into the 'exception' category. The band stopped through Chicago last week for two sold-out shows at Schubas in support their ghoulish new self-titled album. The album can be a bit hokey at times but live the same songs basically sound like Arcade Fire gone trick-or-treating (see: "In the Room Where You Sleep" album version vs. live version). Think ghosts and goblins plus theatrical songwriting plus a children's choir - kitschy elements but it works in a pleasantly surprising way.
Full disclosure - about 75% of the reason I went to see this show was that according to the press release, Pitchfork has compared Hawksley Workman's voice to Freddie Mercury. The other 25% is that he's Canadian, and I have a fascination with cultural exports from our neighbor to the north.
I prepared myself by visiting Hawksley Workman's website, and was immediately confronted with his image, which seemed so, um, un-Canadian. I was expecting something a little more self-deprecating than a man lazily draped over a love seat wearing double-decker headgear. Its a look that's more Justin Timberlake bringing sexy back than Neil Young dancing under the harvest moon, but first impressions can be misleading. Then I watched a few of the videos, and a strange thing happened - the experience of listening to the music while being confronted with his video presence was completely different from listening to the music while I surfed other websites. I became very curious as to how it would affect me live.
"Dan (Auerbach--vocalist/guitarist for The Black Keys) was leaving on tour to support his solo record, and I wasn't going to have anything to do for a while," Patrick Carney (drummer for The Black Keys) says about Drummer's inception. A band of drummers, with only one playing drums. Carney first got in touch with friend Jamie Stillman (drummer in Teeth of the Hydra and Harriet the Spy) and they brought on Jon Finley (former drummer for Party of Helicopters) as lead singer/guitarist, Stephen Clements (drummer for Houseguest) on keyboards/vocals, and Greg Boyd (drummer for Ghostman & Sandman) held the helm on drums. Carney himself picked up the bass, and Stillman, guitar.
Shame on me for not being familiar with The Dodos--especially when they're filling Bottom Lounge on a Monday night. I had certainly heard of them... I was told I would like them when they played Pitchfork Music Festival two years ago, and I remember a friend telling me she was a big fan around that same time. Even yesterday as I was searching for an email, I came across one from almost exactly a year ago from another friend inviting me to one of their shows (but I was already seeing Jamie Lidell that night).
Through all of this, I still managed to never hear or see The Dodos--that is until I recently happened upon their new album Time To Die streaming on their webpage. Their sound reminds me a lot of when indie rock really started to seep into the mainstream, the days when Death Cab was still indie and everybody was really into The Shins (Hey, remember The Shins?). There's innocence and hopefulness there with a driving beat and attention to melody.
Everyone knows things suck right now. The economy doesn't seem to be improving, no one has a job and going out to see cool local bands live has become a luxury. Proper social graces tells us that when things are going poorly we should comfort others by telling them that things will be all right. Cococoma is a band that knows better and thus called their second full length release (due out today on Goner Records) Things Are Not All Right because sometimes, the truth hurts but needs to be told.
The first track on this fast paced surf meets garage rock album is "You Better Beware" a rocked out caveat to nothing in particular followed by "Enemies" a song about knowing where you stand with those you don't trust. Dispite the pessimistic album title and songs about the darker side of human nature, the band does indeed rock and if you don't internalize the lyrics too much you have a great fast paced album which is great for dancing, ironically to forget about your troubles. Another notable track is "Lie to Me" a song which needs no explanation because haven't we all been there or some place similar? The closing song "Alright, Alright, Alright" of course tells the contrary, but somehow ends with the feeling that maybe things will be okay, just not right now. Cococoma has made a great rock album which is honest, full of great pop hooks, strong guitar work and is unbelievably catchy.
To make things seem a little less gloomy, the band has a record release show tomorrow at the Empty Bottle. Opening is French garage rock band Sonic Chicken 4, Soul punks,The Yolks and a DJ set by PsychedAlex. Tickets are only$3 in advance. $8 at the door. 21+. The Empty Bottle is located at 1035 N. Western Ave. (773) 276-3600
It takes a strong kind of woman to be able to pull off opening for TV on the Radio's Kyp Malone without a backing band. Sharon Van Etten is definitely that person. At one point, she even apologized for the fact that it was just her owning the stage she was on but there was no need to say sorry. In fact, her set this time was edgier than both times she's previously played Chicago at the Empty Bottle and it proved difficult to be a passive listener throughout the length of it.
If it wasn't already hard being a geek or a nerd, last night sure made it more difficult. Nerd rock legends They Might Be Giants played their 1990 album Flood at the Vic while geektastic singer/songwriter Jonathan Coulton played at Park West causing a riff in the space time continuum and freaking out fans of both. Coulton decided to also do a Flood show to calm fans who already had tickets to his show, still wanted to see They Might Be Giants but had not perfected the science of teleportation. It was a show that will be well remembered in nerd/geek music history.
Five months ago when Kylie Minogue's first-ever Chicago performance was announced, it was booked for the Congress. Four days before the concert, it was moved to UIC Pavilion. The reason given was "the sheer scale of the production just won't fit into the Congress, necessitating the upgrade." While standing in a six-block line to enter UIC Pavilion, popular questions among the crowd were, "Why did it take so long for someone to realize that Kylie's spectacle wouldn't fit into the Congress? And why, once the move was announced, were details kept guarded like state secrets?" (No one seemed to have a concrete answer as to when doors opened or the show started.) But in the end, these answers didn't really matter. All that mattered was what happened on the stage.
From the time Kylie was lowered to the stage singing "Light Years" in a sparkling silver dress atop a gigantic chrome skull, minds were mesmerized. For the opening sequence her eight dancers dressed somewhere between Boba Fett and post-Discovery Daft Punk. Through their robotics, the star couldn't hide her smile and the crowd cheered her every move. (Strangely, though, there wasn't a whole lot of dancing in the masses.) This tour features not just her greatest song hits, but also reworkings of the best scenes from previous tours that America never saw. With so much material to get through, excerpts were scattered (e.g. a few lines from "Where the Wild Roses Grow" in "Red Blooded Woman" and the name-dropping verses of Madonna's "Vogue" preceding "Burning Up") and one lively medley included "Shocked", "What Do I Have to Do?" and "Spinning Around" in brilliant 80s kitsch.
Of the dozen or so people in the audience on opening night, I am fairly certain that I was the only one not personally connected to the band through the bonds of blood, friendship or commerce. The band, starring Jeremy M. Eden as front man Talon St. Lee, Dan Eden as bassist Cyrus Long and Kevin Kirchman as Brodie the Roadie - who doubles as a guitarist, was originally conceived as a homework assignment for a high school film class in 2002. Onstage, it unfolded like a post-Thanksgiving dinner skit designed for an audience of family members, and although uneven, it had some genuinely inspired moments.
Manic Street Preachers are one of the most popular Welsh rock bands ever. In Europe they top charts, sell out arenas and headline festivals. In the US, though, fans are lucky if the albums get domestic releases. So, obviously, their first US tour in a decade is an event. (And not just for expats.)
At Metro on Thursday, the band walked on stage and singer/guitarist James Dean Bradfield introduced opener "Motorcycle Emptiness" almost as an apology for not playing here in so long. Through the night the band made numerous references to their lack of popularity in America, but it was hardly evident in a comfortably full Metro with pockets of the crowd singing along to every song. (Although, I should note that the friend I went with is a New Zealander and the gentlemen next to us all spoke with non-American accents.) Part of the American music fan's indifference to the Manics may be in part to their heavy political and cultural subject matter. For instance, Bradfield introduced "Let Robeson Sing" by saying, "This is about one of the greatest Americans ever" to an audience whose general American education includes nary a word about Paul Robeson's trials and tribulations as a US civil rights activist. And the only Manics single in the US, 1998's "If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next", which was received quite warmly, is about rebels during the Spanish Civil War.
However, it is difficult to deny the band based on the merit of their music. Their early punk (like an extremely hostile New York Dolls) led into a heavy Britpop sound, hence leading to their greatest successes. And both of these eras were prevalent on Thursday. Bradfield's exceptional guitar-playing was highlighted by a series of glam-inspired licks while flamboyant bassist Nicky Wire and obscured drummer Sean Moore made up a pulsating rhythm section that never wavered. Even though some lyrics are dark and cynical, Bradfield himself was rather cheery and lively as he bounced around the stage and wailed on rockers like "Motown Junk" and "You Love Us." The band pulled a majority of their set from their hits and scattered one third of new album Journal for Plague Lovers across an 80-minute set. Before ending, Bradfield reminded the audience that they don't do encores. Then they launched into the anthemic "A Design For Life" with its appropriate lyrics 'We are not allowed to spend, as we are told that this is the end' closing the evening. It's just as well that they don't encore, for if they did, the cheers for more may have lasted indefinitely.
Touring with a full backing band for the first time since 2005, Moby came through Chicago Wednesday night to take the sold-out audience at The Vic on a trip through his musical history, from early electro raver cuts to his latest shimmering pop gems. If you're only familiar with the mass amount of hits from his 1999 release Play, then you are sadly missing out on the impressive range and talent that Moby possesses and displayed during his night in Chicago.
Last night the Brooklyn powerhouse known as Grizzly Bear played the first of their two nights of shows at the Metro, captivating a full house of fans with their always lush and mesmerizing music. The band have swiftly been winning over audiences with their hushed yet forceful sound ever since their debut release Yellow House, including a large following in Chicago after playing twice at the Pitchfork Music Festival.
The Metro stage was adorned with mason jars hanging off of beams that looked like telephone wires, as the band sauntered onto the stage and launched into "Southern Point," a song that I believe Thom Yorke might have wished he wrote for Radiohead. It's a multifaceted and layered track, with a heavy bass beat keeping every part tethered to one another. As the song built speed and crashed at a high point, the mason jars above the band flashed brightly, illuminating them in a soft glow, which complimented the always beautiful lighting set-up at the Metro perfectly. The band was off to a strong start, both visually and musically, already more focused and solid than their performance this summer at Pitchfork Festival.
They played the first few notes of "Cheerleader" the first single of their latest album Veckatimest, as the crowd roared in approval. Live, "Cheerleader" has a more murky and muddled sound, the music almost sounding like a stomp as it plods along. This contrasts perfectly with the clear ringing vocals of Ed Droste, making "Cheerleader" an infectious song that glides smoothly along. Droste's vocals throughout are soft and languid, especially on tracks that showcase his simple sound such as "Knife," which I've deemed personally as the sonic equivalent of a warm bath. It relaxes you, is soothing and calming, and all I want to do is close my eyes and just get lost in the moment. Corny as it sounds, it makes sense when you see Grizzly Bear live. Other memorable moments of the set was the haunting "Colorado," which had a beautiful breakdown towards the end, a strong delivery of "I Live With You," which held tension and built before exploding in sound, and a choice ending for the set of "On A Neck On A Spit."
After first being mesmerized by the band a few years ago at Pitchfork Festival, and then let down by a lackluster performance this past July at the festival, it was reassuring to hear the band so dynamic, forceful, and gorgeous as they were last night. Seeing the multiple instrumentation and the careful craftsmanship of their music live truly shows why Grizzly Bear is one of the most innovated, original, and refreshing bands around today.
Grizzly Bear will play their tonight, Monday September 28th, at the Metro. There are still a few tickets left for the show this evening, but if you plan on going grab a ticket now at the Metro site, because I'm sure the show will sell out. Tickets are $25, it is 18 and over, and doors open at 8pm with the show starting at 9pm.
Ever since I've been going to shows, I've been fascinated with the juxtaposition between performers on record and on a stage. Some excel in the studio and don't quite pull it off live. Others can't bottle the live magic on albums. And others with perfectly acceptable recorded output somehow find ways to build upon it and wow audiences. My Friday featured the latter from two headliners.
Lollapalooza 2009 dark horse Miike Snow played two sold out shows at the Empty Bottle. At the early one, the band walked out in their signature black track jackets and white masks (singer Andrew Wyatt looked like Phil Manzanera had he been in Jabbawockeez) and began with the ultra-poppy yet creepy "Burial." As the set progressed, it became clear that they don't have an agenda apart from a set list. Some songs sounded very close to album versions. Others were recognizable, but quickly evolved into heavy 10-minute electronic explorations with Christian Karlsson and Pontus Winnberg (a.k.a. Bloodshy & Avant) leading the way. Even though most of the audience instinctually eyed Wyatt, it was no secret who was running the show and making the music click. They hit drum machines, twisted knobs and basically looked like two DJs thrilled to be out from behind the booth. Slow burner "Silvia" and closer "In Search Of" both got the best treatment with extensive slides into synth-heavy bangers that left the crowd no choice but to dance. Band members left the stage one by one and eventually the lights came up as rapturous applause filled the Bottle. If Friday's show is any indication of the progress Miike Snow has made as an act even since the summer, there should be no doubt that their future is bright.
Just over a mile east down Division (easily bikeable once Friday's rain stopped), the Soft Pack and Smith Westerns played late at the Chopin Theatre. Smith Westerns have accumulated a lot of tremendous press over the last few months. Music bloggers have busted nuts over their lo-fi glam-rock sound (think Times New Viking + T. Rex). But they're still kids. They're undeniably young in both presence and musicianship. They look nervous in front of an audience - even one that shows them a lot of love. And they screw up chords now and then. However, they have a plethora of potential and it's obvious to hear why everyone wants to be on their bandwagon before it closes. In contrast, the Soft Pack were consummate professionals. It took a couple songs for the San Diego foursome to get into its groove, but once they did they were cooking with gas and sounded tight as a drum. Splitting the set between old and new tunes gave the audience chances to sing along, such as on the infinitely livened "Bright Side" (sounds kinda boring on the album, but is massive live), and bask in the glory of a band finding confidence as they grow. The third song in their set (a new one which I have no name for) was simply incredible. The band's raw rock and roll roots (think Modern Lovers with a little Cheap Time) are still in place, but a surf-rock angle creeped into a lot of the new and even where it wasn't in some of the old. Much like Miike Snow, though in a completely different genre, the Soft Pack's success should know no bounds if they continue along their current trajectory.
Fun.'s debut album Aim and Ignite was released a mere four weeks ago, but every person in the sold-out crowd at Schubas last night knew every word to every song, often shouting them over the band. Considering Aim and Ignite hasn't left my stereo in the past four weeks either, I was none too surprised at this reaction. If you're unfamiliar, fun. is the new project of former singer of The Format, Nate Ruess, Andrew Dost of Anathallo, and Jack Antonoff of Steel Train. Fun. retains the theatricality of Nate Ruess' songwriting style that I loved in The Format, only slightly more mature and with a more layered sound. I'm not as familiar with Anathallo and Steel Train as with The Format, but having never seen The Format live, I was excited to catch Ruess in action. He sure didn't disappoint.
This past Sunday was a dreary and rainy night in Chicago, but in my mind I was laying in the sun somewhere in a tropical climate far away. No, I wasn't hallucinating nor had I finally lost my mind. I was being swept away by the sweet sounds of Fool's Gold.
[This guest review comes to us from reader Sarah Avampato, who also took the pictures.]
In front of a crowd of around 250 people, scattered at tables and chairs across the wide open floor of the Art Institute's new modern wing, Andrew Bird showed yet again why he is a force to be reckoned with in today's music scene. His short set drew mainly from Noble Beast, with a few nice surprises: an unanticipated side trip off into b-side territory ("The Water Jet Cilice"), a reworking of some old songs ("Sweetmatter"), and a new song that he's been working on. The crisp, clean lines of the modern wing were well suited to a night of Bird's music, who commented at one point that the environment made him want to play more legato music, broad strokes, instead of "pointy" things. The space really seemed to give Bird's music the chance to grow and take shape, unconfined, to be whatever it wanted to be, the way his music should really be heard.
Bird opened his set with "The Water Jet Cilice", a song which has popped up a few different times on EPs (Soldier On, Fingerlings 3). The song's long been a favorite of mine, and when I heard the opening strains, the churning violin and startling whistle, from way off in the middle of nowhere, aka where the restroom was, well, let's say I walked just a little bit faster to get back to my seat. After the song, he talked to the audience for a bit, mentioning that he was asked to tell an anecdote about the Art Institute. He shared a story about going to the museum when he was around six, with his mother and some other neighborhood children. In looking at the paintings, he recalled standing in front of one - a Rembrandt - and really having the urge to touch it. So, of course, he did, and promptly got yelled at by the security guard. Somehow, I don't think this was the type of anecdote that the organizers were hoping he would share - I imagine they were hoping for something a little more cerebral - but it suited the audience just fine.
One of my favorite albums as of late has been Bad Veins' self titled debut--from start to finish. The album reminds me a lot of The Killers' debut Hot Fuss--over-the-top, danceable indie-rock with the same longing in the vocals. Bad Veins have a lusher, more orchestral sound though, and aren't afraid of their softer side. You'll find yourself singing along, yelling the full-of-feeling choruses --I often get them stuck in my head and catch myself singing 'I would be lyin if i said i never hated you!' around my house.
While their name might not be in your musical lexicon quite yet, drummer Sebastien Schultz and keyboardist/guitarist/singer Benjamin Davis have gotten quite a bit of attention lately with their single "Gold and Warm" popping up on indie radio stations, as one of MTV's Bands You Should Know, and songs appearing in Gossip Girl and The City.
I've been to a few shows in my time. I've seen one or two (hundred) drunk performers. For some it's their schtick. For others it's just a result of the way a day's gone. But I don't recall ever seeing someone begin a set quite like Deer Tick at the Bottom Lounge on Thursday. Singer John McCauley walked on stage, ahead of the rest of the band, and talked about beginning with "The Star-Spangled Banner." I have to admit I was looking forward to hearing his gruff vocals through a song so notoriously difficult to sing. But instead he sang "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" as Sammy Davis, Tony Bennett and a few others. Midway through he even took some vocalist requests. Once the band actually walked out and started to play music, things improved. McCauley was absolutely plastered, but everyone else seemed to be more or less on the wagon.
While at times Deer Tick's music may evoke reminders of Fleet Foxes' ethereal Americana, the entrance of McCauley's raspy voice quickly shuts down those comparisons. It's far more Hardy Morris (Dead Confederate) than Robin Pecknold. And that may work like a charm on their two albums, but the 23-year old hasn't quite figured out how to make his alcohol work in his favor during the non-rockers live. Of those, only an amped up "Ashamed" was anything more than mediocre. But it was fantastic, due in large part to the audience singalong of its catchy chorus. As they moved onto the jams late in the set, the band found their groove and came alive for "These Old Shoes" and their highly accessible "Easy."
Last Wednesday was a bit of a bizarre night at the House of Blues. Maybe it was a full moon or something, but things were a little off for the whole evening. The House of Blues is an odd venue in itself--not really the room itself, sound is great in there--but being a corporate entity, rules are strict and drinks are expensive (not exactly what you would expect from a no-holds-barred rock club). And going inside is like walking into a dead zone: zero cell service (which sucks when your date is outside and has lost his ticket).
Last night four cute boys from Florida took the stage at Empty Bottle for a short opening set that charmed the audience trickling in for local headliners. Named after the street that leader Nathan Pemberton grew up on, Holiday Shores played beachy laid-back indie-rock that could make you feel like you're on the shores of Florida yourself. All four of them were decked out in shorts and sneakers, bringing a bit of that leisurely attitude with them.
The group of friends and roommates recently released their first full-length album, Columbus'd The Whim, filled with charming melodies, distant vocals and catchy hooks. It's a shame that this band is just coming up on our radar now because this album could have easily soundtracked our summer. But hey, since we didn't get much of a summer this year in Chicago anyway, they can soundtrack the fall and winter and we can envision ourselves on sandy beaches in warmer climates.
Watch their video for "Phones Don't Fued" after the jump:
"We've got a lot of emotion to get through tonight." Eddie Vedder started off the evening with that statement at last night's Pearl Jam concert at the United Center before launching into "Corduroy." It's hard not to be filled with emotion with songs so passionate and enduring, and of course, Vedder's deep, fervent vocals. He took the stage in shorts, a move not a lot of rockstars could get away with and still look like a rockstar, but if anyone can pull it off, it's Eddie Vedder.
Reviews of this past weekend's festival are slowly coming in over the wires as our staff recuperates and adjusts our eyes from the glare of the sun to the gleam of the computer screen. Nevermind the blisters, here's our look back at Lollapalooza 2009 (with further updates as bulletins arrive).
Lollapalooza weekend officially kicked off with "after"shows beginning on Thursday night. Andrew Bird played a special show at the small capacity Schubas as a charity event benefiting Rock for Kids. Tickets for the show sold out in less than 30 seconds, but those lucky enough to be in attendance were in for a treat. As Bird took the stage clad in all denim, he kicked off his shoes after the first song and the night took on a theme of songs-that-used-to-be-other-songs. He opened with a different, slower version of "Dark Matter" after which he told us was the original version called "Sweet Breads." He also played "Oh No" and "Effigy" one right after the other and revealed that they used to be the same song.
All Photos by William Hasty and his trusty iPhone. Thanks Will!
"This isn't going to be one of my typical shows," announced Dan Deacon as he set up shop in a warehouse loft nestled between the hum of factories in Bridgeport. "It's been a long day, and I know it's hot and dirty, but let's try and relax," Deacon proclaimed over a room full of sweltering Hipsters who came to see him and a laundry list of bands play a last minute after show Saturday night.
Lollapalooza weekend in Chicago isn't just about sweating with the masses in Grant Park. Since the festival retired the touring shtick and rooted down in Chicago, after parties, pre-parties, and general music festivities have been popping up during Lolla weekend. This year the number of events have been staggering and overwhelming, but if you're looking for a guaranteed good time, put your faith in the hands of one of the most respectable venues in Chicago. The Metro is playing host to a sold out weekend of shows, giving audiences the lucky chance to see acts that usually are reserved for a the confines of a larger venue. Last night the Arctic Monkeys stirred up a packed crowd into a rabid frenzy with their brand of infectious post-punk infused rock 'n' roll.
2009 new touring band (L to R): Joe Kennedy, Zak Schaffer, Jonny Polonsky, PY, Mark Noseworthy, Scott Seiver
(photo by Jim Wright)
Last night Pete Yorn played the first of a two night stand at Park West (at one point saying the venue was like a "fancier Metro"). The setlist was heavy on older songs, sprinkling in new material from his newest album Back and Fourth, which he called more of a "good-time record." The ladies in the audience obviously love Yorn--there was yelling between almost every song--"We love you, Pete!" Mid-show Pete reached out into the audience and grabbed a sign that said "Can I have your Burrito?" to which he happily obliged and lept into the song "Burrito." But you don't have to be a girl to enjoy his music. The entire audience went crazy every time he picked up that harmonica for songs like "Strange Condition."
Just past 2009's midpoint, the frontrunner for most predictable set list is Obits. The New York post-garage rock band with ties to Drive Like Jehu, Hot Snakes and Edsel began Saturday's Empty Bottle set with the A-sides from two non-album singles followed by their debut LP more or less sequentially. The planned encore consisted of the B-sides and an omission from the LP. Thankfully, live bands aren't judged primarily on the order that they play their music. The hook-laden foursome still delivered the goods behind the strength of Rick Froberg and Sohrab Habibion dueling on guitars. Froberg's wail was somewhat subdued compared to the album, but he still hit the appropriate aggression in the latter half of the set, especially for "Lilies on the Street"'s desperate 'Why would you send me out? / When will you ever send for me?' chorus and "Back and Forth"'s almost creepy 'You say nobody knows anybody else / Well, that's not true... cause I know you.'
However, the night's highlight was local quartet Disappears. A week after playing the Pitchfork Music Festival, the band sounded tight as a drum during their jaw-dropper of a set. With the reverb heavy and distortion buzzing over Jonathan Van Herik's melodic guitaring, Disappears enraptured the audience with their layered approaches. Especially awesome was the self-described glam-rock stomper "Gone Completely" which wore out shoe soles due to its pounding rhythm. Now, I should mention that this show was my reprieve from moving all weekend and my lower back was causing all sorts of agony... until this set. Maybe it was the low end rumble, but I'd like to think that their music just had such a positive effect that it made me totally forget about the pain. And it didn't hurt much either that it was so pleasant to the ears.
Violently romantic or romantically violent? Which of these phrases best describes the music of The Veils depends largely on the song; but not entirely. The lines blur. I can feel the gears shifting frequently on every listen. Whatever the destination, the vehicle driving towards it all is longing; an undiluted, lucid longing. Where it shines on the albums, it blinds live. Like many who left The Empty Bottle after Thursday night's midnight rendezvous with The Veils, I'm still trying to blink away the remnants of something like staring into the sun.
Friday night, the throwback day of Pitchfork Music Festival is always filled with bands that I am familiar with, but not intimately. I go in never knowing quite what to expect, but always come away a new fan of a classic indie group. Last night that band was Built to Spill. They were the highlight of the night, closing out the evening. Doug Martsch and crew and the crowd were equally rocking the park. I don't know if it was because it was a crowd-chosen setlist, or as my friend said, they're just really good.
The Jesus Lizard was over the top as expected, and I literally mean lead singer David Yow went over the top of many fan's heads surfing into the crowd--right at the beginning of their set--and again several more times. There was aggressive rock, screaming vocals and general mayhem.
I arrived a little late and only heard a portion of Tortoise's set, but the local group sounded as tight as ever playing all older favorites as part of "Write the Night" but nothing from their new album, Beacons of Ancestorship. Yo La Tengo hit a groove and played the calming soundtrack for getting acclimated with the park and settling in.
In anticipation of witnessing The Entrance Band's blend of psych-rock and blues firsthand, I've listened to their most recent release, 2006's Prayer of Death, more times this week than I can count on both hands. I've repeatedly listened to the title track more than could possibly be considered healthy. As they stand on the brink of releasing their Ecstatic Peace! debut, I was no less than stunned while watching them topple The Hideout tonight. They were an absolute storm in an intimate room; equal parts earthquake and tornado.
It was a big deal for Chicago's Mannequin Men to play Cabaret Metro Friday night. Not only were they kicking off their third record release, 2009's Lose Your Illusion, Too on Flameshovel Records but they were also beginning a North American tour to promote this newest release.
As always, the four piece band was energetic and full of life, with animated interactions between Miles Raymer and Kevin Richard especially. Playing roughly an hour of mostly new songs, Raymer amused the crowd by telling silly jokes inbetween the explosions of music that are part garage with some punk tinges. Raymer's backup vocals added a well received power to Richard's as well and the animation of the songs increased when they even sang on one mic together.
Best of all, it was clear that it wasn't just the audience having fun but the band itself who gave a great performance and, in the end,during "(Us And) All Our Friends Are So Messed Up"invited the audience to join them on stage. Song setlist was concentrated on their last two releases with a clear highlight of 2007's Fresh Rot being "Private School" and a feature song off their newest one being "Massage."
In all genres of music, there are those who toil at the edges, plowing ahead while the people making the big money and selling out House of Blues locations keep churning out the same thing. Those artists grow and explore and put out music that actually seems to expand what the genre could mean outside the rote and usual.
In hip-hop, outside of a few artists and labels (Def Jux, Madlib and his work at Stones Throw come to mind) who are secure enough to make the music they feel like making, the notion of originality isn't necessarily met with popular acclaim and commercial success. Among the number of those who knows about label politics and growing in the music is veteran J-Live, who rocked Morseland Saturday night.
The one man powerhouse not only rocked the microphone, but is also an accomplished DJ, and to do both at the same time is something not a lot of people can do. The fact he does it well kept the party moving, even when the record decided to skip. He was at Subterranean earlier this year, and ended the show there with "Braggin Writes," his magnum opus of simultaneous turntablism and rapping. Saturday night, he did "Braggin Writes"...and kept going.
Morseland, being a small, intimate space, seemed roomy enough to accommodate the crowd, who seemed to know his catalog pretty well. And a knowledgeable crowd that knows the Allen Iverson sample on "Practice" ("...not a game...we talkin bout PRACTICE...") is a crowd I can happily rock out with.
A supportive crowd, undeniable skills, and a pretty thorough run-through of a catalog that's been label-ravaged and delayed at every turn made for a great night. Somehow, you have to hope that, in the end, talent wins over BS, but until then, J-Live should really be on your radar. Check The Early Works of J-Live on iTunes for a good intro to the beginning of his career.
I've walked in and out of Schubas on many nights over the changing seasons and years. On each of these uniquely beautiful nights I walked out feeling like I'd experienced something special. I've seen some great shows at some great clubs, but I don't have this particular association with any others. Last night I walked in to see AA Bondy and Holly Miranda. It was again a uniquely beautiful night, and I walked out knowing I'd experienced something special.
It's not often that I'm pressed up against the stage at a concert, but that was the case Saturday night at Park West for French indie pop group Phoenix. I was first turned on to the group by the song "Long Distance Call," and was thrilled when they finally announced a US tour. We got there early (for an early show at that) to see opener Amazing Baby and found a nice little pocket up front before the venue filled up. I had forgotten how great it can be to be so close to the band.
On a Monday night in the bloom of summer, you'd expect a fairly young crowd out for the Nylon (magazine) Summer Music Tour, AKA "look at our new label peeps". While the back of the crowd had a decent mix of folk (and of course, Thax), the front pit was a decently-sized mob of college kids or recent grads who certainly didn't look like they were facing a morning commute.
Jaguar Love drew the short straw and played first. Unfortunately, this meant that people who didn't want to stand in the Bottom Lounge for five straight hours were still finishing up their dinners or perhaps going for pleasant evening strolls. Sorry, Jaguar Love.
Following them were the impossibly French Plasticines, whose syrupy accents made their fairly standard Donnas-esque rock a little sweeter. They played their cover of "These Boots are Made For Walkin", and demanded (eventually through an "interpreter", in case the crowd wasn't understanding their English) that everyone had to "go like thees: *clapclapclapclap*" After some trips into the audience from lead singer Katty Besnard, everyone eventually obliged.
Of special note here is that during the break, no one less than Bob Marley was used for fill music. Sure, why not?
My mp3 phone only has two gigs, so it doesn't hold very many albums at one time. I rotate new music in and out, but the one album that hasn't gotten the boot is Metric's Fantasies. It could quite possibly be one of the best albums of 2009. Frontwoman Emily Haines said during their show at Metro last night that the idea with the album was to give us some summer good tunes, and that they have done.
They took the stage without talking, just jumping right into the music with a down-to-business tone. Energy grew throughout the show, starting off dreamlike with a blue hue (truly taking on the name Fantasies), into strobe lights, rock and dancing. Their first single from Fantasies, "Help I'm Alive," was the second song played, with Haines slowly raising the tambourine in hand with the "beating like a hammer" crescendo. As they kicked into more fast paced, grittier tunes, she also interacted with the crowd more. Haines really was the center of the show, as it was hard to take your eyes off her. Cute and thin blonde (basically hot) with great fashion sense--a dangly necklace, boots and slashed black jeans--she danced her heart out with a little knee popping trot, the kind of pointed-toe girly dance you expect to catch a 5 year old doing. While the rest of the band was just as "on," it was clear that she owned that stage and they supported her well.
The show ended with a bang, but the encore lacked the same intensity. At one point Haines was rolling around on the ground saying something about the environment, but as you know at a rock concert it's sometimes hard to understand what they are saying when they aren't singing. Still, a band like Metric makes a Sunday night at Metro feel like anything but the end of the weekend.
It's no secret that I'm a fan of Ha Ha Tonka, the foot stompin' Americana indie rock band from Springfield, Missouri. They're Bloodshot Records debut album, Buckle in the Bible Belt, was one of the most earnest, soulful, and rollicking tours through rock music that I've heard in a long time. We sat down a few months ago and chatted with lead singer Brian Roberts about their latest album, Novel Sounds of the Nouveau South, which is out tomorrow on Bloodshot Records.
Unless an artist is playing a residency, you usually don't get to enjoy an incredibly talented act multiple nights in a row. Usually a band will come through town, put on a wonderful show, and leave you wanting more. But if you're a greedy music fan like me, you may have lucked into seeing St. Vincent twice this week, as she rolled into town Sunday to perform at the Metro before heading over Monday night to play the Jay Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park.
Gogol Bordello can't be classified merely as standard live music. They are closer to a music festival all on their own. The gypsy punks bring their own party with an entourage that encourages the energy behind their lyrics. Not surprisingly, the crowd echoes back with its own energy of moshers, pogoers, dancers, and those who just want to have a shared experience over the music.
Likewise, Eugene Hütz isn't merely a singer but one of the most expressive and personality driven leaders of a group of musicians whose work could dissolve into a chaotic mess if they weren't following his every frantic move. Luckily, the other musicians on stage are also talented musicians all on their own and back up the songs well with supplemental vocals, drums, violin, accordion and more.
Fischerspooner now isn't exactly the same Fischerspooner as some years ago. According to Casey Spooner, the new album Entertainment was put together with co-founder Warren Fischer in a different manner than its predecessors. And without the backing of a major label anymore, it seems the group had more freedom in their approach to Entertainment's accompanying stage show, entitled Between Worlds.
Along with Casey Spooner were four dancers and two musicians twisting knobs and playing with Powerbooks to the side, though no live musicians. Now, it's no surprise that an electroclash group has a flamboyant stage performance. The audience was begging for it. Slick design drew some interesting inspiration from Kabuki. Projections behind the band often featured rehearsals. (Seeing a ragged Spooner on tape behind the perfectly-coiffed one in person was quite a sight.) Costumes ranged from plain nude body suits to an elaborate neon hat, bolero jacket and whatever this is. (I loved that, by the way.)
When I grow up, I want to be Karen O, the electrifying front woman for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. During their sold out show at the Aragon last night, O never lost the giant grin she wore while parading around stage and leading the band through some of their best songs and showcasing new work off their latest album, It's Blitz. You want to know what it's like to love your day job? Go see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
What can be said about Peaches that has not already been said? Delightfully filthy? Cultural phenomenon? Sex goddess? A Peaches show is never to be missed and last night's sold out show at the Metro proved to be no different.
It's rather remarkable that a fairly obscure Scottish indie-pop band from the 1980s is touring the US for the first time ever in 2009 and in front of many hundreds of people in each city. But that's what happens to artists who icons praise. While that's not to imply that the adoration for the Vaselines wasn't warranted, it is somewhat difficult to fathom their existing popularity based solely on the two EPs and one full-length that they did release. (Luckily, they haven't strayed far back into obscurity due to as many releases after breaking up as while they were a band.)
Michael McGaughrin of the Vaselines
So what exactly have showgoers missed out on for 20 years? Well, it's difficult to say because clearly a band that hasn't been on stage for so long will be rusty. And from the beginning of the evening, the backing band appeared more like the stars, at least when there was music playing. The 1900s' drummer Michael McGaughrin stole the show immediately once the band launched into "Son of a Gun." The blistering and repetitive beat lent itself toward him to be far and away the most animated person on stage. And occasionally, especially during "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam", Stevie Jackson injected very Belle & Sebastian-like licks. Bob Kildea, who's done time in bands with both Jackson and McGaughrin, was simply solid on bass.
The Kills brought their brand of sultry, gritty, and exuberant rock 'n' roll this past weekend to a sold out crowd at the Metro. Sharing the bill with them on their tour is the UK gothic glam punk outfit The Horrors.
Photos by Steve Gasikowski
[More, including more photos by Steve Gasikowski after the jump.]
Last week I attended the final event for Biggest Mouth: Campus Clash which we have been previewing for the last couple of weeks. The talent competition put finalists from Columbia College, Roosevelt University and DePaul University up against each other. There were a lot of entertaining acts, but only three could walk away winners. Still, it was a great opportunity for all the contestants to perform on the Metro stage.
The top two numbers combined music and dance for the win. Here we bring you a photo review of the evening's winners. (Photos by Jim Kopeny)
Last Thursday was a classic night at Double Door. Packed house, sold out show, two great bands, crowd loving it.
Hey Champ, who hail from Chicago, opened the night and were at the top of their game. They are tighter each time I see them, looking more at home on stage commanding a large crowd. Touring with such a high-energy band as The Sounds looks like it has been good to them on their climb to the top.
The Sounds took the stage and lead singer Maja Ivarsson was clad in the iconic black leather jacket and leather motorcycle hat reminiscent of Joan Jett, fully channeling their 80's predecessors. The band definitely ruled the stage that night, but I felt disconnected. I felt like I was missing something; there was something I just wasn't getting that the rest of the room was totally eating up. I felt I could watch a well-polished Cindy Lauper/Blondie cover band and get the same satisfaction. But that's it--they are better than a cover band, so what is it that is missing (or that I'm missing)?
I listened to their previous albums Dying To Say This To You and Living In America before the show, but instead of hyping me up for the evening, I got a little burned out. I was never into "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" girlie songs and resented them following us throughout our female coming of age (Was I supposed to sing songs from Grease at sleepovers just because I was a girl?). And now with the retro-revival of everything 80's, everything is back--good and (very) bad--but if it isn't used in a new way, it just falls flat, or falls into indulgence. And hey, I'm the first to indulge in guilty pleasures, but fluffed 80's girly rocker pop was never my thing.
The Sounds' new album Crossing The Rubicon will be released June 2nd. Hey Champ's full length debut will also come out this summer.
I was excited to see Winter Gloves live last night after listening to their debut album About A Girl for the last couple weeks, liking it more and more the more I listened to it. The group rocked the nearly empty Darkroom, but deserved to be in a more proper venue such as The Hideout or Schubas. After postponing the show for nearly two hours hoping for better turnout at the monthly Life During Wartime Party, lead singer Charles F. coaxed the few people to the front of the room, asking at one point "what is this a Tuesday night?"
The setback didn't seem to phase them as they delivered a strong and delightful set opening with their two strongest songs "Factories" and "Party People". While they list themselves as "healing and easy listening" on their MySpace page, this band is indie rock with heart. Most of the material on About A Girl began as solo work of Charles F. and he owns those songs on stage with energetic delivery and a charming voice. Even with lots of keyboards on stage, they didn't have an overwhelming synth sound. Yet, Winter Gloves definitely have a sound all their own, songs easily identifiable as theirs, an original refreshing sound.
I just hope that the less than enthusiastic turnout at Darkroom didn't put a sour taste in the mouths of the Montreal group about Chicago, and hope they return. Look to hear a lot more about this band in the coming year.
Here is Winter Gloves with their music video for another standout song from About A Girl, "Let Me Drive":
There weren't a lot of bands that were talked about last year as much as Long Beach natives Crystal Antlers. They stick out in the rush of "crystal bands" that bombarded the indie circuit. They definitely have set themselves apart from the rest of the crystal pack. Their self released debut, (simply named EP) tireless tour schedule and unique sound paid off. They were picked up on Touch and Go/Quarterstick last fall and have acquired a following from word of mouth reputation. The band played Wednesday night at the Empty Bottle to a packed crowd following local band Bird Talk and Brooklyn's Vivian Girls.
The set started out with a few songs from EP and then the soulful "Andrew" from their new full length album, Tentacles. It was a slow, drone-y mess mixed with a powerful vocal energy Crystal Antlers are known for. They never allowed silence in their set, even after vocalist Jonny Bell stopped scream/singing. The echos of his voice, a raspy scream were still ringing in the room until the next song pushed it out. Bell has the gift and curse of taking us to the place where his scream is coming from.
Live music is about the transcendent moments. They're the times when you stand (or sit) in awe of a performer and think, "There is nowhere I would rather be right now than right here." (Actually, you're probably not even thinking because you're overcome with emotion.) It's what every single person who pays to see a concert hopes to feel. In a time when any ragtag flavor of the week band can headline with 25 minutes of material, those sublime moments seem to be fewer and farther between than ever. But when they do present themselves, they really hit a sweet spot.
At Wednesday's Leonard Cohen concert at the Chicago Theatre, the audience was treated to a few of those rare moments; whether it was hearing the first recognizable notes of an iconic song or just reveling in an incredible performance of one. Few, if any, will soon forget it. Even with a six-piece band and three backing singers, the highlight of the evening was clearly the deep, rich voice that filled the hall with exceptional warmth. When the band sounded a bit cheesy in its arrangements, Cohen pulled the show back to respectability. When a solo stole, he tipped his hat to the player. But, of course, it was all about him - a 74-year old singer laying out the songs that made him a legend.
The rapturous cheers at the onset of "Bird on a Wire" and the squeals of delight for "Chelsea Hotel" were all the proof anyone would need to cement the iconic status of Leonard Cohen. But it's not acknowledgment that makes a great concert. It's when 3,600 people leap to their feet in applause at the end of "Hallelujah." It's when someone next to you simply sighs, "Oh my." It's a song impacting you more profoundly than the other thousand times you've heard it.
For three hours Leonard Cohen entertained with a lot of songs, a little poetry, some fine-tuned banter and a gracefully-aged voice. There is absolutely nowhere else I would have wanted to be during that time.
Even though last night's sold out Flight of the Conchords show was at the distant Arie Crown Theater at McCormick Place, the trek was worth it. The New Zeland comedy duo Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement began the 2 hour show with electronic dance jam "Too Many Dicks on the Dancefloor" about, well, too many dicks on the dance floor--complete with robot heads and disco-"balls."
Chicago was in for a treat as they pretty much threw the setlist aside and played some fan favorites (although Bret had to remind the audience that they were "not a jukebox") including "Hiphopopotamus," "Foux du Fafa" and the one that never made it into the tv show, "Jenny." The regular set ended with "We're Both In Love With a Sexy Lady" which transitioned right into "Sugalumps" when they left their instruments and danced (well, more thrusted their 'sugalumps') to the front of the stage and into the crowd. HIGH-larious. And that is the one word I would use to describe the whole evening, including opener (and landlord) Eugene Mirman with his bit about Delta Airlines.
Of course there was a lot of banter with the audience--including a fan-made collage brought on stage--and some talking about talking, and playing songs. They tried out a couple of new songs that weren't as impressive as their earlier material (I may be biased since I hadn't already heard these tunes a hundred times before), including a Western tune that reminded me a little of Tenacious D's "Tribute" to the "greatest song in the world," just more clever.
If you didn't have the opportunity to see the Conchords last night, they play again tonight at the Aire Crown. Tonight's show is also sold out, but check craigslist or even take your chances and go down to the venue for someone looking to unload extras. I highly recommend it.
Chicagoist has some more great pics of last night you can see here.
While Peter Bjorn and John may have ruled the stage last week at Metro, Chairlift did a good job opening the evening. The crowd enjoyed their shoegaze atmosphere and captivating voice of Caroline Polachek. They played as a three piece (which made it obvious there was a lot of backing track) with Patrick Wimberly sometimes on bass, sometimes on drums. There was little activity on stage, except for Polachek who appeared most moved by the music with what little she could express from behind the keyboard and without leaving the mic. They played their most energetic and most known song "Bruises" towards the middle of the set and kept the crowd engaged as the room filled up for the evening's headliner.
I was first turned on to the French Kicks about a year ago by a friend when we saw them at Double Door. I guess this makes me a relative newcomer, because I didn't know that the band has 10 years of history behind them. Last night I saw them again at Schubas and the show was just delightful. I love the flowing undertone of their music that can create the sensation of flying or floating. It has the same airy feeling that I like about the Fleet Foxes, even though they fall into a folk genre, while the French Kicks are more post-punk pop. Most of last nights songs were from their latest full-length album, appropriately titled Swimming for ambiance, but even their more upbeat older songs still have the same softness underneath.
The experience reminded me a bit of an acoustic Snow Patrol show I saw at Schubas a few years ago which took place in the afternoon to a limited invite only audience. There was a cozy community feeling, like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, knowing you were part of something special. The cool thing is that the French Kicks can do that to the room, even when it is packed with a sold out crowd.
The encore closed with "Abandon," one of the more powerful tracks from Swimming, which made for a pleasant, pleasing ending. There were also a couple standout songs toward the end of their set that I had never heard, but really enjoyed, and I don't know if they were older songs or new material. I guess I need to do a little more research listening to them, but that is exactly the feeling I want when I leave a show: excitement for more.
I'm sure not every sound engineer gets that as a request, but Saturday night it seemed apropos, as Chicago native Kurt Elling took the stage at the Green Mill, a space not known for having good sight lines when the place is at capacity. Well, not if you're shorter than six feet and change.
Pontiak are the trio of brothers Van, Jennings, and Lain Carney, who -- after having scattered across the map to pursue various musical careers -- came together in Baltimore a few years ago to form their own band. From there the brothers relocated to a house in the less populated Blue Ridge environs of Virginia, set up their own rehearsal and recording space, and got to work.
For the most part, the brothers' third album Maker is as weighty and daunting as its title implies. The story has it that guitarist Van blew out two amps (Mogwai style) during the album's recording sessions, which wouldn't be surprising given the sound of the thing. At first listen, much of Maker wafts along on heavy boulder-rolling buzzriffs and sludgey rhythms -- much of it amounting to a tub of stoned kozmic blues so thick you could stand a rowboat oar in it.
Kori Gardner of Mates of State (photo by Jeff Trost for Transmission).
It's always a bit of a heart-swell to watch Mates of State perform together. Whether it's at festival stages, touring with This American Life at the Chicago Theatre, or on the indie stage at the Metro, they're always cutting sweet smiles at each other throughout the set. Kori Gardner (keyboard/vocals) and Jason Hammel (drums/vocals) are the masterfully in-tune married duo that are Mates of State. I've seen them several times live, and each time you just can't help come out of their set happy. A Metro all-ages show that ended on the early side of last Saturday night, the crowd that came out to see SUNBEARS!, Black Kids, and the Mates were certainly in the mood for dancing and good times and definitely left giddy.
Jason Hammel of Mates of State (photo by Jeff Trost for Transmission).
Jeremy Barnes of Hawk and a Handsaw (photo by Kirstie Shanley)
10:00 p.m. on a Thursday is a little late for a school night, but Jeremy Barnes of A Hawk And A Hacksaw was not having it from the Hideout audience. "You know, we were in Ann Arbor last night, and I hate to say it, but they were a little more active than you. I'd like to see some more movement," he requested politely. While the spots in the audience did give him a few pockets of shimmies and twirls, most of the evening was marked by a rapt (or at least least sleepily respectful) audience.
With a bevy of instruments laid out in the center of the room, the mildly unexpected Hats took the audience through some jazz improvisations — wild trumpet outbursts, saxophone wails, and a xylophonist armed with four mallets of fury. The band had breakdowns showing off each of the members that went off wildly before returning lock-step to each other — the highlight being the xylophonist's literal deconstruction of his instrument, pulling the bars out for a clattering crescendo.
At Bottom Lounge on Monday, Glasvegas had a golden opportunity to take advantage of a palate cleansing opening band. Unfortunately, they didn't quite pull it off. Singer James Allan was off his game much of the night - missing cues, staggering around the stage, disinterested more often than not, etc. The rest of the band tried their hardest to be dynamic with a crowd that desperately wanted to like them. But they didn't really have many cards to play aside from turning their backs or taking a few steps toward the middle, rocking out, then backstepping to their positions on the side mics. And drummer Caroline McKay looked far too focused to be having a good time until the very end. (But then she had this huge smile and seemed elated to receive cheers.) Their stage presence appeared to rely on Allan, who was more interested in thanking the crowd for thanking him for being a rock star than actually being a rock star.
When you enter a club that has a warning posted "there will be excessive strobe lights used in tonights show," you can pretty much bet you're going to have a good time. Such was the case Friday night, when electro-pop heavyweights The Faint and Ladytron kicked off their two nights of co-headlining shows at the Metro.
[More, including more photos by Kirstie Shanley after the jump.]
Bob Mould is modern rock legend among few others. Leading Hüsker Dü in the '80s, Sugar in the '90s as well as putting out nine solo albums since 1989, few can compete with Mould's prolific catalog of work. Last night's show at The Old Town School of Folk Music was a musical tour in his extensive career and life.
I was sitting next to one of Bob's friends from D.C. Who kept getting text messages from Mould backstage saying 7:30 sharp! Mould had to get up early the next day for another show so I expected the set to be short and rushed. (The show didn't actually start until 7:50pm.) Keeping these expectations, the set started out fast and one song blended into another as Mould played but barely addressed the crowd.
Mould was accompanied by a prepubescent bass and guitar player, who was adorable in his own right, but failed to match the energy Bob brought to the house. Mould's voice soured and growled in Songs like "Hoover Damn" and "See a Little Light" while the tween bopped along singing backup and matching hooks. There were some joyous moments in his accompaniment when the duo allowed distortion into the set and for a second seemed to have a great dynamic and the ability to play off each other, but they always seemed to lose their chemistry. The show would have held up better if Mould had played alone.
What attracted me to want to review Rob Mazurek's new Delmark release, sound is, was the all-star lineup of talent he had assembled. John Herndon on drums (Tortoise, the For Carnation), Matthew Lux on bass guitar (Isotope 217, Iron and Wine) Josh Abrams on acoustic bass (Town and Country, Black Earth Ensemble) and Jason Adasiewicz on vibes (Loose Assembly, Rolldown) is a pretty impressive lineup of guys doing some out-of-the-box music, and Mazurek's leadership had to me the makings of an album that, while avant-garde in ambition, would still appeal to those who wanted good music. Some new ideas, some new compositions that are free to work or not, but musicians with mastery of their instruments and demonstrating a sense of free expression that simply can't be written very easily on musical notation paper.
The problem with avant-garde, besides the (real or imagined) pretentiousness is the loftiness of purpose, as usually set up by breathy press releases. When I read "Jazz cornetist Rob Mazurek consistently pushes beyond the expectations of his listeners, drawing together ideas out of sound, personalities out of space, and fusing color and light into the tones of his music". my mind screamed male bovine excrement. Perhaps because I simply can't suffer puffy writing, or because it's just so damned difficult to describe music that's, well, not pop, and makes no bones about accessibility or lack thereof.
A few of the compositions Mazurek puts forth don't work very well in my opinion for any number of reasons I find sonically distasteful; that is not to say anyone else will or will not like the same thing. For the most part, though, the album is a solid listen. Will anyone else like this album? I believe so, especially those like me who don't mind the lofty goals of avant-garde being met with an overall shine and polish of compositions which at least play lip service to melody, harmony, and rhythm and don't seem to punish you for "not getting it."
One of the potential downfalls of a band like Primal Scream live is bridging the gaps between songs that hardly sound like the same band. Another issue is living up to glory days at this stage of a career that began concurrent with the Jesus & Mary Chain. A gaggle of fans, especially in the US where they rarely tour anymore, will go to war preaching that their best days of performing are far behind them and effectively ended when Kevin Shields left the band. While that may hold some truth, Shields is no longer with the Scream and leader Bobby Gillespie has once again switched directions with the Suicide-influenced Beautiful Future. So what do they offer when they hit the stage today?
Well, for better or worse, their entire discography essentially falls under either rock or dance music. Sounding like the same act for an entire 90 minutes may force some bands to stick with one sound or the other, but Primal Scream has compromised their music in the interest of cohesion. The acid house-inspired Screamdelica songs were stripped of Andrew Weatherall's production (but still unfortunately featured artificial backing tracks) and injected with bigger guitar hooks and livelier vocals. The aggressive electronica XTRMNTR tracks, which dominated Sunday's set, sounded less abrasive. The Stones/Faces homages "Rocks" and "Country Girl" were punched up as well. Songs separated by 15+ years came off back-to-back as if they were meant to be heard that way.
I don't believe rock bands should play pre-recorded backing tracks at their shows. If a band can't play a song without an instrument none of its members play, they should either have someone who can play one or not play the song(s) at all. The point of live music is not to regurgitate recorded songs just for the sake of it. When the Whigs piped in unnecessary horns for "Mission Control", it sounded completely artificial. I suppose that wouldn't've bothered me much if it hadn't been a precursor for the rest of their 65-minute set that more or less mirrored all aspects of the southern garage blues/rock sound found on their albums. (Though, I can't speak for the 5-6 new songs that they dropped in.) The first 45 minutes were dominated by midtempo songs from Give 'Em All a Big Fat Lip and a forthcoming release after beginning with 2 or 3 from Mission Control, which left the set backloaded with the rockers. They mastered those. Now, the Whigs certainly do not lack any energy or ferocity onstage. They rip like any rock'n'roll band should. They just appear to be set in their arrangements, for better or worse.
On the other hand, Dead Confederate sounded like a totally different band live. Wrecking Ball is a pop album in comparison. Hardy Morris' voice echoes Kurt Cobain's at times and the music channels elements of Dinosaur Jr's sludgy grunge along with some seriously heavy psychedelic influences. Even songs like "The Rat" were rawer than on Wrecking Ball, if you can believe it. They turned in a very impressive set that was leaps and bounds better than their record, even treating the crowd to a Sonic Youth cover. Rounding out the greater Atlanta metropolitan area tour was Trances Arc, who played a tightly-wound power-pop set and seemed genuinely thrilled to be in Chicago for the first time.
If you thought The Black Keys were loud with just two members, imagine guitarist Dan Auerbach with a full backing band. Last month he released an album of solo material called Keep It Hid (Nonesuch), giving him a chance to stretch his songwriting muscles beyond the confines of The Keys. While most of the album is still obviously related to the duo's material, Keep It Hid feels like more of a personal 'best of' reel. Any review of The Keys or Auerbach is riddled with the words raw, heavy, gritty rock, blues, soul and psychedelia, but I have just one word to describe Friday's show at the Metro: Awesome.
Chicago's own Company of Thieves have been creating a buzz on the national level the past few months, following their single "Oscar Wilde" being the featured discovery on iTunes and a killer performance on Last Call with Carson Daly last month. Today the band is re-releasing their debut album, Ordinary Riches, with new artwork and bonus tracks on Wind-Up Records. They just released their debut music video for "Oscar Wilde" via iTunes and will also be hosting a live chat today at 2 pm via their MySpace. As one of the most talented group of artists coming out of our fair city right now, I'm expecting Company of Thieves to be the band to watch in 2009.
I had the pleasure of catching them at the Double Door on Thursday night, opening for Thriving Ivory. When CoT took the stage, my friend Doug turned to me and said, "Some artists make music because they like to. She seems like the type who makes music because she has to." Way to hit the nail on the head, Doug. Singer Genevieve Schatz's passion is infectious, and her powerhouse energy is further heightened with the intensity of guitar player Marc Walloch and drummer Mike Ortiz. The band has a very cool bohemian vibe, with the combination of a classic rock sound and the softness of sweet Regina Spektor-ish vocals. Genevieve is completely mesmerizing during soulful tracks such as "Quiet on the Front" and "Pressure", but the real treat of their live show is their danceable songs "In Passing" and "Oscar Wilde".
Catch their television debut on Last Call with Carson Daly below:
Over the years, the Drag City label has given us a number of remarkable reissues - plucking some undeservedly overlooked or long-forgotten obscurities from the crevices of the musical dustbin. Continuing in that tradition, the label has just released ...For All The World To See, a CD of seven tracks by the Motor City proto-punk band Death.
Hailing from Detroit, Death was formed in the early 1970s by brothers David, Dennis and Bobby Hackney. Like their hometown brethren in the Funkadelic camp, the Hackneys took a huge inspiration from the MC5 and the Stooges and wanted to make music with a strong social message. But whereas the Funkadelic family opted for sonic heaviness and a deeply psychedelic groove, the Hackneys threw their collective muscle into banging at tunes at breakneck velocity -- jettisoning all traces of their prior funk and r & b sound in order to kick out the jams.
Some month ago, our GB editors allowed a pair of aspiring contributors to participate in a CD-review session for our Transmission page on a trial basis. The experiment was -- in our opinions -- not entirely successful and barely suitable for print. But in recent weeks, one of the involved parties came knocking on our door again, petitioning to join the Transmission team as a contributor with the claim that he'd "redeemed" himself. Being gracious sorts, we decided to give him another chance; this time putting the prospective reviewer (PR) under the supervision of one of our Transmission staff members (TS). What follows is a transcript of the resulting listening-party session.
PR: ...And so that's why they call it a "whoop tube."
TS: Fascinating. At any rate, we've got to get to the matter at hand. We're supposed to review this new CD by a local artist. It's called The Sons, by the local artist Kaspar Hauser.
Swamp monsters, zombies, space exploration and pirates are all topics covered in the songs of Ludo, a St. Louis pop rock band whose major label debut, You're Awful, I Love You, was released last year. Their unabashed geekery and heavy use of the moog are reminiscent of The Rentals or Ozma, but what really makes this band shine is their ability to tell a complete story within a four minute song. And Ludo sure does love a good story - their 2005 independently released rock opera Broken Bride takes listeners on an adventure through time as the protagonist tries to change the course of history to keep his true love alive. Wednesday night the band took the stage for an all ages show at Metro to a crowd of well-deserved fans.
They kicked off their set with "Part I" from Broken Bride, and really, any song that includes pterodactyls is bound to put a smile on my face. One thing this band excels at is getting a high energy level in the room. Moog player Tim Convy spends every spare second jumping around or dancing across the stage. Meanwhile, singer Andrew Volpe is a real showman, flailing his arms about wildly and gyrating against his guitar. The band played three of the five tracks on Broken Bride, which is arguably their best and most interesting work. They even threw in a few old gems from their self-titled debut, including "Hum Along" and "Girls on Trampolines", along with a rocking cover of Faith No More's "Epic".
A show that falls in the middle of the week is a tough gig in the first place, but add in the wrong size venue and you've got a set up for an unmemorable performance. Such was the bad luck of Lady Sovereign, the cheeky British rapper who exploded on the scene a few years back with a slew of radio friendly pop-rap gems.
The show was originally scheduled a few weeks back at The Empty Bottle, but due to visa issues the date and venue was changed. This was the first red flag upon entering Logan Square Auditorium last Wednesday night, when a crowd that would have seemed pleasantly packed at The Empty Bottle came off as sparse and awkward. My friend put it best when she stated "it feels like we've crawled out our bedroom window to go clubbing on a school night."
Forget AutoTune. Forget singing over rap beats (with apologies to Mary J. and Nate Dogg). Forget where modern day pop R&B is going, and we can talk about The Foreign Exchange.
I try to stay relatively aware of a band's standing, especially if I'm going to see them live. However, sometimes I'm not even close to the ballpark. Case in point: the Virgins last night at Schubas. I thought they were just another indie rock band from New York that bloggers loved for a week. Had I known that they were ex-models, featured on "Gossip Girl", and making appearances at Charlotte Russe, I might not have been shocked by the audience. Let's just say there was a lot of unnecessary squealing.
At least they've got some good tunes. While I'm sure their marketing team was expecting Strokes-like hoopla, their slick debut album doesn't quite warrant it. (Though, in today's era of recognition undermining talent, maybe that doesn't matter.) It's patchy; a handful of very good songs mixed in with the typical filler that'd be Cribs outtakes in another world. But those few that showcase innovation have it in spades. And live, those songs were far heavier and less glossy than on the record. Gone were the synths and in were another guitar (manned by an Eric Lindros lookalike) and a ton of thump. "Rich Girls" and "Private Affair" highlighted the night around the midway point with the extra grit that's been a staple of New York indie rock this decade. Singer Donald Cumming seemed amazed that people had actually heard of his band, even though they were in Chicago at least twice last year. He danced somewhat awkwardly while killing time during solos, but generally appeared rather jovial. He pretends to be coolly indifferent, even when it's obvious he cares a great deal.
When your only release is tapped at a half-hour, your live shows tend to not be too long. Even dropping a cover of INXS' "Devil Inside" had them on and off stage within 40 minutes. For about half of that time, they were excellent. If they can harness that potential and spread it among a few more songs, good things are in store for them.
It's 2009. Metallica is being inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, selling millions of albums, and playing to full arenas. The crowds are a hodgepodge that's discovered the band at various points throughout their much storied career. Books could be (have been?) written about what people have or haven't liked about them during their 28 years. But people adore them. And even those who have some issues with them still go to their concerts.
At last night's show, the first of two at Allstate Arena near the end of a tour that began in October, Metallica roared out with the first two songs from their latest album before indulging those who apparently shun the band's recent output. (Definitions of "recent" tend to vary, naturally.) Any mention of "new stuff" by James Hetfield was met with lukewarm applause. Even his clever attempts to draw in longtime fans ("We figured out what goes good with the new stuff - old stuff") were met with some hesitancy. But that dissipated as soon as the band tore through the old stuff that almost everyone can agree is good. "Creeping Death" and "Ride the Lightning" back-to-back early on injected some energy into the crowd and kept the momentum rolling for most of the 120-minute set. However, just to show that Metallica can't even please all of their fans, I saw someone roll their eyes for "Master of Puppets" and a stoic girl in front of me texted "I hate this song" during "Enter Sandman." Other than them and some people commenting "Lots of new songs tonight, huh?", everybody seemed pretty pleased.
New Years Eve celebrations are usually decadent affairs. The Dandy Warhols made sure that the Metro was no exception this year when they rolled into town with their catchy brand of psychedelic pop to set off the start of 2009.
Before embarking on a national tour to support his upcoming album, Noble Beast (due out in January), Andrew Bird treated his hometown to two secret shows at the Hideout Sunday and Monday night. The Hideout is a perfect venue for such an event - it is so tiny that you feel incredibly lucky to have gotten in, plus if you're like me and use public transportation, you have to earn your right to be there by navigating past dark alleys and abandoned factories to this out-of-the-way location. After walking almost a mile in the rain, I was ready to be amazed, and Mr. Bird delivered.
Complete with his signature sock monkey and twirling phonograph horns, Andrew wowed the audience with his new material. It is difficult to keep the attention of a crowd at a concert when playing a song they've never heard, so a show that is almost entirely debuting new songs is bound to disengage the crowd. However, Andrew's passion for his music and his magnetic stage presence kept the crowd entranced. Switching between the violin, xylophone, and guitar, plus adding in a bit of whistling, I began to really appreciate the immense amount of talent performing in front of me, moreso than by just listening to an album. He even took a few minutes to explain the technical aspect of his looping process to the audience, which I still do not fully understand. He also scattered in a few hits, like "Imitosis" and "Tables and Chairs".
This night was breathtaking, and made me anxious for the release of Andrew's new album. While Andrew's exquisite songwriting and whimsical lyricisms stand out on his studio tracks, his live show is truly an experience and I feel I am only now fully grasping his splendor. I did not even notice the mile walk back to the el (even though it was still pouring rain); I was enveloped in awe.
It's tough going to a show on a Sunday night. You're probably worn out (read: hungover) from the weekend's previous activities, and visions of your 9-to-5 loom in the not so distant future. It takes something special to get you out of the house (especially in the middle of a Chicago winter). Enter Brazilian band Cansei de Ser Sexy, better known to us in the States as CSS. They became a sensation last year after Apple used their song, "Music is My Hot, Hot Sex," in an iPod Touch commercial. They're known for their exuberant live shows, and I had seen the crazy get-ups that lead singer, Lovefoxx, wears so I expected quite the spectacle at the Metro last night.
You knew you were in for a party when Lovefoxxx ran out wearing a tribal print spandex unitard with an Indian feather headdress, and the drummer started the show shirtless. I honestly couldn't take my eyes off Lovefoxxx, wondering what she would do next as she danced around the stage like you would dance around your bedroom with your hairbrush as a microphone. She interacted a lot with the audience, they mimicked her hand motions and dance moves, and she threw a bunch of balloons into the crowd for them to blow up and throw in the air. She even talked with two guys in the front row and gave them new beers! While the show was spontaneous and chaotic, it was controlled chaos. You can tell CSS are professionals at entertaining--there were no awkward moments, and the music didn't suffer at all. In fact, they sounded incredible and tight. They put some serious "rock" in dance rock.
A couple of times during the show, it looked as if there were some sound problems on stage. Crews brought more speakers out to the stage, and at one point keyboardist Ana Rezende was waving down the sound guy and eventually walked across the stage to get his attention. Kind of made me wonder if they even sound-checked, but nothing sounded off from my perspective and Lovefoxxx's antics made it easy to forget the interruption.
The energy really pumped up during their last couple songs and the encore, by the end the crowd was going crazy. Watching a packed house from the balcony of the Metro becomes a sea of lights and people moving as one entity, and Lovefoxxx dove right in and surfed.
It's never a good sign when a lead singer reveals "we haven't played a show in a long time" to a packed crowd during the second song of a set. But this is the type of obstacles you encounter when attending a corporate and free concert.
The Bravery played to a large throng of fans (and fans of free stuff) at The Metro Wednesday night in honor of Puma turning 60 years old. Now there are always pro's and con's to attending a free sponsored concert. Sometimes the music will lack quality (thankfully not the case Wednesday night), sometimes their will be annoying adverts for the sponsor (Puma kept the in your face advertising still present yet to a minimum, a much appreciated gesture), and then the fact you are seeing a show that people didn't pay for, so much of the audience may not be fans of the band at all. These multiple factors played into a very long and strange night that I spent Wednesday with The Bravery.
Since relocating his base of operations from Boston to Chicago a couple of years ago, DJ C (aka Jake Trussell) has kept his MashIt label going; issuing a steady stream of digital tracks and mixtapes, serving up a lot of bouncement and nu-skool ragga-jungle rollers on top of frequently teaming up local dancehall artist MC Zulu. This week finds C using the label to spotlight some recent work by a pair of emerging artists on the international dubstep scene -- specifically a pair of Venzuelan DJ/producers by the names of Cardopusher and Pacheko.
Both hailing from the city of Caracas, Cardopusher and Pacheko have been dropping tracks via various labels over the past two years, and -- despite Cardopusher's recent move to Barcelona -- they often collaborate on rocking spots as cornerstone members of the Caracas-based Wob This! network of dubstep DJs.
It's by no means the strangest opening act/headliner pairing I've seen, but Daniel Knox isn't the first person I would think of to open for Kristin Hersh, particularly the Kristin Hersh of The Shady Circle, her current show. Now, let's be clear about two things: first, I'm not saying it was a bad pairing; second, I tend to think about stuff like this (to excess) in purely musical terms, even though I realize that the vicissitudes of touring often make strange bedfellows.
There's a wonderful urgency about punk rock -- that's what makes it so enticing. No matter the message, there's that undercurrent of "Listen now! Hurry!' that for one moment makes the listener perk up and pay attention. Whether the music can maintain that level of interest is a whole 'nother matter entirely.
Nonagon, a local band boasting lots of local cred -- the trio includes Tony Aimone (The Blue Meanies, Taylor, J. Davis Trio), Robert Gomez (der lugomen, Martian Law), and John Hastle (Jumpknuckle). Their debut EP, No Sun, was recorded in town by Greg Norman, and the awesome screenprinted packaging was printed by The Bird Machine folks with help from poster boy Jay Ryan. All that's missing is a Chi flag tattoo, a Hot Doug's dog, and a bottle of Malört.
What No Sun brings to the table is the punka rocka requisites: fast riffs, supertight drumming, and screamy vocals that demand attention. What's their message? It's hard to say, frankly, but the clean, poppy melodies mostly distract from any lack of diction or liner notes. There's something rather nice and early '90s much of the release, particularly about the instrumental "Peterson." But it's really "Fake Baby Lucius" that is the best example of what Nonagon's capable of: cohesive, kick-in-the-face punk.
Unfortunately, toward the end of the EP, No Sun falls into the familiar punk rock trap of what we'll call "sameyness." It's sort of hard to differentiate the tracks at this point, and while their experiments with time signatures is admirable, it's not quite enough to pull it out of the rut.
But, you know, for an EP, four outta six ain't bad. I'd love to see what these guys do live, and even moreso what they could do with a full-length album.
A small crowd was huddled into the Metro on Friday night, huddled together in the center of the room after begrudgingly dropping off their outer layers at the coat check. The crowd huddled closer once The Acorn took the stage, drawn either to the rope lights that adorned their mic stands or the chance to generate more heat.
The five young Canadians launched into the most polite set of indie rock to feature two drummers at the same time. A pair of mandolins were passed around the band, and it seemed that all six of the gents were taking turns at nearly every instrument in their collection. The girl at my side summed them up best as "homework rock". Aside from a couple of peaks, the band played a consistent and mellow set, leaving the crowd to decent applause.
By ten, the crowd had nearly doubled, and after the usual wait, Marty from XRT came out to introduce...Joey Burns and a lap guitar player? Joey sang an impromptu ditty about Chicago, and declared that because his fingers were blue from the cold, he would sing "Bisbee Blue". As the final words repeated, he shifting into introductions — John Convertino and the rest of Calexico were here after all, thank god — (no offense Joey, but we need the whole package).
The Congress Theater may be huge, but I still went into the Chicago Bluegrass & Blues Festival Saturday afternoon wondering how the festival's organizers were going to fit everything they had promised into an indoor space. Let me assure you, each inch of the theater was utilized, with music pouring out of every nook and cranny. Still, I never felt cramped, and concert-goers were allowed to wander around the different stages and booths with ease. With two stages of music plus bands playing in the balcony, a comedy troupe, marching band, delicious food, art and jewelry vendors, and dancers, there was something entertaining happening at every moment to satisfy each member of the diverse crowd. Best of all? The festival was 100 percent independent, meaning you weren't bombarded with banners for cell phone companies, beer companies, or electronics stores everywhere you turned. One thing is for certain - music festivals aren't just for summer anymore.
See additional pictures from the festival after the jump. (The Avett Brothers pictured above)
The University of Chicago's Middle East Music Ensemble gives a free performance at 6pm on Saturday, November 29th at the UofC's International House. The performance is free, and well worth even a trip down to Hyde Park, for all of you living north of Madison St.. (Come on, when was the last time you made it that far south?) If you're not familiar with the music of the Levant, this is an excellent place to start. (If you are, then you probably don't need my amateur musicological analysis, so.) The Ensemble numbers about 20 musicians on a diverse range of instruments. Some (flute, viola, clarinet) are common in Western arrangements, but many aren't, particularly the kaleidoscopic variety of stringed instruments that provide much of the sonic heart of the music. I dropped in for a rehearsal last Thursday and heard several gorgeous pieces, rich with rhythm and counterpoint. The interplay between the melodies carried by the bowed strings and wind instruments, and those on the ouds and other plucked strings was particularly enoyable. The rhythms are realized in lush percussion, full of deep bass tones and ringing, tambourine-like sounds, and had my foot tapping the whole time. (I was hoping no one heard me picking out the rhythms by drumming my pen on my notebook. I didn't even realize I was doing it at first.)
An obligatory note: It feels a little funny describing this as musical tourism, as if you're going to "see" the world by exposing yourself to unfamiliar music, but it would be silly not to acknowledge that this is the experience for lot of people with music that has little exposure in our insular listening practices. And no doubt, part of the Ensemble's project is to convey some culture along with the tunes. More importantly, the connection between the music and the culture of the area isn't specious: as with any traditional music, there really is something idiosyncratic preserved in the rhythmic, melodic and harmonic patterns. You can learn all the factual history you want. Like food or literature, music can convey something about what it is like, on a raw sensory level, to be there - and in this case, being there is good.
The most difficult thing to write objectively about is the followup to a transcendental experience. Actually, it's often difficult to simply experience the followup objectively. When you're blown away by a performance attended on a whim, how do you approach seeing the act a second time with expectations in place? You have to lower the bar because, even if it's just as good as the first time, it's not going to feel as profound. (Don't you wish you could listen to your favorite albums for the first time again?)
Fortunately, School of Seven Bells did a pretty good job of lowering the bar for the night by themselves. Their drum machine-fueled laptop pop never veered far from the base set at the beginning of the evening. Former On! Air! Library! twins Claudia and Alley Deheza's harmonizing vocals were muddled with the keyboards in a repetitive formula that works much better in the studio than on the stage. And ex-Secret Machine Benjamin Curtis' contributions on guitar seemed to be totally drowned out when he strayed from simple riffing. Either the trio read the audience's disinterest or didn't have much to play because they cut out at 35 minutes.
At first, it appeared that M83 would continue the evening in the same manner. Once they dragged a little bit, they found their groove and didn't let it go the rest of the night. Anthony Gonzalez and company drew some tunes from old albums, but, with exceptions like "Run Into Flowers" and "Don't Save Us from the Flames", it was the selections from this year's Saturdays = Youth that were highlights. Accessible singles "Graveyard Girl" and "Kim & Jessie" early and "We Own the Sky" and a guitar-driven "Couleurs" as the encore received big applauses and sounded fresh with arrangements slightly different than those found on the album. Bottom Lounge's soundsystem continues to impress with its crispness, but it wouldn't have the opportunity to do such if it weren't for bands bringing their A game.
If you're looking for a view of death in Chicago the industrial corridor that is Elston Avenue is a good place to start. If you're looking to see O'Death you'd be on the right track as well. Just a bit too late.
Rolling up to The Hideout is always a bit of a leap down the rabbit hole. Wandering into the back room for O'Death's set was an introduction to a stage worth of mad hatters. This is not mellow music to fall asleep to. These are not musicians gently caressing songs from precious instruments. This band plays as though possessed by particularly unsavory demons with no regards to how much their strings or vocal cords can withstand.
Last night was an exersize in organizational and logistical near-failure, as the call went out that a show, featuring The Roots and Cee-Lo, would be at the Vic and FREE caused more than a 40 minute wait outside waiting to get in.
This was an MGD sponsored event, so the product placement was there, the drink tokens were flying, and the comedian/emcee kept speaking of cool, refreshing taste, but everyone understood that the price for a free show was worth it in the end.
The Roots stepped up a bit after 9, and promptly tore it down. I've seen over 20 Roots shows , and I simply have never see them mail it in. The arrangements are always original, the musicians on point, and emcee Black Thought simply does his thing and does it at a high level.
Cee-Lo's debut on stage was met with absolute pandemonium. His began with a trip down memory lane with "Free," the introduction to his former group Goodie Mob's debut Soul Food, and "Cell Therapy," which was their first single in 1995. His rendition of "Who's Gonna Save Your Soul" was great, and the crowd, sensing a climax, screamed for the song they wanted.
One of the beauties of hip-hop shows, and Roots shows in particluar, is that they never do the song the same way it is on the album. So it took a while for people to pick up on the slower arrangement, the plodding of the drumline and the slow urge of the guitars, but the lyrics didn't change. "Crazy" drove the crowd, well, crazy. And after the song was seemingly over, they let the guitars loose and redid the chorus in full-out, rawk-style, which had them moshing on the main floor and dancing in the aisles in the balcony.
The show really amplified that Cee-Lo simply hasn't been around very long as a solo artist, and while he clearly could have done more stuff, particularly from Cee-Lo Green is the Soul Machine,, his inclusion was really as a special guest to The Roots constant aural barrage. It was quite clear that quite a few people were there to see Cee-Lo, and they probably came away disappointed, but all in all, it was a great show; tightly produced, constant music, and for a great price.
I take Halloween very seriously, so when I decided I was going to be a zombie this year, I had a lot of homework to do--turns out there is a lot to learn! You've got slow zombies, fast zombies, and a whole different set of rules that have evolved to go along with each of them.
Since I like zombies and I like rock bands, what could be better than combining the two, right!? I went to the Double Door last night to see Venom Lords pay homage to the master, George Romero. If you listen closely to the lyrics, they'll tell you all about how the 'dead hate the living' and they want 'more brains'; that is if you can hear them. Their songs are all guitar heavy punk/garage rock, but what else would real zombies listen to?! And what better soundtrack to accompany a zombie attack in a movie?
A fun show to see on a Tuesday night drinking with friends. One thing that would make this show better though: actual zombies. I wish that at least one of the band members would black out their eyes... and maybe just a little bit of blood?
Imagine the biggest house party you've even been to, and the best DJ you've ever heard is playing every single one of your favorite songs and guilty pleasures. Now multiply that by a gazillion. That might come close to matching the excitement at Congress Theater on Saturday night.
Girl Talk (aka Gregg Gillis) is not a DJ, he's an artist, a master at mixing together snippets of songs that already exist, and that you've already heard into a new, completely different animal. His latest album, Feed The Animals, is a mashup of samples running into and over each other from Nirvana to Roy Orbison (?!?!) along with over 300 others.
It was a party from the moment you walked in. There was a DJ set up in the lobby blasting you in the face with music and stage smoke right as you entered. It was a bit of a shock at first, coming in from 30-degree temperatures outside, but it quickly wore off once you got into the theater. I noticed once inside, that all the seats on the floor level had been removed making for maximum dance-floor. A couple of minutes after Gillis took the stage and introduced himself, the confetti popped and ridiculousness ensued. A mass of party-goers rushed on to the stage, and there were guys running across the stage shooting toilet paper streamers into the audience. Gillis mixes his shows live in the midst of fans dancing almost on top of him, this time playing a lot of familiar clips from Feed the Animals, with a lot of new, impromptu mashup material as well.
The crowd was definitely dedicated for the Swedish psych-pop rockers Dungen show last night at The Bottom Lounge. For one, it was a school night, and the relatively young crowd looked like they could have been skimping on some mid-term studies in favor of hitting up the late set by the quartet. Still, it was a joyous group of music fans, seemingly familiar with Dungen's entire back catalog of albums (including their latest album, 4). I still can't wrap my mouth around pronouncing the Swedish lyrics, but the band's simple banter with the crowd was so charming, I nearly blushed. The four-piece worked their way around a solid set of both long psychedelic jams and short pop originals, with astonishingly beautiful projection by lead singer and multi-instrumentalist Gustav Ejstes, backup vocals and bass by Mattias Gustavsson, superior rhythm guitar work by Reine Fiske, and lovely percussion by new drummer Johan Holmegard. The group plays like a band of brothers, linked telepathically to each other, working in unison to deliver a lovely evening of music. At the end of the night, Gustavsson took his "traditional" photo of the crowd, and we all squeezed together to try to get a hand or eye or elbow in the shot. I have to say, I agree with their declaration to the crowd, "I'm so happy you're here."
If the Secret Machines didn't have such a strong reputation for putting on dynamic live shows, one would be inclined to believe that their stage setup at Friday's Metro show was just an elaborate distraction to keep the attention off of the music. But as they've proven at numerous Chicago shows over the last few years, they bring the heat on stage. However, what would be the fate of their music live without Benjamin Curtis, who left to concentrate on School of Seven Bells, and in support of their weakest release yet? Luckily, newcomer Phil Karnats fills in very well as Curtis' replacement. He is not just a hired gun; his play certainly fits the Secret Machines' style of psychedelic pop music.
The Dears, who opened and were neither exciting nor terrible (photo by Kirstie Shanley)
What was troubling, though, was the stark contrast between old and new material. When the band drew from old songs, they appeared energetic, even if they hardly moved from imaginary boundaries in their ribbon enclosure, and the audience was in their corner. Selections from 2004's Now Here is Nowhere, especially "Nowhere Again", were full and vibrant. The polarizing Ten Silver Drops' tunes sounded like powerhouses. On the other hand, songs from the new self-titled album were received with a smattering of applause and what seemed like general disinterest from much of the crowd, at least compared to everything else. The easy low points were "The Walls Are Starting to Crack" and the horrendous "The Fire Is Waiting" - an overblown homage to tedious 70s psych-rock that endangered life in Metro. Momentum that had been built between audience and band was gone three minutes into the dragging riffs and meandering percussion. Chatter all over Metro sparked up and minds wandered ("Why do they have far more amps than instruments?", "Is it raining outside again?", "Why has this guy just taken the same shot 50 times?"). It continued on and on, probably for fifteen minutes, even though it felt like much longer. And a show with a fast-approaching curfew leaves little time to dick around. When they mercifully stopped, the trio walked off the stage as if that was a suitable end.
Now, I'm absolutely convinced that the roars that followed weren't for what had just happened but instead for what was about to happen. As bad as the set had ended, the inevitable encore was its perfect counter. "Alone, Jealous and Stoned", "Lightning Blue Eyes", and "First Wave Intact" (all old, of course) were amazing. It was like in the two minutes they were off stage they remembered how to excite a thousand people. They were heavy without trudging and meticulous without boring. Josh Garza had direction while brutalizing the drums. Phil Karnats and Brandon Curtis looked to be enjoying themselves. The audience was ecstatic as they rocked out. And that's how to end a performance.
After standing outside in the rain, the decked out crowd for Hercules and Love Affair's Chicago debut was drenched inside Metro. Outlandish makeup and hairdos had been battered by downpours and hail. But thirty seconds into the music, the crowd was doing their best to dance themselves into dryness. Singer Nomi was a fine substitute for Antony Hegarty, especially carrying vocals on the coming-of-age single "Blind." The other singer Kim Ann didn't seem to mind being upstaged, but didn't falter on her lead vocal opportunities. Between what sounded like a "Billie Jean" sample tossed in during their Chicago house homage "You Belong" and an out of left field cover of Blue Öyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper", Hercules and Love Affair showed a knack for surprises as well. The encore of "Hercules' Theme" featured a ridiculously thick groove and evolved into musical chaos with all elements coming together as the band sucked the last ounces of energy from the crowd at 1:30am.
Early on it was clear that the live horns and rhythm sections would be the backbone of this performance. The trombone and trumpet accompaniment was high in the mix with some strong early funk influences. The percussion and bass glued songs together during an almost seamless 50-minute sequence that encompassed the bulk of their set. It's no coincidence that the non-stop action was reminiscent of the early disco and house music parties that leader Andy Butler has recreated quite well on their debut album. The band isn't just lucky to pull off a similar vibe during their shows. It may be sad at times (though serious downers like "Iris" weren't played), but this is most certainly dance music. And on this night it was done almost as well as it can be.
Local trio and thrill Jockey recording artists Pit Er Pat aren't averse to playing home-town gigs, so chances are you might've caught them playing at the Hideout or elsewhere lately. In case you haven't, the word on the streets for a while has been that they've altered their sound recently -- specifically that frontwoman and vocalist Fay Davis-Jeffers has largely set her keyboard aside in favor of a guitar, and that the band's moved into territory that bears a "dub reggae influence." Judging from the band's new High Time CD, which releases on Thrill Jockey this week, there's more than a little truth to the rumor.
Yes, Pit Er Pat has largely abandoned their prior post-rock/fusion cocktail lounge sound; the one so richly crafted and fleshed-out via John McEntire's production of the band's last LP, 2006's Pyramids. What chiefly remains, however, are the band's frail, elusive melodies -- except now they're intertwined with some roots-rocker grooves that give drummer Butchy Fuego and bassist Rob Doran something meatier to tuck into. And the pair seems to enjoy themselves on tunes like "Evacuation Day" and "Copper Pennies" as they tie and untie various rhythmic knots and guide the tunes through unexpected and crafty transitions.
So, which one of you's Jesus?: Lydia Lunch with fellow Jerks Bradley Fields and Gordon Stevenson, 1977.
With its recent release of the comprehensive CD anthology Shut Up and Bleed and the companion DVD Video Hysterie: 1978-2006, the Chicago-based experimental music label Atavistic aims to offer a chronicle of the early work that established Lydia Lunch as a doyenne of the underground NYC post-punk music scene of the 1980s. As a collection of recordings by Lunch's first two groups, Teenage Jesus & the Jerks and Beirut Slump, the CD's release follows on the heels of a one-off TJ&J reunion gig that took place at The Knitting Factory back in June, as well as the recent publication of Byron Coley and Thurston Moore's co-authored volume No Wave.
Admittedly, Lydia Lunch has had an unwieldy legacy. Cultishly iconic and influential, her status doesn't quite fit anywhere specific. Too art-damaged, amusical and nihilistic to be "punk," too snarlingly toxic to be "goth," too existential and misanthropic to be a precursor for Riot Grrrl-iness. Just plain difficult, in every respect. Which is how she'd prefer it -- i.e.: Up yours with your labels, your niches, your attempts to make everything 'fit' into some sense of accepted, make-believe societal order. Life, for many of us, just isn't anywhere near that easy or 'neat.'
This kind of difficulty was often the point of late '70s NYC No Wave coterie, especially the music of Teenage Jesus & the Jerks. Jagged and disjointed, off-puttingly raw, it involved a confrontational (if not antagonistic) relationship with the audience or listener -- deliberate guerilla-theater "it sucks to be you if you came here looking to be entertained" type stuff.
"If you keep doing what you're doing, you'll get more of what you got."
Minnesota's Jonathan Nelson, whose radio program Some Assembly Required has been heard on WLTL LaGrange, waited ten years to release the follow-up to his debut album as Escape Mechanism. However, his timing could not have been better. His self-titled debut, recorded in part in Chicago while attending Columbia College, was released 1998, and featured a style of sound collage composition utilizing only 100% recycled parts. The result was an incredible journey in sound using dialog, found sounds, and music samples. It was around that same time (January 1999) that Nelson started his radio show, Some Assembly Required, that to this day is dedicated to "artists and groups who work with bits and pieces of their media environments, and giving something back to the cultural landscape from which they so enthusiastically appropriate".
His new sound collage album, (Emphasis Added), was released yesterday, and carries a message that is unmistakably a product of the current state of our government, economy, and our attitude in general as consumers. I've thought for a while now that more can be said in a well placed sample then in a well-written song lyric, and Nelson proves that idea to be correct. Taking chunks of audio from what sounds like motivational tapes and various movies, Nelson is able to tackle consumerism and politics, but also adds a great deal of humor and wit. With a line like, "People are worshiping sunglasses and orgasms", you realize quickly "What's Happening". He is calling for change, and at same time telling everyone to lighten-up, relax, smile, take a look around and then start moving in the right direction. My favorite track is called "Oh Well", and is just a fun little romp with coral swing singers, Susanne Vega samples, and a doo wop back bone. It's just plain fun!
From the sound of it, High Places are providing the soundtrack to the travelogue for an imaginary country. It's an island country perhaps, one located in the waters somewhere many miles off the coast of Malaysia -- a land of open skies and fields grown tall with lemongrass, and of dense and verdant canopies teeming with little scurrying things, of evenings illuminated by fireflies the size of cellphones, and where the forest-dwelling natives spend their afternoons lazing about and eating rambutan sherbert while building a musical cargo cult around Aphex Twin's "Donkey Rhubarb." Maybe the place is called Walamalau or something like that. Whatever the case, their message from afar arrives reading: Everything is so otherly, we wish you were here.
But in fact, High Places is the Brooklynite duo of Mary Pearson and Rob Barber. With this, their newly released CD on Thrill Jockey, the pair follow up on anticipation generated by their previous singles and opening appearances for the likes of No Age and Deerhunter with a proper full-length debut.
Barber and Pearson are clearly taken with the traditional music of faraway places, particularly that of Indonesia and Laos. They both play stringed instruments and other things, as well as every object that can be put to percussive purposes -- mainly bells, anything that sounds like a marimba, and numerous found objects that make a good noise when struck the right way. What results are songs filled with sonorous clanking and clattering of the gamelan sort; creating heady musical vistas while Pearson's dreamy vocals float atop, as if narrating the excursion from high above the treetops.
Even though a sanitation vehicle parking lot may not be the most ideal setting for a summer music festival, the Hideout Block Party is one of the best music weekends in Chicago. This year as part of the World Music Festival, the Hideout's lineup featured acts from Hungary, Czech Republic, Israel and Mali, among others. Last week in Transmission we mentioned some acts that we thought would be highlights. Today we look back on what happened during the last weekend of summer.
The British garage duo Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip hyped up the crowd, especially after comparing them to the previous night's motionless crowd in Ames, IA. After that humbling, the crowd got some energy and bounced along to the UK hit "Thou Shalt Always Kill", "Beat That My Heart Skipped" and "Letter From God to Man" that samples Radiohead's "Planet Telex." (The first recognizable notes of "Planet Telex" may have actually received a bigger cheer than for the song.) Following them was the Czech psychedelic rock band Plastic People of the Universe in front of a much larger crowd than their Hideout gig earlier in the week. Clearly inspired by Frank Zappa and the Velvet Underground, the Plastics also sound at times like a coarser and heavier West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. Unfortunately, they didn't really keep the audience's attention as people drifted in and out of the lot at an alarming rate. But when they were on with the more rock-influenced songs, they sounded fresh, as if the songs hadn't been from nearly forty years ago.
Israeli metal band Monotonix has been discussed more for their insane live performances than their music. And that may be warranted since their record Body Language is pretty good, but their shows are total chaos. Instead of setting up onstage, they set up among the crowd. A few songs into their set on Saturday, they moved 20 feet. After another few songs, they moved again. Singer Ami Shalev made Les Savy Fav's Tim Harrington look tame while disrobing, crowdsurfing, humping an elephant sculpture and screaming at the top of his lungs. Guitarist Yonatan Gat played a heavy dose of Sabbath-like riffs while drummer Ran Shimoni spent significant time hovering over the crowd on top of his bass drum as his kit was carried around by dozens of hands. Again proving that good bands can become great bands in the right moment, Monotonix was by far Saturday's most entertaining set.
[Thanks to Drive Thru editor Robyn Nisi for this review of Paul Weller's recent show in Chicago]
While many music acts from the '80s are living off the fame grid, save for the occasional reunion tour or award show appearance, Paul Weller is still working hard. The former frontman of The Jam and The Style Council has built a very respectable and varied solo career. While his music is popular in Europe, Weller is virtually unknown in the States, despite his unique brand of soul-tinged rock.
The crowd at the House of Blues last night was sizeable (although not sold out) and for the most part looked like a crowd of middle-aged, well-dressed parents at a football game. Touring for his most recent album 22 Dreams (Yep Roc), Weller is incredible shape, jumping around onstage nursing drinks, and smoking (gasp! Are Brits exempt from the smoking ban?) throughout the evening. His energy matched his set, which covered his career reaching as far back as his days leading The Jam and lasted almost two-and-a-half hours. From the set's opener "Peacock Suit" to the third encore, a cello-tinged cover of "All You Need is Love," Weller's vocals remained strong. The most delightful part of seeing him live is hearing extended, jam-length versions of his songs. "Wild Wood" had an intense, dub-heavy revision, and "Shadow of the Sun" took a trip into Thin Lizzy territory with guitarmonies between him and guitarist Steve Cradock (of Ocean Colour Scene).
Despite how entertaining and rich his entire set was, the crowd was quiet the entire evening but briefly rallied for Weller's best-known hits from the Jam's era, "Town Called Malice" and "That's Entertainment." Many in the crowd, who were likely fans of Weller's music when it debuted thirty years ago, were now in sport jackets and Dockers jumping up and down screaming in delight alongside Weller's younger fans. As I stood next to a dead ringer for imprisoned former 'N SYNC manager Lou Pearlman who was clapping his hands and dancing on the floor, I thought about a somewhat crass line that comedian Chris Rock has said: "You are always going to love the music you were listening to when you first got laid." It seemed like "Malice" loosened up the self-consciousness of the audience, and despite however awkward it looked, people of all ages finally felt free to boogie, albeit for a few minutes. Weller smiled and danced around himself as the floor went wild for his famous chords. Maybe he had the same nostalgia on his mind, too.
-Robyn Nisi
After years of not officially reuniting by instead playing some shows that were of the "We're all here, we might as well play some songs together" variety, Washington, DC post-hardcore band Shudder to Think has apparently reformed for at least a while. Friday at Park West, they displayed much of the greatness that made them essentially a cult classic in the late 80s and 90s. Even though their roots are in Washington's hardcore scene, they regularly deviated from that style by throwing elements of metal, power pop, jazz and glam into their music. And they brought it all to the stage on Friday. Craig Wedren's distinctive high vocals and Nathan Larson's heavy guitaring were both in top-notch form as the band drew from across their discography in front of a modest yet rabid audience. The hour-long set included some hits (if you could say a band so inaccessible to the mainstream had hits) alongside hidden treasures from early on in their career.
At the other end of the career spectrum, the Wombats played their first ever show in Chicago on Saturday. The Liverpool trio has received favorable press based on singles like the Supergrass-influenced "Moving to New York" and "Let's Dance to Joy Division." Unfortunately, the quality control manager at the British rock music factory is on an extended vacation. In his absence, the Wombats have somehow been allowed to cross the pond with little proficiency in playing instruments or singing. Frontman Matthew Murphy didn't sing nearly as much as scream and the group seemed worn down as they dragged their way through 45 minutes. Only near the end of their set did they show signs of the liveliness that's been much vaunted. (Pockets of the audience compensated for the lack of energy onstage.) However, the night was not at all a loss because Chicago's Telenovela played too. Easily comparable to a raw Elastica, Sleater-Kinney or even Pylon for their female vocals, tight play and, dare I say, angular sound, the trio rolled through an energized and rather fun set featuring many tracks from their latest record You're Gonna Need It.
It is perfectly acceptable for anyone to be suspect of any band reunion. When anything is so commonplace that VH1 has reality shows based around the concept, it's pretty easy to be hesitant about it. Some are excellent (Gang of Four) and others not so much (The Police). But what about when it's not a true reunion? In the case of Squeeze, this recent incarnation (the third, if you're counting) is really just about co-leaders Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford setting aside their differences. Along with them are an old bassist and two others from Tilbrook's band the Fluffers.
Not surprisingly, much of Sunday's Ravinia crowd was talkative and/or finishing their picnics by the time Squeeze hit the stage with "Strong in Reason" from their first album. It was certainly an odd choice to open with, considering that Squeeze's most popular album in the US is their excellent singles collection. It hardly did anything to grab the crowd's attention. Not even "Up the Junction" or a thumping "Take Me I'm Yours" really pulled people from their cherry crisps. Neither did the deep cuts that sprinkled the first half of their set. "Tempted" finally drew a pulse from the crowd, as did a lengthy "Black Coffee in Bed" that had a lot of the audience actually dancing. Tilbrook and Difford appeared to have forgotten the things that kept them apart for so many years as they switched lead duties. Closing out the night was a rousing "Pulling Mussels (From the Shell)."
Opening the evening was former Squeeze accompanier Aimee Mann playing with a full band. She is not the most energizing frontwoman, but she sounded excellent while pulling an hour's worth of songs pretty evenly from across her history. Highlighted by "Wise Up", "That's Just the Way You Are" and new single "Freeway", her set was perfect background music while dinner and dessert were consumed.
We here at Gapers Block Transmission aim to cover the local music scene and emerging Chicago artists as much as our resources permit. What follows is the transcript for a proposed review of the new CD Eve, Adam & the Apple by Chicago-based artist Slow Gun Shogun. The editors fanned the CD out to a potential contributor (PC) and an unaffiliated party (UP) in a focus-group styled experiment. What follows is a transcript of the results. Believe it or not, the transcript that follows was heavily edited and abridged in order to remove the more pedantic, digressive, and profanity-strewn passages. Needless to say, we will not be hiring either party for any future assignments.
UP: Yeah, but I don't feeling like getting up to get it just yet. What have we got?
PC: Some new CD by an artist who calls himself Slow Gun Shogun.
UP: Can't say I'm familiar.
PC: Local guy, apparently. It's a seven-song EP called Eve, Adam and the Apple. Judging from this, he plays a lot of the instruments himself -- one-man band style -- with the help of one "Miss Palanti" on drums. Appears to be self-released, on a label called Devil's Bedpost.
The term Hipster Rap or Hipster Hop has some how become an insult. When you look at Chicago acts like Lupe Fiasco, The Cool Kids, Kidz in the Hall, Hollywood Holt, Mic Terror, etc. you see extremely successful musicians with inventive beats. Regardless of the label, these acts are gaining fans and major recognition. An example of this is the recent announcement that the Kidz in the Hall track “The Blackout” (from May’s The In Crowd) will be featured on the soundtrack for EA Sports Madden NFL 2009. Steve Schnur, worldwide executive of music and marketing for Electronic Arts, said "we believe that this time next year, Kidz In The Hall will be true Hip-Hop superstars." So if rhyming about jeans, nail polish, cappuccino, skate boards, and Chuck Taylor’s will make you ‘Hip-Hop superstars’ then I say go for it! I suppose mentioning Mark Rippen in your songs doesn’t hurt either.
Chicago’s DJ Ray Protégé has put together a mixtape that attempts to both chronicle this new movement and in a way remove the ‘ster’ from ‘hipster’. The mix is Chicago heavy, but is also feature The Knux, Donnis, Izza Kizza, and others. The purpose behind the track selection and various sound bites from the emcees themselves is to stress the point that whatever you want to call it it is still hip hop. In fact, as you listen through these tracks they really trace back to the golden era of hip hop and acts like Nice and Smooth, Pete Rock & CL Smooth, Kid n’ Play, Das Efx, and so on. The beats are solid, the rhymes are fun, and the fans are responding.
“Clusterbombs are like rappers… all they need is enough spins”
The image of a stack cd’s falling from a cargo plane and landing in a barren field in Laos or the Sudan or wherever, lying shining and clean in a patch of dry brown grass or sand, is very appealing to me. Waiting for a child to come along and investigate, explore like only a child can, it is motionless, silent until the day it explods in the child’s mind. Filling it images of life, death, war, and love, the mind expands with new ideas on music and the possibilities of life.
Chicago’s Alltruisms, member of Giraffe Nuts crew, is about to drop his debut album Clusterbombs on July 1st. This album is a perfect example of what Chicago hip hop can be. Working with a variety of Chicago producers like Maker (of Glue), Earmint, Overflo and K-Kruz, this album is packed full of beats that explore the roots of Chicago music. Constructing this album over the last four years, Alltru has traveled the world collecting thoughts and stories, and now presents his unique view on life and hip hop in the form on brightly colored, well-design package waiting for the hip hop to pick it up, give it a few spins and watch it explode. If you think hip hop should be about something more then nail polish, skate boards, and pagers, then give my man Alltruisms a good listen.
Clusterbombs will be released on July 1st through Gravel Records, and features appearance by Verbal Kent, Rusty Chains, Doomsday, Roadblok, Mooswangs, J-Zone, and DJ PRZM (R.I.P.). You can stream the album here.
Jazz is an old artform. One that has changed over the decades, from big-band to bop to the capricious directions artists are free to take nowadays, with or without the permission of gatekeepers who deride their contributions as "not jazz." Most any musical genre has its share of arguments about what's "real" and what's not.
Wayne Shorter is really beyond all that. In a career that has lasted since the 50s, he's a saxophonist without modern peer and a composer without measure, being involved with the signature tunes of jazz greats who are on nickname basis with the music public, like Trane and Miles. His forays into world music and progressive jazz do not mark the wish of a musician to become more popular as those sub-genres have become more popular, but as someone who is merely exploring and testing his own limits. Hell, the man turns 75 soon; the dues are paid.
Three years ago when Jamie Lidell performed at the Museum of Contemporary Art, he was still known primarily as half of Super_Collider. His setup then was a table full of samplers, keys, and other buttons and knobs. Even though he was on tour in support of the soul-inspired Multiply album, he didn't stray far from his comfort zone. He spent much of the evening playing with electronics in a way that often seemed more for his own amusement than that of the audience. However, the highlights that night were when he stepped out from behind the gear and performed as a singer.
Last night at the Abbey, it was evident that Lidell has matured in a live setting. He appeared more aware of his strengths and weaknesses than he used to. With a full band (keyboards, guitar, drums, sax) backing him, he was free to be centerstage playing to the crowd. Although, for wildly varied arrangements of "When I Come Back Around" and "A Little Bit More", the band disappeared and let him run the show. Lidell clearly still enjoys experimenting with his electronic gear, but only once (during the 10-minute "When I Come Back Around") did he lose the crowd's attention by making noise simply for the sake of it. The Jim songs stayed close to studio form with some improvisation keeping them fresh. (I can't imagine he puts on the same show twice.) When the set came to a close following a tremendous "Wait For Me" and the band departed, the audience continued the call and response until the encore. With much of Jim already played, they launched into "Game For Fools" and an arrangement of "Multiply" hardly recognizable until the lyrics kicked in. Now, if only a sold out show at the Abbey didn't make people feel like sardines, there may have actually been some good dancing too. But in lieu of that, the band gave a full effort that left them out of breath and us quite pleased. Jamie Lidell will return to Chicago for Lollapalooza. Who knows what tricks he'll have up his sleeve then?
Its unfair to say The Mobius Band didn't leave an impression on people last night - as my memory serves me, they played a great set, got the crowd pretty enthused, and received some pretty strong applause for a third-billed act. But even they had an air of goofiness about them, knowing that as much as they won people over last night (which they did), they were standing in the shadow of some huge buzz.
The Black Kids, if you have never seen them, are one of the least likely groups of kids you would ever expect to see in a band. The two girl vocalists look like pretty down to earth, friendly gals (even when Ali Youngblood asked the audience "Do you want me to be "private dancer" or "sexy dancer" tonight?). Lead singer Reggie Youngblood looks a lot more like Rembrandt from the Warriors than he does Keke Okereke, but damned if his pipes aren't powerful things, ranging from Psycho Killer to Psycho shower-scream in seconds, and employed only precisely when needed. With a handful of new songs sandwiching their four-song EP's gems, the Kids proved they were still fresh with material (Hell, they better be after four songs). After the crowd-pleasing "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You", the band slipped in one more, a new song that rocked so hard this writer couldn't even be bothered to remember it's name.
Cut Copy took the stage shortly after midnight, the crowd packed dense around them and riding high off of the Black Kids' set. They apologized for having been away from the Windy City for two years, and immediately set into pieces from their new album.
Surprisingly, the Cut Copy set ended up being a song or two short of the Black Kids - a few singles from the old album and the hits of the new album, finishing the audience off with "Hearts on Fire" and instantly cranking the whole dance floor up from inspired swaying to a bouncing, head-banging dance party. The crowd refused to let them leave, and after a believably long encore wait, they came out and performed three more to cap off the night, ending with another dance-floor ignition in "Far Away".
The Black Kids gals waved goodbye to everyone as they passed the merch table, and even as they left the crowd chattered away on the patio waiting for rides or just reminiscing on a great night.
When the summed lore of band members precedes every mention of the band, it's usually a sign that the band doesn't stand close to previous bands that the members have been in. Not surprisingly, this is the case with Night Marchers and especially their debut album See You in Magic. It has a lot of moments reminiscent of the punk/post-hardcore sound that these people have toned over time, but it's never quite as cohesive as is now expected from such an esteemed collective. Then again, it's becoming nearly impossible for John Reis, Gar Wood and Jason Kourkounis to top output from their previous bands. (Quebecois newcomer Tommy Kitsos of CPC Gangbangs hasn't had quite the history that his bandmates have, but that could change if he keeps his current company.)
However, one not great album isn't enough to keep fans away from these dynamic performers live. As anyone who's seen Rocket From the Crypt or Hot Snakes or Burning Brides (or any other band that these people have been in) knows, the presentation can do wonders for the source material. And that was clear to the nearly capacity audience at Schubas on Sunday as Night Marchers brought down the house sounding heavier and crisper than they do on See You in Magic. This was especially evident early on when Reis, Wood, Kourkounis (one of the hardest drummers I've ever seen) and Kitsos were totally locked in on "In Dead Sleep." The deserved thunderous reception led Reis to remark, "You're right. That was awesome. For once we see eye to eye." From then on the foursome ripped through the rest of the album plus songs from the "Scene Report" single with nary a slip. With inspiration from "Paint It Black", "And I Keep Holding On" closed out the night with a wallop of guitars. From this group, I expected nothing less.
San Diego's Muslims opened with an intriguing set showcasing their love for rock'n'roll like Nuggets and punk like the Modern Lovers. (Oh, and Night Marchers had a fine merch table draw with Reis handstamping 7" records on demand.)
Considering that they've only been active for just over three years, the Chicago-based trio Russian Circles has managed to rack up a high ratio of praise throughout the webzine community in a short period of time. It seems there's something unique about the group's music that resonates with those who've heard it. The band's 2006 debut album, Enter, met with enthused accolades across the board, and quickly the landed them a slot on the top of the bill at Drowned In Sound's End-of-Summer festival in London last August. With the pending arrival of their sophomore LP, Station, Russian Circles are set to kick off another tour, beginning with a record-release party and a headlining set at Subterranean this Saturday evening.
Nicole Mitchell continues to grow and impress as a band leader and composer, creating another stellar album that reflects a diverse musical aesthetic and vision. Released this week on Firehouse 12 records, the Chicago based creative flutist and composer has been enjoying an increased awareness of her work in the last year that is sure to continue with Xenogenesis Suite, an album dedicated to the pioneer African American science fiction writer Octavia Butler.
I heard this music once before, in its Chicago debut at the Chicago Cultural Center earlier this year. I left the performance in a musically altered state, having been transfixed and transported by Xenogenesis Suite. The music was expansive, evocative, and perhaps most of all to my ears, a departure from her earlier work stylistically. While it retained her signature flute playing, the compositions were radically different from anything else I had heard from Nicole Mitchell, and if I had to oversimplify a bit, I'd say it was certainly darker than her other work.
Chicago's jazz and improvised music scene has produced a disproportionate share of iconoclasts and radicals in its long and colorful history. The city that works nurtured Sun Ra and Andrew Hill, Roscoe Mitchell and Lester Bowie, to name just a handful. While Jason Ajemian hasn't reached the musical heights or accomplishments of the aforementioned bunch, he certainly belongs to the Chicago constellation of musical individuality. His concept and approach is anything but traditional, but the results are unique and sometimes extraordinary.
His recent Delmark release with his band Smokeless Heat, The Art of Dying, is emblematic of his approach and musical values. The core of the band consists of Ajemian on bass, Tim Haldeman on saxophone, and Nori Tanaka on drums. Haldeman and Ajemian have a deep musical connection nurtured over years of Sunday sessions that Ajemian held at the Bridgeport Coffee House, where they'd play for hours as a duo with an occasional extra guest. Nori Tanaka was a natural choice for the drummer spot in the band, given his association with Ajemian in A Cushicle, a band that includes Jeff Parker. These chains of collaboration are endemic in the Chicago scene, and they produce the kind of music that we find on The Art of Dying. On the release they are also joined by Jaimie Branch, Jason Adasiewicz and Matt Schneider.
The Riveria played host this past Sunday to two of indie's biggest powerhouses, The New Pornographers and Okkervil River, in an obviously greatly-approved of sold-out performance.
Okkervil River delivered one of the most powerful live performances I have seen in awhile. Drunk, emotional, and intensely expressive, Will Sheff and the rest of Okkervil thrust out the hits from their dynamically popular 2007 album, The Stage Names, not missing any fan favorites, and possibly creating a few new ones with selections off Black Sheep Boy. Plagued by "technical difficulties" which were most likely just roadies too stoned to operate the sound board, Sheff's growing anger at the situation was conveniently and miraculously expressed through every next guitar strum and belted note. "A Stone" received a new lyric as he decided instead at that moment to sing of the "annoying feedback tone", much to the delight of the audience suffering through the same grueling dissonance. The music blew fans away, with so much force being put behind each line and note, you were inescapably wrapped up in the honesty and emotion behind the songs. As the climatic end to a frustrating night, he hurled his mic to the side of the stage in a last ditched effort to possibly kill one of the sound guys with their own mic they don't know how to use properly.
Califone came home to Chicago for a two night stint at the Vic, opening up for Iron and Wine, but they seemed to be a bit confused as to where they actually lay their hats. "It's good to be home," founding member Tim Rutili said with a sly grin. "Or at least home for these guys," he continued, pointing to the other multi-instrumentalists that make up the band. Rutili's banter retreated casually, but he managed to explain the obtuse reference to his move to Los Angeles with a rhetorical question: "This is Hollywood, right?"
Whether or not any of the members currently reside in our fair city matters little, for if Califone has a home city, it certainly is Chicago, regardless of the Chicago/Los Angeles hometown their MySpace page declares. After Red Red Meat ended around the time all alt-rock ended, Rutili began some solo experiments before enlisting former Meat members Ben Massarella and Brian Deck to fill out the sound. While Deck left to produce some amazing albums with Iron & Wine, Modest Mouse and Chin Up Chin Up (not to mention a couple for Califone), Massarella stuck around, the band filled out and they signed to local independent label Thrill Jockey.
Chicago native Mitch Myers' The Boy Who Cried Freebird (Harper, recently released in paperback) is a collection of stories and anecdotes that fill between barely a page to more than twenty. Longer pieces range from excellent backgrounds on Tex-Mex pioneer Doug Sahm and free jazz saxophonist Albert Ayler to Myers' literary personality, Adam Coil, traveling in time for the Grateful Dead. The shorter ones include bits about a rock critic and his wife quarreling over Captain Beefheart (What couple couldn't relate to that?!), Alejandro Escovedo at SXSW, getting high while listening to high-end stereos and Adam Coil daydreaming in an unfortunate place.
In an amusing story about analog versions of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" being the only antidote to an alien invasion, the idea of one song literally saving the world is focal. (Not to be lost is the irony of a song called "Paranoid" alleviating paranoia.) It's hard for a reader to not try to think of the last time one song had such wide appeal. And in a Western Avenue-related story, Myers writes about being pulled over while rocking out and the ensuing conversation with the police officer who correctly guessed what song Myers was listening to while he sped.
At times it seems like Freebird is Myers mimicking Contiuum's 33 1/3 series, especially with the loads of information about Aretha Live at Fillmore West and Metal Machine Music or when personalizing Eno's Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy). When he analyzes the differences between classics and anthems or transcribes a sarcastic phone call from Steve Albini's mother, his passion comes through in spades. He's a fan's fan in the same way that Sahm and Escovedo are portrayed as musician's musicians. Rarely does he come across as a typical music essayist and often he elicits a few laughs. The pacing allows for this book to be perfect for when you have just five minutes to kill, but that may lead to much more than five minutes with it.
It's like playing your stereo loudly with the door closed after a funeral. The sense of loss, but the need to keep going, if only to be thankful for still being here, but also a renewed vigor to leave something tangible behind when it is time to go.
That's the general mood of New Orleans-based artists since Hurricane Katrina, and the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra brought a little flavor of what remains of Sin City South with them in their performance Friday night.
An almost capacity crowd were treated to a two hour show that took on a somber, yet celebratory tone as second line, for the hard and brash solos, and maybe a surprise or two, and the musicians delivered.
John Greenfield and Elizabeth Winkowski outside the Genesee Theater
[John Greenfield sent us in this heartfelt review of Gordon Lightfoot's concert in nearby Waukegan.]
I first got interested in Gordon Lightfoot in 2000 when I saw the indie film Parsley Days, about a female bike repair instructor in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The excellent soundtrack includes Julie Doiron's cover of Lightfoot's melancholy "Early Morning Rain," about a womanizer trying to get home to his family. As the speaker stands drunkenly by a runway he laments: "You can't jump a jet plane / Like you can a freight train / So I'd best be on my way / In the early morning rain."
I'm not sure how my girlfriend Elizabeth, born well after Lightfoot's mid-'70s heyday, discovered his adult-contemporary folk-rock. She owns a dozen of his albums on vinyl and they're currently in heavy rotation on her plastic portable phonograph.
But it's easy to understand the appeal of the man behind hits like "Sundown," "If You Could Read My Mind" and the "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Ruggedly good-looking, the singer-songwriter from Orilla, Ontario, became an icon of north-of-the-border masculinity: tough but sensitive; manly but not macho. His understated, bittersweet lyrics about romance and adventure, set against mellow acoustic backdrops, embody the Canadian ideal sometimes ascribed to Neil Young: strong feelings expressed quietly.
For my 37th birthday in March, Liz gave me a framed copy of a postcard with the Gordon Lightfoot stamp issued by the Canada Post. That Friday we jumped a Metra train up to Waukegan, IL, to catch the troubadour on tour at the recently restored Genesee Theater.
Composed of seasoned veterans from Chicago's avant-rock heyday of the mid-late 90s, the band Singer has just this week released their debut album, Unhistories, on Drag City. And if there's one thing that should be established from the start, it's that Singer don't "do" linearity.
This should come as no surprise, given the band's collective cee-vee. Bassist Robert A.A. Lowe was previously a central member of math-rock/no-wave/prog-revisionists 90 Day Men, currently performs and records under the moniker Lichens, and has -- as a studio and touring sideman -- contributed keyboard work to TV On The Radio. Ben Vida was formerly part of the minimalist chamber ensemble Town and Country and has recently been producing work as Bird Show; while Todd Rittman and Adam Vida are erstwhile members of the defunct Chicago "rock deconstructionist" unit U.S. Maple.
Much of Unhistories unfolds by way of country-blues(ish) guitar riffs that sidewind and meander, sometimes get bogged down in briars, but are more often striking ahead in a hunting or explorative mode. With Singer, songs don't develop or progress so much as charge up to a threshold, pause, and double back to strike out on alternate courses. Theirs is a music that involves the tightening and release of torques and tension, always playfully teetering on the edge of clamor and collapse. But the guitars never roam too far from the campground, so it ends up being drummer Adam Vida who probes at the outermost perimeters, his kitwork often dancing around a rhythmic center of the song without engaging it directly. While the whole band routinely steps in with some woozy harmonizing, bassist Robert Lowe's vocals -- often straining into the upper registers in a faux-falsetto that suggests mimicry or mockery -- drape the tenuous melodies like lilies wilting under a blistering sun.
Is it weird to be disappointed at a lack of vomiting?
Atlanta group the Black Lips may have built a reputation for their onstage antics, which have included barfing and urinating, but it's their sloppy southern rock-meets-rockabilly that keeps the parishioners coming back for more. At their March 1 show at the Logan Square Auditorium, the night's theme was energy: who brought it, who lacked it, and who filled in where needed.
Hot Machines opened up the evening with a riotous set full of heavy, thudding distortion. As usual, the venue suffers from a case of crappy acoustics, so, not having seen the Chicago-based band play before, it was difficult to tell whether their blurriness was on purpose or not. Either way, they made up for it with plenty of rock 'n roll heart -- I hadn't seen an audience this engaged with an opener in a long while. And let me tell you, if guitarist Miss Alex White wasn't endearing enough with her Annie 'fro and kickass guitarist/vocalist skills, then hearing a woman (who I took to be her mother) push to the front explaining "Fucker, that's my kid up there!" sent me reeling over the edge.
Abstract music, from the perspective of someone whose tastes tend more towards mainstream, can really never be understood without a shrug. Even those heavy into the experimental and abstract can exhibit more enthusiasm for the music than the music actually moves you to.
Last night at SubT, three very abstract acts took the stage, and played close to three hours of what I can really only term as atmospherics. This is beyond the fringe, where simple basslines go nowhere without accompaniment by a variable note that sounds as if it was produced by an violinist with an four foot bow. The bass of drumbeats sometimes lost the battle for prevailing rhythm to guitars and laptops.
Young Widows opened, and they came out hard and loud. Dalek followed, and the hip-hop head in me heard mostly what I expected from their albums; abstract lyrics, high-end to complete heavy bass. I was amazed, though, that my head was nodding at a pretty fast clip. At their core, these were the same basslines that formed the foundation of songs I know and knew, just their backing was different. Screeches, static, and high pitched noises from the bowels of a MacBook Pro made it so.
Russian Circles, devoid of lyricists, continued the atmospherics, but, without the need to stay in a constant beat to accommodate words, they were free to perform longform instrumentals that were adventurous and ethereal.
Unfortunately, ethereal soundscapes and atmospheric melodic structure does not make for a good live show. The opening act fit the usual live show MO, but Dalek's crunching style and Russian Circles' melodic wanderings are, quite frankly, better for headphone-based consumption. Good music? Sure. Good music to listen to live? Uh,, not really.
Sure, it's heavy. Sure, it's not danceable. But the chanced these artists take in making their music is pretty refreshing. There's something to be said for living on the fringe. It's better said while isolated in your own headphone world, though.
Indie Tom Waits-ish meets cabaret performer Baby Dee, whom I wrote about (and loved) back in November, came back to Chicago last night for a double bill with punk(ish) marching band Mucca Pazza at the Empty Bottle. It was then that I realized that, while the Empty Bottle is a fun place to visit, it's a really lousy place to stay for a concert. Unless the concert is made up of blaring brass and percussion like Mucca Pazza.
Dee, an emotive, sometimes tender and melancholy performer gives a superb intimate performance, complete with stories and commentary. Dee uses a wide-range of dynamics and plays the harp. With its bar and the associated hubbub situated in the back of the room, removed from the stage at the front of the room, the audience could barely hear Dee, and many songs turned into shushing contests between the front and back. Dee, a trooper, kept playing as if the room were a small, quiet space, but connection with the audience was especially difficult.
If I had seen her last night for the first time, I would have left having seen nothing special and heard not much at all. Correct venues are important, people! If last night was your first Dee experience, I implore you to see her again somewhere else!
The opener sets the tone. Blasting forth with fierce guitar and pounding drums, The Whigs’ “Like a Vibration” begins in mid-throttle, a surly and subversive ode to the spirit of rock’n’roll. Parker Gispert doesn’t just sing, he howls, inflecting his raspy baritone with gravel and a growl. On the other side of your speakers, that’s Julian Dorio filling beautifully, pumping out a pulsating beat. But before you even get settled, it’s over, an instant, two and a half minute alt rock classic. On Mission Control, the Whigs second album and first with ATO Records, they attempt to prove that all the hype thrown their way by Rolling Stone and co. was deserved. They almost succeed.
Clearly inspired by indie pioneers the Replacements, the Whigs manage to craft a tightly-structured record that is short, explosive and pure (very few over dubs here from producer Rob Schnapf—he of Elliott Smith and Guided by Voices fame). Not everything works. “I Never Want to Go Home” is an attempt at mournful melancholy that falls flat due to boring lyrics (“Sleep my darling, don’t you cry”) and the absence of Gispert’s lovable snarl. Similarly, “Sleep Sunshine” is a lazy and slow bit of psychedelic hogwash that is downright snooze-worthy. If these guys are ever going to be half as good as their heroes, they’re gonna need to conjure some irreverence and foster the ability to snarl and emote simultaneously.
But damnitt, when Mission Control is on it cannot be stopped. From the funkiness of “Production City” to the freak-out fuzz of “Right Hand on My Heart” to the exuberant chorus of “Already Young”, there are some great moments on this album. “Need You Need You” is a blistering jam that will take any listener back to their favorite beer-soaked college bar. And it serves a reminder that there’s no harm in balls-to-the-walls rock’n’roll. It’s as refreshing as a cheap draft on a hot night.
Joining the Whigs this Saturday at Schubas is Tulsa, a Massachusetts band that tackles a wildly different sonic approach. With a name taken from Larry Clark’s stark photos of Oklahoma youth, they craft introspective, country-tinged melodies that (with subdued drumming, acoustic strumming and vocal delays) go more for haunting than truly volcanic. The occasional crunch guitar lick on their recent I Was Submerged EP, helps provide balance and nicely obscures some heavy-handed lyricism.
The Whigs and Tulsa play at 10pm this Saturday at Schubas. The Rikters open and tickets are $12.
It was clear from the beginning of the evening when I was surrounded by concertgoers at least 20+ years older than myself that I was nowhere near the target demographic for a Todd Rundgren show in the year 2008. This fact became even more obvious when Rundgren bantered with the sold out crowd last Friday about the stock market and politics. Perhaps beginning the headlining set with two songs from 2000's One Long Year was Rundgren's way to stay current and hip. Unfortunately, the garbled mix at Park West, which usually has excellent sound, kept most songs from being great. But once Rundgren fell into his wheelhouse and played songs from his prime, the show became infinitely better, even though his voice had some trouble hitting a few highs. With three songs ("Black Maria", "I Saw the Light", "Slut") from 1972's Something/Anything? highlighting blocks of the set, both the crowd and Rundgren's long-time band seemed to enjoy themselves more as the night wore on. Opening the show was former L'Altra member Lindsay Anderson performing a set that seemed too ambient for aging Rundgren fans to process in their giddiness to see the headliner. She received a polite golf applause for each song of her brief set.
Let's face it: Wedding dances can outright suck. Luckily, in the new album Dancing at Weddings, Essex Chanel brings the wedding dance to your living room -- albeit without the embarrassingly drunk uncle attempting to do the Worm on the dance floor.
Essex Chanel is the solo project of Chicago-based musician/artist/all-around busy bee Travis Lee Wiggins, who also performs in the Summer Salts and Fetla. Dancing at Weddings sort of serves as an tutorial, opening with a loopy, roaming bassline over background shouts to "Get up and dance!" Soon what one can only assume is a party robot intercedes. On second thought, you better bust out that Worm.
The Chicago outfit Mahjongg recently went on tour, aiming to round up converts to Kontpab--which is both the title for their new album that's now being released on K Records and the name of a post-millennial cult that the band recently started. Actually, the stuff about the cult's just a bunch of presskit monkeyshines; but the album's for real, and Mahjongg will be returning to home base to play a record-release party at Subterranean this Thursday.
If you threw a party and invited Suicide and Konono No1 to play in your basement, what would it sound like? Kontpab probably best answers that question. In the time that's lapsed since their prior LP, Raydoncong2005, Mahjongg has undergone some slight personnel changes. Their sound has changed a little, as well. Save for bass, guitars are largely out and keyboards dominate -- specifically keyboards of the gritty, pulsing electro-punk variety.
Last Saturday at the Empty Bottle, nestled between the opener (Let’s Get Out of This Terrible Sandwich Shop) and the headliner (Bang! Bang!), I discovered the perfect remedy to the coldest night in the history of the world. Their name is La Scala and though they’re a new band around town (as of late last year), they sound and play like seasoned vets.
Dressed like retro, psychobilly cast-offs, the success of La Scala is a matter of balance. On the one hand, they play a simple arrangement of bass, drums, and guitar and bind all that together with a few tasty grooves. On the other, more unique hand, they invoke what they’re calling “a haunting, melodramatic air” but that to me is more cinematic in nature, as if they’re constructing a sun-drenched landscape complete with ridiculous gunfights and men on horses. And there is something in the loping drums and high-pitched guitars that suggest Europe—mainly Italy—so that the music is what Ennio Morricone would have played if he ever got tired of scoring spaghetti westerns and turned his attention to rock’n’roll. It’s the contrast of styles that makes La Scala a band to keep an eye on; that, and they’re fun as hell.
Saturday’s show doubled as a release party for their first EP, called the Harlequin, which will be available February 26th from Highwheel Records. Put that on your list, and make sure you check out La Scala the next time they’re around. You won’t be disappointed.
Back in early 2007, Thrill Jockey introduced listeners to the work of Arbouretum when it released the Baltimore quartet's sophomore album, Rites of the Uncovering. Nearly a year later finds the label releasing the first proper full-length CD by Human Bell, which hits stores on January 29.
Human Bell is effectively a collaborative side-project involving Arbouretum frontman Dave Heumann and former Lungfish bassist Nathan Bell. For the new self-titled LP, both musicians strap on their six-strings and unfurl seven instrumental tracks of exploratory fretwork. Half-composed and half-improvised, each song starts out simply and deliberately, with the duo setting the stage with basic structure and melody before setting off for more complex and expansive domains. There's plenty of cohesion by way of counterpoint and complement throughout, and there's some additional instrumental accompaniment to flesh things out a bit. The album as a whole is intricate in some parts, downright hefty in others, and admittedly borders on the soporific from time to time. But just as the whole effort seems to have exhausted its musical vocab, things take a denser, more foreboding turn in the album's final stretch. Some hazy, haunting hornwork threads "Ephaphatha (Be Opened)" with a droning eeriness, while "The Singing Trees" digs into a heavily churning and reverberous blues.
Deeply indebted to the work of Neil Young and John Fahey, and suffused with prog-y English folk-jazz trimmings, Human Bell is very much a guitar record. It's moody and evocative in a way that's best suited for soundtracking those lazier and more contemplative afternoons.
The entire concert lineup on stage at the same time, singing with the audience.
Back in September on this page, I predicted that the Old Town School of Folk Music’s sold-out 50th Anniversary benefit concert celebration, which was held this past Saturday, would end as a giant sing-a-long. I was wrong. In fact, the singing started before the concert even began, in the lobby and on every floor of the enormous Auditorium Theatre, led by both school faculty and volunteer ensembles. The joyous pre-concert hootenannies exemplified all that the Old Town School stands for -- community, inclusiveness, and fun -- and were the perfect prelude to an extraordinary 17-act musical montage of what the school offers year-round to us lucky Chicagoans.
Expectedly, the audience didn’t have to wait long before the next participatory opportunity. As the lights dimmed, Old Town School faculty members came out in increments to perform Pete Seeger’s hit “Turn! Turn! Turn!” in many different styles and variations, the final variation being, of course, a sing-a-long. As a result of some superb technical coordination, the faculty continued to perform in-between acts through the entire evening – both on stage and in the balconies – so that not one minute of the precious 3-hour concert was wasted.
To be succinct, the show was good. Mission of Burma made an off tour stop at Chicago's Abbey Pub last Friday evening. After a procession of capable but somewhat uninteresting openers, Burma stepped up and brought the perhaps 3/4 capacity crowd to the floor. They served up new songs and their still fresh sounding '80's back catalog with equal aplomb and left the crowd wanting more, proving that Mission of Burma's heyday is now.
Last night at the Hideout, New York-based musician Baby Dee performed wearing a silky blouse, checkerboard capris, argyle socks, work boots and insane, untamed curly hair that covered a full two thirds of her face. Both her appearance and music are completely unclassifiable, the former falling somewhere between masculine and feminine, the latter a mixture of tender cabaret, guttural indie chanson and non-sequitur cackling comedy routine. The result was a wildy entertaining and assertively authentic performance that ended with the audience not wanting to go home, even after midnight on a cold work night in Chicago.
Her Wikipedia entry defines her as a “transgender musician from Cleveland” and her label, Drag City, describes her as “the badly angelic, Shirley Temple obsessed, high riding cat that ruled the streets of lower Manhattan in the nineties.” Neither description is particularly helpful, especially since most of the audience was neither from Manhattan nor probably old enough to have really noticed the mid nineties. So, the next time she's in down, or the next time you're in NYC, do yourself a favor and see for yourself.
I have a theory that pertains to shows like last night's at the Chicago Theatre: the more high profile an artist, the more annoying the crowd. Maybe it's because the majority probably only go to one or two concerts each year or that they think they're entitled to yell out whatever they want because they paid an absurd admission. Whether it's the fat dude wearing a sleeveless button-down shirt and sweatpants or the soccer mom in her best Lane Bryant, it typically comes down to many oldsters trying to relive their glory days while totally forgetting what they were all about. What unites this riff raff is thankfully the same thing that keeps them quiet at least during the songs. When Neil Young plays, people listen. However, between songs is a different story.
On Tuesday night, on tour to promote Chrome Dreams II, Neil Young took a page from Rust Never Sleeps by performing acoustic and electric sets that wound through his deep discography. The acoustic set highlights were old album tracks like "Mellow My Mind" and "Cowgirl in the Sand" that drew huge ovations. Obviously, the 62-year old's voice isn't the same as it was when he recorded many of these songs, so he wavered a bit on the high notes. But his guitar-playing is still subtly fantastic.
Now, one great thing about a concert by an artist with such a rich history is the element of surprise. Any next song could potentially be one of hundreds. But that didn't exist on this night because a painting depicting an interpretation of each song was displayed on the side of the stage. So everyone in the audience knew at one point that "Everybody Knows This is Nowhere" would be next. There was no chance for pure elation when identifying the first notes. (And the artist made at least one spelling error - "Bad Fog of Lonliness.") With 4 songs from Chrome Dreams II at the core of the electric set, "The Loner" and "Oh, Lonesome Me" sounded like gold to the ears of anyone wanting to hear classics. A 20-minute jam on "No Hidden Path" ended the set and gave way to the encore of "Cinnamon Girl" and "Tonight's the Night." Both were tremendous, naturally.
Tuesday's audience was in for a special treat - "The Sultan." You may ask, "What are you talking about?" Well, "The Sultan" was an instrumental recorded by Neil Young's first band, the Squires, in 1963. The record is very rare and it's doubtful the song's been performed live in 40+ years, but we heard it. Overall, this was a performance that clearly showed the range of Neil Young through the years. Between forgotten album tracks, hit singles, political attacks and good-natured anthems, he treated the audience to a hint of where he's been and what he's done through his career. And what a career it's been.
All-ages early shows at the Metro are always kind of strange, an odd mix of random jaded hipsters, teenagers vibrating slightly with the excitement of their first show, lost-looking parents, and hardcore fans all thrown together and soaked in booze until the band appears and everyone unites for the briefest of instants before the house lights come up and scatters the crowd to the wind once again. The Weakerthans are an ideal band for such a moment, blending their punk cred with folk instrumentation, wordy singalong lyrics and a shy, almost bashful stage presence that invites the audience to be give as much to the performance as the band itself. This played out in myriad ways last night -- when singer John Samson forgot the words to "Left and Leaving," the crowd was already singing along at full blast, and the turnabout was so complete he handed ten dollars to a kid in the front row, calling it a "partial refund," and when the band came on for an encore they played several more songs than they had obviously intended.
I foolishly didn't take any notes last night, so I've drank away the setlist and other fun details -- instead I'm left with a general impression of warmth and affection. Considering how a packed house at the Metro seemed to spill onto Clark Street all at once and then vanish instantly, I'm convinced it's the right impression for a band that's made a living making intensely personal music that seems to speak to everyone.
“Oh, woe is me. I have no label. My fans love me, but my label won’t promote my new album.”
Sound like the latest indie-rock darling with pop sensibilities? Well, believe it or not, veteran hip-hop artists have that too. And a few of them showed up at the Abbey Pub last night.
Lasting three and a half hours, a packed Abbey Pub was treated to a rollicking show. The crowd reacted warmly to the two opening acts, both local artists with a ton of energy and sporadic DAT problems. Members of The Away Team, part of the Hall of Justus conglomerate which includes Little Brother, took to the stage before giving way to Evidence. In between sets, the DJ would spin classic hip-hop, enough to keep the crowd warmed up and loud.
Evidence, one-third of Dilated Peoples, embarked on a solo career earlier this year with The Weatherman LP. Dilated’s had more commercial success - their single “This Way”, produced by Kanye West, garnered them the most attention - but their credibility lies in the fact that they largely did things themselves and, to Capitol’s relief, within their extended family of other artists and producers. Read: cheaply. Last night, Evidence performed a few songs off his solo effort, including the single "Mr Slow Flow", as well as his parts off of Dilated hits like “This Way” and “Back Again”.
Little Brother performed a few tracks from Getback, as well as “Lovin It” from 2005’s The Minstrel Show. Big Pooh and Phonte gave the old fans “For You” from their first label release The Listening, which was a nice surprise. Interspersed throughout the performance was a lot of banter about misogyny, current events, and an age check call and response that quite plainly revealed that quite a few of their fans aren’t the college-age kids, but 25- and even 30-year olds. It was clear that they enjoyed giving a show, and the crowd enjoyed them for it.
I can offer very little insight into the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir as a band or as people. I’ve never seen them in concert, or shared omelets and tea with them at the Pick Me Up Café (but thankfully Tom Lynch has, and you can check out his great New City expose here). Truthfully, and I realize I’m venturing into uncharted waters here, I’ve never actually heard their music. I’m unfamiliar with the first record, I Bet You Say That To All the Boys, the self-released one before Matthew Kerstein left to form Brighton, MA. So as a result, I can only offer a newborn’s look at the SYGC world and their second album, the aptly title Scotland Yard Gospel Choir, out now on Bloodshot Records, and which I just picked up yesterday from my local record shop. What follows is my reaction.
Things get off to fast start with “Aspidistra”, a buoyant pop tune that concerns old days spent buying drugs, in which the narrator refuses to regret his past indulgences while focusing on current and future abstinence. A brilliant and fast opener, “Aspidistra” reaches its point of climax, its point of potential musical explosion, only to end abruptly. Immediately, the listener is left wanting more. It’s a neat device used throughout most of the album, where the songs feel like they’re going to erupt or deconstruct only to race to an early conclusion. The tracks of principal songwriter, Elia Einhorn, aren’t ditties despite their consistently short length; they’re fully formed stories breathed full of life and heart and emotion, traits increasingly unseen in today’s indie pop (in fact, I daresay that of all recent Chicago pop releases, this one has the most mettle). Soon-to-be crowd favorite, “I Never Thought I Could Feel This Way For a Boy”, bounces a schoolyard yarn about a young boy falling for another young boy, and the fear of chastisement from his other classmates. There is tenderness and joy here, balanced by terror and loneliness and the desire “to be loved by everyone at the end of the day”. It's this careful balance that helps provide the core of this record. But although Elia could easily lapse into misplaced melancholy, the album is not a downer but an uplifting look at fighting for comfort and love and a place to call home. “Broken Front Teeth” is a stunner that showcases the vocal and emotional range of cellist Ellen O’Hayer. A traditional-sounding folk ballad, it layers a simple acoustic guitar with a mournful accordion, while she peruses old photos that collect memories and fuel nostalgia. If there's a criticism to be made, it's with the closing gospel free-for-all, "Everything You Paid For", which doesn't quite go where I feel it needs to in order to unleash all of the sounds reigned in on the previous eight tracks. But that's an inconsequential quibble that more reflects my personal taste than the band's short-comings.
Imagine my surprise when the ghostly pale woman two-fisting a drink 'n cig combo at the bar turned out to be the one and only Scout Niblett. To be honest, with her oversized camo jacket and dirty, disheveled blonde wig that she kept tugging down, she sort of looked like a methed-out version of my aunt. (Check out the wig here, as she cavorts with a skeletal - literally - Will Oldham.)
Call it a ruse to get attention or an attempt to blend in; either way Niblett managed to do both during her set Saturday, Oct. 20 at the Empty Bottle. She opened for the Stars of Track and Field, thus suffering that which plagues all opening acts: a loud audience. It's a shame, since Niblett deserves a certain amount of concentration to enjoy. She's not necessarily whisper-quiet, but she's a very deliberate singer/songwriter, and her music is simple enough to be drowned out amid chit-chatty scenesters.
Armed with a guitar and an accompanying drummer, Niblett began her set with tracks from her latest album, This Fool Can Die Now. The CD is slow, sweet, and full of love songs, and that's exactly how Niblett slid into her set. Interestingly, even when performing the lovely "Do You Want to Be Buried With My People," she still appears oddly fierce, singing through clenched teeth as if going for the jugular. But while This Fool waxes poetic, it still maintains some of the bite that gives color to her previous work; when she ripped into the discordant monster-stomper "Let Thine Heart Be Warmed," it temporarily shocked the gabbering audience into paying attention. Even the two girls next to me, stopped gossiping about who did what on Facebook. "Whoa," said one, her eyes wide.
Alas, as soon as she returned to softer works, she lost the the crowd again. Which was too bad -- her performance, though sometimes a little too simplistic, was incredibly powerful. By the time she closed with "Nevada," it was clear that both she -- and the audience, eager to see the headliner -- had had enough for the night.
Hailing from Hamburg, Germany, Digitalism's arc has been like many other electronic rock acts of the last few years - popping up via remixes, releasing a single or three, developing a reputation as good live performers thanks to an array of visuals, and dropping a full-length album that amasses critical praise.
Friday was their second Smartbar show of 2007 and the first since Idealism's release. The stage area took up a large chunk of space to the right of the DJ booth and, thus, tightened quarters in the already small Smartbar. With condensation dripping from the ceiling and the floor packed with bodies, Digitalism took over from Dark Wave Disco residents at 1:30 a.m. Featuring a custom electronic drum kit, numerous pieces of Korg equipment, a sampler and a synth, and a Shure 55 series microphone, Jens Moelle and İsmail Tüfekçi churned out a rather tame set that sounded like a live mix of Idealism with minor variations from the record. They never strayed far from distortion and pounding beats, apparently preferring to stay in their wheelhouse. But it was crisp and clear during the 50-minute set. Only the extended "Homezone" got tiringly long, with most tunes mixing in and out of each other seamlessly. Despite the absence of a few of their better songs ("Pogo", for one), Digitalism shined (literally, due to the bright lighting) on this night as they worked Smartbar up into a frenzy into the early morning hours.
On Widow City, the sixth LP from brother-sister duo the Fiery Furnaces that lands today from Thrill Jockey, melodies, tempos and styles abruptly shift, extend, and double back. Tracks blend seamlessly together to create a giant long-form pop suite. With lyrics inspired by an imagined Ouija board and ads from women’s magazines of the early 1970s, the Furnaces take the listener on an intergalactic musical journey through the duplexes of the dead, consulting Egyptian grammars, and into the Cabaret of the Seven Devils. It’s impossible to predict where we’ll end up next, as fierce drum attacks mingle with fuzzed out guitars. The Chamberlain—a keyboard that triggers tape loops of other instruments to create a library of sound—crafts a barrage of strings, woodwinds and keys that weave in and out of the abstract song structures. The record is confusing and chaotic and requires maximum attention paid to catch all of the unique musical ideas.
Standout track “Navy Nurse” begins with a funky base, drum and guitar jam that gives way to light piano before leading a march with the repeated line, “If there’s anything I’ve had enough of, it’s today.” “Restorative Beer”, the closest thing to a single, mixes a blues riff with a rolling and tumbling vocal melody about wanting “to restore your beer to take my mind off these tears”. I salute the Fiery Furnaces for making a piece of work that is obtuse, that is difficult to listen to, that shies away from three-minute masterpieces when it’s clear that they possess an acute understanding of pop perfection. The Furnaces might be the most unique band on the planet and they refuse to take the easy way out, and this album is surprising and startling and weird.
But it’s long. Really long. Perhaps it’s unfair to criticize art for being too long (“it’s as long as it needs to be”, comes the counter-attack from the artist) but if I, as a music fan and sometime critic, sit around waiting for the album to end so I can pen my review or do the dishes, it’s too long. A little self-conscious weirdness goes a long way, and by the end of 16 tracks and 56 minutes, the genre-hopping travelogue of Widow City wears thin and I just want to go home.
The Fiery Furnaces have carved a nice niche for themselves in this pop landscape and they continually produce albums bursting forth with ideas, melodies, and strange behavior. But the music, as it relates to Widow City, doesn’t resonate. I’m never going to spin this disc at a party, or when I come home drunk and lonely, or as the soundtrack for a walk on the lakefront. I'm not asking for cheesy slow dance numbers or sappy cliches but I would like to hear some heart.
Writing a review of Patrick Wolf is an infuriating task -- his music is endearingly fucked up, but pretentiously enough you don't know if you want to recommend his work or punch him the face. Previous efforts, like 2005's Wind in the Wires, hinted at greatness, but contained failures so spectacular they're almost good -- like "Tristan," which I still find myself listening to in the faint hope that I won't want to strangle the nearest person with eye makeup on when Wolf sings the ridiculous chorus hook.
On this year's The Magic Position, however, Wolf seems to have abandoned the angsty emo darkness that was his stock-in-trade and put out a pretty happy 13-track record. This isn't an opaque transition, by any means -- the title track contains the lyric "It's you who puts me in the magic position [to do a number of trite things] in a major key." So apparently dude's getting some. Good for him, and good for us, because the results of Patrick Wolf getting his dingle played with are eminently listenable. Tracks like "Accident and Emergency" and "(Let's Go) Get Lost" are dangerously cute at times, with twee Nintendo synths and sound effects layered over some funtime drum machines, and mopey numbers like "Augustine" retain the overindulgent art-school charm that made those old records interesting without inspiring guyliner-related homicide.
The transition in subject matter didn't affect Wolf's stylistic tendencies -- he still over-pronounces every word with an annoyingly affected rasp (yes, we know, you smoke and drink! You bad boy.) and his lyrics are the kind of stuff that would go over really well in a Morrissey fan club meeting, but it's much more charming this time around, for some reason -- like you have a little brother who just went Goth or something. You know it's dumb, but fucked if you don't have a pair of ten-year-old knee-high boots and a black trench in the closet yourself -- so who are you to judge? The Magic Position is full of similar potential, a uniquely accessible effort wrapped up in the tropes of previous identities. Who knows, maybe next time we'll get skater punk.
Patrick Wolf plays tonight at The Metro with Bishi. Doors at 6, show at 630. $15, all-ages
Silly me: I thought crotch-grabbing was a hip-hop move relegated only to the male contingent. I was proved wrong time and time again as the performers of Friday night's girl-centric Estrojam installment at the Abbey Pub grabbed said crotches, got sweaty and shirtless, and owned the stage as much any man.
Friday's set was mainly made up of hip-hop artists, topped with a swan song performance by legendary group ESG. While overall the night was full of energy emanating both from the audience as well as on stage, at times the microphones were plagued by squealy sound problems. Kicking things off was Chicago's own chemist-slash-rapper, Psalm One, who slyly beckoned the audience, "Come closer -- I'm gonna tell you secrets." The low, funky triplets of "Macaroni and Cheese" got the audience riled, while the hot-hipped "Beat the Drum" sealed the deal.
Psalm One's laid-back flow paved the way nicely for Bahamadia, whose tight set proved the Philly-based MC deserves a major comeback. Where her work in the '90s generally saw her as the kind of relaxed rhymer whose vocals made her an excellent guest on tracks by The Roots, Erykah Badu, Morcheeba, and Talib Kweli, this night saw a different side of Bahamadia. She delivered classics and newer tracks with a hard, rapid delivery, while her cohort, DJ Statik, kept up with her every step of the way. As he slowed down the pace, playing tracks by other classic b-girls like MC Lyte, Monie Love, and Rah Digga, Bahamadia just laughed: "Aw, man. This is senior hip-hop, right here."
By the time the dirrrty South's Yo Majesty hit the stage, the crowd's excitement was palpable: what to expect from one of the year's most buzzed-about hip-hop groups? Wild dance beats and wild dance parties were certainly on the roster, events that often culminate in at least one of the members -- who, to be honest, do not look unlike Lil' Wayne -- taking off her shirt. And while yes, this event did indeed take place, it's almost expected of them -- and should going to a Yo Majesty show become a Countdown to Breasts? Anyway, it only lasted about 10 minutes before the (wo-)Man came down on the shirtless hullaballoo. But you get the point: YM put on a super fun live show as-is, nipple or no.
The evening's star performers, ESG, earned their stripes during the '70s as their beat-heavy blend of funk, soul, and rock, which made them one of the most sampled bands to date. The night marked their last performance as a group, and the music geeks crawled out of the woodwork to witness it. Originally a quartet of sisters based out of the South Bronx, the latest incarnation includes original vocalist Renee Scroggins and what apparently is her daughter, Christelle, on guitar and percussion and niece, Nicole, on bass, while an unnamed fellow acted as drummer.
And you know what? The ESG groove is a good one. Their old hits are still fun and funky, and it's obvious that Renee was having a great time onstage. But it's also obvious the band is at its end, as the music was basically being held up by Renee's vocals and the Unknown Drummer's tight drum work. The rest was sort of a rudimentary mess, a weird funk circus, as Christelle got caught up in showboating. It certainly made for some interesting entertainment, but as she did a sexed-up tambourine act, one couldn't help but wonder if ESG should've simply stuck to what they've always done best: bring on the sweet, jam-worthy beats.
At some point in our lives, we were the star of our own show. We've sung along to the radio, we've posed in front of the mirror in the bathroom. We've hummed along to our iPods, and we've air-guitared, danced, and gyrated through dance moves. We've done songs from memory and motions through repetition.
In a concert setting, we get to see how our musical idols do it. Do they do the same thing in the video? Do they change up notes, chords, delivery? They're performing in front of a mirror of sorts: hundreds of people who know their songs, their moves, but expect more.
On both Saturday and Sunday night, the legendary Roots crew provided sonic backing for amounted to a revival meeting of what's good about hiphop, past, and present. The recipe was quite simple: Recreate the beats and rhythms of yesteryear with a live band, turntables, and minimal technology. Mix in the well-worn lyrics of the 80s and 90s, delivered by four emcees at the top of their craft, and serve to an appreciative audience.
It's strange to think that the most exposure most people have had to José González is as the soundtrack to a European Sony commercial, but for a while his cover of The Knife's "Heartbearts" seemed destined to doom him to the same minor relevance as Trio.
Of course, VW also famously used Nick Drake, so maybe that's the most appropriate place to start thinking about González' second record, In Our Nature, because it's hard to avoid the Drake comparison. González has mastered his version of the acoustic singer / songwriter act, and he's not shy about doing his best trick over and over again -- In Our Nature is ten cuts of reverb-drenched multitracked vocals over nimble acoustic guitar, with the occasional bits-and-pieces percussion deployed to make things seem even more gentle than before.
In fact, the addition of percussion (and some other textural instrumentation) and a slight bump in tempo is all that really separates In Our Nature from González' previous effort, Veneer. Played back to back, one flows into the other with remarkable ease, and it's almost as though the albums were meant to be played this way, slowly building to a climatic cover of Massive Attack's "Teardrop" before easing back down into the sparseness of "The Nest" and then finally closing with the soaring "Cycling Trivialities," which is a musical wonder in desperate need of a new title and lyrics.
Recorded entirely on tape (and without any concern for the attendant noise issues -- check out that insane motor whine from 5:44 on in "Cycling Trivialities") In Our Nature is a throwback album from a throwback performer. While it's hard to remember a time when bands didn't always have laptops, Gonzålez isn't at all shy about being just a guy with a guitar and a knack for acoustic arrangement. Hopefully that'll lead to something more meaningful than a commercial for a TV set one of these days.
In Our Nature goes on sale tomorrow, 9/25, and González will be playing at Park West as part of his North American tour on October 4 -- tickets are $18.
First of all, Transmission would like to extend a big thank you to Flavorpill, Empty Bottle, and the acts last night for putting on a show that was over in just under three hours and before midnight on a weeknight. Of course, the flipside to that was short sets that left the audience wanting more. A case in point would be Simian Mobile Disco's 45-minute set that was heavy on groove and blinding colorful strobe lights.
Unfortunately, the headliner's brief set came up short on songs from their Attack Decay Sustain Release LP. Instead the setlist was comprised of older (and maybe some newer) music. Singles "It's the Beat" and "Hustler" drove the night into high gear as the Empty Bottle split into two parts - gawkers and dancers. When the crowd's enthusiasm calmed, James Ford, whose resume also includes production for Arctic Monkeys, Klaxons and Mystery Jets, yelled out and demanded applause to recharge the room.
Perhaps most notable about Simian Mobile Disco's stage setup was that their gear was on a round table that Ford and his cohort, James Shaw, rotated around, which gave the audience a clear view of what they were doing to create the music. At a time when electronic music acts tend to rely on obscurity and privacy live (see: Daft Punk, Chemical Brothers, et al), it was refreshing to see a group making their music out in the open rather than behind a screen. Hopefully, the next time Simian Mobile Disco comes around will be in a venue big enough so that it doesn't seem like the performance takes place inside a supernova. (Seriously, it was really bright.)
Signing Choir is the solo effort of Joey King, bassist for the Chicago glam-/psych-pop outfit The M's. The Choir's self-titled debut, to be released this week on Brilliante, is the culmination of of five year's worth of sideline songwriting and recording. Left to his preferences and devices, King cozies into low-fidelity space quite comfortably and furnishes it well; exploiting the four-track, bedroom recording aesthetic to maximum effect. Throughout there's plenty of fuzzy and bottom-heavy riffs, amplifier hum, and the grain of the voice cloaked in varied degrees of distortion.
Despite these deliberate rough edges, King proves himself an astute craftsmen when it comes to tailoring his songs with subtle, contrasting sonic details. He gravitates toward a post-mod mish-mash of pop stylings, and the Signing Choir sound is more pointedly "rockish" (in an early-90s college-radio way) than the Anglophilic hookiness of The M's usual material. He cranks things into bouncy mode on "Comb Your Hair" and "The Beths," and King proves himself consistently pop-savvy in the offing. But in its later stretch, the album settles into more shadowy terrain that's reminiscent of the shoe-gazing languidity of Dinosaur Jr. -- moody and ruminative, it's the sound of thoughts and feeling turning themselves over to see how their undersides fare against the light of day.
Brilliante Records and Schubas will be host a record release party for the Signing Choir CD this Saturday night, with Signing Choir -- featuring King with friends and The M's guitarist Robert Hicks -- headlining. Rock Plaza Central and Casey Dienel are on the opening bill, and DJ LA*Jesus will be spinning some tunes between sets. 3159 N. Southport. 10pm, admission is $8.
What was it that André Breton said in one of his Surrealist manifestos, that "Beauty will be compulsive, or not at all"? Or wait…maybe he said that it would be convulsive. It's been misquoted so often that I can't remember which it is. But anyway, nevermind -- it's neither here nor there. For the Chicago band The Bird Names, the answer is that it will be both.
The Bird Names are about to release their third album, Wooden Lake/Sexual Diner, and chances are this is the first you're hearing about them. They've been around for about four-plus years, and have been playing in lofts and art spaces and clubs around town since the start. At first, they changed their own name many times over; and have had a number of members, friends, and valued contributors pass through their ranks all the while. On some evenings there's only a core group of about four or five people on stage when they play, on others so many of their extended family show up and join in that they can barely fit everyone on the stage. Sometimes they play plugged-in and very loudly, and on some occasions they perform much more subdued acoustic sets.
For some time now, Marvin Tate has been keeping a diminished profile on the local music scene. As of this month, that appears to have finally ended.
Those who've been around a while might recall his appearances at the Hot House and other venues around town with his former bands Uptighty and Marvin Tate's D-Settlement, or they might know him as a denizen of the city's spoken-word circuit. Since the break-up of D-Settlement, Tate has spent the past few years dwelling of the periphery; but now he's returned with Family Swim, his debut CD as a solo artist.
What's all this about "cultural imperialism," eh? Okay, granted -- there's been no shortage of exoticist fetishization afoot in the ping-ponging of intercultural exchange over the years. But fortunately for all involved, the global village does provide for two-way traffic. Case in point: the Chinese surf-rock combo Red Chamber. When they first started up in the 1960s, the music they played was most likely not what Chairman Mao had in mind for toeing the "party" line of the Cultural Revolution. Hail, hail decadent and politically-incorrect Western influences! And "Bali Hai" while you're at it.
Red Chamber (not to be confused with these gals) reportedly went on a long hiatus sometime in the 1970s, eventually resurfacing over two decades later to give the whole thing another go. The recent CD Red Chamber Brings You The Mao Sound, released on the locally-based Far East Audio label, gives a good taste of the band's repertoire. The disc features one track from a vintage bootleg cassette by the band, another from a live performance from a festival in Penang circa 1971, and five others recorded during a more recent set cranked out in the studios of WZRD in 2005.
While a few tunes sport occasional, fleeting moments where the musical traditions of the band's homeland sneak in, there's largely no sense of wonky east-west mutational "fusion" to be found. It's an elegantly rocking affair, one that recalls The Ventures at their best. And when they swerve slightly off-path, the rewards are plentiful. "Edo Lullaby" features some expansive guitarwork that's distinctly psychedelic in its spaciousness. And dig the Link Wray-styled bluesy strut undergirding the otherwise brisk "Flushing Face, Smiling Heart (Slow Soul)."
Or just go see Red Chamber for yourself when they will be playing at The Hideout this Thursday evening. Chicago lounge-folk-popsters Can.Ky.Ree open. 9pm show. Tickets $7 in advance, $8 the day of. 1354 W. Wabansia.
About a year ago I wrote an article previewing an Arks' show for Machine Fest 6 and made statements like, "Arks are abstract, they play loud, they drift off into the ozone, they beg heaven and hell to collide. Influenced by Sonic Youth, the Aframes,Brianiacand Guided By Voices, Arks are threatening to be one of those bands that go where few bands have gone before," and "drifting into a heavy abyss of driving volume, fiery beats and wilting guitars via mesmeric, cranky soundscapes, Arks push the limits of sound but without alienating their audience." Taking a listen to The International, the band still has all that. The bands find a tight studio sound to mix with a gritty, explosive live presence.Today the Arks drop The International the band's first full length on High Wheel Records. After a few listens to the new album head to Subterranean on Thursday to see them live at their CD release party with epic local band sally and up-and-comer Pyrite. Cheap show at $7, 18 plus and start time is at 9 p.m.
The Gloss: Maybe you missed it or maybe you were one of a handful that didn't, but back in April the Ukrainian Village-anchored Permanent Records -- Chicago's hot new indie record store -- stepped up their game and launched their own label. What did they choose for their flagship offering? To put out an LP wax pressing of An Ethereal Oracle, the self-released sophomore CD by the Columbia, Missouri outfit Warhammer 48K. It's now available on 18-mg virgin vinyl, featuring a limited-edition gatefold sleeve with full-color artwork. The folks at Permanent were nice enough to send Gapers Block a copy, which eventually found its way into my hands, so a review is definitely in order…
As reported last week, the Empty Bottle was hosting a weekend-long shindiggity series of afterparty shows to coincide with the Pitchfork Fest. The cornucopia spilled over, proved too much for yours truly to take in to its fullest. And while there's nothing like a "scene report" thing to rub your face in the business about the party that you missed, couldn't get into, etc., this one leaves plenty of room for reciprocal nyeh-nyeh payback…
Last night, while having some casual drinks at Simon's Tavern, I stumbled upon something a little bit marvelous. It's B1g T1me, a cover band beyond all cover bands. See, they're not about sounding just like your favorite band from the '80s, they're about sounding like Tom Waits covering your favorite band from the '80s — and believe me it's a shot of sweet brown wonderful. I heard rousing, gravelly, Waitsian renditions of Sir Mix-a-lot's "Baby Got Back", Tom Petty's "Don't Come Around Here No More" and Journey's "Wheel in the Sky" (and of course, the band's namesake "Big Time" by Peter Gabriel) beat on garbage cans, rocked on accordion and vibes, earnestly delivered and gleefully received by the bar-goers. It's quite something to hear the one-hit-wonders of your youth transformed into dark, tortured, angry fist-shaking melodies. In fact, there's something quite pleasing about it all — as if the true angst of your hormone-soaked and pop infused teen years is finally realized in B1g T1me's performance.
They're always looking for new song suggestions, so let them hear from you at their MySpace page, or at their next show at Quenchers on July 18th (there's no cover).
Between them, they have more than a century of musicmaking. While their exposure on stations such as WXRT certainly has exposed them to an audience that wouldn't ordinarily look for them outside a Baptist choir stand, much less in one, the roots of The Blind Boys of Alabama and Chicago's own Mavis Staples (whose latest album was reviewed earlier) are in the gospel tradition, and they settled into it last night and got comfy in it.
With an enthusiastic audience on hand, the Blind Boys swung their way through their Grammy-winning efforts, highlighted by a rollicking, extended effort which entailed vocalist Jimmy Carter shrugging off his guide and going up and down the aisles on the main floor. "If you want to clap, stand up, tap your foot, go right ahead," we were extolled, and the crowd responded by doing all of the above.
Mavis, by contrast, took the crowd to church in another way. By simply talking with the audience, she masterfully slowed the vibe down and delivered with a few secular songs mixed in with the church exhortations. "I'll Take You There" sounded at home with "Jesus Is On The Main Line," and so forth. Her voice, from its bottom up, was clear and controlled as she controlled the mood of the room, never getting ahead of the vibe of the audience, who, while poised to take it back to church, was just as happy to sing along to pretty much everything she sang.
All in all, an awesome concert by people who've been doing this kind of thing for a while, evoke emotion from the audience, and have the skill in singing to have the room up on their feet after the final note. A masterful concert by two giants of gospel.
The Moonstation House Band album has a soft sound reminiscent of Electric Warrior. Surely not coincidentally, David Vandervelde has often been compared to Marc Bolan for his distinct fluttery vocals and guitar-playing. (However, Vandervelde is far too shy to garner comparisons to Bolan's brashness.) And so with that in mind, it was a small shock at Darkroom on Saturday when Vandervelde sounded more southern rock than anything resembling early glam-rock. Although, it should be noted that Vandervelde has mentioned in interviews that he prefers to not mirror the album's arrangements live. As three-minute songs stretched into jams lasting over eight, it was clear that the David Vanderveldes in the studio and in front of a crowd are two different performers. Strings, synthesizers, organs, and anything else on The Moonstation House Band not percussion, guitar, or bass were dropped. The airy riffs on "Jacket" were chunky and the breezy "Feet of a Liar" became harsh. Fortunately, this isn't some fad that Vandervelde (along with Richie Kirkpatrick and Derek James) hasn't thought out. The songs still worked, just not in the same way that they do on the album. In the end, though, the variation's just another example of the talent that Vandervelde has in store for listeners.
I say this with all love and admiration, but damn if lead singer of Apostle of Hustle Andrew Whiteman doesn't look like some cross between a flamingo and a Fraggle on stage. Maybe it's his mop of curly hair and the way he hops around the stage with his guitar for each song, or maybe it's just because he seems to honestly enjoy what he's doing so much as to seem other-worldly, but damn, he's entrancing. I first saw Whiteman playing with fellow Canadians Broken Social Scene at last summer's Lollapalooza, where he would crouch down between every song or two and take long swigs from a bottle of red wine. Later, he used the bottle as a slide on his guitar. (Yup, I fell a little bit in love with him that day.) In his current side project, Apostle of Hustle, Whiteman is still fun to watch, though he was sipping from a small glass of dark liquor last night, not the vino.
The last show I saw at the Vic was the strange pairing of indie buzz magnet Patrick Wolf and queen diva of the moment Amy Winehouse. Although I missed his set, the sheer amount of people entering as late as I was that night (albeit unplanned on my part) seemed to show a general disinterest in their off-kilter choice of opener. Tonight, with last year's soft psychadelia explorers Grizzly Bear opening for this year's "Most Likely to Be Co-Opted By Your Mom" artist Feist, I worried for a repeat.
As a pleasant surprise, the crowd seemed to know and enjoy the G-Bear, follwing them through stand-out track "Knife", sea shanty cover "Deep Blue Sea", and their heavily blogged Crystals cover "He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)". The band was well-received, and set the energy level nicely for Feist to hop on and ride.
Although a huge gap of time in between the bands killed that momentum pretty stone dead, the eventual appearance of the skinny Canadian girl raised a ruckus and fixed all shuffle-foots in attentive poses. Leslie sang wonderfully and had a top-notch group of multi-instrumentalists keeping her extra golden. Most fun though, was Feist's audience banter and interaction - a short checklist of her sense of humor:
~ Beginning the night by only singing her banter
~ Turning the audience into a three-part harmony note
~ Making loops of herself imitating birds
- Reading someone's graduate paper on hair follicles on stage
~ Busting out a tap-dancer in lieu of Gonzales on piano for her solo guitar bit.
Amidst all the showmanship, Feist seemed to be honestly touched by the fans, which is nice to see half-way through the tour. Whether it was for GB drummer's hometown show or just sheer love, both performers gave big ups to "Cheeee-cago!"
drizadjective1: the state of being intoxicated by substances of illegal or legal nature 2: feeling elated to the point of frenzy and/or public urination. see also drizholler
In what was one of the most ambitious billings of the Empty Bottle's event series hosted by the Hyde Park Art Center, the Philadelphia rap crew Plastic Little played inside of the Speaker Project this past Friday evening. Sadly, audience turnout was somewhat on the lighter side. Something about venturing down to the Southside proved too much of a hike or a challenge for too many folks. Possible deterrent number two: The event was at an Art Center instead of a club, meaning that no drinks were being served. Sorry, folks — it's a BYOB affair. So the early part of the evening involved the ebb and flow of attendees arriving and then re-arriving with six packs in tow, scattering out into the neighborhood in search of a package store, their paths crossing as they wandered the surrounding blocks, sometimes packing in groups in the course of the quest. Juan Chávez, the artist responsible for the Speaker Project, was there with some gear to record the evening's events and a smile that didn't leave his face for the rest of the night.
Sunday was by far the strongest day of this year's festival, featuring a wide variety of styles and some of the biggest draws. Since most of those draws were aging veterans, when I looked up at circling birds I often was relieved to see that they were only seagulls and not vultures. It was a day to enjoy the gritty showmanship of old-school acts, at the same time musing about how their shoes will be filled.
This week sees a pair of events celebrating the release of the new album from two Chicago jazz titans, tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson and percussionist Hamid Drake. Entitled From The River To The Ocean, the album was recorded by John McEntire at Soma Studios and it's a full-ensemble affair that features outstanding accompaniment from multi-instrumentalist Harrison Bankhead of 8 Bold Souls affiliation, bassist Joshua Abrams, and AACM guitarist Jeff Parker (of Tortoise, Chicago Underground Quartet, et al.) who steps in for three of the album's five tracks. Tuesday night, the full ensemble will be playing at an RSVP event at the headquarters of Stop Smiling magazine. The performance will be hosted by local author, curator, and musician John Corbett, who'll be conducting a public q&a with the band throughout the set. And on Wednesday night, the band will playing a regular evening set at Anderson's Velvet Lounge.
Saturday was in general the weakest day of a very strong festival lineup, but the lineup included some veteran performers who seemed to me to illustrate some contentious issues in blues music today. I caught Jimmy "Duck" Holmes at the Mississippi Juke Joint Stage (sadly I arrived too late to catch Alvin Youngblood Hart, one of my favorite young artists). He’s an idiosyncratic player from the so-called “Bentonia school", so named because Skip James, its pre-eminent stylist, was from that town. Whether Bentonia really fostered a distinct style is a bone of contention among musicologists, but it’s really only important to them anyway. The crowd here yelped and howled its approval for Holmes’ dronerrific single-key tunings, with songs that seemed mostly improvised lyrically. To my ears, it sounded a bit same-y after a while, but his reading of “Mystery Train” was a quite interesting deviation from the Junior Parker arrangement, given a more mournful quality while retaining the train rhythm context. Holmes is a perfect artist for a festival – he represents a living artifact, and presents a style that is slowly disappearing, true “folk” blues, not structured by commercial recording demands or radio airplay considerations. He’s not an artist for blues rookies, though – he’s more what I would call an acquired taste, which requires close listening for subtle variations in tone and rhythm, much more of a troubadour than a guitarist, and at times it’s hypnotic. He’s played each day of the fest, and will play one more time on Sunday.
XRT host and blues fest emcee Tom Marker made a joke during Friday night's festivities that only in the blues can you be over 50 and still be considered part of the young generation of artists. It's an interesting paradigm, and not altogether untrue. Despite the passing of most of the "first generation" blues stars, blues has been and continues to be a genre whose fans are developed over long periods of time, longer than the entire career of most rock artists. In blues parlance, to make it you have to "pay your dues", gain respect, and eventually you can join the ranks of the artists with broad fan base. This is true enough that it's become cliche, but it also has advantages -- no popular blues artist will ever be "hot" in the way that, say, the Fray are right now, but on the other hand, there's an opportunity for fans to develop a long-term relationship with any blues artist's work, and fandom in the blues features more loyalty than anywhere this side of Cubdom.
Last night and last Friday night, two veritable giants of the jazz world visited Symphony Center as part of the CSO's '06-'07 jazz season. Neither legend disappointed, and closed the season on a high note.
Dave Brubeck and his Quintet was last week's top billers, and the house was sold out. McCoy Tyner, last night's attraction, didn't get nearly as many butts in seats, but swung hard anyway. Tyner's performance ended the CSO's season, which will introduce its awesome '07-'08 session with Herbie Hancock, who will open Jazzfest.
The first day of the Blues Fest didn't blow me away except in the literal sense (gusts of up to 40 miles per hour plagued the performances and seemed to impact sound quality).
[A review from reader and former Transmission staffer Dan Snedigar, who was lucky enough to see Wilco last night at Northwestern.]
Rare is the opportunity these days to see Wilco, unquestionably one of the most influential bands of the past decade, in a small space with a small audience. Friday night, in what amounted to a paid warm-up for their upcoming European and American tours, frontman Jeff Tweedy and company turned in a solid two-hour performance in front of a small, young, but generally receptive audience at Northwestern’s A&O Ball in the campus’ Patten Gymnasium.
The pace started at a slow burn with three selections from the band’s new album Sky Blue Sky, set to release on Tuesday, May 15. "Impossible Germany", "Sky Blue Sky," and "You Are my Face" showcased the laid back, almost retro feel of the new album. Solid selections from 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and 2004's A Ghost Is Born livened things up, and showcased Tweedy’s now cigarette-free voice which sounds better than it has in years, perhaps ever. "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart", which has become something of anthem, perked up the crowd of NU undergrads, most of whom were likely listening to Barney when the song was debuted on stage. Solid re-interpretations of songs such as "Poor Places" and "Pot Kettle Black" featured new arrangements that keep them fresh even after the mileage that the band has gotten out them over the past few years.
After closing with "I’m the Man", the band came back for an extended set of encores including "War on War", "Jesus, Etc." and "Kingpin", the deepest cut from their growing catalog. The band returned to the stage once more with an inspired "The Late Greats", the crowd-pleasing "Heavy Metal Drummer", and another track from Sky Blue Sky, "What Light".
Wilco is currently touring with its longest-lived lineup in the history of the band. This band has obviously learned to play well together, and Tweedy's improved health seems to be paying off in terms of his voice. The intimate confines and small crowd were a throwback to a time that never was; transposing their current powerhouse lineup to the late 1990s or 2000, before the release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
While critics have loved Sound of Silver, fans have been grumbling about the album's lack of anthems that made LCD Soundsystem's debut album a great collection of DFA-produced singles. Hopefully, the naysayers were at Metro last night to witness a performance that brought out the best from those songs and actually got some people to dance. (One of my biggest gripes with Chicago audiences is that they we don't dance too much, at least compared to many other towns where I've been a concertgoer.)
So what was it that made songs like "North American Scum" and "Us v Them" really come alive live? Well, for one thing, nobody outside of, like, Konono No. 1 does live percussion as well as LCD Soundsystem. The five multi-instrumentalists that made up James Murphy's backing band all took a stab at percussion at some point during the 80-minute show. Whether a cowbell or conga, each percussive element nicely complemented top-notch and tight musicianship from everyone onstage throughout the evening. Hot Chip's guitarist Al Doyle was a notable hired gun that made up for James Murphy's calmness with his frenzied play on both guitar and percussion. (Murphy at one point remarked that if he were in attendance, he'd be in the balcony because that's "where the old guys go.")
Unfortunately, LCD Soundsystem doesn't seem to understand the concept of ending on a high note. The frantic version of "Yeah" that brought the house down perhaps should've closed the set, but not even a cover of Joy Division's "No Love Lost" could electrify the crowd again. Ending the encore was the serene "New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down." However they ended the show, though, should not take away from the sonic majesty that was unloaded during the peaks. If you missed last night, they'll be back at Lollapalooza on August 4.
The Chicago Symphony Orchestra should be commended for allowing as much jazz as they do. For a genre whose vital signs are either in decline or stronger than ever (depending on who you ask), they always attract artists with something to prove and who bring their best to an appreciative audience.
Last night, Roy Hargove brought an impressive array of musicians to Symphony Center, and showed the fire and command of the trumpet that first got him discovered by Wynton Marsalis.
If you're familiar with Art Brut, then you know that the band met with a lot of buzz when they released their first album, Bang Bang Rock And Roll, about a year ago. As often happens with new bands, many music fans are already wary as to the merits of the hype. That, however, did not prevent Friday’s show at Subterranean from selling out well in advance. And those buying tickets and attending were not, by and large, curious-but-cautious trend-jumpers or fickle, fair-weather fans. Rather they were there because they like the band, they like good music. To demonstrate the latter point, the crowd proved very receptive and enthusiastic about welcoming Chicago’sJai-Alai Savant, the sole band on the opening bill.
One of the more unfortunate things about popular music today is the extreme hype that some artists receive before they've done much of significance. Even one-trick ponies get nods because they could be a big deal when they work outside of the box. Really, who doesn't want to be first on the bandwagon? And that's what leads to a band like Klaxons selling out Schubas months in advance. (I suppose it's also what leads to free shows in trendy fashion stores.) They played a terribly mediocre and sloppy set that couldn't even ignite the spirits of those who bought into "new rave" and dressed as if it were 1990 in Manchester. Their lethargic demeanor did nothing to help win over anyone who'd been on the fence about them. The poor play of one of their best songs ("Atlantis to Interzone") was the first signal that Monday just wasn't their night to impress. The steady walkout appeared to confirm the crowd's discontent. Only "Magick" near the end of their 45-minute set seemed to show any signs of life. And even that was too little too late for many in the audience.
It's always kinda nasty at the divey Ronny's, but it was COLD and nasty as this quartet from North Carolina hit. Everyone in the audience and the band (except the frenetic drummer) kept their coats on, and the bass player even kept his gloves on. Nonetheless, they managed to pull off a twangy Jonathan Richman (or was it the Pixies doing country rock?) impression for 45 minutes, with smart melodies and tart lyrics. To their benefit, the arrangements were a little more raw than the recorded versions you can listen to on their MySpace page. The room at Ronny's actually resembles a garage, with overhead doors lining either wall, so it's appropriate that the show should have a little garage in it. The stage show could have been a little more energetic, but I don't blame 'em if they were a little frozen. They did close with a stunningly beautiful song that featured 3 part harmonies before it crashed its way to a cataclysm of guitars. This is a band with promising songs that could use a little polishing, particularly in terms of the stage energy, but lyrically and musically they’re interesting enough to keep an eye on.
It's to no small degree of anticipation that Chicago's The Jai-Alai Savant released its debut LP, Flight of the Bass Delegate, this past week. Equally due to the take-notice served with prior EP Thunderstatement and to frontman Ralph Darden's sidework as DJ Major Taylor, the band has netted a fair amount of attention, both here and elsewhere. And here's to making a grand entrance.
By way of an opener, Jai-Alai get things rolling in a dark and heavy mode with "Datamassagana" — a tune that plays off both the title and primary melodic riff from The Abyssinians' classic Trench Town devotional, "Satta Massa Gana." The track's swollen, plaintive horn chorus sets a haunting, ominous tone for what’s to follow, its skulking bassline connoting dread in both senses of the word. No sooner does it fade, then the band strips gears by launching into a whiplash-inducing trio of tunes of punk-pedigreed pop. This back-and-forth manner of navigating between styles — from rock to dub and then back again — plows a twisting path, lending the album a varied sense of balance and pacing.
Ever listen to an album and feel like you should be wearing a certain something to make the experience, y'know, complete? Case in point: The new self-released CD-R, ZOO13, by the Chicago garage-pysch outfit Monkey Sun. Somehow it makes me feel like, in order to get the full effect, I should be wearing a set of vintage Italian wraparound shades — like the sort that Marcello Mastroianni wore in The 10th Victim, maybe.
CocoRosie "The Adventures of Ghosthose & Stillborn"
Touch and Go Records
If Yoko Ono produced a CD with Enya and Bjork, with new arrangements of songs by Tori Amos, featuring old-school hip-hop beats and scratching, "The Adventures of Ghosthose & Stillborn" is pretty much what it would sound like. If that sounds like your thing, then go for it. To me, it's the defnition of a concept gone awry, and even if I listen ironically, it's just not that entertaining -- perhaps the altered state of consciousness which led to this mess might help. This CD showed up sealed with a sticker reading, "This is a watermarked CD. By opening it, you agree to not copy, upload, share in any manner the contents of this CD." Uh, glad to oblige, hope it's okay if I use it as a coaster.
CocoRosie, the stage name of the wyrd sisters Casady, Bianca and Sierra, is a high-concept nightmare of sound. (Hey, PR person, I dare you to quote that out of context). The subject matter of the songs here seems to be a twisted fairytale, with sing-songy lyrics about very adult, violent subjects (rape, war, molestation). The songs all run together, like an opera (and there's some fairly pretentious operatic wailing on this record), but it seems to me that you'd need a libretto to explain what the narrative is supposed to be, since most of the vocals are incomprehensible, buried in the production with some sort of phasing filter, sounding appropriately like a shortwave radio distress call. ("Please, we're in dire need of a melody...")
I'm all down with bringing back musical styles from the 70s, but this sort of self-indulgent pretentiousness is what led to the punk/new wave revolt of the latter half of that decade. Hate to be a bummer, dude, but somebody should have stopped this project early on. Worse yet, the promo kit says "the whole record suggests a black diamond in the snow" -- um, okay...
"Ghosthorse & Stillborn" will be inflicted upon the world April 10. CocoRosie have dates booked from DC to California, including Chicago's Metro on May 12, taking gigs and column inches away from a lot of bands that actually play music. Bands like this are pretty much everything that's wrong with music today. Take today's dose of Lithium, wash it down with some cough syrup, rock back, and enjoy.
Presented as a small showcase for two unsigned bands that've been on radars lately, Chicago's Walter Meego and New York's Tigercity played Darkroom on Saturday to an excited crowd.
To counterpoint Dan M's take on Tigercity last week: From singer Bill Gillim's vocal style (a poor man's Bryan Ferry or Brandon Flowers, at times) to their slick ragtag look (exquisite popped collars, Michael Irvinesque tie knots) to the same beats underlying every song that dragged on just a bit too long, Tigercity came off as a Killers tribute band. In a live setting, the glossy sound that they yearn for was underwhelming as they trodded out riffs and bridges that all sounded vaguely familiar. ("Haven't I heard this before?" was a common saying during their 40-minute set.) Credit is due for taking advantage of a look and sound that's been popular, but substance still trumps style and Tigercity's faults lie in not making something original out of all that they borrow.
On the other hand, Walter Meego continues to develop and hone their sound as they prepare for the release of their first LP due later this year. Playing songs from the forthcoming album and last year's singles, the band put some spins on old arrangements and kept the crowd energized throughout the night.
"Get on in my Rub-A-Dub."
So exclaimed Ralph Darden of The Jai-Alai Savant last night, and the crowd complied. A small Thursday night crowd trickled in as The Silent Years worked their way through some whistling, multi-instrumental Andrew-Bird-esque inoffensive pop. By the time Jai-Alai took the stage, the crowd finally began to outnumber the sports fans crowded about the TVs in Schubas bar. With some great crowd-stirring speeches and pseudo-skankin' numbers like "Scarlett Johansson" inspiring painfully earnest dancing (which is a good thing), the stage was set for the New Yorkers to keep the energy up. Tigercity came out falsettos blazing, playing disco-slick pop that only further incited the dancers. Bill and Joel hit some pretty harmonies together, indeed worthy of Bee-Gees comparisons (also, in a good way). Despite a few points where they struggled to find pitch or spilled whiskey on their nice suit vests, Tigercity capped off an excellent evening with excellent bill-mates - not too shabby for a Thursday, boys.
(If you missed out, there's still another chance to catch the T-city boys: Saturday night at Darkroom they'll be playing with local loves Walter Meego. Check Slowdown for all the details!)
First off, who would have thought a hip-hop show could actually start EARLY?
Energized by a crowd that needed no warmup, Lupe Fiasco and the Roots rocked the Chicago Theatre last night for a four hour show. The capacity crowd was in full throat most of the evening, ignoring their assigned seats except for placing jackets and coats and sitting during the brief intermission.
Yet another wave of spring giddiness swept through Chicago last night and this time it wasn't about the weather. For a packed, sold out Metro, Athens GA's very own Of Montreal did what they do best: partied like it was 1969. But before the rowdy mass of Kevin Barnes-lovers could get their fix, local boys Walter Meego spun a few. Turntablist/laptopper Colin Yarck served the house some fresh beats while Justin Sconza meshed his guitar and synth play with emotive rave-up vocals and guitarist Andrew Bernhardt overlaid it all with squalling feedback. It was loud and intense and the audience response was as you'd think it would be for a dance-rock opener: dancing, screaming, and mingling. Dancefloor hit "Hollywood" and the more laidback "Through a Keyhole" highlighted the brief, but thumping, set.
After a long stage set-up, show poet laureate Thax Douglas came out on stage, accompanied by an Of Montreal rodie dressed in a black and gold Darth Vader suit, and read his "Of Montreal #3" which mentioned both paramecium cilia and dancefloor bimbos. Quite the perfect intro for Kevin Barnes. As expected, the whole crew's decour was a costume shop owner's wet dream: silk Japanese wear, over-sized Sgt. Pepper's-ish military dresses, and Rockette ruffled skirts were the norm, to say the least. Barnes himself went through three wardrobe changes throughout the set, consistently removing layers until his final getup was some kind of Baroque onesie. Musically, the set opened poorly as low sound quality made opener "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse" underwhelming to say the least. But things had a lot of time to get better as, including the encore, the entire show covered roughly 20 songs spanning the entire Of Montreal oeuvre, which is a lot of space for a band that's been putting out records for 10 years. Favorite moments included: Barnes mounting a decorative ladder to take on the guise of a giant crooner for "Gronlandic Edit," a Norwegian flag prop malfunction as keyboardist Dottie Alexander tried to pass it off to the crowd during a pro-Scandanavian tune, the surpising crowd sing-a-long to "Bunny Ain't no Kind of Rider," and the shocked then delighted face of bassist Matt Dawson as he realized the projectiles from the audience that almost hit him at one point in the show were, in fact, two bras. This last moment, coupled with the man and woman-handling Barnes got every time he neared the edge of the stage, definitely drove home the point that Of Montreal are at a point where they seemingly can't miss. Even the ridiculously long and self-involved drone dance of "The Past is a Grotesque Animal" kept the crowd's attention and participation. After 10 years, it seems Barnes and his Sgt. Peppers ensemble have finally reached the status of rock gods.
[Posting for Kara, who's computer's a bit lo-fi today] TV on the Radio's March 13 show at the Metro was a Distortion Lover's Delight, with both opener and headliner featuring heavy, thorax-vibrating bass and plenty of arty-pop weirdness.
Opening band Subtle was anything but. The Oakland, Calif.-based band's set was largely a frenzied, theatrical free-for-all of dance beats and heavily orchestrated rhythms. MC Doseone, the rapping frontman, made for an interesting mix of Thomas Dolby-meets-Mike Patton-meets-Elton John, though he often got mired in his own props. C'mon — how many skulls can a man reasonably use during one set?
After a lengthy set-up, TV on the Radio's entrance was marked by guitarist/singer Kyp Malone's awe-inspiring afro/facial hair combo (facefro?). Cue crowd going wild, and the band immediately kicked off their set. Songs from their new album, Return to Cookie Mountain, held up onstage as well as they do on the record — an impressive feat, considering their penchant for the odd, often hypnotically discordant harmonies by Malone and singer Tunde Adebimpe. Adebimpe, who was all hips and flailing arms, whipped the crowd into a dance-a-thon with what amounts to TVOTR's most radio-friendly hit, "Wolf Like Me." Equally effective was their ability to rework songs from their older albums, creating something unrecognizable until the lyrics began. "Satellite" became a punk tune, while "The Wrong Way" dug in its rockabilly heels. Members of Subtle and the stage crew joined TVOTR for their encore numbers to great effect, lending both a lusher percussive element and a certain wildness onstage.
Do you have any idea how lucky we are to live in Chicago and have had the chance to see Jon Brion thrice in less than nine months? After years of being tied to a weekly residency in Los Angeles, he's now graced our city with three excellent performances that have astounded crowds. Known more for his work with others than his own, he's had an opportunity to show our city what all the fuss is about. Whether at Steppenwolf or the Hideout, Jon Brion is simply an extraordinary live performer. Read below for reviews of his two shows this past weekend.
What has the band Tears for Fears done for you? Besides coloring your 80s existence, they also discovered a talented singer named Oleta Adams. After taking flight on Tears for Fears' second album, The Seeds of Love, Oleta released her critically acclaimed debut, Circle of One in 1990. Casual music fans remember her single, "Get Here," which propelled the album to gold status. After that initial success, her next albums couldn't keep her in the limelight, and she has branched out in recent years to gospel and Christmas efforts.
On Saturday night, with local radio luminary Richard Steele in the audience, Oleta gave an appreciative capacity crowd her best. Accompanied by her husband playing drums and a young bass player, Oleta sang and played the upright piano and keyboard. With a voice range that eclipses quite a few of today's popular singers, she blazed through two sets, with the second being noticeably more energetic. Not coincidentally, she chose to take it back to basics, as she showcased her gospel chops with a blazing rendition of "Sing My Song," an ode to her minister father, which melted perfectly into the church standard "Since I Laid My Burden Down."
If a great talent doesn't sell, is their talent any less? Oleta Adams proves that, even with sparse commercial production (six albums in 16 years), truly great talent doesn't abandon the artist; it's just harder to find those with talent.
Scandanavia has been making the indie music scene all hot and bothered for the last couple of years. Under Byen, The Concretes, Jens Lekman, Peter Bjorn and John, Love is All, and The Sounds are just a few from that seemingly never-ending list of blog-buzzed bands originating from around the Baltic. Last year, Sarah Assbring (real last name) rocketed up that list with a bang as her first stateside LP, the self-titled El Perro Del Mar, brought her soft pop adoration. What with this stage name translating into "the sea dog" and her sound combining the best of '50s radio and '60's doo-wap, I have always imagined her as a fan of traditional dance number "Salty Dog," not just because Cat Power's cover paved the way for indie buzz but also because of its throwback sensibility - it's just a classic number that seems to fit a deserving chanteuse. I had noticed her small US tour would include Chicago and so I set up shop at Lakeshore Theater last night to see how the American '50s would sound through the experience of a 21st-century Swede.
Growing pains don't just refer to the shenanigans of Kirk Cameron and Alan Thicke in the mid-'80s or about that time you woke up at age 9 with terrible affliction in your legs. Though both of these may be relevant, more likely the term describes the struggles to move through life events that's part and parcel of this oh so modern age. Chicago's very own The Narrator are weathering through some growing pains of their own: guitarist & vocalist Jesse Woghin, co-founder of Flameshovel Records, now plays bass for Chin Up Chin Up as well as his Narrator duties, and current drummer Kevin Vlack is brand new, filling in for former drummer Nate Heneghan who left the band last year. Saturday night's show at The Hideout also marked just the second time the band had performed live in almost six months so I was interested to see how these growing pains would transfer to the stage.
Any given night in this wide city of ours, someone hits a couple of licks on a guitar or blows a bit into a harmonica or does a pickup on the drums and thinks about the blues.
Tuesday night was a great opportunity to see purveyors of the art give both grateful listeners and potential sidemen a chance to appreciate the music, as Lil Ed and the Blues Imperials showed up at Bill's Blues in Evanston to promote their latest album Rattleshake.
First off, the show was delayed by the appearance of a bar employee in the CBS show "The Unit." Many people walked in at the supposed show time, saw a roomful of people watching the projector screen, and promptly walked out. They missed a helluva show, if they bothered to come back.
While the show was an hour late in starting, it wasted no time in moving people's asses in their seats. The band spent the next hour and a half rocking and imploring the audience to a challenge. "We'll do requests," Lil Ed implored. "If we know em, we'll play em. If not, we'll do em anyway."
After the initial set, the band invited some local players to come and join in a mostly electric jam session, with harmonica and trombone joining the ensemble on stage.
All in all, a great evening of music. They'll be at B.L.U.E.S. and Buddy Guy's Legends in mid-March, so there's still a chance for y'all who didn't make the trek up to Evanston last night to catch what should be a crowd-pleaser.
I can't tell you exactly why Los Angeles-based Under the Influence of Giants didn't get more attention than they did last summer, when "Mama's Room" was all over MySpace like the disco-rock version of ForBiddeN. Maybe it was because they didn't wear as much vinyl.
I have a better theory, though, and it's sort of counter-intuitive. I think it's because they're on Island. It's hard to trust a band that sounds like UTIOG when they're signed to a major. It's like that terrible fall of 2003, when like, corduroy jackets and Ramones t-shirts became super fashionable. The world was suddenly full of women that for all the world looked like maybe they had something interesting to say, but then you'd look up from how good that Joy Division logo looked stretched across a push-up bra and listen to them prattle on about how much of a contribution Ross Robinson had made to The Cure* and realize that you'd been bamboozled by The Man once again.
To be classed a music legend, you can’t have greatness dulled by suckiness or even mediocrity. Also, if your mentor is a legend, you don’t get far by resting on your laurels and riding coattails.
Friday night, the Count Basie Orchestra and the Joey DeFrancesco Trio played to an almost capacity crowd at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. The Count Basie Orchestra has been in the business of swinging for years; Joey DeFrancesco is a student of Jimmy Smith, a titan of the Hammond B3 organ who passed away in late 2005.
Both guests are known for up-tempo arrangements, but the slower selections also accentuated the musicianship of the performers in the context of solos and in the group. Not to say that the up-tempo stuff disappointed; the solos fitted seamlessly, and the show rolled along quickly, clocking at just over two hours. All in all, a night where a jazz institution were in top form, and a player on the upswing of his career may have introduced himself to a new audience with a strong performance.
[Reader Larry Lamovec sent in this review of the Mission of Burma show at the Double Door last night. Thanks, Larry!]
"The old men can rock. This was true at the Mission of Burma show—and I'm not just talking about the band. The crowd at Double Door Friday night for the sold out show was bigger, older, and somewhat fatter than probably any show a righteous Wicker Park rocker is used to at the venue. But the crowd of old men and women, along some young men and women, loved what they heard. There was even a man present who was birthed around WWII time, with a long white beard and shiny scalp, pumping his head while the anthem Revolver filled the room. And that was quite refreshing.
"Mission of Burma members are older than Guns 'n' Roses but younger than the Rolling Stones, yet they laid down the rock harder, heavier, and much better than either band does presently, and more than most bands do anywhere.
No doubt competing with Morrissey for 2006's Most Dramatic Rock Performance in Chicago, the Dears last night turned in a stage show complete with fog, great lighting, and enough melodrama to last the rest of the year. Often drawing from their latest album, Gang of Losers, they played a tight set that delighted many in the average-sized crowd. (And because of the late start time, many had left by the encore.) It's difficult to take your eyes off of captivating frontman Murray Lightburn as he sings through a range of emotions, perhaps some invoked by his wife standing behind a keyboard ten feet away. Judging from the reactions in the crowd, this is a band that people either love unconditionally or easily lose interest in.
Opening the show was Chicago's Canasta, who've been gaining momentum since their We Were Set Up was released last fall. Bringing out a couple new (or long-hidden) songs gave them a freshness that's necessary as a local band. Their well-received set was quite deserved as they always seem to have fun at Metro.
With Chicago's one-and-only "circus punk marching band" hitting the studios to record their first ever EP Mucca Pazza: A Little Marching Band, one might fear that the spectacle might be lost once it gets burned to disc, but not so. What this nearly 30-member group of past and present marching band meets rock explosion creates in their 10-track offering is pure fun. Sure, you might have seen them on Conan last spring, or at Lollapalooza last summer (if you got there early enough), but if you just don't have any live Mucca Pazza to enjoy, this EP really brings it to the ole think box between your ears.
As the Decemberists' following has grown, so has the spectacle of their live shows. While organized audience participation can be fun, and it was certainly appropriate at last year's Intonation performance, it needs to serve the music, not the band's ego. Last night, in a non-festival venue, it felt too often like we were witnessing the latter, not the former.
That said, when the focus was on the music, Colin Meloy and his compatriots worked magic. Smartly ordering the title songs from their marvelous latest album, The Crane Wife, into a chronological suite, the Decemberists elicited shivers of heartbreak. There weren't many moments as perfect, although the first encore, "Red Right Ankle," was similarly sweet. Otherwise, the set list was generally upbeat, emphasizing the more raucous aspects of the band's repertoire: "July, July!," "16 Military Wives," "Oh, Valencia," etc. At one point, Meloy launched into a crowd-inspired cover of the Clash's "Waiting for the Clampdown," a moment he said he was sure to regret.
But it all culminated in "A Cautionary Tale," which featured several band members snaking through the crowd, playing elementary school percussion (tambourine and the like). Fine until they stopped to re-enact a battle a la Tolkien, recruiting bystanders to act as fellow elves and so on. Where that came from, I haven't a clue, but its grand-scale arbitrariness left a sour taste. Metblogs loved it, but the Decemberists weren't always about the Apocalypse. Without them, who'll sing of rent-boys on the bus mall or dreams of being an architect?
Recent interviews with the Rapture have stressed how chipper the band is these days. That effervescent joy was on display at the Metro last night, as the four-piece rollicked through songs from their latest, Pieces of the People We Love, and back catalog. While rarely transporting, the show was never dull and always good-natured. Luke Jenner and Matt Safer kept things fresh by trading off on lead vocals, but the pair came together at various points to choreograph the crowd's cheerleading moves. The upbeat spirit even manifest in a kiss-in: audience members were instructed to be brave and turn to plant one on their neighbor's cheek.
If this sounds a bit earnest, well, it was, and happily so. The band's 2003 record, Echoes, was overcast with a paranoia that couldn't be realistically sustained after Pitchfork picked it as the album of the year. That gloom -- and the sullenness that might easily have accompanied it on stage -- have apparently been banished for sunnier sounds and dispositions. As band members danced around the stage, that they were having a good time was clear, and there's little more infectious in a performance, especially when accompanied by tight musicianship. The crowd -- not quite capacity; just the right size for a venue that sometimes feels over-full -- was game, and, by the time breakout single "House of Jealous Lovers" showed up in the setlist, there were hands pumping the air and bodies pogoing in time. In this house, however, there was clearly no time for jealousy. Brooding, it seems, is so three years ago.
Sydney's Presets opened and delivered the perfect companion set: good time electropop. Drummer Kimberley Moyes's shirt said, "The Kids Want Techno." They got it, and with a smile.
With so many bands recently reuniting after years apart, it's sometimes surprising to know who's never taken a break. The Pet Shop Boys have released new albums every few years since their debut, Please, in 1986. And while dance music is primarily a singles genre, their albums have stayed consistently good over the years. In support of their latest album, the politically-charged Fundamental, the Pet Shop Boys brought their show to the Chicago Theatre on Friday.
Entering the stage blended in among a series of lookalikes, Chris Lowe and Neil Tennant began their set with a new song ("Psychological") and an old hit ("Left to My Own Devices") for the overjoyed audience. Two dancers and three backing vocalists, two men and a woman, filled out the stage along with three large cubes/screens in the background for videos. While Neil Tennant sang and walked between the dancers, Chris Lowe barely moved from his synthesizer and laptop on the corner of the stage. In the second half after a 20-minute intermission, the set drew more from the singles that made the Pet Shop Boys. "Always on My Mind" and the "Where the Streets Have No Name"/"Can't Take My Eyes Off You" medley began a part of the show that resembled a club atmosphere. One new song, "The Sodom and Gomorrah Show", fit in well as they closed the performance with hits like "West End Girls", "It's a Sin", and their cover of "Go West."
The Pet Shop Boys may not have the stage presence of a Mick Jagger, Bono, or even Craig Finn, but they know their audience and how to play what they want to hear. Offsetting their mechanicality with dancers, club-like lighting, costumes, and videos, they at least know they're not much to look at. Luckily, they play well enough that it doesn't come off as a complete diversion from what's important.
On her album Alright, Still (more about that here), Lily Allen includes a track -- the cattily titled "Not Big" -- in which she puts down a fella for all manner of inadequacies, merrily singing "how would it make you feel if I said you that you never ever made me come?" Adding insult to injury, she taunts her erstwhile partner with plans to "work her way through all his mates." In other words, this is a girl that knows what she wants and how to get it. Last night at the Double Door, though, not much of that dynamo spunk was on display: although her performance was pleasant enough, Allen came off as bored and unfocused -- which is to say nothing of her band, who stood around chatting most of the time they weren't playing. She seemed to perk up on the occasional chorus; still, it wasn't clear if it was the live Lily who'd had a burst of energy or perhaps a recorded Lily there to lend a helping hand in the background.
Also not clear: whether we were supposed to care. Lily Allen is a one-trick pony, and it's a nice, sometimes clever trick, but there's no apparent substance behind it, and certainly there's no passion. She closed her set with "Alfie," a song indicting the laziness of a brother who can't get out of bed even at "nearly half past three." To her credit, unlike her layabout sibling, Lily Allen showed up. Asking more was obviously asking too much.
Last year, Ian MacKaye and his partner, Amy Farina, released a self-titled album as the Evens. While it wasn't much of a departure from Argument-period Fugazi, sonically, if not politically, it marked a paradigm shift from MacKaye's Minor Threat origins: out with the shouting, in with the whispering. Still, when the pair brought their folk-influenced rock to Pulaski Park Fieldhouse last night, MacKaye pointedly stated that this was to be a punk show. And that's what it turned out to be, if a punk show can be an utterly charming hootenanny based in vocal harmonies. It wasn't all singing softly, though; now and again, the big stick came out, and MacKaye went after the Bush Administration in both his banter and his lyrics. The crowd had clearly grown up with MacKaye -- rather than straight-edge Xs, these hands featured wedding bands -- but for a moment, on the sing-along chorus of album highlight "Mt. Pleasant Isn't," the show's punk ethic reached back for a punk sound. Wedding rings or no, there were fists in the air.
What's most remarkable about MacKaye is the egolessness of his performance; he banters with the crowd as a friend, not an idol, despite his seminal role in independent music for nearly three decades. His voice has been roughened by years in the "Waiting Room," and it makes a perfect complement for Farina's soulful alto; the music, too, is spare, but tight. The band plays another show tonight, Friday, the 13th (all ages, of course). Do yourself a favor, and spend the five bucks.
A concert-goer who saw Grizzly Bear at the Empty Bottle last fall could be forgiven for being confused by the apparent switcheroo that took place at the Metro last night: despite having the same line-up, 2005's incarnation of the band was an entirely different animal. Transforming what was essentially frontman Ed Droste's solo project into a four-man affair has had its effect. Unlike its somewhat shambling past, the band played its experimental soundscapes tightly, not to mention loudly. Drummer Chris Bear, of local origin, shouted out to "family and friends," and his homecoming was a triumphant one. Indeed, each member of the band impressed at various points -- multi-instrumentalist Chris Taylor even brought out a clarinet. But perhaps the biggest change was in Dan Rossen's role. As Droste made clear in an interview with Pitchfork, these days, Rossen writes and sings a good chunk of the songs, including some of the more affecting ones. Grizzly Bear still have some maturing to do in terms of presentation on stage -- while the music spoke for itself, they could have been more engaging -- but they've made significant strides in building a wall of sound on Droste's original brick. (The band opened for TV on the Radio, who played a typically passionate set. The pairing of these acts was actually rather inspired -- both venture into post-rock, but with different takes on the concept. While Grizzly Bear embraces folk influence, TVOTR hearkens back to soul. In other words, two great tastes that taste great together.)
Pit er Pat are one hard group to pin down. The Chicago-based trio, as led by keyboardist/vocalist Fey Davis-Jeffers, drummer Butchy Fuego and bassist Rob Doran (who, surprisingly, is also a founding member of emo punk group Alkaline Trio), churn out a deceptive mix of avant-rock, freeform jazz and indie rock. Their second full-length album, Pyramids, quietly begins with the jazzy “Brain Monster,” before launching into “Seasick (Hang Ten),” a chanty shanty featuring Davis-Jeffers’ simple, plaintive singing style against a rhythm of watery gurgles. Tracks meld into one another, creating a sonic landscapea format fitting to the Pit er Pat style of apparent “let’s just see where this takes us next” wanderings. Songs tend toward the ethereal — the band often gets comparisons to later Blonde Redhead — though Fuego and Doran lend a powerfully heavy hand on tribal thumps throughout. It’s a good tactic, and keeps the listener on his or her toes; these aren’t just songs you can space out to, but dance along with, if you’re so inclined.
Chicago's Headache City (Myspace) bring their gritty post-garage goodness to public radio Friday, contributing a remake of the hundred year-old American traditional "The Cat Came Back" to this week's episode of This American Life. TAL airs Friday at 7pm on WBEZ and will be available in streaming audio at their site shortly thereafter.
In the meantime, swing by Shit Sandwich Records and grab yerself a copy of Headache City's self-titled debut. Seamlessly blurring the lines between '60s garage soul and newfangled postpunk, with a dab of '80s new wave thrown in for good measure, Headache City comes off like cold PBR on a warm night with a hot girl--the music greaser teen motorcycle gangs would rock out on, if such kids existed anymore. El Goodo Audio's Robert Daniels deserves kudos for the way this record manages a greasy, sweaty swagger, even as the guitars ring clear, the vocals shine clean, and the drums always pound just so. Check out Headache City September 1st, when they headline at The Empty Bottle.
Chicago rapper Rhymefest (aka Che Smith) blasted onto the stage at Intonation back in June, but you might have heard him even before his debut album Blue Collar (J-Records) hit the streets as co-writer of Kanye West's Grammy-winning superhit "Jesus Walks". What shines through on Rhymefest's solo efforts is his intelligence and his desire to infuse his rhymes with a broad range of non-hip hop musical influences. Whether it's a bit of rhythm inspired by The Strokes' hit "Someday" or a collaboration on "Build Me Up" (a reworking of The Foundations' 1968 hit "Build Me Up Buttercup") with the late O.D.B., his tracks aren't what you're expecting. His lyrics reflect an intense need to speak for people in his Southside Chicago community. As he discussed on Chicago Public Radio's Sound Opinions program, songs like the amazing "Bullet" come out of a need to address "real issues" not just stories about bling. Rhymefest is not just the latest buzz in the hip-hop community, but he's one to watch for the way he's absolutely going to influence the music industry as a whole.
A raucous band of cellos. A tuba concerto. A double bass concerto. May is Low Register Month (you didn't know?), and the deep-voiced instruments are full of surprises and rare appearances. Plus, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra kicks off its Keys to the City piano festival. If you survive NATO and Mother's Day Brunch, come back for June.
Just in time to usher in days of sunshine and warmer weather, local trio 
Because I don't have cable television, I rely on my small movie collection to get me through those times when PBS doesn't deliver. A few weeks ago, I hauled out my copy of 
Photos by Stephanie Griffin
What attracted me to want to review Rob Mazurek's new Delmark release, sound is, was the all-star lineup of talent he had assembled. John Herndon on drums (
