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 have 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 had experienced something special. I've seen some great shows at some great clubs, but I do not 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 had 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.
When talking musical influences with Helen Money, it's easy to forget her instrument of choice: cello. She references Bob Mould's Beaster, with its wall of sound and intense, thought-obliterating guitar work. She speaks of The Who and all the crazy rock bands she was exposed to in the '80s. "The stuff I like sounds like life or death," she reasons. And this coming from a woman with a picture of Jimi Hendrix taped to her cello case like he's a saint.
Transmission is the music section of Gapers Block. It aims to highlight Chicago music in its many varied forms, as well as cover touring acts performing in the city.
Editor: Anne Holub, ash@gapersblock.com
Transmission staff inbox: transmission@gapersblock.com
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.
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 (
