- Doug Stephen in FOR FUCK SAKE EVERYONE KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE GOD DAMNED ACCORDIONS JESUS CHRIST Woah, okay Vice Magazine.
- Doug Stephen in Vampire Weekend - S/T I’ve never listened to a solo Paul Simon record, or to Graceland, so I don’t know about that. But the songs I’ve heard by Vampire Weekend...
- bjyhore in New Single: Patrick Wolf’s “Accident and Emergency” She had actually been robbed of it cant be cruel. Mistress. I could do. jennifer lopez porn Three.
Running the sound for a live band is one of those thankless jobs where it’s your assigned task to make yourself invisible. If you’re doing it well, no one notices you — everyone’s attention is focused on the music. But should you fail, you become very, very visible, and you do it very quickly.
I spent an awful lot of Ladytron’s 6/27 show at the Sonar acutely aware of the sound guy.
In fairness, I think they’re probably an extremely difficult band to mix live. The squealing, shifting synths and super-processed guitars that form the center of their sound seem like they’d be hard to get good separation on, especially given that the ‘tron refuse to use any sequencers and so every keyboard is actually being played live. Additionally, neither Helen Marnie nor Mira Aroyo are super-powerful vocalists, but the lyrics demand to be heard well enough to be understood. There’s an awful lot of information there crammed into the mid-range; the album that Ladytron are touring behind, Velocifero, is on my record-of-the-year shortlist, but it almost demands a high-definition sound system.
Anyway, I spent the whole first half of the concert listening to a lot of bass and not much else — “Ghosts,” the brilliant lead single, sounded like it was coming out a stairwell. It got a little better towards the end, but not enough. The problem was compounded by the fact that this was possibly the loudest show I’ve ever been to, and the speakers almost sounded like they were clipping; the Sonar is also a building with harsh, unfriendly acoustics even when it’s full, which it was.
The band looked impressive, with a seizure-inducing light show behind them that left them in silhouette much of the time. Most of the musicians stood almost unseen in the background (for some reason, keyboardist Reuben Wu didn’t even show for the gig), leaving all the focus on the two frontwomen. Aroyo, with her haircut straight out of Jane Austen and her full-length black Victorian-style dress, could have been modeling for a live-action version of The Corpse Bride, while Marnie gave the impression that she’d just walked out of one of those science-fiction miniseries where she’d be addressed as “Commandant” and utter vaguely threatening lines every time one of the protagonists was mentioned.
From what I could tell, they played well too, but the sub-optimal conditions mean that it’s harder to talk about that than the way they looked. The songs themselves are amazing, some of the best electronic music of the past decade in this one writer’s opinion, but they’re all heard to better effect on the records. One of the attractive things about live music is that the very fact that it’s live introduces an element of chance into the equation; sometimes, however, even the luckiest coin can land tails. Especially when you start noticing the sound people.
P.S.: Datarock look terrible with their shirts off. And that’s all I have to say about that.
… I indulged in the pleasure of seeing last Friday night Phil Lesh & Friends, that is, the bassist for the Grateful Dead and his new band. So in my years, particularly those within and immediately following college, I amassed a hefty knowledge for the Dead’s catalogue, and found Phil & Friends the Dead offshoot most likely to deliver the deep-cuts.
Friday night was, for the hard-core at least, a pleasure to behold. Of course, I don’t get the feeling that there are many visitors to this site of that ilk, so I’ll spare you the tales of the mind-fuck it was to hear ‘Viola Lee Blues > Big Boss Man > Viola Lee > About Cell Block #9 > Viola Lee’, and that was just the end of the first set.
Nor will I delve into Levon Helm’s opening set, which made a case for The Band’s endurance as the quintessential ‘American Band’ (never mind that they were Canadians, not counting Helm), and also the Grammy he scored for last year’s Dirt Farmer. But I didn’t come here to tell you about that…
I love deodorant, okay? The hippie contempt for hygiene was one of many things that I could never understand that would eventually turn me off of the scene. Seriously, my buddy and I stood next to a dude (he resembled a tattooed bean-sprout) who reeked so bad that I had to bum one of his own cigarettes to keep the funk at bay. There’s that, and the issues of remaining solvent and functional had something to do with my change of lifestyle. Nevertheless, I continue to like the music.
But across town at Schuba’s was something much closer to the mid-60’s Frisco scene from which the Dead sprang, and the hopeless Heads endlessly romanticize. I’m talking about a Mexican-American-psychedelic pop outfit that operates under the name of Alla’.
So a 1/2 hour after P&F closes, I stumble into the CD release party of Alla’s debut Es Tiempo, an impressive disc seven-years in the coming. Trust me, go see the very next show, listen to their music… not later, but now. The hybrid of mind flower noise, pop melody and Mexican folk may, on paper, seen like too much to handle, just as to read their instrumentations appears overwhelming… not so. It is disciplined w/o being sanitized, and is full of astonishing feats that don’t beg for attention. The guest string section, appearance by the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International, and the zillion other friends that provided musical muscle to the night’s set were recipe-perfect parts impact, body and balance.
The lyrics, I’m told, take on bold topics, but they are sung in Spanish and, without the benefit of a translation, uni-linguists such as myself are at a disadvantage. Still, listening to an opera in English is nary as powerful as that which is sung in foreign or even ancient tongue, and so too do Alla’s songs take on a mystical tone as sung in the members’ native language. It seems highly unlikely that the songs, were they sung in English, would have such a momentous affect. They are too pristine, veridical, captivating in a way that can only come from great vision and love for heritage without slavishness to the past.
But the unfortunate ethos of Now is to see a band because they’re about to be big. That may be the case with Alla’ (pronounced ‘Aie - ya’, means “over there”), but that’s not the reason to perk up. Go now because they’ll torque your mind and their show is a thing of beauty (which applies to their lead singer Lupe Martinez as well). Latin music tends not to be my thing, being exposed to it largely against my will from the open windows of passing cars, but this has nothing to do with that madrepore of commercial drek on La Ley. In the hands of the Ledezma Brothers, Martinez, and the many other members and guests, the Mexican folk traditions are particularly potent. Alla’ makes me want to know more about the source of their inspiration, and also the extent to which they take this extremely promising experiment.
And in an era where businesses and bands are trying everything they can to get the buyer’s attention w/ gimmicks, it’s refreshing to see a band doing so with pure music.
I am not referring to the fantastic Gogol Bordello, whom i just saw tear Milwaukee’s Turner Hall ballroom a fresh asshole. No. See, Gogol Bordello play gypsy music. An accordion is appropriate and mandatory for gypsy music. No, i’m talking to all of you god damned NPR-approved alt-country Americana indie-folk motherfuckers who strap a fricking squeezebox around your shoulders whether the music warrants it or not. YOU ARE NOT “ROOTSY.” YOUR BULLSHIT ACCORDION PLAYING IS A GODDAMN AFFECTATION.
I’m specifically referring to you, Dusty Rhodes and the River Band, who opened for Gogol Bordello tonight. You are bullshit. You and your “hey everyone! I’ve got a revolutionary idea! Let’s start an indie country band with like six band members and violin and accordion and other such non-traditional rock instruments! And we’ll act like we tour in a Volkswagon and bathe with patchouli! And we’ll grow mustaches and tour with Blind Melon!” (Fucking seriously? Blind Fucking Melon?) “Because there aren’t approximately 75,649 other bands doing the exact same thing!”
That shit where you name your band after a living legend of the National Wrestling Alliance, but don’t have a single lyric as beautiful as “I’m the man of the hour/too sweet to be sour?” BULLSHIT. That shit where you are nowhere near as pummeling as a bionic elbow? UNACCEPTABLE. That part where you actually said on stage “if we all believe, you, me, and Obama will legalize marijuana!“? Out of all the cocks in the room at that moment, sir, yours was the one screaming to be punched the most at that particular moment, you god damned hippie.
When you said, “I have good news and bad news. We have one more song…” i responded by yelling “what’s the bad news?” The dirty looks were worth it! (And besides, you really set yourself up for that one, you douche.)
The only way i could hate you more is if you called yourselves “Handsome Harley Race” and didn’t write a song called “Someone Take the Damn Money.”
But mostly, it’s the goddamned accordion. Seriously, people. You’ve taken a once-marginalized, quirky and underrated instrument–one that can be truly beautifully manipulated to express true and singular emotions–and made it boring. BORING. YOU TOOK AN INSTRUMENT THAT ONCE WAS ONLY SEEN IN POPULAR MUSIC IN THE HANDS OF “WEIRD AL” YANKOVIC AND MADE IT BORING.
HOW DID YOU DO THAT.
ALL OF YOU.
FUCK YOU.
DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE
Yeah, so that happened.
“Have you seen these guys before?”
“No, this is my first actually. You?”
“This will be my sixth.”
When someones goes to see a band multiple times over in different cities it usually means one of two things: the band is absolutely worth seeing that many times or that particular fan is insane and a complete moron (see any Phish fan ever). From what I gather from my first experience at an Avett Brothers concert, I believe the former takes the cake on this one.
This show was a lot of first for me actually. First Avett concert, first time at the Chicago House of Blues and first real show I’ve been to since my weekend at Lollapalooza (my schedule and bank account blow). Needless to say I was pretty excited to see one of my favorite bands and they did not disappoint. Scott Avett opened the show on the drums to do a much more energized version of “Die, Die, Die” and it was very evident the crowd was into it from the floor actually dipping beneath my feet from jumping.
Once all the technical difficulties of poor Bob Crawford’s bass rig was figured out the set went up and down in terms of the moods of the songs, but the energy remained high the whole time. Slow songs like “The Ballad of Love and Hate” had everyone involved and even the answers given to crowd interjections by Seth Avett showed that even in a big house they could make it a personal show.
Two new songs played off the upcoming album The Gleam II were highlights of the set. “Murdered in the City” was a coy little tune with lyrics like “I wonder which brother is better / Which one our parents loved the most / I sure did get in lots of trouble / They seemed to let the other go” which were paired with small looks from both brothers. The encore number of “My Heart’s Like a Kick Drum” was surprising for me since it was almost more of an old Ben Fold’s 5 tune than the normal Avett folk-punk style.
Little additions to the show like a cello player on a good number of the tunes and guest appearances by tour mates Jessica and David Mayfield made all the difference in filling out the sound, which was especially fun on the set closer “Got To Sleep” where the crowd was left to sing and clap to the “La la…” melody of the song until they came back to finish up the song and do an encore.
Hard to believe the set was two hours long but after the time had passed (and the most broken banjo/guitar strings ever were restrung… poor roadie…) all left smiling, including myself. I’m sure the Avetts will be back soon so I can start adding up the number of their concerts I have attended. Until then, I’ll leave you with a video of “Murdered in the City” (although Seth also sang on the version tonight) so you can get excited for the new album like I am.
i hesitated to write this review for 2 reasons: 1. james has been my favourite band for 14 years, i am in no way impartial, and there is a limit to how many times you can say how awesome an experience is without sounding like the proverbial broken record and 2. the show was pretty damn awesome and special and effervescent and there really are no words. but i decided to suck it up and write something, mainly because the average grunt out there probably doesn’t even know that james is back together (hooray!) and has a stellar new album out (hey ma, 04.07.08) and might even come to the states in august. be still my heart.
anyway, in light of the above disclaimers, i’ll make it short and sweet. i went to london to see james with my best friend zak and it was rad. tim booth is bald now, but he still dances in that crazy shamanistic way, larry gott is still a guitar genius, andy diagram was back with his trumpet wearing a daisy dress on stage. they played almost the whole new album, and tons of older stuff too. although they didn’t play either of their best-known songs ’sit down’ or ‘laid,’ they started with ‘born of frustration,’ ended with ’sometimes (lester pigott)’ and played pretty much everything in between that i could have wished. tim jumped out into the crowd during ‘come home’ and the whole band just generally seemed to be having a great time playing to an audience that loved them.
speaking of, james fans are legendary and there is a very special dynamic that happens between the band and the crowd, trust me. the venue was small enough to keep it intimate, the crowd knew every word to every song and jumped around like the happy idiots we were. i moshed! it was very early 90’s, oh my god. there were people there who came from mexico and portugal and sweden to see james and warm fuzzy feelings of camaraderie abounded for the most part, with the exception of a few ruffians who kept trying to push their way to the front. i pushed back though, so no worries. i screamed myself hoarse, got my piggy toes smooshed by other jumping fans and had a huge grin plastered over my face the entire time…not nearly high enough praise for a night that i seriously will remember the rest of my life. the show ended with the audience stamping their feet and singing the chorus of ’sometimes’ over and over and over as the band stood on stage smiling and enjoying the impromptu appreciation.
so there’s your review. enjoy it. and more importantly, go see james if you ever get a chance. i promise it will be a pretty incredible experience, no matter what kind of music you are into.
ps. my federation opened. not bad, but i was too excited to focus on them. the singer has a lot of hair, though.
