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July 31, 2008
Numerology: 53rd, I Heard
from the print series "The fifty-three stations of the Tokaido" by Hiroshage
I admit I haven’t read Car, Boy, Girl, the 1961 book on which The Love Bug was based, so I cannot say for certain whether the protagonist of Gordon Buford’s novel wore no. 53, or even if he was named Herbie. Not so surprisingly, Car, Boy, Girl is out of print, so please forgive me for not tracking down a copy. What’s important is that whoever came up with the numeral for the cuddly Volkswagen Beetle did a fine job. Fifty-three is a number totally devoid of flash. (In fact, the late Buddy Hackett, who voiced Herbie in the original Love Bug, would have been perfect to portray 53 in my as-yet-unnamed Numerology Movie Project.) Why is 53 a sad-sack number? You encounter it in mundane places: the ass-end of your phone bill, a road sign, the entrance to your friend’s apartment. It’s no wonder then that the top three #53 songs in the known universe all incorporate 53 in the same quotidian way: as part of a street address. Now, street-address songs take up a good-sized chunk in my vault of numerically titled ditties—“The 12th Street Rag,” “The 18th Street Strut,” “51st Street Blues,” and the like. And it’s true that on occasion, numbered street names can transcend their inherent blandness and attain their own mythic quality (e.g., Highway 61, Route 66), but I would contend that songwriters do their best when they make up streets of their own. “Thunder Road,” “Lonely Avenue,” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” simply exist on a grander scale than Gene Pitney’s “24 Sycamore Street” or “442 Glenwood Avenue” by the Pixies Three.
Minus the Bear - "Memphis & 53rd"
Seattle’s Minus the Bear named itself after B.J. and the Bear (minus the bear, get it?), a cheesy ‘80s TV show in which freelance trucker B.J. McKay, his pet chimp Bear, and a gaggle of lady truckers do battle with the nefarious Sheriff Lobo. (B.J.’s truck may not have had a name or a mind of its own, but Herbie’s influence was unmistakable in the way the orange-and-white Kenworth K-100 semi took right turns.) Deliberately or not, “Memphis & 53rd” from Menos Del Oso (2006) shares the same central credo as the theme music from B.J. and the Bear: “keep moving.” The song has a thrilling opening—23 seconds of spaghetti Western-meets-late-‘90s Jungle beats that I kept wishing would just continue. From this Portishead-esque place, the tempo shifts to a restless kind of a prog-ska beat as the lyrics sketch the tale of a couple on the run from a nameless black-hatted figure. The playing is first-rate, but what I really wanted was another helping of that spaghetti.
Turquoise - "53 Summer Street"
“53 Summer Street” is a single by the ultra-obscure Turquoise, whose members grew up in the same Muswell Hill neighborhood in North London as the Kinks’ Ray and Dave Davies. As the Brood, the band recorded demos with Dave Davies in ‘66, and more demos a year later with Keith Moon and John Entwistle. It was not until the tumultuous summer of ’68 that the band, now called Turquoise, released any music, and their output was limited to a pair of double-sided singles that met with little success. After making a few more recordings, Turquoise called it quits in 1969. It took until 2006 for a full accounting of the band’s work to see the light of day, in the form of The Further Adventures of Flossie Fillett: The Complete Recordings on ace retro label Rev-Ola. The set includes alternative versions of the key singles, a cover of Dave Davies’s sublime “Mindless Child of Motherhood,” and a smattering of extra tracks, none of them especially memorable. Of the two A-sides, “Woodstock” shows a clear Kinks influence, with Ewan Stevens’s vocal sounding uncannily like Ray circa Village Green Preservation Society, right down to the timbre. (Turquoise even had its own song titled “Village Green.”) It’s the Who’s influence that’s most evident on “53 Summer Street,” with verses that recall “Pictures of Lily” and a touch of “I Can See For Miles” at the end of the chorus. But somehow this tale of a club owner who ends up in jail due to unnamed shady doings at 53 Summer Street never achieves liftoff. With the rerelease of Flossie Fillett came the expected accolades calling it a lost psych-pop masterpiece, but I’m not convinced; it’s one thing to be influenced by, pal around with, and even sound like the Kinks and the Who, quite another to deliver the same thrills.
Before bestowing the 53 crown upon the bowl-cut heads of the winners, it seems proper to acknowledge the other 53 songs out there, a dearth though it may be. The B-52s’ “53 Miles West of Venus” has something of a “Planet Claire” feel, but has nothing to say. It’s filler. Don’t get me wrong; just because the only line in the song is the title itself, repeated endlessly, doesn’t necessarily kill the party for me—I mean, “Why Don’t We Do it in the Road” is pure genius—but this is nowhere in that league. (Amazing how, with the shifting of a single digit, this numerical thing turns champs into chumps.) Honorable mention goes to “Midwatch 1953” by the Fall from The Unutterable (2000), which is like a Fall take on the death of Hal the computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey, only instead of a slurred recital of “Daisy, daisy, give me your answer true,” Mark E. Smith wheezes, “Who could foresee what happened in 1953?” accompanied by what sounds like instrumental backing from two seemingly unrelated songs and a damaged pinball machine. (I also can’t help but mention Crowded House’s gloriously harmonized, Walking round the room singing ‘Stormy Weather’/at 57 Mount Pleasant Place in “Weather With You.”)
the B-52s - "53 Miles West of Venus"
the Fall - "Midwatch 1953"
Just as the B-52s own 52, their contemporaries the Ramones own 53. Both bands always flirted with a cartoon image, but were at heart totally genuine about the music they made. Ramones songs dealt with harsher subject matter, of course, but most were leavened with a humorous edge or a schoolyard shout-along chorus reminiscent of a radio single from the ‘60s. To say “53rd and Third” lacks the buoyancy of typical Ramones fare is a major understatement. Even the title—evoking the soulless grid pattern of New York City streets and avenues—lacks the glee of a typical Ramones title. Instead, it soullessly imparts the location where the song’s protagonist toils in the sex trade. And while the prototypical Ramones song is a pile-driven version of bubblegum or girl-group pop, “53rd and Third” is just a brutal onslaught. The sunny melody of a song like “Beat on the Brat” keeps it from feeling like a song celebrating actual assault (on an actual brat), but in this squalid little tune, there is no subtext, no sweet spot, no place to hide.
the Ramones - "53rd & 3rd"
(rehearsal footage, 1975)
The song “53rd & 3rd” speaks for itself. Everything I write is autobiographical and very real. I can’t write any other way. – Dee Dee Ramone
53rd and 3rd/Standing on the street53rd and 3rd/I'm tryin' to turn a trick
53rd and 3rd/You're the one they never pick53rd and 3rd /Don't it make you feel sick?
Then I took out my razor blade/Then I did what God forbadeNow the cops are after me/But I proved that I'm no sissy
the Ramones - "53rd & 3rd"
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. The higher the digit, the lonelier the climb.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, , 4 (redux), 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26/27, 28 , 29 , 30, 30 (counterpoint), 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46 , 47, 48, 49 , 50, 51, 52
Posted by David Klein at 10:00 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 30, 2008
Retrohump: Sounds of Faegan's 1998-2001
[Photo cred]
Indulgences
In college I spent an interminable amount of my waking hours at the same off-campus bar. Qualifications are in order, so let me assure anyone who invested in my education that a significant slice of that time involved my employment as DJ to the thirsty masses. The bar was Faegan's pub in Syracuse, NY, a homey Irish joint with all the obligatory woodwork and Guinness posters required of such establishments. Faegan’s was a distinguished upperclassmen gathering locale, purveying seemingly endless choices of draft brews to the more discerning patrons who grew tired of Milwaukee’s Best and the general awfulness of some of the other more boisterous pickup markets on the Marshall St. bar strip. Other watering holes packed the crowds with more dancy, louder music and better drink specials, but as fun as they were for the still wet behind the ears set, their novelty could easily wear after a few of years.
Those expecting this to dovetail into a tale of Faegan's becoming some cutting edge indie joint for unsuspecting college crowds is about to be disappointed. In fact I doubt a single night passed without the playlist including Billy Joel and Sinatra numbers, Bob Dylan's "Hurricane" (great song btw), and "Mack the Knife" closing out the night, and usually all three would be a sure bet. It was an unspoken mandate amongst staff for these songs to be played, and any Syracuse alum can reminisce on the multi-sensory feeling of "Mack the Knife" creeping unassumingly from the speakers as bright house lights signaled the beginning of the pizza-stained late night rounds of college nightlife.
Still, I reject the need for justification solely via assignment. These classics were, and will likely always be, reliable and beloved songs by vast swaths of the population. Everyone knows the words and everyone loves to sing-a-long with glasses clattering and the fever pitch of inebriated celebration masking any sliver of reservation that might prohibit the normally subdued. Not concerned about getting caught in such dopey moments, like rocking out without a care to Gloria Gaynor at a wedding.
Now that I am removed by more than a handful of years from the terribly enviable college existence, enough that supplemental memories have begun bleeding into each other in a sort of storied reflection, I feel better able to look back without coming off completely and totally lame in my wistfulness.
What about that you ask? Well, the music wasn’t all dominated by crooners and piano men. From high above the crowd in a tight quartered spot that was not quite a crawl space, not quite an attic, lays the Faegan's DJ booth. From my perch I overlooked swelling crowds with the hope that as long as heads nodded to the beat my job was being done. Needless to say I had a blast during my reign. The work was easy, the perks were great and as long as Toto was played I knew a drink was being sent my way from the unhealthy obsession the bartenders had with “Africa”. More often than not my fun involved minor to major hits of 90s alternative radio. For today, a video sample of what you might have heard if you happened to step foot into Faegan’s anytime between 1998 – 2001.
Spacehog - "In the Meantime"
Kula Shaker - "Hush"
Written by Joe South, made famous by Deep Purple
Oh yes, there is more.
James - "Laid"
Blur - "Country House"
Toadies - "Possum Kingdom"
Folk Implosion - "Natural One"
Groove Armada - "I See You Baby" (Fatboy Slim Remix)
NWA - "Express Yourself"
Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:22 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 28, 2008
Denver/Boulder: Shows this week | 7.28 - 8.03
[Indy Ink working hard on UMS poster]
Monday, July 28
A Change Of Pace @ Marquis Theater
Harry And The Potters @ Hi-Dive
Jason Vigil @ Walnut Room
Punch Brothers/Tift Merritt @ Boulder Theater (E-Town)
Tuesday, July 29
Bonerama @ Fox Theatre
Britt Rodemich @ Larimer Lounge
Candlebox @ Bluebird Theater
Cavalera Conspiracy @ Gothic Theatre
The Faint @ Ogden Theater
Kill Hannah @ Marquis Theater
Wednesday, July 30
For Love Of Ivy @ Marquis Theater
Jeremy Jay @ Hi-Dive
Jesse Cook Sextet @ Boulder Theater
Shinedown @ Gothic Theatre
Suede Denim Secret Police @ Larimer Lounge
Tiny Little Monsters @ Walnut Room
Thursday, July 31
BeauSoleil @ Denver Botanic Gardens
Big Time Entertainment Show @ Hi-Dive
GBH @ Gothic Theatre
Lucero @ Fox Theatre
The Melvins @ Ogden Theater
Mr. Dibbs @ Marquis Theater
Radney Foster @ Walnut Room
Silent Option 8 @ Larimer Lounge
Steve Miller Band @ Red Rocks Ampitheatre
Friday, August 1
Audioflux @ Gothic Theatre
Curtis Stigers @ Soiled Dove
Denver Post Underground Music Showcase @ Various Venues
The Dwarves @ Bluebird Theater
Keller Williams @ Fox Theatre
Los Lonely Boys/Los Lobos @ Fillmore Auditorium
Son Ambulance @ Marquis Theater
Yonder Mountain String Band @ Boulder Theater
Saturday, August 2
Denver Post Underground Music Showcase @ Various Venues
Guttermouth @ Bluebird Theater
Millionaires @ Marquis Theater
Puddle Of Mudd @ Ogden Theater
The Republic Tigers @ Larimer Lounge
Set Forth @ Soiled Dove
Trombone Shorty @ Fox Theatre
Yonder Mountain String Band/Keller Williams @ Red Rocks Ampitheatre
Sunday, August 3
Denver Post Underground Music Showcase
Bitter:Sweet @ Marquis Theater
James McMurtry @ Boulder Theater
Wilder Situation @ Larimer Lounge
Schedule appears courtesy of Mystik Spiral.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:38 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 26, 2008
Book Review: Method Man
The top paragraph of the copyright page of the Method Man graphic novel ensures that, “This book is a work of fiction. The dialogue and every scene and situation are fictitious. All characters who appear in this book are inventions, and not intended to resemble any real person or event.” And for the most part, the entire paragraph is absolutely true, even if the name of the novel sounds exactly like the name of an emcee from the Wu-Tang Clan that you may have heard of.
Rather than go through the laborious task of actually showing the origin of its protagonist, Method Man begins with a string of blocks serving as the “prologue.” The first paragraph gives us the physical description of Peerless Poe, a private investigator whose, “clothes need ironing… breath reeks of booze and his office stinks of marijuana.” Remind you of anyone? Someone who likes to smoke weed enough to name three albums after a slang term for the drug? An emcee from the Wu-Tang Clan, perhaps? (It’s Method Man.)
From there, the backstory turns unexpectedly Biblical. Seems our boy Poe is a “direct descendant of Cain, the world’s first murderer.” (Aren’t we all?) Poe, however, belongs to the specific line that, “bear[s] the mark of Cain, a birthmark that attracts supernatural phenomena.” I’m only halfway through page one and I already find myself staring down a double barrel of awesome that is kung-fu ghostbusting.
Poe and the other descendants of Cain are forced to spend their time hunting down a bunch of unsightlies known as the Abhorents, as well as “anything else that comes their way,” a caveat that technically covers everything else on the planet. To make the fighting a little more evenhanded, the descendents of Cain posses a skill called “a berserker rage”, an ability that can best be explained by this mathematical formula: BR = Incredible Hulk(Wolverine – Freddy Krueger).
The descendents of Cain formed a group called “the Order of the Sacred Method” in order to hunt down the aforementioned monsters. Figure out the reference yet? No? Don’t worry, the very next line explains: “The Method Men (Get it now?) are a near-fanatical religious elite order of disciplined murder-priests…” what the hell? OK, so we’re moving slightly askew of the kung-fu ghostbusting…
We meet our hero on a clichéd “one bad night” in the hilariously-cliched “one bad ghetto, USA” as he’s searching for a “big red alligator” that has allegedly eaten some neighborhood children. (Maybe there’s something to the “This book is a work of fiction” claim from earlier on.) After stumbling across a pile of dead kids, Poe is caught off guard by some bug-looking creature biting the head off its next victim, a sight to which Poe exclaims, “S--T!” Honestly, dashes and everything. So for the record, supporting genocide on the Batman Forever soundtrack? Acceptable. Swearing in a comic book that’s already smell-dropped “booze” and “marijuana”? Crosses the line. It’s good that moral ambiguities such as these are sorted out early on.
Poe takes off, shotgun in hand, while the what-looks-like-a-mutant-parrot-for-the-next-few-frames chases him around. During his fending off the buggy/birdie/reptilian menace, Poe makes a point to explain to the readers that he had every intention of spending his life defending mankind but for that pesky vow of celibacy. Can’t say I disagree with him. What’s the point of being a buggy/birdie/reptilian-ass kicking ninja priest ghostbuster if you can’t cash it all in with the ladies every once in a while? Perhaps, then, Method Man is actually a veiled critique of the Roman Catholic Church.
In a move lacking sense but sustaining plot, Grand Occisor John Albeit, Poe’s former boss and co-Method member, happens to be trolling around the same sewer. He tosses Peerless a laser shotgun ax and the two waste some of the aforementioned monster’s brood before heading back to Poe’s office to finalize the proprietor’s newly-minted mercenary role in the Order. Albeit tells Poe about the threat of Lilith, whose origin practically rewrites the second chapter of Genesis. Nothing like a little religious revisionism to get the story rolling. Perhaps, then, Method Man is a veiled critique written by the Roman Catholic Church.
Later on, Poe meets Albeit on a wind-swept dock where they’re picked up by a spaceship that takes them to motherfucking Stonehenge. (Really?) Here we meet the next member of the Sons of Cain, Occisor Arilion Despite, whom Poe repeatedly berates for being a card carrying member of the A.C. Green fan club. The now-threesome hops back into the space shuttle and zips over to Noah’s Ark. If you had Mount Ararat, Turkey in your “Where is Noah’s Ark currently located raffle,” you get no credit for picking chalk.
But feel free to reward yourself. In fact, fix yourself a sandwich. And while you’re up, take a long nap. Because this story isn’t about to start making sense.
For the next stop on the sacrilegious world tour, the Order set off to get the “Spear of Destiny”, the only weapon that can kill the evil Lilith for good. Before anyone can retrieve the spear from its resting place, however, they must “look upon the face of himself.” In other words, it’s “Meth vs. Chef”, except minus one Chef (and plus another Meth). Peerless gets himself to the threshold of the spear, but before he can take it, he’s confronted by the spear’s guardian. Fortunately for Poe, it’s a lady he used to sex up. Unfortunately for Poe, taking the spear means the building collapses on your head and the Abominable Snowman eats you alive. No worries: Poe’ll simply blast his way out of the building, then out of the Abominable Snowman’s belly, and then out of the building’s rubble. Before that last blast, there’s actually some bona fide symbolism, with the slight silhouette of a cross visible on Poe’s would-be grave.
Method Man w/ Raekwon- "Meth vs. Chef"
From there, the now-foursome goes after Lilith in a sequence that involves, among other things: riding ATVs across a desert, hiding in the skins of some creatures not too unlike Luke Skywalker in a ton-ton, getting chained-up in prison, stabbing Lilith while the Wu-bat logo flashes across the panel, more ATV riding underneath the ghostly images of a bunch of dudes who are no way the other members of the Wu-Tang Clan, a bazooka firing, a new tattooing and back safely to the spaceship for a happy ending. Almost in that order, too.
A young Clifford Smith was torn during freshman English; he loved “the Raven” but sided with the antagonist of Beowulf. As for your reading enjoyment, I wouldn’t recommend this comic if your idea of a graphic novel involves overt references to Psych 101. Neither will this book appeal of those of you who fancy comics starting with the letter “X”. But if you’ve re-read the liner notes to Wu-Tang Forever a bazillion times, rank “Triumph” as the best hip-hop video ever because of its plot, and like to pretend that you’re a member of the Clan so often that you’ve already picked out your first three nicknames, then have I got the comic book for you. As for the rest of us, let’s just hope that the scheduled GZA and Ghostface attempts turn out better.
Wu-Tang Clan - "Triumph"
OK, so that’s pretty awesome.
Method Man, Sanford Greene & David Atchison. Method Man. Grand Central Publishing; Hachette Book Group. New York, NY: 2008.
Posted by Randall Monty at 10:38 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Video: Public Enemy @ Pitchfork fest
Public Enemy - "Rebel Without a Pause" - Live @ Pitchfork Music Festival 7.18.2008
Like the shirt of Terminator X, Dope.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:32 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 24, 2008
Turning Fluorescent Grey
As our declared # 6 song of 2007, it's clear that we liked Deerhunter's version of "Fluorescent Grey" just fine. But as haunted/haunting as Bradford Cox and his humid piano creeps were, you still had to wait patiently (patiently) for the rock-out. Jay Reatard's version--from his increasingly excellent Matador singles series--stomps and whinnies from its first seconds of blacktop screech. Taking the lyrics literally, his initial agitation seems more appropriate for someone who has awoken suddenly screaming an imagined lover's name. But from there, his froth and the lyrics' mood converge. Spooky and forlorn this version is not. (It certainly does not evoke patience.) Reatard does manage to imbue the fateful words "you were my God in...high school" with the sort of over the top melodrama that a line like that demands (it even gets a bit of a fakey British accent for good measure).
In the original that line sets off a triumphant wave of blistered guitar fuzz. With a slower preceeding context, the moment is all about finally relieved tension. Starting from a more frantic place Jay chooses a looser, more organic twist; token bit of basement buzz jostles with acoustic guitar and a crisply struck tambourine. Where Cox let the next line ("People never really know") cleanly surf on top of his band's radiation wave, Reatard stretches and mumbles it until it loses even vague meaning. Then it's back to the "patiently, patiently," sung in a hurry. I guess lyrics so finely attuned to the mood of their original surroundings aren't flipped by changes as simple as tempo or instrumentation. It's an enjoyably psychotic near miss, anyway.
Jay Reatard - "Fluorescent Grey"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 09:20 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 23, 2008
Retrohump: Picking Dr. Buzzard Clean
Contrary to the frequent posts that (hopefully) suggest otherwise, I'm occasionally quite dense and incurious. I'm sure I must have skimmed past the sampled source of the hook in M.I.A.'s "Sunshowers" dozens of times during the buzz around Arular's release, but it only even registered to me that it was a sample when I heard it playing from inside a row house during Boyz in the Hood. Even then I didn't put in any sort of search for the original version, content to let Diplo's beats lay claim to a definitive usage. So, when Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band belatedly entered my headspace within the last week in the midst of the production compilation Going Places: the August Darnell Years, it felt unnecessarily revelatory. I certainly wasn't aware that M.I.A.'s beguiling hook was actually a workproduct of ZE Records' genius in residence Kid Creole. The combination of the strange childish hook and singer Cory Daye's smooth smoky verses has entranced brainy hip-hop artists well before Maya, having been previously sampled by De La Soul, Tribe Called Quest, Doug E. Fresh, and Ghostface Killah. So if you've been willfully ignorant as I was for so long, here's the goods...
Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band - "Sunshower"
Some homemade slideshows aside, there's no footage of the much admired cult classic available. But it's worth your time to check another hit from the band's 1976 self-titled debut...
Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band - "Cherchez Le Femme"
(1976 music video)
This fuzzy (and perhaps subtly sped up) VHS transfer oddly captures the band out of time feel "Dr. Buzzard" 's ensemble was aiming for. They were a late 70s disco/R & B group dressed up in 40s swing band drag. Baby-faced Darnell tickles the baby grand, his everpresent Kid Creole zoot suit making more sense here than it would when he would go on to form the Coconuts. His sidekick Coati Mundi is stationed on xylophone. Cory Daye's old-phonograph vocals are a perfect match to her Rosie the Riveter hair and housedress. The retro spell is complicated slightly by 70s specific references to the early girl trouble of the band's manager Tommy Mottola, later known as the CEO of Sony Music, Micheal Jackson's "devil," and the man who brought us Hall & Oates.
Most of you probably just recognize the song's hook from Ghostface Killah's Supreme Clientele reworking, "Cherchez La Ghost," recorded long after said Mr. Mottola had put his romantic worries behind him and bagged Mariah Carey. Personally I think Ghost's aggressive delivery stomps on the grace of the original's easy melody, but I become less of a hip hop fan every second I spend away from the 90s, so maybe I'm not the one to ask. Direct comparison facilitated after the jump...
Ghostface Killah - "Cherchez La Ghost"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:05 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 22, 2008
MHMF Sunday: Dave Matthews Band photos
Lots of people love Dave Matthews Band. I have nothing to add really because I'm not a freshman in college anymore.
This marks the end of Merry Swankster.com's coverage of the Mile High Music Festival. We are rushing to score you guys some of the most art-damaged shit we can find to save us from this incursion.
Enjoy the pretty pictures.
[Tim Reynolds]
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:26 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Sunday: Roots photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
The Roots put on a show that was part hip hop, part soul revival, part extended jam sessions and part cover showcase (Dylan's "Masters of War" played in its entirety, Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" teased before a "Jungle Boogie" ending). Energy levels in the tent were high, but nothing came close to matching the stamina of the tuba player. There was no way enough pictures could be taken of the tuba player. Reminded me of the great Black marching bands that always looked cool even though they were marching bands.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:18 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Sunday: Black Crowes photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
Rub your eyes really hard, stare at the sun and its suddenly 1968, or 1990 when the Black Crowes debuted. What's changed? Probably very little, and given the Crowes' approximation to the sound of the Rolling Stones, that suits them and their fans just fine.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Sunday: Flobots photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
Flobots are a local hip hop/rock hybrid act that has been making waves beyond their home radius in 2008 with the strength of radio hit "Handlebars". Like most of the bands at this festival, Flobots are not my cup of tea. Think "Lucas with the Lid Off" with a political bent.
Flobots - "Handlebars"
Official version here.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:07 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Saturday: Rodrigo Y Gabriella photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
I've been a bit harsh towards the Mexican guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriella, unduly so in retrospect. I previously panned them for relying too heavily on their flamenco interpretations of hard rock classics in order to grip the crowd. It's a bit of a crutch if not a novelty. Luckily the covers were fewer this time around and I was better able to appreciate the interplay between guitars. I don't know how they did it, but the large main stage crowd was definitely feeling it. The photos may deceive, but the gigantic stage did not succeed in dwarfing the group.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Saturday: Spoon photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
The adage: "Spoon is a great studio band, but boring live."
Merry Swankster: "False."
[forklift crane as speaker holders = yes]
Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:21 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
MHMF Saturday: Lupe Fiasco photos
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
I caught a few glimpses of Lupe Fiasco's set while gathering the troops outside the tents. Some serious soul funkiness permeated the air.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:18 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Mile High Music Festival happened
[Photos by Merry Swankster]
This past weekend marked Denver's foray into the ever growing list of large-scale, multi-day, outdoor music festivals. The inaugural Mile High Music Festival took over the Colorado region's musical consciousness in the huge expanse surrounding Denver's MLS Soccer stadium (the unfortunately named Dick's Sporting Goods Park) in Commerce City, Colorado.
Originally the plan was for this festival to take place in the more centrally located City Park, but concerns over the loud music's effect on the tender ears of the animals housed at the nearby zoo nixed what could have been a more ideal and beautiful park setting. Whether noise complaints from the captive wildlife, or the more articulate howls from their human counterparts in the mostly residential surroundings of City Park are truly to blame is up for debate and manifestly, moot as far as points go.
That said, while Commerce City is not a part of metro Denver that will ever be included on scenic drive listings, the most excellent features of Colorado's natural wonders are tall enough to stymie feeble attempts at hiding their beauty by simply driving further east. So really, even though the end result was not the first choice, the forty (or so) thousand people who discovered Dick's branding efforts didn't exactly settle for the ugly girl to take to the prom.
In a lot of ways the Mile High Music Festival was a baby-faced, starter version of America's original take on the European festival experience. I speak of course of the one festival that is most nearest and dearest to my heart, Coachella. From the expanse of closely cropped grounds, to the mountain views ringing the venue, even the oppressive high temperatures reminded of annual pilgrimages to the California desert. As luck would have it, the mile high addition to the ever growing list of stateside festivals happened to coincide with two of the hottest days Colorado has seen this year. Temperatures were in the high 90s both days. It was an interesting juxtaposition for my fellow Coachella vets and I, one that would echo throughout the weekend.
As unfair as it might be, Coachella comparisons served as a measuring stick for contrast too. I'm fully aware of the inherent problem with such correlations, but the stark similarities are hard to ignore. If anything MHMF organizers stand to learn a few things from the SoCal model as the reflective, post-mortem process begins in preparation for the inevitable refinements for next year (unsubstantiated reports state arrangements have been made with Dick's for future editions).
Here are some major spots where MHMF can improve, in order of importance:
[Dave Matthews crowd]
1. This type of lineup is not sustainable.
My feelings leading up to the MHMF are well documented in the merryswankster public record. I didn't even try to veil my displeasure at the lineup. All weekend long I tried reconciling the often clashing desires between my usually under the radar personal tastes and the economic realities that come with putting together events of this size. MHMF was not ambitious by any stretch of the imagination when they cast their net with middle of the road, commercial safeties as the big headliners. Arguably the chum of the lesser known acts provided some new names for attendees to indulge in, but nowhere near the diversity in styles one expects at festivals this size. Not even close.
Dave Matthews Band could probably singlehandedly fill the space (and judging from the size of the crowd they commanded on Sunday night, did just that), but in terms of a future endorsement, going the young-adult, contemporary route is a sure fire way to drive this thing into the ground as a one and done event. Part of the fun of music festivals is discovering something new, going outside the norm and giving something different a shot - either by choice, or by accident, it's these surprises that keep people returning to the big boys of American fests.
MHMF had little of this. Neo-hippie bands like Tea Leaf Green, O.A.R., DMB, and blues rock adherents from the Black Crowes, Tom Petty and John Mayer draw tremendous grassroots support, which is commendable and in no way being questioned, but not a terribly exciting genre to stick with year after year. Bonnaroo learned this lesson as it slowly mutated from the insular colony still mourning the post-Phish era, (think lost hippies trying to determine which new jam-train to latch onto), and evolving into the dynamic marathon of miscellany best fit for the current culture of the "shuffle" generation. Metallica, Pearl Jam, alongside Jack Johnson, Trey Anastasio, Widespread Panic, and practically every important indie band in existence.
2. Tighter grounds.
MHMF is enormous. Without resorting to surveyors, it's a safe bet the grounds of Coachella could fit in a corner of MHMF's. Think about tightening up the space for better (i.e. quicker) accessibility for ambitious festival goers traversing from one end to the the other. With three large outdoor stages and two immense tents the availability of venues was fantastic, but much too spread out than needed to be. It often felt too sparsely laid out, even on Sunday which drew a larger turnout.
Big spaces can feel somewhat empty when not properly utilized. Maybe condensing the space by adding a camping area? Or if camping is not in the cards perhaps a greater emphasis on large scale art installations to break up the monotony of walking through the bland canvas patchwork of endless soccer fields.
3. Incorporate more local flavor.
While done to a moderate degree with several Colorado eateries represented (Steuben's, holla!), my biggest gripe with this issue was the poor beer selection, which is really a misnomer considering the choices where Bud or Bud light for your well earned $8. This is Colorado! We have breweries like Williamsburg has sidewalk sales!
Look, I'm a pragmatist at heart and I wholeheartedly understand the futility in complaining about high food & drink prices at ticketed events, yet at the same time I don't think there is any wisdom in just accepting such things as inevitabilities when the grousing is valid. Eight bucks for a bud? At least provide some selection so if I want to get expensively drunk I can do it with better quality sauce. Better to get ripped off with tastier brews for rationalization's sake.
In closing, MHMF has a lot of positive things going for it. Much more than I could have envisioned when I repeatedly dismissed the event from the comforting glow of my laptop's radiating screen. I will gladly eat my words if the lineup complaints are corrected and MHMF evolves into the event it originally positioned itself when first announced - a large-scale, multi-day, music festival catering to all. However, if their target remains people who go to one or two concerts a year, continue doing what you're doing by playing it safe and creatively boring.
I have no idea what the future holds for the MHMF. If all else fails I can thank my lucky sandstone formations for Monolith's indie-tastic lineup, which for the umpteenth time: totally rules.
Check merryswankster.com throughout the day today for photo sets of MHMF performers.
[city in background not as close as it appears]
Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:20 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Videos: Karen O's Native Korean Rock
It's more that I forgot about this show last night's existence than I made a calculated decision not to attend a venue that's a five minute stroll from my own personal sweat box. But from the instantaneous evidence, it seems Karen O's solo material (that's how it was billed, I can't attest to the creative input of the sailor-suited gentlemen playing behind her) is surprisingly low-key and charming. Fellow After the Jumper Miss Modernage and a You Tube poster named "aliciasayshello," or more likely just Alicia, are to thank for the diligent uploading. It's official: you do not need to leave your house to check out anything anymore. Two samples below...
Native Korean Rock - "Day Go By"
(live @ Union Pool, Brooklyn, 07.21.2008)
Native Korean Rock - "OOO"
(Live @ Union Pool, Brooklyn, 07.21.08)
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 21, 2008
Out of context files: Black Eyed Peas head new socially aware Genre?
[Image from NYDN]
The lack of historical perspective for the below quote from someone billed as an 'executive' whatever to a group called the Creative Coalition should not only baffle anyone with even minuscule knowledge of musical history, but must call into question how they can honestly answer as they did when referring to the Black Eyed fucking Peas.
"The Black Eyed Peas represent a growing genre of music that emphasizes increased social awareness," said Robin Bronk, executive director of the Creative Coalition (via).
(Emphasis mine) Endquote.
Previously from the files:
50 Cent no longer following US Election
Anita Baker is not a rapper
Indie crowds discover dancing
Shilling funds Honda, terrorism
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes
Kanye West is a professional
Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:40 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Numerology: Be 52
Mathematically, 52 is an “untouchable” number—meaning it’s never the sum of the proper divisors of any other number—and maybe this fact has some bearing on the demonstrable scarcity of 52 in the world of song. A deck of cards, the number of weeks in a year, these are the greatest hits of 52. so wouldn’t it make sense that there’d be a gambler’s lament called “52 Pickup” or some old chestnut with a refrain that talked about “…loving you 52 weeks of the year”? There is indeed a handful of “52 Pickup” songs, but I’ll be damned if any of them are notable. Certainly none can lay claim to being the musical equivalent of 52 Pickup by Elmore Leonard, the taut crime thriller that was turned into a pretty damned good movie starring Roy Scheider, Ann Margaret, and former Prince protégé, Vanity. (Not to mention a party sequence featuring Ron Jeremy and Amber Lynn. Good times!)
The closest I found to a 52-weeks song was “50 Weeks of the Year” (on a box set of country line dance music, for all those line-dancing completists out there). 52 is the name of a DC comic starring Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Ralph Dibney the Elongated Man, and a new superhero, Supernova, which was released in 52 weekly installments. In the world of jazz, Manhattan’s West 52nd Street was once synonymous with its world-class jazz clubs, and it earned many a musical tribute, including “52nd Street Theme” by Thelonious Monk and “Forty Six, West Fifty-Two” by Chu Berry, as well as Billy Joel’s 52nd Street (1988).
But just as sure as the 52 on Dontrelle Willis’s jersey, as sure as the 52 white keys on a piano, 52 means only one thing in the world of rock ‘n’ roll. And that’s the B-52’s. As the story goes, one night in 1976 after collectively sharing a mystical libation at a Chinese restaurant, the Athens, GA quintet had themselves a joyous first jam session and dubbed themselves the B-52s—not in the sense of the strategic bomber that figured prominently in the Cold War and Dr. Strangelove, but after a Southern slang term for the towering beehive hairdos favored by vocalists Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson. (The bouffants were so nicknamed because they resembled the nose cone of the legendary aircraft properly called the B-52 Stratofortress.) In a recent interview, Cindy Wilson recalled how the glorious harmony vocals that are the siren call of the B-52s first developed.
“It was that first night - we worked well together right away. When we started rehearsing, we came up with “52 Girls” and we sang in unison a lot, and naturally went into harmonies and played around with it and it became natural.”
“52 Girls” is immediately arresting, a perfect calibration of Keith Strickland’s unignorable drum beats, Ricky Wilson’s sinewy guitar riffs, and Cindy and Kate’s laser beam vocals. (And the temporary absence of Fred Schneider’s Sprechgesang does not feel like any kind of loss.) The song seems to be a celebration of girls, which is not unusual--only it’s sung by girls, and that is unusual, especially in 1977. And it’s not about the typical girls of song--heartbreakers, teases, impossible dreams, etc. This is about the girls who weren’t clichés: Tina, Louise and Hazel and Mavis. Wanda and Janet and Ronnie and Reba. These [emphasis mine] are the girls of the U.S.A. The true cool ones. Thirty years ago, when “52 Girls” came out as the B-side of “Rock Lobster,” that was a bold statement, perhaps even quietly revolutionary. Yet the message, if I read it correctly, was not easy to decipher. You can listen 100 times and still not hear “Effie, Madge and Mabel and Biddie” as the song’s opening line. No doubt the sheer elusiveness of Kate and Cindy’s vocals, veering from pep-rally clarity to something bordering on pure sound, is part of the song’s enduring appeal. (link to no embed You Tube clip from 1978 here)
It’s safe to say that no one has ever managed to look or sound like B-52’s. After hearing their music, John Lennon was inspired to return to the recording studio after a lengthy hiatus. So arresting was the blend of quirky influences (a wag at People magazine likened their sound to “the illegitimate offspring of George Jetson and the Shirelles”) that in the hands of lesser mortals it would have come off as mere camp. Instead, the B-52s never projected anything less than total commitment. Surely the most unheralded element of the band’s first two records is Ricky Wilson’s distinctive guitar playing. The B-52’s could have not have existed without Wilson’s work on a four-stringed, custom-tuned Mosrite guitar. Simply by removing the two middle strings and tuning the remaining pairs way down (down! down! down! as the song goes), Wilson achieved a limber yet punk-toughened take on surf guitar that even without a proper bass was able to make the music really swing.
The B-52s cast an outsized shadow on the world of 52 songs. The Boredoms, Japanese avant-noise purveyors with a proven interest in numbers, did a 36-second deconstruction of “52 Girls” called “52 Boredom (Club Mix). Surprisingly, it’s only the second-shortest track on the Boredoms’ critically hailed Soul Discharge ’99 collection. (The prize goes to “Hamaiian Disco Without Bollocks,” the collection’s four-second closer, which has the distinction of being the shortest song in rock.) Elsewhere, there’s “52 Seconds” by Bad Religion, a 58-second grenade of a lead track from New Maps of Hell (2007), which finds the SoCal hardcore stalwarts sounding invigorated well into their third decade. “52 Pilot” by the often-sublime Saint Etienne is as pleasant as it is forgettable. Honorable mention goes to Richard Thompson for “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” a love song of the highest order that would have nabbed a place of high honor here had Richard only opted to use the apostrophic form of “1952.”
There’s only one other song up for serious consideration, and that’s “52 Stations” by Robyn Hitchcock, a singular figure in music whose principal musical touchstones are Bob Dylan, Syd Barrett, John Lennon, the Byrds, and Lewis Carroll. “52 Stations” begins with two lines that positively thrum with information. If there’s not a whole movie here, I see a great opening sequence shot in the London Tube:
There’s fifty-two stations on the northern line
None of them is yours, one of them is mine
Robyn Hitchcock - "Fifty-Two Stations"
Endnote: There are actually 50 stations on the Northern Line. According to wikipedia, the last station to close, South Kentish Town, did so in 1924. So either Hitch was channeling a ghost (entirely possible in his case) or he needed an extra syllable, and “two” provided both a triple dose of alliteration while minimizing his exaggeration, something one imagines would matter to a man who named his first solo album I Often Dream of Trains.
“I was never intentionally obscure,” Hitchcock once said. “It’s just that everything seemed to me so confusing that my songs always seemed very fragmented ‘cause that’s how I perceive things.”
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. The higher the digit, the lonelier the climb.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, , 4 (redux), 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26/27, 28 , 29 , 30, 30 (counterpoint), 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46 , 47, 48, 49 , 50, 51
Posted by David Klein at 10:31 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Denver/Boulder: Shows this week | 7.21 - 7.27
[Fleet Foxes]
Monday, July 21
Pinback @ Bluebird Theater
The Police @ Red Rocks Ampitheatre
Rusted Root @ Fox Theatre
Sera Cahoone @ Larimer Lounge
The Watson Twins @ Hi-Dive
Tuesday, July 22
Ariel Pinks Haunted Graffiti @ Larimer Lounge
Eye Alaska @ Marquis Theater
Fleet Foxes @ Hi-Dive
Kool Koncert II @Fiddler's Green
Locksley @ Walnut Room
Wednesday, July 23
Asphodel @ Hi-Dive
Cannibus @ Fox Theatre
The Dicky Jaguar Band @ Larimer Lounge
Jon McLaughlin @ Bluebird Theater
The Side Project @ Marquis Theater
Soulico @ Walnut Room
Thursday, July 24
A Bitter Truth @ Marquis Theater
Lunar Fire @ Fox Theatre
Matson Jones @ Bluebird Theater
Nemesys @ Gothic Theatre
Recession @ Larimer Lounge
Thao Nguyen And The Get Down Stay Down @ Hi-Dive
Trace Bundy @ Walnut Room
Friday, July 25
Action Figure 8 @ Walnut Room
Apex Vibe @ Gothic Theatre
Boombox @ Fox Theatre
Boris @ Marquis Theater
The Hush Sound @ Bluebird Theater
Kevin Mahogany's Kansas City Revue @ Soiled Dove
We Are! We Are! @ Larimer Lounge
Saturday, July 26
Burlesque As It Was @ Bluebird Theater
Carlos Mencia @ Red Rocks Ampitheatre
Ernie Halter @ Walnut Room
The Knew @ Hi-Dive 5
The Offspring @ Fiddler's Green
Pinhead Circus @ Marquis Theater
Rancid @ Fillmore Auditorium
Ruthie Foster @ Soiled Dove
Titus Andronicus @ Larimer Lounge
Sunday, July 27
BigTime Entertainment Show @ Hi-Dive
Harry And The Potters @ Fox Theatre
John Mellencamp @ Red Rocks Ampitheatre
Mötley Crüe @ Fiddler's Green
Privatized Air @ Larimer Lounge
Red Star Revolt @ Walnut Room
Shai Hulud @ Marquis Theater
Schedule appears courtesy of Mystik Spiral.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 09:30 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 20, 2008
Whoa, "Tally Ho!"
Given my rabid and vocal fandom, it took me a surprisingly long time to track down and digest the lone original track from Love Is All's recent covers EP. But once enough pennies had been sufficiently tossed and "Wishing Well" finally found my earbuds, it was familiar instantly. Not because it had the same giddy excitability of all the band's swell tracks, but because it blatantly lifts two bars of the distinctive organ burst from 1981's indie-pop classic "Tally Ho!" by my Kiwi heroes, the Clean. It was hard to distinguish the exuburant notes in the previously posted live video, but in the studio version's compressed mp3 glory, it couldn't be plainer. So obvious a musical reference that I was pretty perplexed that Marc Hogan's Pitchfork review failed to mention it (especially since Marc's something of an indie pop connoisseur I gather), and other write ups I've seen neglected to mention it as well. Are the Clean still such a well kept secret, even in an internet era?
Now, I'm not accusing LIA of plagarism or anything. I can't believe that Gothenburg's finest meant it as anything more than an homage; one generation of rambunctious savants tipping their cap to another. Its presence on a covers collection might also be a clue to intent. Although I think front gal Josephine Olausson is actually playing the refrain, I'd place their borrowing firmly in the recent tradition of her fellow countrymen. Jens Lekman often places recognizable motifs from well-known pop hits into his tracks, and other Swede pop acts (like my recent crush Air France) are
even more dependent on sampling. For me, their use of recognizable bits usually leaves something to be desired. The best uses of sampling in rap music succeed because they recontextualize a bit of music, recognizable or not, and warp it to fit an entirely new genre. It's making music out of music. But when Jens Lekman borrows a Belle and Sebastian melody, or Love is All swipe from the Clean, they are basically just plopping someone else's work into compositions of a similar type. Sure it sounds good, but it's not exactly illuminating to discover that the "Tally Ho!" organ line sounds great in the midst of an energetic pop song, you know?
Listen for yourselves...
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:18 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 16, 2008
Retrohump Night: Pop, King of
Michael Jackson - "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" - Bad Tour, 1987
Making this a quick one tonight as life's many distractions are keeping me away from leisure blogging. The nerve right? Anyway, thought about this song since the Girl Talk show and figured a follow up to MJ wouldn't be completely out of left field. I've said this for years to friends, or anyone who listened: No matter what crazy bat-shit stuff Michael Jackson did, does, or will do, his earlier material cannot be touched. Proven by the consistent dance floor reactions every single night, somewhere in the world. Be it a wedding, quinceañera, or hottest nightclub in Dubai, Vegas and London.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 10:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 15, 2008
Girl Talk, Live @ Fox Theatre, Boulder 07.11.2008
This was my first time seeing the much lauded Girl Talk in person. I had a distant glimpse of the Girl Talk party a few Coachella's ago, and I knew from the ubiquitous photo coverage to expect a lively crowd. This should be further qualified however. For a few hours on a Boulder, CO Friday night, a sweaty mess of people in vibrant colors looked to be a few obliterated inhibitions short of some wicked, PG-13 rated orgy. Though for all the suggestive dancing and provocative fashion, Girl Talk’s perspiring sideshow crowd was fairly innocent. From the extensive color selections and exposed flesh, it is quite obvious which demographic is keeping American Apparel in business. For reasons of practicality amidst the July heat, I cannot with good conscious fault anyone’s style choices.
Girl Talk's show felt like an underground tour through radio hits of the last twenty-five years, and then some. With the guidance of Gillis as pop music ranger, the audience embraced each and every unlikely mash-up with a mixture of honest nostalgia, and sheer joy as the party train rolled into a frenzy. Tag Team's amusing, and somehow strangely legendary, "Whoomp! (There It Is)" blasted from its origin inside the Girl Talk control board (duct taped macbook) until I couldn't indicate any particular bent towards ironic enjoyment of the ‘93 (1993!) hit. I have no choice but to conclude people were genuinely moved to dance in a whirled frenzy, as mentioned, without any notion of satirical statement. These days, I find it refreshing for this to even be possible.
The biggest blowouts of the night, based on reciprocated elation had to be the sped up loop of Michael Jackson’s ’mamma say mamakusa’ portion of "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin" with a Stardust rhythmic heartbeat and later, M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes". Both killed, but the M.I.A. clip simply destroyed. Proving the song's staying power is surpassing even the most ambitious predictions, or making the case for how hypnotically intoxicating effects of amplified gunshots can really be.
Speaking of staying power, I don't think I ever fully experienced the true force that is Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone". The enormous positive reception and immediate singalong gave away glimpses of arena rock ambition. Even if this was not the actual artists performing live, the collective familiarity with the songs is what gave this party its energy. Gillis harnesses that power with a staggering ability to create new directions with well known songs while never quite unleashing himself from the duties of a traditional DJ/re-mixer/whatever. In other words he doesn’t overwhelm the parts in order to create a new sum.
There is poetic justice worth noting when a guy who, to put bluntly, must feed off other artists' work in order to exist in the presented model, while similarly offering the spotlight customarily enjoyed by performers to party people on the flanks. It creates an altogether new, organic spectacle. No mash up required.
Other notes:
If someone had told me that I would experience communal moments with hundreds of strangers while "Whoomp!" was playing I would’ve called that person a dope who is completely out of touch with the acceptability standards of hip dance shows. By gathering these words neatly on a plate, I take bites and chew reflectively and ponder the funny ways wisdom creeps up on you.
-- -- -- --
In the interest of bringing it all home, a wordless study on the perpetual machine of musical re-purposing:
Girl Talk – “Hands in the Air” - 1997
Samples Tag Team (among others)…
Tag Team - "Whoomp! (There It Is)" - 1993
..who samples Kano…
Kano - "I'm Ready" - 1980
…the original.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 03:36 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 14, 2008
Tonight's Health show will start very late | 4 opening bands
Health is playing Rhinoceropolis tonight. It was next to impossible to figure out the start time so I had a spy swing by the venue and peep the info. Show starts at 10:30pm and that's not even the kicker. There are 5, count them 5 bands playing. Figure if each band plays 30 minutes, Health should come on at around 12:30am at the earliest. I'm much too lame to make it out that late on a school night, especially on the Monday. So if anyone out there makes it to the show, let me know how it goes by emailing me here. A nice summary with some photos would be swell.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:43 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Sissy Wish, Live @ the Knitting Factory Tap Bar, NYC 07.08.2008
It's near impossible to be the only one enjoying anything in New York. There's an exposing article devoted to every sublime sandwich shop housed in the back of a Vietnamese electronics store, and supposedly secret sales have lines two days before they open their doors. It's might be even tougher to be the only correspondent reporting back from a worthwhile cultural happening. Bands who couldn't fill a community center in Des Moines see their tickets evaporate within seconds of sale and half the crowd seems to be recording streaming video that will be posted in hours. Greedy elitists one and all are forced to grumble and accept that some one else is hip to their find. That's just the way that it is. So, my initial reaction to being one of maybe 8 people present for last week's set from superb Norwegian pop duo Sissy Wish was selfish delight. The blog masses had devoured Robyn and exalted Yelle, but singer/songwriter Siri Alberg's sharp confection have yet to attract a line of online ants, I guess.
But as the she and her Scandi bandmate promptly filled their opening slot last Tuesday night at the Knitting Factory's Tap Bar I couldn't help but feel sorrow that more people weren't present to witness such genuinely exciting and accessible music. Drawing heavily on last year's (domestically unavailable) Beauties Never Die, Siri's set was designed for a much bigger crowd. Though the music was generally filtered through one of the stages two present laptops, the setup was far more thoughtful than your usual Williamsburg Mac experimentalists. There were keyboards, electronic drum pads, and three vocal mics wired for different effects, as well as an electric guitar the striking Norwegian shredded at her discretion. The elastic beats of terrific single "Float" had real weig