Signal eats noise.

T-HUD's CD to T-HUD: Thud!

2007-07-28T09:19:00.000-05:00

I'm not being mean-spirited about this, but man, you might want to reconsider looking for a buyout to pursue a rap career when you only sell 78 CDs in the first week of your album's release.

More from the blues ...

2007-07-20T09:55:00.000-05:00

In the wake of my column on Otis Rush's Classic Cobra Recordings on Reveille, I got into it a little bit with singer/songwriter/baller extraordinaire Stook about blues guitarists at the Nomad. See, apparently Stook and I have some differences of opinion. I love Spoon. Stook not so much. I love Otis Rush. Stook loves Albert Collins. I love Collins, too, but for pretty much every guy I talked about, he had a counter-proposal.

So eventually we got around to discussing a ridiculous topic, namely, who's the greatest blues guitarist of all time. Yeah, I know. But, I made my statement with the proviso that I'm making my pick for myself, and no one else. See, I used to play a lot of blues guitar—it's pretty much all I did in high school and college—and to a large extent, I feel like I can't say Albert King or B.B. King or basically any black blues guitarist could really be my personal pick because I could never have done what they did. We can fight about it all day, but being a white blues guitarist is being a white blues guitarist, and so while I might have looked to all the greats (Muddy Waters in particular) for inspiration, for a role model, I looked to one man: Peter Green.

If you haven't checked out his work with the original Fleetwood Mac, I suggest you get on that shit. It's incredible: better than, in my opinion, Clapton's work with the Bluesbreakers or Mick Taylor with the Stones or Stevie Ray Vaughan or pretty much any white guy playing blues.

What kills about him is his taste: the man almost never took more than one chorus for a solo in a slow blues, and every note he played was delicious. Here's a video from YouTube as proof. And yes, they're lip synching and no one really knew what to do with themselves in videos in 1969, but the song's great:

Stook, for his part, was all about Roy Buchanan. So here's a vid of Roy. You can make your own decision. Or not. I mean, this isn't a contest.

On a different note, Oliver Sacks has a great piece in this week's New Yorker that begins by talking about a man who was struck by lightning and suddenly developed an intense and overriding passion for music, first picking up the piano (you know what I mean) again, then starting to write his own music where before he had never had any real musical inclination. Sacks goes on to discuss more about this strange neurological phenomenon where people can suddenly become intensely passionate after traumatic brain injuries or surgeries.

Reveille is GO!

2007-07-16T12:13:00.000-05:00

All right, the thing that's been keeping from posting much of anything here on Signal Eats Noise is finally up and ready to go at reveillemag.com. We've already got a bunch of content, including a couple CD reviews by me you may have already seen here, plus a brand new column by me called Warp + Weft that will be going up every Wednesday from now 'til infinity in which I'll take an in-depth look at one album. This week it's At the Drive-In's Relationship of Command. Next week: Otis Rush's Complete Cobra Recordings.

I'll still be posting here on SEN, although I suspect the tone and content of the postings will shift somewhat, probably towards a more catholic selection of topics.

Brush your goddamn teeth

2007-07-11T12:37:00.001-05:00

All seven and we'll stand in line to see Prince

2007-07-07T09:56:00.000-05:00

You want to see Prince at First Ave tonight? Get in line. On second thought, maybe you're better off staying home. Kyle Mattson from More Cowbell is in line right now, at 10 a.m., and he estimates himself to be halfway down the line, somewhere in the middle of 8th St. between 1st Ave and Hennepin. And he got there at 7:15 a.m. Matt Perkins, who books the Nomad and is a solid guy, apparently got there at 3 a.m. and he's halfway down the Hennepin side of First Ave. He's getting a ticket, but just one, because that's all anybody's getting.

Kyle's reporting that someone just came by with a cart of french toast and water for sale, and he's passing the time chatting (presumably both with real life people and on the internet), browsing the intertubes, and reading mags and newspapers.

Tickets go on sale at 3 p.m.

Robert Skoro: Musician, Bartender

2007-07-05T15:01:00.000-05:00

This interview is the continuation of a piece that begins on The Bottle Gang. That part of the article concerns local musician Robert Skoro's dayjob (nightjob?) as a bartender at the 331 Club in Northeast Minneapolis. To check that out, head right here.

Signal Eats Noise: Let's talk a little bit about music: What are you working on right now?

Robert Skoro: I gotta finish my record. I totally put it on the backburner because I decided to go to school [for Anthropology]. So I have 70% of a record that is about 90% tracked. The great thing is that it's a project where I started recording stuff for it in winter of 2006 and have kind of been all over the country working on it with different people. Did a lot in Austin during and around South by Southwest last year and then continued working on it last summer at the house that I now live in. So it's kind of fortuitous that I get to continue, after taking this long break, to work on the record in the same environment that I did a lot of production in over the last year. That was really fun. The control room is upstairs and then running a 250 foot cable snake down to the main floor and going to town down there. But now that we're living there, I can get even a little bit crazier and start running stuff into the basement and there's an external structure that has a sauna in it, so we can use that for isolation.

SEN: So is it a pretty old house?

RS: 1880s. It's got character. In terms of a home recording situation, it's pretty damn good because the rooms aren't that big. It'll be interesting to hear what it sounds like when I start doing drums again in it, because the interior of it has changed a lot. There's some bookcases and stuff that are gone, so it'll sound different in some ways, but I thinkfundamentally it's a lot the same because it's still the same shape. I'm really lucky. It's kind of sick how great it is to record in because there are a lot of options. There are just so many different sounding rooms in that house and it's a really small house so it's just one microphone cable to the next room.

SEN: So is it safe to say this is going to be fairly different from your last record, That These Things COuld Be Ours, which was done sort of all in one shot and live?

RS: Whereas the last record was very documentary in spirit, like almost entirely tracked live, this is more of—because of the travel involved—a field recording. There are things on there that will make engineers cringe. I mean, there's a lot of ground buzz, which I'm cleaning up to some degree, but at the same time, it's great to have these recordings and hear the place that they were recorded. There actually might just be a few minutes of birds on it from some of the recording that I did in Austin. Just hanging out in a house and turning the gain all the way up. Some kind of stuff like that. It is going to be really different from the last record.

SEN: I like that approach. That's always been something that I've wanted to do more of and never really have had the freedom or time and space to try that kind of stuff. Everything I've ever done has had to be in a studio and here we go. But then I listen to Grizzly Bear's last album, and you can hear where they recorded it so much. You can hear stuff outside, you can hear ice clinking in glasses and all that stuff. you get a sense of place.

RS: I think that if you're, as a musician or an engineer or a producer, you're going to take advantage of the digital domain and the fact that you don't have to set foot in a studio anymore to track a record. You should really run with that. Give people as much detail about what's going on as you can.

SEN: It makes a lot of sense to, whichever way you go, embrace that route. If you're gonna be in the studio, make a studio record. If you're going to be taking different snippets from different places and recording people in different situations, embrace that and go towards that. If you try and go half and half, you end up nowhere.

RS: And that's what the last record was about. Like, OK, we're going to be in the studio? So we have no shortage of mics and cables and actually, I think we used every cable in the studio when we recorded that in Chicago. It was a lot of cables; we dug in for two weeks. It was really fun.

SEN: There's definitely something to be said for sequestering yourself away in a studio and working on something.

RS: That first record, the stuff I did with Ed Ackerson, I literally walked in with a notebook and was like, "OK, we're going to record this, this, these drums in this section like this, and then we're gonna record this guitar in this section like this." Just going through and doing it. And that was the kind of things where the stuff on my first record is one day per song. Record and mix. He had a lot of good habits for that mode of working that would just get things rolling super-quick.

SEN: So you've sort of done a different approach for every album so far.

RS: Yeah, I don't know. Maybe that's totally self-indulgent, but that's the name of the game for me. If I'm gonna go to the trouble of writing the songs and taking care of all the logistics, until I find a process that trumps everything else, I don't find it necessary to have a really consistent sound from album to album. There are definitely bands—like Spoon—that benefit greatly from consistency. Their records change, but the sound of the band doesn't change all that much. But that's the fun part for me: the experience of going in a completely different direction every time. To create a body of work like that.

Pitchfork taking the piss out of Tapes 'n' Tapes?

2007-07-02T20:49:00.000-05:00

Picking apart Josh Grier's blog

You be the judge. Is nothing sacred? I guess this is the price of fame. I pulled these sentences out of a hat.

Pardon my absence ...

2007-07-02T00:37:00.000-05:00

I've been busy with a couple things lately, including getting stuff ready for the July 16 launch of Reveille, but I plan to have some new and at least somewhat non-traditional content up here, as well as the return of the Signal Eats Noise media taster, which has been on vacation.

In the meantime, you can look at my unspeakably cute dog, who's now going to be world famous as the Daily Puppy for July 2, 2007. Someday I'll have kids, and maybe I'll be proud then, but this is pretty great until then.

Pulsetc.com to go the way of the dodo, the dinosaur and Pulse.

2007-06-29T09:37:00.000-05:00

The Minnesota Monitor is reporting that pulsetc.com is going to go dark as of today. I'm quoted in the story from something posted on MnSpeak, and I stand by that assertion. One of the reasons I wanted to continue the blog I had started at Pulse was that a.) my understanding was that there was not going to be a music editor at the paper and b.) I knew they were not going to revamp the website in any way other than posting daily instead of weekly and that it would be dead inside of two months.

Q.E.D.

Live blogging from the Minneseries :: 06.28.07

2007-06-28T22:22:00.000-05:00

10:23 PM

Oh yeah. It's live, it's a blog. Harbor's onstage right now, churning out some rather solid indie rock/pop. I'm sitting in the back of the Nomad with Peter Leggett, Bill Caperton and my brother, Sean, from Ela. One Negroni down, Corona on the table. I actually tried to order a Negroni, which the bartender heard as Corona. But maybe it's for the best. Drinks with limes are kinda my stee-lo right now: Caipirinhas, etc.

It's finally an honest-to-god pleasant evening in here. It's impressively well-attended. Thanks, y'all.

In other news, the Timberwolves selected Corey Brewer with the seventh pick of the 2007 NBA Draft. I can't help but feel like this is a mistake. The consensus was that Brewer was a Top 5 or Top 10 candidate, but John Hollinger, the master of all things stats-related in basketball, developed this fancy new way to judge prospects, and he found Brewer to be hideously overrated. His being drafted by the Timberwolves would seem to confirm this. According to Hollinger's math, he's the worst of the three past first round picks Minnesota has made (Rashad McCants and Randy Foye being the other two), and they haven't exactly turned into superstars. I mean, Foye looked great last year and the jury's still certainly out. I wish they had taken Noah. He's a character guy, which is what we're sorely lacking, outside of KG, who may be outside of Minnesota before too long. Ricky Davis? Eddie Griffin? These guys do not a team make. You need the glue, and Noah's the glue.

Sean needs some water right now.

10:37 PM

Harbor have wrapped it up, and the members of Ela have abandoned my booth to get set up.

Here's what I saw when I saw "Live Free or Die Hard" the other day. A preview for a Peter Berg-directed film called "The Kingdom" about American investigators going to Saudi Arabia to look into a suicide bombing. And, presumably, to discover how the culturual differences between the Western world and the Islamic world go deeper than we know, but are in fact not so deep as to divide us as human beings, trying to find our way in the world. I'm extrapolating here, but the thing is that I had seen basically this same preview before, but this time, it was cut with "Bullet the Blue Sky" by U2 as the background music. Seemed like a much better film this time around. Odd, isn't it, how music can frame things? The urgency and heat of the U2 track imbued all the clips of the movie with so much more weight and drama. Plus, you know as a viewer that U2 are Irish and have some kind of relationship to the conflict in Ireland, which seems to deepen and broaden the association.

I only bring this up because the track that's playing right now over the house speakers has a guitar part that sounds like "Bullet the Blue Sky."

10:55 PM

Ela opens with "You Die," from their latest, Real Blood on Fake Trees. Or possibly Fake Blood on Real Trees. I can never keep it straight.

11:00 PM

Steve gets a beer.

11:01 PM

Lime in a beer is a scam. The greatest scam ever pulled by a beer company: Our beer's kinda shitty? Well, you just need a lime, my friend. That great ad with the palm trees with the Christmas lights they run around Christmas doesn't hurt either.

You know what? Ela kinda fucking kills it, and I'm not just saying that because my brother plays bass. 'Cause you know what? I wouldn't just say that.

I just realized Knol is playing my Telecaster. I take it all back.

11:08 PM

P.S. Sean's also playing my bass. Kind of trippy right? I mean, maybe not to you. But I bought that bass in New York back in '99 so I could record bass parts on ProTools. And I bought that Telecaster in Amherst, MA back in, oh, 2000, I think, at the Fretted Instrument Workshop for like $400 because I couldn't find an American Tele re-issue that was any good. It's from Japan. And here they are, being played by other people while I blog about it.

The door's propped open. The breeze is nice.

11:22 PM

In the second round, the T'wolves drafted somebody named Chris Richard. Sounds made up to me, like a guy created by the computer in a video game franchise of NBA 2K3.

11:48 PM

Chris Riemenschneider's in the house. He just came from the Black Keys over at the Fine Line, which he said was good, but apparently, there was a pretty large contingent who got their tickets for free through promos and clearly had no idea who the band was. Bobby Bare Jr. opened. I would have liked to have seen that, but I'm really looking forward to catching Mouthful of Bees final show of their stay as the hosts of the Minneseries, especially now that their guitarist, Mark, has returned from tour with Battle Royale.

We Became Actors' singer Jesse Stensby is also here, and his hair's looking flat and great. Apparently, Paul Mitchell De-Tangler is the key. Dude showers twice a day, just so you know, even though he only washes his hair maybe two times a week, he reports. It's nice to be able to just call someone a singer, you know? Not a singer/guitarist or a singer/something. But I went over that last week with regards to Mr. Stensby.

Still awaiting Mouthful of Bees. I may be fading.

11:59 PM

Mouthful of Bees are opening with "Jessica." That's the shit. It is an ugly sweater party in here and all the dudes are skinnier than the chicks. They follow it with "Under the Glacier" which is still my second favorite song from their album. They're just so chaotic and sprawling. Like, explosive and uncalculated, but they always rein it in a bit and never go on too long.

I thought this was a news song, but it isn't. It's "The End." They're pretty great at tacking on these cool little intros to stuff.

12:21 AM

For ther record, singer/guitarist Chris Farstadhas removed his ugly sweater. Perhaps he's conceding defeat here.

Trade rumors

2007-06-26T10:13:00.000-05:00

I have mixed feelings about a Kevin Garnett trade--it's as simple as that. My gut tells me it's time to move on (and, as Stephen Colbert knows, there are more nerve endings in your gut than anywhere else in your body) but I also really really really don't want him to go to the Lakers. Celtics? Sure. The Suns? That'd be ideal actually since they're my favorite team after the T'wolves, but I don't see it happening.

But KG teaming with Kobe? That's like Spiderman turning into Venom, like Annakin turning into Darth Vader, like your first best friend from fourth grade going to your enemy's house to play. Worst of all, I'd have to like the Lakers, because team's change, but players are forever and KG is bar none my favorite player of all time of anything.

But also, the prospect of having the 5th, 7th and 19th pick in a loaded draft is enticing, particularly with already having Craig Smith and Randy Foye on the team. I mean, if we somehow end up with Bynum, Foye, Smith, Yi Jianlian, Joakim Noah (or Corey Brewer?), and the 19th pick--which, can we get Petteri Koponen or Tiago Splitter? They have the best names in the draft--that's interesting. It smacks of the Bulls a couple of years ago when it was all young guys and they sucked, but look at them now! Whether or not anybody on that above list blossoms, there's always a shot that you can roll them over to the Knicks and get something good back. Or at least something expiring.

I'd also trade Kevin McHale to anyone, anywhere for a $5 coupon to Dairy Queen.

Live blogging from the Minneseries :: 06.21.07

2007-06-21T23:05:00.000-05:00

11:06 PM

Another week, another live blog from the Nomad. We Became Actors has just taken the stage, and I've just taken a couple of Negronis (Gin, sweet vermouth and Campari). I love Campari--it's official. You probably won't, but that's cool.

Jesse Stensby (We Became Actors' frontman) has got some frontman skills. I really appreciate bands with a singer who just sings--doesn't play guitar, doesn't play keyboards--just sings. It's nominally less hot in here than it was last week.

Mouthful of Bees guitarist, Mark, is on tour with Battle Royale, so they have his brother sitting in this week (as well as last week, apparently), but that's part of the beauty of a weekly show, ain't it? Shit happens, and you deal with it. I'm looking forward to MOB.

11:24 PM

We Became Actors play loud, tight rock and roll. It doesn't get much more straightforward than this. Stensby does actually have a keyboard onstage, for your info, but it's way over on the side, precluding his playing of it simultaneously with his singing, so I'm standing by my earlier point.

Lookout: Drum solo.

11:39 PM

Cure cover in the house. I confess, I can't remember the name of this song. It's the one that starts, "Show me show me show me how you do that trick ..." You know the one I'm talking about. Yes, I have some blind spots.

11:42 PM

On a completely unrelated note, King Kaufman has a great column today on Salon. Basically, he talked about the way people who are phenomenally talented, as a part of the whole self-denigrating and generally ingratiating way we expect people like that to act, play up the whole confidence and experience angle while downplaying the whole "I'm so much better than most living human beings at doing this" angle. I particularly like this part:

It's hard to believe this didn't dawn on me till I was in my 30s, but one day it did: Nobody ever interviews unsuccessful people about this subject. There must be millions more failures who had the confidence they could do it, whatever it was, than there are successes.

It's true, and it's something nobody talks about. All those motivational posters that tell you to believe in yourself and not listen to the critics and to follow your heart? There are some people out there who really need to listen to other people. Obviously, the whole believe to achieve thing has been played up by the movies in terms of sports, but Kaufman also makes the connection to music, because he was a musician. Bands always feel slighted when they don't get the attention they think they deserve, but you know what? They probably aren't all that.

I had a band, and we were pretty good, and all that, but there's probably a reason we didn't make it. You can blame it on timing and breaks, and that certainly plays a part, but there was definitely a moment where we decided what we were good at (blues) was not what we wanted to do forever, and thus stranded ourselves in a world that we didn't really fit into--indie rock. Sure, we could have stayed a blues band, mining that circuit and probably doing pretty well in that musical world, but I don't think we would have been happy doing that. Of course, I don't honestly think we ever could have made it in a meaningful way in terms of being an indie rock band because we were too a.) old by then and b.) not raised in it and c.) not really all that cool. So we were pretty much destined to break up and fall apart, unhappy with where we were and unable to get to where we wanted to be. But isn't everybody?

11:50 PM

We Became Actors' last song is definitely their best, a hooky pop wind-up with a classically yin-yang chorus that goes, "She looks so pretty but / acts so ugly." They should sell it. Either that, or take over the world with it and cash in.

12:01 AM

Just chatting with Todd, who runs the Nomad. Y'all people need to get out here and enjoy these nights, man. I'm not afraid to say it's a bit dead in here and that you should be out here enjoying it with us. Mouthful of Bees is "teh shit," as the kids say, and here they are, playing every Thursday in June and there you are, sitting in front of your computer reading this. You know where you shoulda been last night? Right here, among the clouds, with us. You've changed. You used to be cool.

12:35 AM

Holy cow, Mouthful of Bees are loud. And great. Some bands, when they play loud, can't really drum up any energy other than fury and/or anger. And some just sound like a mess. But MOB sound like a glorious and glorying mess. They've already torn through "The Now", "Jessica" and "Under the Glacier" from The End and now they're sinking their considerable teeth into a new tune.

And now they're on to "Serpent," which gets a brand new intro courtesy of some looping, it sounds like. Once you've gotten over the shock of just how good the songs they write are, what continues to impress is their ability to remake and re-imagine these songs. It's an ability that seems well beyond their median age, which, if I remember correctly, hovers around 20. "Jessica" is a sleepy ballad on the record, but it gets a swift kick in the pants thanks to a revised drumbeat from Katelyn Farstad. It just seems like most young bands are content to recreate what they already recorded, or perhaps to radically revise it for live shows. The subtle shifts they effect are all the more amazing for that.

12:44 AM

In other exciting news, Cloud Cult's manager, Adrian Young, has just passed me off not one but THREE unreleased tracks from The Meaning of 8 to check out for possible inclusion in this year's Twin Town High compilation. That's just great. In still more news, MOB are on their last song and I'm headed home. Puppy to walk, etc. See you same time next week.

Tonight at the Nomad

2007-06-21T15:17:00.000-05:00

It's the Minneseries! Sponsored by Signal Eats Noise, 89.3 The Current, the Minnesota Music Academy and Reveille Magazine. This week, it's gonna be headliners and June's resident band Mouthful of Bees and the hot hot shit of We Became Actors. I had such a good time liveblogging from there last week that I think I'm gonna do it again this week. If you're a bunch of bikers who hate clothes, think about showing up.

06.20.07 :: Feist with Grizzly Bear :: Pantages Theater

2007-06-21T08:43:00.000-05:00

Here's what I recommend to everyone: theater shows. My experience seeing Arcade Fire at the Chicago Theater was superlative, and I've had similarly great times at the Orpheum here in Minneapolis seeing Sigur Ros and New Pornographers. This, however, would be my first trip to the smaller Pantages Theater.

In scope, it's a lot closer to the Fitzgerald in Saint Paul than the other theaters in downtown Minneapolis, but it's all the more charming for it. It's got all the trappings of a theater show--good sight lines, seating, decorative elements on the walls--but it's not overly baroque or full of windy staircases and ratty seat cushions.

By the time Grizzly Bear starts, the place is only maybe half full, but that kind of suits Grizzly Bear's live presentation. Their last album, Yellow House, sounds like it could have been recorded in an empty theater anyways, and live, they strip out a lot of the texture of the songs to reveal their skeletal beauty. Only half their set is drawn from my favorite album of last year, including "Lullabye," "Little Brother," "Knife" and the closer, "On a Neck, On a Spit." Onstage, they perform with economy, singer Ed Droste still tentatively holding the mic stand and multi-instrumentalist Chris Taylor spending a good amount of the time bent over a mic into which he played flute and clarinet to loop as background textures. The other thing this set brings home is just how much Dan Rossen contributes to the band. Most of the press centers around Droste as the singer, but Rossen sings at least half the stuff, and possibly more.

Above them hang strings of Christmas lights that I can only presume will be used for Feist's set, and so hang unlit--a kind of perfect visual complement to the low-wattage and rusty organic beauty their songs are imbued with. Drummer Chris Bear, I realize at one point, has no kick drum at all, but just a snare and a floor tom tuned to the high range of a kick. He's also just a killer drummer. In addition to a couple of newer (or possibly older--I'm not that familiar with their back catalog) tunes, they play a cover of "He Hit Me (Felt Like a Kiss)," a track written in 1962 by Carole King and Gerry Goffin and recorded by The Crystals. It's a fairly harrowing track about spousal abuse, but it's given an entirely new twist by Droste and co., given a.) Droste not changing the sex of the song's characters and b.) being gay. Add to that their supremely dark take on the music for the song and the cover becomes a multi-valent exploration of abuse and power dynamics.

The real highlight comes with "On a Neck, On a Spit," which remains probably my favorite track from Yellow House. Once upon a time, I wrote this about that: "This tune has a kind of fractal quality to it--it's at least three different songs in one, and it embodies in miniature the grand dynamic sweep from intimate to epic that made this my favorite album of the year. The liltingly beautiful melody and pastoral imagery ('The yards around your feet / Fall away while you're asleep') of the first part give way to the nearly epic middle section, which teases resolution multiple times before giving up. Suddenly the song is overtaken by a jangly and dark acoustic guitar that paves the way for the bracingly cacophonous coda, a lament that could be sung by a man slowly going mad: 'Each day, spend it with you now / All my time, spend it with you now / Out here no one can hear me.'"

Still true. Onwards to Feist.

When the lights drop to introduce Feist's set, you could say the crowd is excited. So excited that they cheer loudly when the first silhouette crosses the stage, even though it's clearly not Leslie Feist. They settle down a bit, but when Feist finally emerges, they go nuts. She launches straight away into "Honey Honey" from The Reminder, a gentle song built around a mellow synth bass line and her own looped vocals. There a little guitar here and a little guitar there, but overall, it's strikingly bare, but she's got the crowd right in the palm of her hand, so it's not hard to catch every nuance of the performance.

Her set is a wide-ranging mix of rockers ("When I Was a Young Girl," "My Moon, My Man" and "I Feel It All") and barely there ballads ("The Park," "Intuition"). This is the fourth time I've seen her, now, and her ability to go from full band to solo is getting increasingly fluid, and as her popularity has grown, so has her audience's willingness to go along with this format. She gets everybody to sing along several times, engages in more than her fair share of stage banter and struts about the stage like Mick Jagger when she's on fire about a song. When she's not, she stands very still behind the mic, hair in her face and Guild Starfire guitar slung low--very low--using her ultimate weapon: her voice. It's rather difficult to describe exactly what about her voice is so seductive, but it has something to do with the way that it sits ouside the traditional spectrum of evaluating singers. If you'd believe American Idol, there's a one-dimensional spectrum that extends from terrible singers up through very accomplished singers that has only to do with technical ability. But Feist's voice seems both simultaneously untutored and extremely flexible and capable. It's brimming over with character,a syrupy smooth honey-ness that bleeds charm.

Oddly, though, the sound wasn't impeccable at Pantages. It wasn't bad, but her voice didn't come through as I've heard it do at the Varsity. Now obviously that's a smaller room, but you'd expect the sound at a theater to be great. Her performance didn't seem to suffer at all, though, as she confidently led her band (which seemed to include the drummer from Snowden. Am I crazy? Can anyone tell me if he might be moonlighting with Feist's band?) through a lengthy set of songs from her two albums, as well as one cover. I couldn't place the cover, but she did say that anyone who could identify it in the first 30 seconds would win a ... Grizzly Bear CD. If anybody knows that it was, lemme know.

Also: I bumped into Josh Grier from Tapes 'n' Tapes in the lobby while he was waiting around for Droste to come out. They know each other, apparently. Not surprising, really. Sounds like Tapes is in the process of writing for a new record which they're going to begin recording later in the summer.

Also, I had a camera was unable to get a dececnt shot from where I sat. Having already barely squeaked into the show under the wire after my tickets were stranded in Memphis (long story), I didn't feel like pushing my luck by pressing for photos. I'm sure there'll be some over at City Pages, as I bumped into music editor Sarah Askari there.

Complete Feist setlist:

Honey Honey
When I Was a Young Girl
I'm Sorry
My Moon, My Man
The Park
Limit to Your Love
I Feel It All
Intuition
Now At Last
Gatekeeper
(cover)
The Water
Mushaboom
1 2 3 4

ENCORE:
Brandy Alexander
Sea Lion Woman
Let It Die

Tullycraft getting jacked by hot dogs and Nutter Butters

2007-06-19T21:44:00.000-05:00

I may not know much, but I know my demographic, and I know Jesse Stensby reads this blog from time to time. I also know he loves Tullycraft, because he threatened to strand me in Austin during this past SxSW if I didn't get out to see them. I did, and yes, they were great. This disturbing news comes courtesy of Idolator. Is nothing sacred? And by nothing I mean licensing rights, I guess.

Music news from a coffee shop

2007-06-15T09:05:00.000-05:00

I'm currently at the Dunn Bros. near my place, and this is where I always run into Stook, a fantastic singer/songwriter who's always picking up coffee on his way to work when I swing through, it seems. Maybe you should go to his MySpace page and check out some of his music. I particularly recommend "One Blue Teardrop".

He also mentioned The Cates, who are a duo from Minneapolis and are pretty great. They don't have any real studio recordings yet, but my colleague Andrea Myers from HowWasTheShow played a cut from a live disc they have on Homegrown once upon a time,and it really was quite fetching. They've got a winsome and delicate take on "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" on their MySpace page. They really have to record this in a studio, 'cause I smell breakthrough hit.

Live blogging from the Minneseries :: 06.14.07

2007-06-14T21:39:00.000-05:00

9:47 PM

So here I am at The Nomad on the West Bank in Minneapolis for Mouthful of Bees' second week of their monthlong residency as the headliners of the Minneseries, which is now proudly brought to you by this blog, 89.3 The Current, The MMA and Reveille Magazine.

Tonight, shit's real. Giga Fox, the band that was supposed to open and are friends of Katelyn Farstad from MOB, just had their car and all their gear stolen near downtown, so things are running a little behind at the moment. MC/VL's in the house already, and John Henry's looking mighty fine with his mullet-hawk.

The Cavs are probably still getting creamed by the Spurs. So much so that they've switched the TV to a meaningless interleague game between the Twins and the Braves. Of course, that game's in the bottom of the 9th and the score is tied 2-2 and ... oh ... the Twin just won. Walk-off single to left. A better choice than the travesty that has been the NBA Finals. I'll come back and post more to this later ...

10:11 PM

Hey, you know what? It's hotter than Hades in the Nomad. Why did I wear jeans? The TV's now showing Manchester City vs. Arsenal. I'm putting my money on Arsenal. That's all I've got for now.

10:19 PM

Now I've got something worth talking about. A kind of co-ed semi-nude bike crawl just rolled in, led by none other than Rob Skoro. The girls are mostly in tank tops and panties, the dudes in even less than that. A couple brave young ladies are in bra and panties. You wouldn't believe how much this improves the ambiance here. One guy's wearing boxer briefs that are too revealing by half.

Why oh why did I wear jeans? A lot of them have messenger bags, which I would imagine would chafe like the dickens without a shirt. I think I once tried to play guitar shirtless. I wouldn't recommend it. Shit gets pinched.

And someone should make them wipe down the barstools after use, a la the Nautilus machines at the gym.

10:33 PM

MC/VL are taking the stage right now. First track is the last one on their disc that bites AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" to gloriously retarded effect. In a true show of class, the bike crawlers are actually crowding the stage and listening, not just bending the space over and then leaving, which I've seen more than a couple of crawls do in the past. MC/VL are not unlike the Beastie Boys, but think of the Beastie Boys from when they got a little smarter doing the songs from when they were dumber.

Here's what comes highly recommended on a hot-ass night like tonight. Campari and soda. I know, you think I'm nuts for liking a liquor which is basically bitters, but if you can get into it, it's mad refreshing in a way that most drinks aren't. It's so unheavy and unbloated.

MC/VL have now taken their shirts off. This not a Mark Wahlberg or C+C Music Factory moment. More of a Les Savy Fav kind of thing. Of course, between Har Mar Superstar and D4, Twin Cities bands have something of a reputation for getting shirtless even when it's not advisable, so why stop now?

10:49 PM

MC/VL have stripped down to their skivvies now. They appear to be grey briefs. Props. Man City's up 1-0, surprisingly. There's also an Asian man wearing glasses and a pink, flower-print one-piece bathing suit. And Ryan Olcott (lately of 12Rods and currently of Mystery Palace and doing sound at the Nomad tonight) seems unphased by the whole thing.

11:08 PM

Lamentably, the "Panty Posse" (as MC/VL branded them) have left the building. Now it looks more like the Nomad on a weeknight. You just can't plan for things like that, though. Who knew? Alls I'm saying is you should come check out Mouthful of Bees these next two weeks. They're one of the best bands in the Twin Cities right now, and will very soon be very much more popular and don't you want to say you knew them when?

11:25 PM

Mouthful of Bees is just getting set up. Stef Alexander (P.O.S.) showed up randomly, and that makes me happy. He reports that Building Better Bombs is putting together a European tour 12-inch for when they go across the pond in October, and also that the stuff he's working on for the next P.O.S. record is "awful". But he likes it, although he doesn't believe I will. All I can say is I'm looking forward to hearing it.

11:42 PM

Giga Fox are taking the stage with MOB's set up because, again, their stuff (including their car) was stolen. That seriously blows. Don't hold it against us, Giga Fox. Minneapolis is really a very nice place. It's one guy on guitar and vocals and a drummer, playing what seems to be a fractured brand of post-rock. The singer is struggling a bit with a guitar that isn't his, but they're doing a game job.

I, however, cannot take the heat in here, and so am getting out of the kitchen. I have to get up early tomorrow and really get cracking on some work, too. So that's it for this post. Hopefully I can clear the calendar next week so I can stay up for Mouthful of Bees.

Forgotten instruments

2007-06-14T13:30:00.000-05:00

Salon's Audiofile has a great piece on forgotten instruments like the Stroh violin (a violin with a metal horn attached to it for amplification) and the Birotron, which, man, just listen to this thing. Pretty badass, but good luck finding one--there are only four in the world.

Crazy instruments can lend some really interesting textures to straight-ahead stuff, like Mercury Rev's copious use of saw, or Ben Harper's use of the Weissenborn, which gets a mention in the Salon piece. Regine from The Arcade Fire was using some kind of strange instrument that you played by winding, kind of like an organ grinder. Maybe that's what it was. And they also made great use of horns like the bass clarinet, euphonium and flugelhorn, which has always been one of my favorite instrument names.

Or what about Don Cherry's pocket trumpet that he played on so many Ornette Coleman records from the '60s? Or the oud from John Coltrane's Village Vanguard shows from that same era? Sometimes all it takes is a subtle tonal shift to dramatically alter and enhance the setting of a song.

I'm sure there are some Minneapolis/St. Paul bands that play some pretty weird instruments, but I'm strapped to come up with them. Anyone?

Timberwolves PG Mike James to Houston for PF Juwan Howard

2007-06-14T09:44:00.000-05:00

The only thing good about this deal is that Howard's got less of a contract left. The T'wolves have been notorious for trading players who are almost done with their deals (Olowokandi) for players who aren't an upgrade and have longer contracts left (Blount), so this seems like a step in the right direction.

I'll miss Mike James' crazy, but not his lackluster playing. Looks like the people in Houston have more of the same to look forward to, according to this part of the Star Tribune's report:

"I'm coming in with a whole new attitude," James said. "I'm going to change my number, if I can. I'm going to change to No. 7 [from No. 13], because it's God's perfect number. I'm going to come in with a whole new approach to life, to everything, the way I approach the game of basketball itself. One thing I'm going to do is have fun. I'm going to smile."

In addition to smiling, I'd recommend learning to play point guard and maybe not jacking up so many threes in the first five seconds of the shot clock. If I played basketball, I'd see if I could make my number 1.618. Because it's Pythagoras' perfect number.

Chunklet gets real about AmRep Records

2007-06-14T08:58:00.000-05:00

There are some serious devotees of Amphetamine Reptile Records out there, and that's incredible. It's a part of the Minneapolis music scene that I completely missed, so it's always great to hear about someone else's experience, especially when they post mp3s of the band they're talking about. This post mostly concernes a band called Halo of Flies, who sound great. I'm particularly fascinated by the way they're described as threatening. That's always been an underrated quality in music, I think. I'm not talking about theatrical darkness (like Marilyn Manson) or simple thuggish obnoxiousness (Limp Bizkit?), but rather something closer to the Romantic notion of the sublime--something that's so overwhelming to your aesthetic apparatus that you're transformed.

In other news, I just got a lovely little package of discs from James Everest of his and his sister's new CDs, for which they're having a release show at the Bryant-Lake Bowl on June 29. I haven't gotten to dig into the discs yet, but for more info, you can check out jgeverest.com.

Today, perhaps I'll write six or seven CD reviews.

Guerilla marketing? Or just slimey?

2007-06-13T18:36:00.001-05:00

I managed to drum up some music-related content, although I'm really just passing on info from The Onion's A.V. Club. Thing is, looks like this stuff is going down right in my own backyard. Here's the text of the e-mail that the A.V. Club got on Friday:

A party was going on a few doors down from my friend's apartment complex in Minneapolis a few weeks ago. My friend said that she'd been invited to the party earlier in the day by the tenant of the apartment (with whom she was only a casual acquaintance) with promises of "Guitar Hero on the XBox360, great tunes coming from the Zune, and free beer." When we stopped by we found two dozen college students relaxing, drinking, playing Guitar Hero, in a room covered with posters for Microsoft's mp3 player, the Zune. After some free social lubricant (MGD), the host told us the whole story: Microsoft paid him to host parties like this. As long as he documented the party with pictures, he was reimbursed for all the expenses and paid a little extra for his "trouble." What sort of marketing is this? Does it happen with a lot of other mega-corporations? If so, how do I get such a sweet gig?

This just seems kinda icky and scummy. And you know, what's actually the worst part is the Guitar Hero on an Xbox 360 part, because what it screams is that they can't drum up enough interest in their crappy product, so they're reduced to pimping their successful product. Is there anyone out there who would've heard an invite to a party with Guitar Hero on an Xbox360 and sweet tunes on a Zune and gone, "Wait, you have a Zune?!"

Plus, how do you play Guitar Hero if there are tunes coming from an off-brand mp3 player? And? MGD? Gack.

Asst'd non-music related things

2007-06-13T17:30:00.000-05:00

1.) The NBA Finals are tremendously disappointing. If you've got ESPN Insider (sorry, them's the breaks), you can check our John Hollinger's excellent idea about how to fix this. I'll give you the basic idea: the playoffs get seeded like normal, but then you have the #8 team in the West play the #1 team in the East, and vice versa. This way, you're far more likely to have the two best teams in the league play each other, rather than the West champ killing the "best" of the East. I can't say for sure this'd work, but usually Hollinger's on his stuff and they have to try something.

2.) I went and saw "Don Juan Giovanni" at Jeune Lune last night. It's a play/opera that combines Moliere's take on the Don Juan myth with Mozart's musical that did the same. And it's real weird. But not rewardingly weird. I found it incredibly flat and unresonant. The music was taken from "Don Giovanni", but it seemed like the words had been changed a bit here and there to fit the story. And then there were definitely elements taken straight from Moliere, as when Don Juan began speaking in French for a long monologue towards the end.

It was all rather muddled--a kind of mashup that expects the audience to be well-versed enough with both Moliere and Mozart to appreciate it, I think. It was sort of like someone making a play featuring the Adam West Batman and the Christian Bale Batman, but not nearly as fun.

See, I think that when you have an archetype like Don Juan, whose story is told over and over by different cultures in different periods, they draw him in such a way as to illuminate something about their own society. Is he a scoundrel whose defiance of societal mores ends in his downfall? Or is he the ultimate romantic, brought low by his own impulses, but still a heroic figure? I think "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" is, in essence, a late 20th-century American reading of the Don Juan story. Sexual promiscuity ain't what it used to be these days, so what Bueller does is refuse to live by the rules. He's surrounded by people who want him to conform to a certain standard of behavior and he defies that at every turn and *he gets away with it*. It's a reading that rewards the carpe diem approach to life because hey, that's who we are.

This play didn't really seem to interpret the story in any way. I didn't come away with a sense of what the character was supposed to mean to us, nor even who he really was. In fact, almost none of the characters felt like real people, although Steven Epps' turn as Sganarelle was at least entertaining.

There was also a lot of modern-day slang and commentary thrown into it that didn't seem to connect with the subject because they refused to place the story in any concrete time period. So here we have Sganarelle spouting off about George W. Bush and Iraq, but driving around a beat-up Studebaker and meeting Italians who at first speak no English, and then suddenly fluent English in the second half.

Did I mention yet that Don Juan, played by an older gentleman whose name escapes me at the moment, threatened to pull out a can of whupass at one point? That was probably where it jumped the shark.

Anyways, I was disappointed, because I was really looking forward to my first show at the Jenue Lune Theater. The staging was at least well done, and the aforementioned car was handled really interestingly, set up on tiny wheels that could be turned almost 90 degrees so the car wouldn't drive so much as drift across the stage.

3.) I got nothing music-related. I just finished an article on Moon Maan, which will be out in next week's City Pages, and I'm working on some CD reviews and a Low feature for Skyscraper Magazine. Once that's all done? I dunno. We'll see where we're at.

Review of The Pipettes with Smoosh

2007-06-11T16:47:00.001-05:00

I know, I know: it's like Pipettes central around here recently. We'll be getting onto some other new stuff once I crawl out from under all the freelance writing I'm doing at the moment. For now, here's a link to my review of The Pipettes show on City Pages' website. Photos are by the illustrious Dan Corrigan, and you can even see the back of my head in one of them. I'm right in front of the stage right Pipette in the second photo.

06.08.07 :: The Pipettes with Monster Bobby and Smoosh :: 7th St. Entry

2007-06-09T12:19:00.000-05:00

MONSTER BOBBY

ASYA of SMOOSH

CHLOE of SMOOSH

MAIA of SMOOSH

MAIA of SMOOSH

THE PIPETTES' SETLIST

THE PIPETTES

ROSAY of THE PIPETTES

RIOTBECKI of THE PIPETTES

GWENNO of THE PIPETTES

ROSAY

RIOTBECKI

GWENNO

The Pipettes and Happy 200th Post

2007-06-09T01:02:00.000-05:00

Just got back from The Pipettes at the Seventh St. Entry. This is all I have to say about that for now:

Also, happy 200th post to Signal Eats Noise.

[Balloon drop goes here]

Shows tonight.

2007-06-07T18:10:00.000-05:00

If you have legs and the will to use them, and aren't already going to check out The Pines at the Cedar Cultural Center or my band, Big Trouble, at the Kitty Cat Klub, you should go check out Mouthful of Bees at the Nomad. It's the first night of their month of Thursdays hosting the Minneseries, which I'm proud to say is now sponsored by this very website. Tonight, they'll be joined by Milk Automat--fresh off their participation in Radio K's Battle of the Underage Underground--and The Haves Have It, who are crazy and good and crazy good.

Haven't heard Mouthful of Bees? Oh man, you should. Here's an article I wrote about them back when their CD came out:

Mouthful of Bees: You can't teach heart

I'm on 46th Street, just crossing over Lyndale, when my cell phone rings.

"Steve? This is Kate from Mouthful of Bees. I just got out of the hospital, so I'm going to be about 10 minutes late."

I'm meeting Mouthful of Bees before a show at Java Jack's in South Minneapolis. There's an all ages venue tucked under the coffee shop, something I was completely unaware of as I walked in, trying to figure out where a budding young rock band could set up, much less rock out in the way that Mouthful of Bees' debut disc, The End, shows them to be capable of. But can you bring the rock with a broken toe?

"Well, I was making pancakes today and then—this is the third time I've broken this toe, mind you all," explains drummer Kate Farstad. "Then I was running to turn this water off and caught it on the edge of my fridge and it just snapped. I have to have a pin put in it tomorrow."

We're seated around a small table and Farstad has just joined her bandmates (bassist Micky Alfano, guitarist/keyboardist Mark Ritsema and singer/guitarist Chris Farstad, Kate's brother), and the conversation is quickly steered away from Kate's injury. It seems Chris and Kate have been playing together for quite a while already.

"We've been playing together since 8th grade," she explains, "so five years. I'm 19." That's right: the median age of the band is 19, and I later discover that this is only their fifth show (maybe seventh—there's some debate), but somehow they've already managed to make a rough-hewn gem of an album. The overwhelming quality of The End is its palpable excitement—it's rambunctious and restless, brimming with an overgrown lushness and a giant amount of heart. It's a little Velvet Underground, a little Jeff Buckley, a little Arcade Fire. All of which is fairly amazing, given its decidedly offhand and humble origins.

The album was recorded over the course of five days last summer and Chris says, "It was kind of a joke almost: we were like, 'We should do an album.' And Micky's like, 'We're doing 11 songs.'" Chris wanted to do eight, but Kate explains they only had five at the time, so a lot of stuff had to get written pretty quickly. "I think we stayed up pretty much all night," continues Chris.

They enlisted Ritsema's brother, Davis, to silkscreen the covers of 200 copies and then threw a little release show in the basement of Java Jack's. "Like, 80 people came," says Kate, "and we made back enough to pay for the silk-screening and then we had $100 profit. We sold 'em for $5, I think. Then we just gave the rest away."

And that was pretty much going to be that, except that Ritsema also plays in Battle Royale, and thus had the ear of Afternoon Records' Ian Anderson. It took some prodding, but eventually Anderson got to hear them when they opened for his band, One for the Team, at the Triple Rock. He signed them up shortly after, and now the label has re-released The End, making it possible for journalists like me to start salivating all over them in print.

It's a little difficult to say exactly what it is that makes Mouthful of Bees so compelling, but listening to any of the first four songs on their album should be enough to convince you there's something there. "The Now" breaks in with cacophonous drums and a hesitating dual guitar line before Chris' quavering voice enters, singing lyrics about a novel and the space between houses that get half-swallowed by a contrapuntal guitar melody. The song advances and retreats several times before boiling over at about the two-and-a-half minute mark, and from there it's a breathless run to the finish. "Jessica" downshifts into a gentle coast, albeit one with enough slightly strange twists (squelchy keyboard runs, resonant bass frequencies that give it an odd contour) to make it fit comfortably before "Under the Glacier," which explodes in an almost arrhythmic way before settling into a rusty, shaky groove. The song climaxes with a spiky, frenetic coda that gives way to the song I've been pimping pretty much endlessly since I first heard it, "I Saw a Golden Light," a choice which comes as a bit of a shock to the band.

"We were so wigged out when you picked it because everyone hates that song," laughs Kate. They've been unable to duplicate its sound live, and now I know why. "The drums were recorded with the internal mic in a laptop," says Chris, and I'm flabbergasted because, frankly, they sound incredible, like the drums at the end of the world or something. "I don't know how it got that way," he continues. "We've tried to figure out how to play it live. I have never found a mix I've been satisfied with."

True to form, there's no "I Saw a Golden Light" in the set they play that night. The basement of Java Jack's has been turned into the kind of venue I remember fondly from college; all Christmas lights and street signs and folding chairs. The sound leaves a lot to be desired—vocals are all but absent, and Chris' overwhelmingly fuzzed-out guitar seems like almost too much for the room to take. The first couple songs are clattery and unfocused, but when "Jessica" emerges in a slightly different arrangement from the record, propelled by an endearingly funky new drumbeat, it all begins to fall into place. I have to confess: I'm stumped for an adequate way to describe their fuzzy, lo-fi charm as other than the way it felt at that moment: magical.

When my friends and I are playing basketball, we like to mock sports commentators for saying that NBA draft prospects as have "tremendous upside," but that's pretty much what Mouthful of Bees have: upsideability. And so I sit in the basement of a coffee shop, wondering if I might not just be witnessing the beginning of something really huge, when I notice that Kate's still got her hospital admit bracelet around her right wrist—you just can't teach that kind of heart.

Feature on The Pines in City Pages

2007-06-06T09:23:00.000-05:00

The Pines are playing the CD release show for their new one (and Red House Records debut), Sparrows in the Bell, at the Cedar Cultural Center on June 7. I wrote an article on them for City Pages, which you can check out here.

Can't resist another Minnesota music LOLcats

2007-06-05T23:51:00.000-05:00

Can't resist.

Oh hai.

2007-06-05T23:11:00.000-05:00

You know lolcats? Perhaps not, since I know there's some part of my demographic (hey, Dad) that might not be standing on the bleeding edge of Internet geekdom, so here's the short explanation.

Pictures of cats doing funny things + captions in poor English and usually rendered in the Impact font (you know I had to throw that observation in there) = lolcats

It's kind of hard to explain why it's funny precisely. All I know is that my introduction came one night when I was checking out a show at the Triple Rock Social Club and Rob Skoro was doing sound. He had his laptop open and this was his screensaver. I couldn't look away and I couldn't stop laughing.

So go spend some time on icanhascheezburger.com. Check out this one, this one, and this one.

Familiarized? Okay, then go check out the thread of people doing much the same thing but with embarassing promo photos of bands right here. Just try to appreciate the fact that part of the appeal is that only one in ten is going to make you laugh, but when it works, it's kind of like magic. I made this one:

It's The LOL Steady.

And the winner is ...

2007-06-05T17:20:00.000-05:00

Andrea Myers has a nice piece on Radio K's Battle of the Underage Underground over at Minneapolitan Music.

Long story short, Rivet carried the day with some seriously rockin' thrash metal action. Plus, one of the guys looks like Matt Dillon circa "Singles". Read for yourself.

In other championship news, it looks like former Lifter Puller guitarist Steve Barone is your 2007 Mashed Potato Wrestling Champion of the Universe. You can't make this shit up, people.

And also, I worked out "Axel F" on guitar this afternoon. That's gotta be worth some kind of trophy. It was all inspired by watching "Fletch," newly re-issued on DVD. Harold Faltermeyer did the soundtrack for that and "Beverly Hills Cop", whence "Axel F", the theme for everyobdy's favorite donkey-laughing detective, Axel Foley.

She used my head like a revolver...

2007-06-05T10:04:00.000-05:00

In all the foofera surrounding the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's, I'm pretty sure that Chris Molanphy has written the last word. You can check out the full text of his column right here over at Idolator.

In essence, he argues that the current re-ascendance of the single song over the album form has vaulted Revolver over Sgt. Pepper's in the critical consciousness as the best Beatles album. I particularly like the part where he calls Revolver the Beatles' greatest mixtape, which sums it up nicely.

I just went back and listened to all of Revolver myself, and with a quite different set of ears than I had on the last time I listened to it, I'm sure. See, I'm an album guy going way back, and for a long time, my favorite Beatles album has been Abbey Road. Plus, like many people, Sgt. Pepper's was the first Beatles album I fell in love with.

But listening to Revolver, and trying to evaluate it a.) on its own merits, and not within the canon of Beatles albums and b.) with something approaching fresh ears, I'm struck by a couple of things.

First of all, the album sounds amazing. I listened on headphones, and it's striking how few of the techinques that make Revolver such a unique sounding record are used today. Panning, people. Menomena's Friend and Foe is actually the current album that it most closely resembles it in the stark separation between the component parts. The bass and drums, particularly on a track like "Taxman" act as a unit. The guitar on "Taxman" sits way to the left and the vocals are right down the center. What makes this sonic picture challenging is that there's absolutely nothing on the right side of the stereo picture. It's like a giant dead spot until first the tambourine, then the cowbell and finally the guitar lead come in. Show me a band bold enough to leave such a giant swathe of space not just unoccupied, but postively and purposefully empty.

The cumulative effect is that it feels like you can hear every single thing, and yet everything is sliced so thin that you're not getting the whole picture of any individual instrument. Check out "She Said She Said": The drums are completely restricted to the left side of the stereo picture, reduced to just a kick, snare rolls and cymbal crashes. The cymbal crashes are the particularly brilliant part, because if you map the kit out over the whole stero picture (as the bulk of engineers are wont to do these days), that crash would wash out the whole song, but as it is, it's like a velvet punch that echoes the overtones of the sitar.

Secondly, "Eleanor Rigby"'s achievement as a pop song built around strings and nothing more hardly needs to be restated, but how about "Good Day Sunshine" being built entirely around two pianos? And not Elton John or Billy Joel-style piano songs, but more like what Spoon would eventually do with "The Way We Get By." And then there's the French horn solo on "For No One." It's bold and amazing, indicative of Paul McCartney at the peak of his game. It's like he's realizing he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and no one can stop him. Well, except himself, which is really what happened, post-Beatles. McCartney always played to the level of his competition, like so many forgotten basketball teams that would beat good teams and lose to bad teams. When he was pushing against Lennon and against himself, he wrote classics. Once he had conquered those two competitors, who could stand up to him? So he wrote "Spies Like Us."

Which leads me to my third and final point about Revolver. It's ripe. It feels like the moment when The Beatles had just gotten a handle on exactly what they were capable of. They weren't doing exactly what they were capable of, but the album's shot through with a sense of invulnerability. Ringo sounds muscular and authoritative on the drums (!), the vocal harmonies are crisp and clear, and they whip back and forth between guitar-driven pop numbers and exploratory, boundary-pushing structures without making either direction feel played out.

By contrast, Sgt. Pepper's feels almost overripe. They were hitting their stride as an album-making, studio-wizard band, but is full-stride ever as compelling as the moment just before? That's part of the beauty of the music industry system that was in place then: bands put out albums every six months, so there was a much greater "lightning in a jar" quality built into the release of albums. Revolver is an album teetering right on the brink between two ways of making music, as much a capper on an era of singles-based albums as Sgt. Pepper's is the keystone of an era of albums qua unified works.

OK, I just used qua. Must be time to wrap this up. Please note all discussions of the critical merits of different Beatles albums stem from an understanding that the best Beatles album must generally be considered the best album of all time, and even the fifth best Beatles album is at worst the tenth best album of all time.

SEN [hearts] Parts and Labor

2007-06-04T10:19:00.000-05:00

Because I don't like just complaining about stuff, here's some positive Parts and Labor content for y'all, courtesy of the Twin Cities' own Minneapolis Fucking Rocks:

Links to Parts and Labor's performance on Sound Opinions

Also, the Currently Bumping section of the website (it's over on the right there, down a ways) has now been updated.

[insert 40 years ago today joke here]

2007-06-03T09:48:00.000-05:00

I've been reading a couple different things about the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band coming out.

But the best thing I've read so far is Aimee Mann's Op-Ed in the Times. I can really identify with Mann's contention that it's almost children's music--it was the first Beatles album I can remember listening to, and I definitely played with the fake mustaches and all the stuff that came with the record (Why? They could be worth some money, now). Damn. Check out those mustaches, seriously.

And I agree with her that it doesn't stand up quite the way that other Beatles' albums have. Marchese over at Audiofile touched on the same thing, although I think a little more callously, and without as nuanced a reading of the way that people relate to the disc.

In a lot of ways, I think it's a very successful stepping stone for people in their appreciation of music. Whenever it gets at you, you can bet it's probably more thick with care than what you've been listening to before. If you're a little kid, you're going to respond to the bright colors of the jacket, the bright colors of the songs. And as Mann alludes to, if the shimmer of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" draws you in, "A Day in the Life" plants a darker seed, and isn't that what growing up is often about? A recognition not of nothing so much as a wider world out there that's both more wondrous and more strange than the one behind you?

When I re-discovered the album after I had begun playing guitar, I was drawn to the structures--the cleverness of the "Sgt. Pepper's" reprise, the massiveness of "A Day in the Life." Do those things come off as too clever by half now? Yeah, they do. Abbey Road has held up as an adventurous and unbelievably cocky album--what other band would throw five amazing pop songs at you, then only play them for a minute apiece? And Rubber Soul and Revolver are now feted as the hipster favorites when it come to the Fab Four. Revisionist history has led us to the conclusion that you can hear the Beatles' growing disinterest beginning with Sgt. Pepper's, continuing through The White Album, and only getting brushed aside on Abbey Road. Keep in mind, however, that the Beatles are really only competing with themselves when it comes to the album format.

Anyways, for no other reason than Mann wrote that Op-Ed and because I've been listening to her a lot recently in the wake of watching "Magnolia" again, here's an article on her I wrote a while back ...

A majority of songwriters I hear treat songs more or less like diary entries. But there are also songwriters who treat songs like chemistry experiments, blending words and imagery together until they achieve a reactive compound. Here I’m thinking of Jeff Tweedy’s experiments with chance operations to mix up Wilco’s palette, or The Books work with found sound and snippets of spoken dialogue. And of course, the vast majority of music produced in these United States treats songs like candy bars or light beer. A song is a commodity, a blank screen onto which to project a pop singer’s personality, image and attitude in an attempt to sell more. And then there’s Aimee Mann.

“I’m from a different era,” she says by phone from Los Angeles.

I’ve caught her in the studio a few weeks before she’s set to start an acoustic summer tour, and she’s busy tracking, of all things, a Christmas album. “Probably half of it is traditional stuff,” Mann says. “I did write one song for it and there’s a Michael Penn Christmas song that I thought was really great that I did. A couple of goofy things like ‘You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.’ You have to throw in a little humor.”

A Christmas album is probably not the first thing you’d think when you think Aimee Mann, provided you’re familiar with her history. After doing time in the major label pop world with ‘Til Tuesday, Mann struck out on her own with two solo albums (1993’s Whatever and 1995’s I’m With Stupid) that both received critical acclaim but very little in the way of support from Imago and Geffen Records, respectively. Most people probably picked up the plot with her breakout contributions to the soundtrack to Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Magnolia” in 1999. Since that time, she’s released three studio albums (2000’s Bachelor No. 2, 2002’s Lost in Space and 2005’s The Forgotten Arm) and a live album. She’s a unique talent who’s managed to forge her own path through the music industry.

What makes Mann unique is her approach to songwriting. She creates characters who aren’t just thinly veiled slices of her own personality- they’re living, breathing people with psychological depth. Think about it this way: Whenever an author (or songwriter) creates a narrative, there are at least three people involved- the author, the narrator of the story and the story’s protagonist. In confessional songs, these three personas are squished so close together as to be almost indistinguishable from one other, whereas at the other end of the spectrum, with someone like Britney Spears, the goal is to completely hide the author and the narrator from view so that the persona of the song’s protagonist becomes overwhelmingly dominant.

Bear with me here, because this is about to get hairy. Whenever I get into talking about this, I have to talk about Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. To make this as painless as possible, I’ll just say that for Tolstoy, his characters are tools created to demonstrate a point whose meaning they may or may not have access to. For Tolstoy, the narrator retains what Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin called “a surplus of vision.” This allows the narrator to draw the reader to the conclusions that the author wants them to be led to. Dostoevsky, meanwhile, created psychologically complete characters who were basically wound up and set free to bump against each other within the pages of the book. Dostoevsky’s narrators don’t hold the secret to his novels; the secret lies within the characters interactions with each other. This is what Bakhtin meant when he talked about Dostoevsky’s dialogic style.

I swear to god this is a useful way to think about music. The key is recognizing that the narrator, when it comes to songwriting, is not the person who wrote the song (since plenty of singers don’t write their own material), but is instead an amalgamation of the person singing it and the musical arrangement around it. Let’s take “It’s Not,” from Lost in Space as an example. It’s the story of someone who feels detached in some essential way from the world, and Mann sets up the song beautifully with this image: “I keep going ‘round and ‘round on the same old circuit/ A wire travels underground to a vacant lot/ where something I can’t see interrupts the current/ and shrinks the picture down to a tiny dot/ and from behind the screen it can look so perfect/ but it’s not.” Note the consistency of the metaphor here. As the song progresses, she moves on to talk about waiting at a stoplight and watching as the lights cycle through: “All I have to do is depress the pedal/ but I’m not.” The protagonist is caught on the horns of a Hamlet-esque dilemma here- the problem is not deciding which way to go, it’s deciding to do anything at all. The bridge gives a hint at the cause of the dilemma- the protagonist has been hurt after showing him or herself to be vulnerable to someone they trusted. And then we get the sucker punch in the last verse: “So baby kiss me like a drug, like a respirator/ and let me fall into the dream of the astronaut/ where I get lost in space that goes on forever/ and you make all the rest just an afterthought/ and I believe it’s you who could make it better/ though it’s not.”

What’s entirely brilliant about this is how Mann finds a middle way between Tolstoy and Dostoevsky here. The last verse shows that the protagonist is fully aware of the essential problem that’s keeping resolution at bay- a desire to put your faith completely in someone else- but at the same time he or she simply cannot move past it. The structure and arrangement of the song, however, provides the listener a way out. The way the setting moves from an electric circuit out to an intersection and out into space; the delicate way in which Mann’s voice climbs up into a vulnerable falsetto before landing back on earth with the last line of each verse: The musical structure provides the narrative framework to show us, as the audience, that this situation that feels unbearable will pass with time.

“It’s like everything in the arts,” Mann replies when asked about her experiences in the music industry. “You can’t do it unless you really love it because there’s no guarantee that you can make any money or get any ego satisfaction out of it. You can’t get into that headspace of competing with other artists—where am I in the charts, or how many records am I selling. I have a manager to kind of think about all that other sort of stuff and I get to worry about making records and writing songs and what I’m going to do for cover art. Of course, nobody buys CDs anymore, so that’s kind of becoming an obsolete idea.

“I definitely come from a different era.”

Prejudice: The best laxative when it comes to crapping on bands

2007-06-01T15:21:00.000-05:00

Lindsay Anne Arnold is a former intern for The Village Voice and is currently studying communications at NYU. Idolator had her thumb through the music section and wipe her ass with it, which I'm not saying is a bad idea, exactly. I don't think it's news to anyone that The Village Voice has gone pretty far downhill in recent years, and I'm not contesting that it's probably a den of iniquity filled with former music directors from college radio stations, but here's what I have an issue with:

Michael D. Ayers wrote about a band called Parts and Labor who play "art-jam-noise." I like jam bands, so I downloaded some of this stuff. It sounded like a sheep taking a dump with a Green Day album playing underneath it! Maybe the sheep pooping part is the "art" part, I dunno. Like one time, back in Baltimore, the music editor told me, "art in music is like pornography--you know it when you get a hard-on." That's when I asked to be moved down to the IT offices.

What blows about this part is it's a classic fallacy in several parts. First, it's begging the question. You're nominally evaluating VV's music section to see if it's any good, but you've already decided it's no good. So as proof that it's no good, you're simply positing that the bands the critics are writing about are no good. Now, obviously, there's no yardstick for measuring creative virtue, but do you really think she gave an open-minded listen to Parts & Labor?

I mean, the hypocrisy is staggering if you really look into it. By quoting Ayers, she sets up an expectation--and a false one at that, because the quote is completely removed from the original context of the article. She then complains that the band didn't sound like what she wanted and then makes a simple-minded simile in an attempt at humor. Sheep! Green Day! Poo!

When you break it down, this is really nothing more than someone saying a publication is crap because they have a writer who likes a band that isn't good. And why aren't they good? Because aside from how they sound, they were inaccurately described by a crap writer for a crap publication.

Call me crazy: I happen to like Parts & Labor. I'm sorry Ms. Arnold had such a rough time at The Village Voice--it sounds like a terrible place, really, but does a hard-working and inventive band have to get splattered with shit because of it?

Rolling Stone gathers Maerz

2007-05-31T07:59:00.000-05:00

Former City Pages music editor Melissa Maerz is headed to Rolling Stone

It's weird how nowadays in music journalism, as you move up, it just gets worse. I mean this as no crack on Melissa, who's always struck me as a stand-up gal and great writer, but Rolling Stone hardly seems to be a paper to aspire to anymore. I guess their longer articles can often be good, and I did really enjoy their look at whether George Bush is the worst president in history, or merely one of the top five. Maybe they're like the reverse of Pulse--a music magazine where their political coverage is the best thing they do.

Still, though, their CD reviews have become laughably vanilla in recent years. Look at any given page of the reviews section and you'll find that nine out of ten CDs get three stars. Stars are so ridiculous when it comes to reviews; if you just want to know quickly whether a reviewer liked a CD, read the last sentence. How hard is that?

I always liked Maerz's piece on Friends Like These where she spent 10 days on the road with them.

Best of luck to Ms. Maerz. We at Signal Eats Noise are above mentioning your boyfriend.

How we like music

2007-05-30T14:44:00.000-05:00

There's a part in Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice" towards the end, after Elizabeth and Darcy have gotten together, where Elizabeth demands to know how he ever fell in love with her in the first place.

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation," he says. "It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

I often find myself in similar straits when it comes to albums that have become favorites, but it never stops me from wondering, as I first become familiar with a band or an album, if this is going to be a band that I'm going to fall in love with.

There are just so many ways that a band can get at you: maybe you hear a song on the radio one day, and then hear it again and again, and finally wonder who it is. You stick around in the car long enough to find out, then go find out if they have a webpage. Maybe you buy their disc. And then maybe that track you couldn't get out of your head is the only decent one on the disc, and it ends there.

Or maybe you find out that song that you were so taken with is not even the best song on the disc. But then what you thought was the best song is simply the most immediately appealing, and in fact you come to realize that some deep album cut is really the best one, even if by then it's no longer your favorite. Your favorite is that unassuming seventh track--the one you used to skip when you first got the disc.

This is the point at which a band and an album have gotten under your skin: the point when you have a favorite track on an album which you acknowledge is not the best track on the album. Case in point: You'd be hard-pressed to admit that "The Way We Get By" is not obviously the best song on Spoon's Kill the Moonlight. They're a band that's all about swagger and feel, and "The Way We Get By" has been stripped of every unnecessary element, leaving nothing but a knot of perfectly menacing pop. It has one of the finest opening couplets of all time: "We get high in backseats of cars / we break into mobile homes." It has handclaps.

But "Jonathon Fisk" is my favorite song on Kill the Moonlight. The first couple of times through, it seems strikingly unremarkable compared to "The Way We Get By," but repeated listenings reveal a subtle structural and melodic genius. First of all, it's the story of a school bully. The melody of the verse hovers in a tense relationship to the muted guitars behind it, and the tension holds until the third verse, which opens with a line that descends down a major scale. Satisfaction is delayed, and the song is three minutes and fifteen seconds of uneasily riding nerves.

See, this is the kind of thinking I get into when a band really gets under my skin. I've tried to watch it as it happens, but it's so hard to tell. Sometimes I listen through an entire album, and nothing really hooks into me. But then, magically, at the end of the disc, I need to go back and start it again. Building Better Bombs' Freakout Squares was like that for me. Something sticks, is the thing, on albums that are going to turn out to be favorites. A melody in a chorus. Something the drums do.

I probably view these things too piecemeal for my own good. I come from a background of being a musician, so sometimes it's the little musical things that I latch onto, or just the way an album sounds. That's the way it was with Grizzly Bear's Yellow House. Right from the first moments of the first track, the feel that the band imbued the album with is astounding. You can feel the floorboards in the titular house, the glass in the windows, and the Atlantic Ocean washing up drowsily on the beach outside. Behind it, a forest stretches back up a hill, lights floating in it. Sure, maybe someone else gets something completely different from the album, but I can't believe that it won't hit an open-minded listener as redolent of something, and that's an achievement.

So I can say, most of the time, why I think this band or that band is worth your time to check out, but when it comes to how I first discovered that, I feel like Darcy. I was in the middle before I knew it had begun.

First Judas Priest, then video games, now ... emo?

2007-05-28T17:20:00.000-05:00

You might as well blame music

I first heard about this from Steve Seel on the Current, and you can go ahead and file it under ridonkulous. Ah well, emo was always kind of a bullshit name anyways, right? I mean, I'm pretty sure what's generally considered the first emo band, Rites of Spring from D.C., predates the Internet actually, and I always think of the good "emo" stuff as being from the late '90s, i.e. Jets to Brazil, The Promise Ring, etc.

The term "emo" has obviously taken on a different connotation nowadays. For instance, a whole lot of shirts over at Threadless are what I would now call "emo." This one, say. And I used to get a lot of CDs that were covered in blackface fonts and had a lot of black and a lot of red and maybe some silver hits, and these were often considered "emo." When exactly did emo go from being cute little Davey von Bohlen and the boys in The Promise Ring to being My Chemical Romance? It's weird, because stuff like The Get Up kids and Promise Ring always seemed to have the straightforwardness of punk, but stripped of all desire to change the world, acknowledging that it was hard enough just to change ourselves. Somehow this got all bound up a kind of dark, black, gothic thing, somewhere between Thursday and Taking Back Sunday. Ha. That's a days of the week joke.

Anywho, it hardly needs to be said that Salt Lake City is off its rocker. Spurs in 5, I say.

Who doesn't love a mashup?

2007-05-27T19:26:00.001-05:00

As Gorilla vs. Bear pointed out, the new Lupe Fiasco joint samples Thom Yorke's "The Eraser" rather ingeniously. So I guess this isn't strictly a mashup, since it's not two pre-existing songs, but it feels like it. Anyways, you can grab it over at Spine magazine right here:

Lupe Fiasco - US Placers

CD Review: Digitata :: II Daggers

2007-05-26T11:10:00.000-05:00

Digitata
II Daggers
Totally Gross National Product

You could take a look at the component parts of Digitata and think you know what's up: Female vocalist, Rhodes keyboard, squiggly electronics plus live drums equals breathlessly slick electro, right? Not quite. While Maggie Morrison's voice is capable of swooping nimbly from a hushed croon to a catty yowl, she's neither as dispensable as the guest vocalists on most trip-hop tracks, nor as front and center in the mix as all those electro divas with one name (Annie, Kylie, etc.). Instead, her vocals ride in lockstep with Ryan Olson's digital manipulations and Drew Christopherson's crackingly live drums. That duo's done time as the rhythm section of art-hoppers Mel Gibson and the Pants, and it shows. The texture of the album as a whole is kind of smooth peanut butter to MG & the Pants' extra chunky.

The first proper track, "Bangin' Jessica Alba," has been up for streaming on their MySpace page for a while now, but it's an entirely different animal when it makes its way out of quality stereo speakers, and not the shitty little ones on a laptop. What the track has to do with movie star and newly-minted Golden State Warriors fan Alba is anyone's guess, but the groove is certainly thick enough to bang whomever it chooses. The title track that follows is even more darkly menacing and the interweaving components of the song (a skittering flute-like triplet, a pulsing and distorted bass, Morrison's bell-like Rhodes chords) do their best to stay out of the way of the beat's thundering stride. It's not all menacing bass and pounding drums, though. "Marinos Amores" is almost breezy--Morrison's yearning vocals are drawn out over a pastoral backdrop that builds into a slow burn by the song's end.

In a uniformly solid album, though, the two standouts are "Digitata 4 Ever" and "Enter the Palace." The first's hyperkinetic and breathless pace stops up short in the chorus, creating a yawning gap that only makes what surrounds it sound more urgent. And the second features Ryan Olcott (of Mystery Palace, hence the title, I'm guessing) as a male counterpart to Morrison, and the pairing is perfect. Olcott's icy and ghostly vocals seem to grow from the electronics, while Morrison's have just a bit more flint and spark, and are grounded in the woodier tone of the Rhodes. It's most obvious on "Enter the Palace," but that intersection of organic and electronic, analog and digital, is the fulcrum around which Digitata teeters, and II Daggers provides ample evidence that it's a crossroads with a lot of directions to explore.

Buy it from Totally Gross National Product.

Digitata play Wed., May 30 at the Turf Club with Pit er Pat, Mystery Palace and Priestbird. 9:30 p.m. $5. 21+. Corner of University and Snelling Aves., St. Paul. 651.647.0486. turfclub.net. Check out Digitata's MySpace page for more info.

The confusing circumstances of Hockey Night's breakup

2007-05-25T12:19:00.000-05:00

My boy Chuck Terhark (Can I say he's my boy? I think so.) over at City Pages reported this week that Hockey Night broke up. A long time ago, apparently, and that was news to some of the members as well, it seems. Here's Chuck's story:

The Hockey Night calls in the Zamboni

This just in: The Hockey Night split up. Two months ago.

News of the local indie-rock quintet's demise would have broken the hearts of fans, especially since the band was rumored to be on the brink of signing a major contract with DFA Records, an imprint partly run by LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy. Except that news never got out. Even the band members were sketchy on the details after it happened.

"We did a really bad job of communicating with each other," says drummer Alex Achen. "It was dudes talking. You know how dudes talk to each other. They're terrible at it."

Then, unbeknownst to the band, the music website Daytrotter.com issued a statement from Paul Sprangers, the group's founder and lead singer, making the breakup official.

"We were operating under that indie-rock idea where it was fun and everybody's buddies," the website quoted Sprangers as saying. "We just want to do it right and we couldn't get things done."

The post went on to say that Sprangers and Scott Wells, Hockey Night's other guitarist, were still signing with DFA. Almost immediately, the message board on Modernradio.com—frequented by Hockey Night members and fans—exploded with criticism, much of it accusing Sprangers and Wells of firing the other three members of the band in order to hog the glory of the major label. The separation was especially underhanded, posters sniffed, because Achen, Sprangers, and Wells had gone to high school together and were supposed to be best friends. As one poster, who calls himself Coach, wrote, "That's integrity my friends, spelled c-o-c-k-s-u-c-k-e-r-s."

Achen admits that the breakup was hard at first, but he looks at the situation with considerably less ire than those anonymous message-board posters. "It wouldn't be inaccurate to say I felt kind of betrayed," he says delicately. "But I don't begrudge Paul and Scott. I would have liked to remain in the band, but there were ills. We weren't being productive."

Neither Scott Wells nor Paul Sprangers responded to CP's requests for comment.

Achen, who says he loved playing in the band but couldn't stand its name, prefers to remain positive. "Hey, at least I'm not in a band called 'the Hockey Night' anymore."

It's too bad it had to end like that. Hockey Night put out one of my favorite albums of 2005, Keep Guessin', and contributed a great track to the one Twin Town High compilation I was involved in. I guess I learned recently the hard way that things usually end badly--if they weren't bad, they wouldn't end, right? So cheers to Hockey Night for a good run, and I hope everybody invovled keeps making great music, one way or another.

Andrew Bird :: Armchair Apocrypha :: Making the album with Ben Durrant

2007-05-24T18:38:00.000-05:00

Ben Durrant runs Crazy Beast Studio in Minneapolis and has recorded local artists from Dosh to Roma di Luna, but last year, he began to work with Chicago-based singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Andrew Bird after Bird began working with Martin Dosh as a duo. His last album, The Mysterious Production of Eggs, was something of a breakout hit for Bird, who first came to prominence as a member of the Squirrel Nut Zippers and later as the leader of Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire. He's a notoriously restless and genre-devouring musician, a virtuoso violinist, a mellifluous and sometimes acid-tongued singer and certainly a decent enough guitarist. When all the diverse elements of his repertoire are combined with a nimble talent for looping parts and harmonies, Bird becomes a virtual one-man band, and Dosh brings many of the same abilities to the table. Translating all this work from a live duo into a full studio album was Durrant's task, and I recently got to sit down and talk with him about his part in making Bird's latest album, Armchair Apocrypha, and his general approach to recording.

Signal Eats Noise: How did you get hooked up with Andrew Bird?

Ben Durrant: It was totally because of Dosh. I don't remember how it first happened. They had been here after tour and went and did a couple songs at Third Ear [Studios, owned by Tom Herbers] and they were still just trying to figure out where and what and what kind of songs and how they were going to work together for recording purposes. So he had told Andrew about working at both places, and I got a call from his manager one day and they wanted to do, like, two days to see how it would go. Martin [Dosh] told me that he's kinda ... not fickle, because fickle wouldn't be the right word ... decisive about what he likes and doesn't like. Then [the manager] was telling me the stories about how, with the last record [The Mysterious Production of Eggs], they had done it three times and scrapped it and started over. So I was thinking, we'll see how it goes, but it probably won't be a match.

But we did "Fiery Crash" first, which is kind of loop-based, so it was sort of along the lines of something that Martin and I would've done on one of his albums, and we just ended up clicking pretty good. A lot of it was that we personally clicked well, too. Liked a lot of the same kind of stuff when we were talking about music. So we did those two days and it ended up going well, so they came back for another five days in a few weeks. All along, you didn't really know--it certainly wasn't one of those things like, we're gonna do these 14 songs. It was very much a just-keep-going, see-which-things-work thing. In the end, most of it worked out really well. There are pieces from different places and people, which made it kind of tricky, within the same song, to meld different places, different people playing different instruments, kind of different songs, but in the end it all jived.

SEN: So there was stuff that had been recorded other places that you then had to mix with stuff that you were recording?

BD: In some cases. "Heretics" was the main one. That one, the drums were done in Chicago with his other drummer. I don't know if that was done before any of this other stuff--I'm not sure of the order of things. And I think they did the bass at Third Ear and then I got the tracks for that. On that one in particular, nothing was labeled. The drums were amazing sounding, but I didn't know what any mic was. I think it was like 20 drum tracks and no idea what any of them were. The left side of the room? An overhead? That one was nuts. "Armchairs" was another one that was a shared one. Most of the basic tracks on that one were from Third Ear. Then we did the vocals and guitars and some of that sort of stuff. I don't think, in the end when I listen to it, it doesn't seem like, that was this and this was this. There's enough mixing of things that it seems unified.

SEN: Well, it seems like it has a sonic identity that's cohesive. Sometimes you hear albums--you know Feist?--Feist's first album had 12 tracks that sounded like they were recorded at eight different places because they were all approached so differently. Armchair Apocrypha seems like it has a unity of purpose to it. Is going from place to place way that he had worked before? Is that his general way of doing things?

BD: It seems like it. Mostly just from hearing stories about the last one. I don't know if it's restlessness or trying to get the right sort of vibe for a particular song--whether that's a different place or a different space, I'm not sure, or people--he definitely seems to be someone who really absorbs the people that he's playing with and the people that are around him. For better or for worse. It seems like he can definitely get ... if he gets in a bad mood or he feels like the takes aren't good, he can definitely get [to feeling like] everything sucks. So, from my standpoint, definitely a chunk of this whole thing was to get him to do his best. To feel like he was doing his best, to get him comfortable. I think a lot of that happened because we jived pretty well and when it wasn't working out, it would be OK.

I think that had a lot to do with him moving around to different places, especially with that last one, because I looked at the credits for that and it was like, Whoa. Every song was different places, although I think in the end David [Boucher] mixed all of it, and he obviously did a great job of making it all seem pretty cohesive. It didn't seem as crazy as you'd think it would be.

SEN: Well, I think the role of the person who's running the boards--especially if someone's particularly sensitive to it--has such a huge effect on the album, because ultimately I feel like albums are a collection of little things. You might have an idea about some big thing, but it's going to be made up of all these little choices and little decisions you make. If you have somebody who's attuned to those things--I've always had to work in situations where you go in and do five tracks or ten tracks and then you're done, because I haven't had the luxury to do it any other way. But, if you've got somebody who wants to make sureeverything's right before they proceed to the next step, then you've gotta have the right people working around you.

So did he come to you with distinct ideas about where he wanted things to go, or did he just feel it out as they progressed? It seems like when you've got somebody who can do so much live by themselves--I mean, by himself he's a whole band, and then you bring in Marty, who's by himself a whole band. You've got two guys like that--is that a lot different than working with somebody who just has one perspective from one instrument?

BD: Oh yeah. On a given song, he had a pretty good idea of how he wanted to approach laying down that song. It wasn't like he had a road map, but it seemed like in a given song, there's a pretty good idea of at least the basic elements of what was going to be there and how they would do it. Would it start with Martin doing a loop? Or was it live drums and he plays guitar and sings? Some of them started with him on the guitar and then the drums came afterwards. Almost every song is done in a completely different way. Overall, he had a pretty good idea of how he wanted to do it, or between the three of us, we would sort of figure out what seemed like the right feel for that particular song, but again, a lot of it sort of morphed along the way and kind of took on the collective identity of all the people that were working on it and along the way it got more streamlined as it went.

The earlier [songs] were still sort of--not only were they [Bird and Dosh] figuring out how they played together, but also how they were going to record together, and we were figuring out how we were going to work together also. So some of the earliest ones, in the end, were the hardest because they took the longest to figure out. Some came together incredibly fast. Like "Simple X": I think we did that from end-to-end in like an hour and a half. The lyrics, I think he wrote really fast. Another funny thing is that there's a line in there about "scattered about from hell to breakfast? My friend--that's a saying he uses all the time and I used that in the course of a conversation that day, talking about all our crap spread around the studio. And he just looked at me and said, "What did you just say?" And I told him and what it meant and everything and he said, "That's the weirdest sounding phrase I've ever heard," and sure enough, he drops it into the song. As we got more in tune to how to approach things, it got a lot faster.

SEN: Aside from Marty, there are a lot of other local musicians on there--Haley Bonar and other people. Did you work with them on that stuff or did their tracks come separate?

BD: Yeah, they came here. The Haley things, he had a pretty good idea of which ones he was going to use her on because I think she had sang on a lot of those songs on their tour, because she had opened for him. Chris [Morrissey, bassist], I think it was the same kind of deal because he was touring with Haley at the time. He didn't play with Andrew, but Andrew knew who he was. Jeremy [Ylvisaker] totally happened by accident. We went to see Haley at the Cedar Cultural Center and Redstart opened [Ylvisaker's band with Wendy Lewis, Mike Lewis, Greg Lewis and Martin Dosh] and we got there right at the end of their set and they were playing one of their real pastoral kind of tunes and Jeremy was playing fingerstyle electric. We'd been working on "Scythian Empires" at the time, and that was one where he wanted to add fingerstyle guitar and he had laid down a good fingerstyle part that worked pretty well, but then when we went to that show, he was like, "I love that; I have to work with that guy." He went back to Chicago with some rough mixes of things, knowing that we wanted to do something on that one song. So when [Bird] came back, Jeremy laid that on there and did some other things that were on songs that didn't get on there, but again, [Ylvisaker's] one of those people that, musically, they hit it off and next thing you know he's in the band and playing on Letterman.

SEN: It seems right, because that community that he's slotted in with here is a group of people who seem very well-suited to what he does. it just seems like a great match with Marty and Jeremy and theRedstart people and Fog. It seems like it a really good fit.

BD: And Andrew plays on one of Fog's tunes on their next thing and I think that he used a loop of one of [Andrew] Broder's things for one of the dance--he just recorded some stuff for a dance performance thing--and I guess he used a couple of Broder's loops for that. So he's become pretty intertwined with that group of people, which totally makes sense. He's just kind of a sponge--he definitely picks up, musically and personally, on the feel of people, so I can totally see why those three [Bird, Dosh and Ylvisaker] fit together so well.

SEN: And for you recording is that the best way for you to work? To just react to what's needed? I know that some engineers have processes and ways to go about things; how do you approach it?

BD: I don't really know how to answer that other than to say that I'm not someone who has a process. Other than that, I couldn't really tell you, but I'm definitely not that.

SEN: What's your background like for recording? Did you study it as a discipline?

BD: No, no. Very much came at it from being a frustrated recording musician, probably like you. The few times I got to record it was 6-8 hours jamming everything in and then you'd move on and you aren't very happy with it. So for me, it was four-tracking to try and record things I was working on and then getting a little Mackie mixer and kind of never really intending to anything all that serious with it and then just gradually, you buy more crap and do more things and you end up somewhere else.

But no, I never studied or anything like that and don't really care to. I'm not all that interested in the technical side of things. It's definitely more coming at it from the musician side of things, and I'm more interested in that. I think, again, that's one of the reasons that we got along, because everybody's had the engineers that are like, "We have to redo this because this moved." That's just not my thing at all. We like the same sort of sounds, and a lot of times I'd play things and dick around with stuff when people are gone. If they like it great, if they don't, fine. So that was part of it, too. Throwing stuff at it and seeing what worked.

SEN: Well, I've done some home recording stuff and I always liked getting the chance to just mess with stuff. I've read some books and things and got a couple tips on starterEQ things, but the exploration of it is nice. A lot of times, you get people who come out of learning to be an engineer and think they're an expert. Well, yeah, you can turn out the same thing that somebody else who went to that school can, but can you do something interesting with it?

BD: Yeah, I'm very averse to that kind of thinking. Most stuff I just don't like the way it sounds; it sounds boring. Or it sounds--I remember when we were getting the mastering done on this CD, which, the first time through we ended up sending it back because we didn't think it quite was right, but I remember telling the person that we wanted it to sound good on the radio, but to not sound radio-y, you know what I mean? There's just this certain kind of radio-y sound that I personally hate. And other people, that's the deal. But that's not my cup of tea.

SEN: Yeah--the album's got such a nice, warm--warm is the kind of thing that when I listen to stuff, that's a lot of what I like to get out of things: a sense of place about it, a character, and that warmth, which is sort of antithetical to what you hear on radio-ready stuff. It's crisp and clean, cold. Here's the guitar, here's the kick drum.

BD: I remember afterwards listening to [Armchair Apocrypha] and thinking that it didn't jump at you in the same way that Eggs does. Both the songs and the way that it was done. I remember sitting down and listening to it all the way through and thinking that it doesn't say, "Pay attention to me," in the same way that that one does. And that was all right. At least for my way of thinking, that it rewards sitting down and listening to in its entirety. Ideally a couple of times and that then you really start to get the layering of things. And I think it's really sort of comforting if you can do that. But if you're wanting it to bonk, it just doesn't. Some of the songs are that way, but I think even in the way it's mixed, it's maybe not as glossy and that's me, I guess.

SEN: It seems like a good match for his stuff, because I know that I had at least one Bowl of Fire CD and I'd heard stuff on and off, and it never really totally grabbed me. I saw him at the Pitchfork Music Festival two years ago and that was the first time where I realized--he's an amazing singer and I got more of an appreciation for the looping thing, but then it takes time. Despite the fact that his stuff is really pretty--you know, it's not difficult--he's got a great voice, his stuff is a little elusive. It's not the type of music that's gonna jump up and grab you and say, "This is what I am," and I think matching those things is a good thing for his stuff.

BD: Exactly, because he's a little elusive, too. It just makes sense that his music would be also. I think that's the same reason why he changes stuff live so much, because he gets bored with it. He wants to keep it interesting for him because I think if he's not interested--and this was true for recording, too--he's got to be in the right mind frame to give it up. And seeing him live, too, you can tell--at least I can--when he's in the groove or not.

SEN: Is it strange for you to have done an album where it's getting so much attention? Where you can read reviews of it all over the web and in major publications? Have you done anything that was like that before?

BD: No. It's really strange. I wouldn't have at all been surprised if it didn't get very good reviews. I think I personally was prepared for that and I think he was, too. Just because it is pretty different--there's guitars and it's in some ways kind of more indie and in other ways is a little more accessible. Whatever, it's hard to describe. But I was prepared for a lot of people being like, "What's with the guitar? Why isn't there more violins or whatever?" I hadn't listened to it in six months; I think that was part of it, too. When we got done, I was like, "It's done; I don't want to obsess about it." Didn't want to think about it, and how it would end up getting reviewed. It is what it is. It just represents this period of six months and, at least for me, a lot of work. So yeah, it's been wild, but it doesn't affect me day-to-day. It's been interesting ... and my mom is excited.

SEN: Going back to working with Dosh and Ylvisaker, it's great to hear that he's so able to be influenced by what happens around him. I think that's a great quality--it can be a difficult quality, like you said, but it's really good to be able to have so that you can constantly change what you're doing and he's already been like that through his career.

BD: That was definitely the most fun thing about it: He's totally not afraid to just scrap things. There's different versions of most of that stuff, some of which started out a lot more like the older stuff. Whether it's from different environments or Marty or me--you know, I like distorted guitars--most of the stuff on there is him playing my old Jag[uar]. It just kind of lends itself to a certain thing and next thing you know, "Dark Matter" is more that kind of song. There's another version that was more like the old one, and it's fun with people like that that are not afraid of trying things different ways, whether it's new instruments or new sounds. Speed, slowing down, all that stuff is fun, because most people are so ...

SEN: Well, I think with most people you get attached to a certain sound you have an idea for and you get so tenacious with it, you don't want to let it go. It's tough, it's one of those upper level things about making creative stuff that you can't just teach somebody to be able to give up stuff like that. You either need to be like that or just sort of acquire through experience that that's the best way to work. You're never going to go study music and have them tell you to just give up on an arrangement and do something else. It's such a meta way to think about this--how do you think about thinking about this stuff? To have somebody with that ability is great.

BD: Yeah, the idea of not being that precious about things and to just do it this whole different way was pretty neat. But then there were things that got scrapped that I still don't think should have gotten scrapped and there was this one song ("Sycophants") that was totally one of my favorites, that got scratched and sort of replaced with another one, "Cataracts." When I saw him in New York I told him, "Taking that off there was a bad idea, that was a mistake," and he said, "Yeah, in hindsight we would have cut that one and kept the other one on there." Then there was another one--and I still bug him about this, too--another version of "Sparrows" that's completely different and super-sparse and that's still my favorite of all the stuff and it didn't end up on there because they wanted something a little more upbeat. Not that I don't like the one that's on there; I like that one a lot.

Building Better Bombs Feature in City Pages

2007-05-22T22:45:00.000-05:00

Building Better Bombs feature right here, yo.

I had a CD review of the Bad Plus up in there a couple weeks back, but it was a treat to get to do a whole feature on Bombs, who are aboslutely ruining my life with Freak Out Squares right now. I need to listen to it all the time. And oh yeah, A-List for local rapper Golden.

Tomorrow, if all goes well, I'll be putting up a feature on Andrew Bird.

Veronica Mars cancelled

2007-05-22T13:39:00.000-05:00

All right, apparently I'm late to this party, but it's shitty that the CW pulled the plug on Veronica Mars. Apparently, creator Rob Thomas had pitched a possible story jump arc for next season which would leave the rest of Veronica's college career to the imagination, and jump forward to Veronica's first year at the FBI academy. Unfortunately, it looks like they didn't go for it.

A shame really, that we're not going to get to see Veronica at the Academy, but I have to say the college thing wasn't going so well. Havrilesky is right: Veronica's better than finding the lost football playbook. When the show was based in high school, it was tapping into the long line of great high school shows like Freaks and Geeks and, to some extent, The Wonder Years. The drama on those shows could be ramped up so high because we forgive teenagers their trespasses into the realm of hysterics because they are, first and foremost, the most solipsistic creatures on the planet. Rob Thomas crafted the stories for the first two years out of a fantastic blend of real world tragedy (Lilly's murder, the bus crash) and social anxiety (Veronica's balancing act at Neptune High's periphery, her everyday problems with relationships), conflating and equating the two in the process, and you believed it. Thomas was very much in touch with the way high schoolers have this sense that everything happens to them, and are never very good at telling the difference between a real disaster and their own problems.

Witness the way Logan stumbled again and again into trouble without ever learning his lesson. When he was a senior in high school, it was almost endearing to the viewers, even as it was alternately threatening and seductive to Veronica. Now that he's in college, though? His puppy dog eyes and inability to man up have worn thin.

And then there's Veronica herself, a character in the model of Jimmy McNulty from the Wire in that she's amazingly good at her job--taking her job as sleuthing, getting revenge and doing it all while looking great--and absolutely abysmal at personal relationships. She keeps being drawn to the bad boys, and even when she isn't--that is, when she was with Duncan or during her current dalliance with Piz--she's clearly ill-suited to them. It's a masterful tone that's been struck in the series: she's a classic perfectionist who's completely out of her element when forced to yield to someone else's needs and desires.

If you haven't yet, you should really check out the series on DVD. Season 1is maybe the better of the two, although Season 2does have a couple of the best episodes, like the one where Wallace and Veronica visit Hearst College.

To make this at least somewhat music-related, I should mention that VM has always done a great job with music. Britt Daniel from Spoon appeared as a cafe customer who sings a karaoke version of "Veronica" by Elvis Costello and they've also championed (albeit slyly) the music of Austin's Cotton Mather, a band that put out one absolutely killer album called Kontikiback in 1997. It's just about the best slice of Beatles-tinged indie psychedlia you could imagine, with Robert Harrison's lyrical world populated by strange characters like Aurora Bori Alice and places like the Church of Wilson. They first popped up in VM at the end of the first season, where their song "Lily Dreams On" played over the last scene, and then they popped up again two weeks ago. Paul Rudd appeared as a quasi-washed up rocker who was still peddling the songs written by his dead bandmate when he came to Hearst College to play a show. Of course, the tapes he used as backing tracks (well, they were CDs, actually) were stolen and Veronica had to find them. When she did, they included a disc labeled "New Crap," and when she put it on, what should come out but a re-recorded version of "My Before and After" by--you got it--Cotton Mather.

Robert Harrison is currently playing with a group called Future Clouds and Radar, and I just got their CD last week. Expect a review soon.

[sigh] I'll miss Vron-vron. Personally, I think it's all the fault of that ridiculous outfit they made Kristen Bell wear for the promos.

Housecleaning

2007-05-21T15:49:00.000-05:00

I spent a couple hours today going back through all the posts on here and labeling them in some kind of way that makes sense, so now you can move your eyes slightly to the right and see a list of topics like CD Reviews, Show Reviews and my personal favorite, Uncategorizable. Those are the things that weren't completely off-topic (that'd be Non-Music Related), but nor were they strictly related to a particular album or show. Hopefully, this will make everything just way easier to deal with.

Coming soon: review of II Daggers by Digitata and a review of the Arcade Fire show in Chicago last Saturday, if I can ever figure out what I have to say about them, precisely.

Tapes 'n' Tapes to play Urban Outfitters

2007-05-21T10:04:00.001-05:00

Hey, just got word that hometown heroes Tapes 'n' Tapes will be playing at the Urban Outfitters on Hennepin in Uptown on June 5 at 7 p.m. as a benefit for the Current. It's all part of a campaign called Free Yr Radio (which means, I believe, Free Your Radio) that's been mounted by Urban Outfitters and Toyota (?!) to support non-commercial radio stations across the country. I love the Current, guys, but you might want to consider some non-commercial radio stations whose coffers are a little less full. I'm just saying. Still though, we're talking the lesser of two goods here.

Tapes 'n' Tapes are riding a wave of sponsorship deals after landing on the soundtrack to 2K Sports' MLB 2K7 and headlining the national tour package put together to promote said soundtrack. You might have heard of a couple of the other bands on the soundtrack: Nirvana, The Pixies and others make appearances. I guess Nirvana weren't available for the tour.

So now they're going to be playing a hometown shindig at UO that's co-sponsored by Toyota. Apparently, you can also win a car or something. Details (as well as tickets you can print out for free entry to the show) are available over at freeyrradio.com.

Arcade Fire :: Chicago Theater :: 05.19.07

2007-05-21T07:43:00.000-05:00

A SIGNAL EATS NOISE SPECIAL ROAD TRIP REPORT FROM CHICAGO

Before Arcade Fire's sold out show at the Chicago Theater last Saturday (the second of three such shows), my father asked me how they got to be so big.

"They made a great record," I replied.

"Well, making a great record isn't enough on its own to get a band this kind of success, right?" he replied. And he's right. Plenty of amazing albums languish on shelves, still shrink-wrapped, and lots of mediocre records sell millions. Arcade Fire certainly benefited from rave reviews on Pitchfork and other sites, and the buzz that came trotting along behind, but it sure doesn't hurt that they're a transcendent live band, the kind of group that has acolytes instead of fans.

As we found our way to our seats (sort of just stage right of center, about 20 rows back), openers Electrelane were working their way through a set of noisy and largely instrumental rock. General consensus was that the British quartet of women looked like a band straight out of the mid- to late-'90s, an association reinforced by their music, which shared roots with Sleater Kinney. Their set showed flashes of inspiration--Arcade Fire singer Win Butler couldn't say enough good things about them--but the Chicago Theater's a big space, the mix was not the greatest, and they just didn't seem to connect to the audience, although they were definitely warmly received. They were certainly interesting enough to warrant a closer look at their new album, No Shouts, No Calls.

As the lights came up and we found the other members of our party, it became clear what a phenomenal space the Chicago is. I've been to a handful of theater shows in my day--Sigur Ros, New Pornographers, and Belle and Sebastian recently, Robert Cray and, yup, Spin Doctors--and they're the best. You get a seat, you're usually guaranteed a pretty good sight line, and I'm pretty sure that bands love them.

The stage is strewn with instruments, including pipes from a pipe organ suspended from the rafters, and more amps than you can shake a stick at. A set of circular screens are arrayed around its edge, and a line of flexible lights attached to poles stand at the front of the stage.

After a mercifully short wait, the lights drop and Arcade Fire take the stage, launching immediately into "Keep the Car Running" from their latest, Neon Bible. There are 10 people up there, including two horn players, one with a bass clarinet and one with a french horn, and they hit the ground running. Win Butler, sporting the latest in 19th c. strongman fashion, manifests very little of a frontman mentality, and yet he's clearly leading the band. Like their countrymen (and women) Broken Social Scene, Arcade Fire are masters at broadcasting an all-in-the-family vibe from the stage, and the audience responded immediately.

By their third song, "Haiti," from Funeral,it was clear that they were playing each song as if it were their last. A lot of bands throw themselves into their music, but it can often come off as spectacle. Arcade Fire, however, made it feel, for lack of a better word, like church. There were plenty of stage dressings, including fiber optic cameras mounted around the stage that would send fisheye images of the band to be projected on the circular screens and on the curtains at the back of the stage, but none of the lights or the video took over the power of the music.

The set was drawn in equal parts from Funeral and Neon Bible, and, as is often the case, the live setting erased a lot of the distinction between the two records. Funeral may have been more directed, concerned primarily with the transfer of responsibility from one generation to the next, and Neon Bible might sound bigger and bolder, but it's clear that even if their second effort hasn't been lauded in the same way as their first, they're still mining a rich vein of material.

Personally, I couldn't get past Regine Chassagne's onstage antics. Dolled up like a cross between Madonna or Cyndi Lauper circa 1984, and dancing awkardly, drawing attention to herself constantly, she came off like a Canadian Bjork, which is to the real Bjork as the Canadian dollar is to the American. However, she kicked some serious ass on the drums, especially on "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)", and her vocal performance was uniformly great, although especially on "Haiti." Learning that Chassagne (who's married to Win Butler, in case you didn't know) was born and raised in Haiti definitely makes the song resonate more deeply, and it also nicely complexifies the French bits of their songs, since the band is not just French-Canadian, but also Haitian. In any case, I can see that she's clearly a love her or hate her proposition, and a necessary counterweight in the band, so that's a push.

The rest of the band was going absolutely apeshit by the time they closed the set proper with the one-two punch of "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)" and "Rebellion (Lies)". Tim Kingsbury was tossing a mic stand with a megaphone mounted on it high into the air again and again, and when they came back out for the encore ("My Body is a Cage" and "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)"), Kingsbury and Richard Reed Parry had begun to hit anything they had handy--the stage, the monitors, an a la carte crash cymbal. The crowd was itching for "Wake Up," but it was not to be on this night.

Some shows are nearly overwhelming, displaying the true power not only of the band performing, but of all music everywhere. Arcade Fire did make a great record, and then made at least a very good one, but it's clear from their live show that they've tapped into much more than just a successful formula for crafting wordless sing-along hooks and ramshackle narratives of loss and growth--they've made their own world, miraculously connecting the dots from '70s David Bowie to '80s Bruce Springsteen to the mossy glory of Neutral Milk Hotel. The trick is that they've made music that makes this path seem obvious and natural, even when no one ever really followed the path before.

It's a popular opinion that there's nothing truly new to say with music, that the borders are set and it's getting harder--if not impossible--to be original. But maybe there's still space in between to say the old things in a new way, to re-energize the old forms in bright new ways. Arcade Fire are living, breathing proof that tradition doesn't have to be an albatross and that the power of song and performance are enduring.

I caught Kyle Matteson, who runs arcadefire.net, at the show, so I'm sure he'll have a full setlist up over there pretty soon.

'Round the Dial - 05.16.07

2007-05-16T22:17:00.000-05:00

When I was music editor at Pulse (Remember that? Last week?), Tom Hallett and I had our issues, but they were mostly caused by me being stuck between him and his check, which was handed down from on high, so naturally, he had to be dogged in his pursuit of funds.

And lord knows we don't share the same taste in music and don't have the same opinions on a lot of topics, but over the almost two years I read and edited his column every week, I gained a lot of respect for the man, not least of all for his ability to keep up a weekly column for nearly all of Pulse's 10-year tenure in the local print media. He always got the same amount, no matter how much he wrote, but he never shied away from turning in 2500 or 3000 word columns when he was really fired up about something.

The point is, he and I have had our differences, but I made it a policy to publish Hallett's full 'Round the Dial column on the web every week, even when I had to trim here and there to get it on the page in the print edition. It seems this practice has been discontinued, because here's a link to Hallett's full final column for the final print edition of Pulse, as he wanted it.

'Round the Dial - 05.16.07

We moved!

2007-05-14T14:30:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven't been able to get more content up here over the past couple of days, but I've been dealing with some techincal issues related to the blog, plus my brother graduated from college this past weekend, so I was a little caught up with that.

So quick: You know what are some still awesome albums you may have forgotten about? God Fodderby Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Relationship of Commandby At the Drive-In, and Blue Johnby Big John Patton.

I'm not saying run out and buy these-- okay, I am, but I'll be posting stuff about these albums soon and also a new CD review or two within the next couple of days.

We're moving!

2007-05-12T08:56:00.000-05:00

I'm going to leave things as they are for the moment, but next Wednesday, I'm going to be switching some technical stuff around with the site. The upshot of this is that pulsetcmusic.blogspot.com will no longer be the underlying address of the site-- signaleatsnoise.com will still work, as will pulsemusicblog.com, at least for the time being. Heck, signaleatsnoise.org will work. So if there's anybody out there who has this bookmarked (as opposed to on their RSS feed, which, really, that's what you should be doing), if something looks funky next week, just try signaleatsnoise.com, and it'll get you there.

Severing ties ...

2007-05-10T13:40:00.000-05:00

Well, I was just officially fired from Pulse of the Twin Cities, ostensibly for converting this blog from the Pulse Music Blog to Signal Eats Noise, which is patently ludicrous. The Pulse has one print edition left that's supposedly going to come out next Wednesday, and I'll be impressed if it happens.

I don't have any interest in tearing anybody down over this, so I'd just like to thank the great people I worked with there and all the fantastic writers I got to work with during my time at the paper. I'd also like to offer you a bit of advice: when Pulse comes knocking looking for writers for their new online venture, don't write for them. After two years of hard work above and beyond the call of what I was hired to do, with one week left before I could leave on good terms, Ed Felien decided to can me for trying to walk away with my own body of work, which he claimed he "owned." I offered him the pulsemusicblog.com name, which he declined, saying I could have it and he wouldn't fight me over it. That's all I really wanted anyways, and now I can look forward to building this as its own entity.

Welcome, if I haven't said it already, to Signal Eats Noise.

We're getting the band back together

2007-05-09T13:47:00.000-05:00

The rock reunion has long been the subject of scorn and ridicule, and for good reason. Jane's Addiction seemed to embody everything that was great about alternative music in the '90s while they were around: they were dark and depraved, but catchy and expansive. Daring, artsy, funny, devil-may-care-- and then, at the height of their popularity following the release of Ritual de lo Habitual and the first Lollapalooza tour, they broke up. Much as I knew I was going to miss them, I had to kind of admire them for going out on top.

And then they reformed for a reunion tour with Flea on bass because original bassist Eric Avery was the only with sense enough to leave their legacy alone. And Jane's Addiction is only one example in the endless parade of bands that are flogging their crusty reputations to make a buck.

But a really odd thing has been happening over the past few years: A handful of significant alternative bands from the '80s and '90s have been reforming and putting out records that, while perhaps not the classics that their early stuff is, are vibrant, current and excellent albums that deepen and refine their earlier efforts.

I could be wrong, but it seems like the trend really began with Wire, who put out the LP Send back in 2003, garnering a 7.5 from Pitchfork and even then only because they'd already released most of the album on two previous EPs.

Then came Mission of Burma, the Boston stalwarts who re-formed to put out OnOffOn, then arguably bettered that already solid comeback effort with last year's The Obliterati.

Now, just this past week, Dinosaur Jr's Beyond arrived in my box. This disc even looks like an old Dinosaur Jr record, complete with handwritten band name and title on the front cover. The album's also resolutely lo-fi, and it sounds like they J. Mascis and company picked up right where they left out.

Of course, I'm not hear to review Beyond, which will happen later when I've gotten more familiar with it, but rather to talk a little bit about what makes bands like Wire, Mission of Burma and Dino Jr able to come back to relevance (well, at least critical relevance) when Jane's Addiction put out Strays, which basically sucked.

Music fans of an older generation are enamored of pronouncing rock and roll dead. They point to things like classic rock songs in car commercials as a sign of the death of rebellion in rock and roll, as if that were what rock and roll were about. Now, I'm not going to argue that rock songs in commercials is a good thing per se, but I think we have to face facts and acknowledge that rock and roll stopped being rebellious a long long time ago, and consider the fact that it may just have grown up, and more gracefully than a lot of boomers have managed.

For groups like Wire, Mission of Burma and Dinosaur Jr, I really don't think rock was some kind of tool to be used against the man. For Wire, it was maybe a way to rail against the mores of upper class England. And for MOB and Dino Jr, it was maybe a way to carve out their own niches in New England (which, let me tell you, is harder than it looks), but I think these bands were primarily interested in the freedom granted them by the idea of being in a band, by the idea of making something personal into something they could share.

But I guess maybe I doubt that that separates them from Jane's Addiction. Again, we've circled back into a discussion of authenticity, which is something I'd generally like to avoid whenever possible. I don't believe my ideas about who's realer than who are very illuminating.

Maybe-- just maybe-- what lets a band hold on to whatever made them great in the first place is as elusive as what made them great. It probably works better for bands that were ahead of their time than bands that were distinctively of their time-- for instance, a lot of Jane's Addiction's stuff now sounds awfully tinny and metally and kind of bombastically huge in a way that hasn't held up very well, whereas Wire and MOB made albums in the early '80s that sound like they could have come out yesterday.

To continue down that line, I have little doubt that Fugazi could reform five years from now and put out a great record. I doubt the same could be said for Smashing Pumpkins.

I'm still working on it. Dinosaur Jr review to follow soon.

Signal Eats Noise media taster

2007-05-08T11:56:00.000-05:00

So there's this fantastic little company here in the Twin Cities called Intelligent Media Platform. They're all about delivering great audio and video content that's curated by reputable websites like this one, and also The Bottle Gang, which is less than reputable, really, but I'm partially responsible for that.

ANYWAYS ... Signal Eats Noise's media taster is going to live over there on the sidebar to the right, but I'm also posting the wider version right here.

What's beautiful about this is that IMP has already worked with a lot of bands to put up free, downloadable content-- in fact, all the tracks that are on there right now I found in about ten minutes of initially setting this up last night. I'm particularly excited to have Grizzly Bear's version of "Owner of a Lonely Heart" up there. My plan is to try and bring you new content (local and national) that relates to the stuff I'm covering on the site. It might not always be the songs I'm talking about, but they'll always be great. I swear.

If you choose to download the full version of the player, which you can do by clicking download, then the version on your computer will be updated whenever the one online gets updated, plus you'll have the opportunity to buy music by these artists and to support creative endeavor, which is about the best thing you can do.

I'm brimming with joy.

Drive 105 to become Love 105

2007-05-08T00:37:00.000-05:00

According to Chris Riemenschneider in a story in the Star Tribune, Drive 105 will be changing to Love 105, which wouldn't mean much, given Drive 105's middling brand of alternative rock, if it weren't for the fact that that means no more Homegrown on Sunday nights at 10 p.m. I had a great time during my tenure on the show as a co-host, and as guest host the couple of times I got to do it.

Homegrown, my hat's off to you, and may you land on your feet, whatever that means.

So at this point, in the last couple months, the Strib has cut 145 employees, the Pulse has ceased print publication, Jim Walsh got unceremoniously axed from City Pages, and now Homegrown's done?

Just what in God's name is the world coming to?

CD Review: Six Parts Seven

2007-05-06T02:10:00.000-05:00

Six Parts Seven
Casually Smashed to Pieces
Suicide Squeeze Records

I see a lot of CDs, and this necessarily entails seeing a lot of crappy CDs. Red flags tend to include the following: blackletter typefaces, pictures of vikings and song titles like "Awaiting Elemental Meltdown." Things were not looking good for Casually Smashed to Pieces, the latest release from Ohio quartet-and-then-some Six Parts Seven, but I trust Suicide Squeeze, so in it went.

For a moment, I thought I had once again failed to remove the previous CD from the cut-rate CD boombox on my desk, creating an album sandwich up in there (it's happened), but no: "Conversation Heart" really does begin with a gently pulsing electric guitar motif that ably sets the tone. When it's joined by a banjo, the interplay of the parts sets in motion the model that will dominate the songs here: simple, well-crafted melodic lines will be spread across guitars, lovingly passed over to keyboards, and gently handed off to the sweetly yearning harmonies of a modest horn section. If you've come looking for messy, sprawling masses of orchestration, best look elsewhere. This is wallpaper music, and I mean that in the most generous way possible. Any given three seconds off this record could have been lifted out of the careful and crystalline confines of Sufan's Illinois, but as they cohere into entire mini-suites, they call to mind other products born of the Land of Lincoln, erstwhile Tortoise member Bundy K. Brown's Directions in Music and his later albums under the name Pullman.

I first heard Directions in Music under unusual circumstances. I was at an Indian restaurant in Los Feliz in Los Angeles back in 2000 or so with a small group of friends. A DJ (in a restaurant-- how L.A.!) was spinning instrumental rock music built from spare melodies and suspended chords, and it sounded, for lack of something more appropriately critical, magical. It was languorous and lush, beautiful in an understated way that eschewed sentiment. In short, a perfect soundtrack for a twentysomething's night out in a foreign town, and to someone who wasn't far removed from the snobbery of a degree in jazz performance, it came as a shock that you could even make music like this. That was Directions in Music, but Casually Smashed to Pieces could be an able understudy for the part.

Six Parts Seven display a great deal more intentionality than Brown's project. Where DIM often seemed willfully aimless, its improvisatory roots showing through when the music got away from the players a bit, CSTP simply bleeds careful planning. The songs blend gracefully into one another, drifting across dynamic shifts with a minimum of fanfare. Since the band began as a duo consisting of brothers Allen and Jay Karpinski on guitar and drums, respectively, it only makes sense that the compositions proceed forward from the guitars. "Confusing Possibilities" builds itself up around harmonics and stumblingly unresolved strums before revealing a rising-then-falling central riff composed of slippery hammer-ons and pull-offs. The stateliness of the arrangement presses up tightly against the casual charm of the execution, and the band works the pressure back and forth. The flesh and blood players behind the music are present throughout, revealing themselves through slightly muffed notes, the hum of tubes in amps (particularly noticeable on the very beginning of the opening track) and the barely audible click of effects kicking in. What makes "Confusing Possibilities" the highlight of the disc is the way it seems to draw to a close on a shimmering triplet guitar figure that goes from ornament to foundation as the song finds its legs once again. And then it happens again, the tempo slowing around that same figure, taking the song in yet another direction. The casual yet measured progression from idea to idea belies the tune's title, and this is when the album is at its best, holding your hand on the musical equivalent of a twilit, late-summer stroll.

The danger here, of course, is that an album of modest instrumental numbers is apt to come off as same-y, and that's a fair criticism of Six Parts Seven's approach. If you've spent a goodly amount of time digesting any of the other artists mentioned in this review so far, none of this album is going to come as a revelation. The best way to enjoy it is via a kind of middle distance focus that lets you absorb it without looking directly at it. Or better yet, drop it on someone who hasn't heard all those other bands yet, ideally at a hip Indian restaurant, where it might end up making him rethink his idea of what makes instrumental music interesting. It could happen.

A Hot Ticket retrospective ...

2007-05-03T15:13:00.000-05:00

Standing now in the cockshut (and you're crazy if you think I'm not going to use that word every chance I get until the Pulse actually closes up the print edition on May 16) of Pulse's tenure on the local media scene, I thought it would be a good idea to comb through past Hot Tickets I've written and collect them in one spot for safekeeping. The beauty of Hot Tickets, which are the little blurbs we write about upcoming events in the front of Pulse each week, is that I tend to write up to four a week, and once they're written, I tend to forget all about them. As such, it was kind of fun to look back at these. Maybe you'll enjoy it, too. They're in reverse chronological order.

STEVE'S HOTTEST TICKETS

SATURDAY, APRIL 21
Missing Numbers CD Release Show
Turf Club
If there's a band at the end of the world, that band is probably Missing Numbers. Since their first album in 2004, this Jimmy Peterson (of Bellwether) project has broken and weathered from a spaciously unspooling classic rock outfit into a clattering rattle bag. In a slick, streamlined age, Missing Numbers' new disc, More Salt?, is defiantly hydraulic, steam-powered and rusty, grinding along on a shot of Morphine (thanks to the tenor and baritone saxes of Hall Sanders) and co-piloted by the ghost of Bone Machine-era Tom Waits. Layers of grime and distortion transform Peterson's voice into the calls of a carnival barker, and John Crist's drums sound like they've been replaced with the burnt out shells of Volkswagens and discarded gas stoves. Echoing voices drift through "Clean Living," Mike Derrick's slinkily frayed bassline anchors the handclap groove of "Unlucky Numbers," and "10,000 Tens" drifts through a smokey blue haze of beatnik-leaning poetry and free blowing sax, completing a central triptych that would be at home soundtracking a Jarmusch, Wenders or Lynch film. This is ghostly, burning stuff. With Rank Strangers, The Slats and Faux Jean. 9 p.m $5. 21+. Corner of University and Snelling Aves., St. Paul. 651-647-0486.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 2007
Grizzly Bear
7th Street Entry
I've long suspected that there's a perfect word out there to describe Grizzly Bear's aesthetic, and I think I've got it now: susurrating. I didn't make that up-- I swear. For a long time I was going with mossy, given the overgrown and organic sonic sprawl of last year's Yellow House, but mossy also suggests a kind of reticence, whereas I'm looking for something with a little more restlessness in it. Susurrating means "issuing soft noises," and that's what all the space around the music does on their record. Curtains gently rustle in drafts, chests rise and fall in loamy late-morning sleep and blades of grass flick to and fro the way they do when you get up real close to your lawn. Plus there's the onomatopoetic suggestion of a slurred, stuttery mumble in sussurating that captures tentative forward motion, forever arrested in mid-stumble. I missed them opening for TV on the Radio, a mistake I don't intend to repeat. With Portastatic and The Dirty Projectors. 8 p.m. $12. 21+. 29 N. 7th St., Mpls. 612-332-1775.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2006
Staying Home
Your House
Come on, admit it: New Year’s Eve is a disappointment nine times out of 10. I spent a good six years as a musician living by my brother’s motto: “Everyone has to have a gig New Year’s Eve.” Enough. I’m getting old, damnit, so here’s my recipe for a great New Year’s Eve: diminshed expectations. When I was growing up, my family took the opportunity of staying up late to watch a really long movie: for a few years it was “The Right Stuff,” then it was “Lawrence of Arabia.” Of course, these days, 153 minutes and 228 minutes (respectively) hardly constitute a long movie. Maybe you could watch all of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s 10-part miniseries, where each part focuses on one of the Ten Commandments, “Decalogue.” That’s 550 minutes right there, and Stanley Kubrick called it the only masterpiece he could name that was made during his lifetime. Or how about every single episode of the woefully underrated “Freaks and Geeks?” It’s kind of like “The Wonder Years” if “The Wonder Years” were actually as good as you remember it being. Plus it features the wit and wisdom of everyone’s favorite lanky geek, Bill Haverchuck. And it will last you about 792 minutes. That’s probably what I’ll be doing; sitting on the couch with my fee-ance, some eggnog, maybe a glass of champagne, vicariously reliving my high school years through Lindsey and Sam Weir and turning in shortly after the big ball drops in Times Square. Admit it: you’re jealous. 8 p.m. - 12:15 a.m. Free. All Ages, 21+ to drink.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2006
Deftones
First Ave
The sublime, as a Romantic notion, concerns that which is terrifying and dangerous—think tornado—but which, through the remove of fiction, can be appreciated aesthetically for the very qualities that make it threatening. More than any other band out there today, the propulsively aggressive yet melodically angelic Deftones embody this grotesque beauty. “Kimdracula,” from their recently-released album Saturday Night Wrist, is a good example: Singer Chino Moreno whips from a hushed croon to towering falsetto to guttural howl and back again—it’s enough to give you whiplash, and that’s exactly the point. Since 2000’s White Pony, Deftones have milked that knife edge between the visceral and the ethereal, making forays into ambient textural territory and sound collaging. It’s not so much tied together as loosely bound by Moreno’s animalistic and sometimes violent imagery, all teeth, red leather and, yup, ball gags. For me, they occupy a strange oxbow in my musical taste; I listen to nothing else that’s even vaguely close to them in sound, aside from Japanese art-metal band Boris. Still, I’ll maintain my stance that they’re far more than just noise and fury signifying nothing: They’re an overwhelming amount of noise and fury signifying a vast and yawning emptiness—and it scares me, in the best way possible. 8 p.m. $20. 18+. 701 First Ave. N., Mpls. 612-338-8388.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2006
Timberwolves vs. Nuggets
Target Center
Nothing lasts forever, but I’m way more torn up inside than I expected to be at the thought that not only may Kevin Garnett soon be leaving for greener pastures, but that he actually needs to. Being a fan of a team is a messy business: I love the T’wolves, and I love KG, and for as long as I’ve been a fan, those two things have been synonymous. Thus was sportswriter Bill Simmons’ article in the Dec. 4 issue of ESPN the Magazine all the more painful for being right: Garnett is missing out on a chance to be recognized as one of the all-time greats if he stays here. I was there when the T’wolves came back in the last eight minutes of the fourth quarter against the Los Angeles Clippers last Saturday night, and I was momentarily buoyed by the win, re-energized by the resolve shown by a team notorious for phoning in fourth quarters, but it was ultimately as hollow a victory as a peaceful, romantic dinner in the middle of a failing relationship. I know what has to happen: KG has to leave and find his championship ring with another team (please don’t let it be the Lakers) and, in the end, I know it’s right. The Timberwolves’ playoff run in ’04 will forever stand second in my heart only to the Red Sox winning the championship that same year as the defining sports experience of my life (I was born in Massachusetts). While he’s still here, you better get over to the Target Center and see him in person. In case you’re not up on your T’wolves history, we hate the Denver Nuggets, and this one’s bound to be a knock-down, drag-out fight. Kevin: It’s been a pleasure and an honor. 7 p.m. $10 - $700. 600 First Ave. N., Mpls. 612-337-DUNK ext. 1 or timberwolves.com.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2006
Jeremy Messersmith
Nomad World Pub
I’ve had Jeremy Messersmith on the brain lately. I don’t know if you’ve read “The Twenty-seventh City” by Jonathan Franzen (don’t bother, by the way—it was terrible), but in it, a successful man is brought low by a carefully orchestrated set of disasters that appear to him to be mere chance. Occasionally, I feel that bands are doing this to me, albeit with less disastrous results than the death of my dog or the wooing of my daughter by some ne’er-do-well. Since the first time I caught wind of Mr. Messersmith’s disc Alcatraz Kid via a CD review by Andrea Myers here in the Pulse, he’s gotten love in the City Pages and various other pubs in town, and his careworn blend of introspection and pop savvy has been popping up everywhere I’ve turned. There he is on the Current, and there he is in the pile of CDs I’m about to bring to Homegrown to play this week, and there he is appearing live in person on Homegrown this very Sunday. Not that he should have to embark on a clandestine campaign to win the affections of music critics: His tuneful melodies are the kind that make you stop short when they come on the radio, beguiling and enchanting, but straightforward and honest. You’ve done it, Mr. Messersmith: You’ve won me over, so you can tell your goons to stop rooting through my trash. With Jayber Crow, The Dale Hush Hush (Coach Said Not To side project) and Harbor. 9 p.m. $5. 21+. 501 Cedar Ave. S., Mpls. 612-338-6424.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2006
Band of Horses
Fine Line Music Cafe
Some bands make albums that only blossom when you strap on a pair of headphones and patiently soak them in. Dial in the mood lighting, crack open a bottle of Argentinean Malbec and kick back on your chaise lounge if you want to get the most out of the slow-growers, but Band of Horses is not a band to kill you softly with their songs. Anthems like “The Funeral” and “Wicked Gil” promise to rock your face off live, and that’s just what they did when Band of Horses hit the Entry on their first trip to the Twin Cities. Ben Bridwell and Matt Brooke fashioned the band out of the ashes of Seattle indie rock stalwart Carissa’s Wierd and their debut disc Everything All the Time is just the kind of sentimental arrow that aims for the chinks in every hipster’s emotional armor. In the gorgeous “Part One,” Bridwell sings, “I’d like to think that I’m a mess you’d wear with pride / like some empty dress you laid out on the bed for tonight.” I’m generally not one to quote other reviews, but Aaron Newell at cokemachineglow.com hit the nail on the head when he wrote, “When that’s sung over a slight, high school country waltz, by that voice, you can gauge how thick your skin is by how much you start missing someone.” His point was that Band of Horses aren’t experimental or daring, but rather messily and mercilessly precise in their harnessing of a certain adolescent emotion that never really leaves you. They go for the jugular again and again, and isn’t that why we’re paying attention in the first place? I doubt any rock writer worth his or her salt got into this racket to wax philosophical about popular music, even if that’s what we end up doing. We love music because way back in junior high, in a past beyond reach because we can’t feel ourselves as other than we are now, we heard a song that made the hair stand up on our necks, or pins and needles flood our cheeks, and wanted to feel like that as often as possible for as long as possible for the rest of our lives. With Chad VanGaalen. 7:30 p.m. $14. 18+. 318 First Ave. N., Mpls. 612-338-8100.

MONDAY, MAY 8, 2006
Sigur Ros
Orpheum Theater
Sigur Ros is a band that fairly demands to be the soundtrack to your life in moments of need and transition. Their lyrics, written in a phonetic jumble called Hopelandic, aren’t statements so much as empty vessels into which you inject yourself, and the swell of orchestration that accompanies their dynamic peaks would be overwhelming if they hadn’t been so careful in bringing you along on the journey. Their latest, Takk…, could be called more of the same, but this is a band that knows the power of motif, that creates impact not from aping the frenetic kineticism of modern life, but by applying a steady hand to our musical pressure points: melody, minor-major resolution, dynamic movement. I can’t recall exactly when, but I remember being on a bus in Chicago, mid-fall, headed down Lake Shore Drive late at night, Ágætis Byrjun (their first LP) streaming through my headphones, sodium streetlights flashing by. That night, they were the sound of something beginning curled up inside the sound of something ending. Had I left the East Coast already? Had my band broken up? What is it about buses at night that inspires gentle melancholy and wistful whenandifying (as in, when and if I ever figure this all out)? I can’t tell you; just keep some Sigur Ros handy in case you ever find yourself in similar straits. With Amiina. 7:30 p.m. $30-$40. 805 Hennepin Ave., Mpls. 612-339-7007.

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 2006
The Wedding Present
400 Bar
I feel bad for any woman who’s been involved with David Gedge: Judging by his songs, he either cheated on you, broke your heart and then went on to immortalize it in song or you cheated on him, broke his heart and you still got immortalized in song. Either way, you’ll never live it down—not when Gedge plants his lyrical daggers inside of sticky, bittersweet hooks. After years of fronting the high-fidelity-meets-infidelity Cinerama, Gedge returned to the gritty, guitar-driven fold of his first band, The Wedding Present, who’ve been on hiatus since 1997. If you’ve been watching Tom Hallett’s space, you read his glowing review of Take Fountain, but I’ll sum it up for you: The Wedding Present are as toothy and toothsome as ever, Gedge spinning tales of heartbreak with clear- and cold-eyed honesty. You can bring your girl, but if Gedge has anything to do with it, you won’t be leaving with her. With Sally Crewe & the Sudden Moves. 8 p.m. 21+. $15. 400 Cedar Ave. S., Mpls. 612-332-2903.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2006
Alvin Lucier
The Spark Festival at the School of Music
What is music? No, seriously: ask yourself. My Intro to Experimental Music class at Wesleyan, taught by Alvin Lucier, changed my answer to that question considerably. Lucier has pioneered many new methods of music making, but is best known for his piece “I Am Sitting in a Room,” in which the performer reads a short text into an empty room. The performance is recorded, played back into the room and recorded again. And again and again. It’s an amazing enough concept that’s laid out in the performance’s text (“I am going to play it back into the room again and again until the resonant frequencies of the room reinforce themselves”), but what’s truly stunning is how unexpectedly beautiful the result is. With the sparest of concepts and tools, Lucier creates a sonic painting of the sounds that lie dormant inside every space we inhabit and in the process makes us realize that music is so much more than arpeggios and appoggiaturas. Lucier is the keynote speaker at the Spark Festival, and several of his pieces will be performed as well. The schedule of performances is extensive and sure to shift your paradigm if you’re willing to open yourself up. Lucier’s keynote lecture is at 11:15 a.m. in Anderson Hall, Rom 370. All events are free. For a complete listing, visit spark.cla.umn.edu.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 2006
An Early Evening with John Corbett
The Fine Line Music Café
Actor John Corbett made his name playing a range of characters—from that ruggedly handsome and offbeat nonconformist DJ on “Northern Exposure” to Carrie’s ruggedly handsome and offbeat nonconformist boyfriend on “Sex and the City” to the ruggedly handsome and offbeat nonconformist male lead in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” But his true passion is music: “When I was on the set of my last movie,” Corbett muses in his bio, “all I wanted to do was get back to making music. I wanted to be with my guys on stage, rocking the house.” When he first appeared on “The Tonight Show,” he asked if he could bring his band, and despite not having anything recorded to play for the talent director, they got their shot—“a rare case of a musician getting a coveted performance on the late-night talk show without a record deal, or even a record at all.” Being John Corbett probably didn’t have anything to do with that. His bio has a lot of other heartwarming stories like that, too, but don’t feel alienated if you haven’t yet fallen for his charms. “A lot of my fans are women,” he says, “but when they’re [sic] husbands and boyfriends hear the album or see us live, they’re going to like it, too. When we play, the guys come up and say, ‘Dude, I didn’t know you were going to rock like that.’” His blend of country and Southern rock starts early so you should be able to make it home to catch him in “Raising Helen” at 8 p.m. on Encore. 6 p.m. $16. 21+. 318 First Ave., N. Mpls. 612-338-8100.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 20, 2006
Roy Haynes
The Artists’ Quarter
When it comes to jazz, there are legends, and then there’s everybody else. Haynes is firmly in that first category, and in his five-decade-long career he’s shared the stage with fellow giants Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker and too many others to mention. But his long list of credits and plaudits don’t really do justice to what the man has done for jazz in our time. Where Max Roach approached the drums from a rhythmic foundation that allowed for crisp melodic improvisation, and Elvin Jones didn’t abandon so much as steamroll through notions of traditional melody to create a cascading, roiling rhythmic force to match Coltrane’s improvisation, Haynes fuses melody and rhythm in equal parts to create a style that is as comfortable in the bop of Parker as it is in the context of Andrew Hill’s Black Fire (my favorite Haynes performance). The marriage of Hill’s deft and spooky piano work to Haynes’ simpatico backing is emblematic of the phenomenal syncreticism of avant garde jazz in the early ’60s, when rules were stretched without being broken, and free jazz still meant you didn’t have to pay. His three-night stand at the AQ is being recorded for a live album, but you should go see for yourself: There’s a special magic that happens when a drummer who’s swung his whole life hits that ride cymbal with the first triplet of the evening. Suddenly, everything swings. Fri. & Sat. 8:30 & 10:30 p.m.; Sun. 7:30 & 9:30 p.m. $25. 18+. 408 St. Peter St., St. Paul. 651-292-1359.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2005
The Oranges Band
The Triple Rock Social Club
From the instant the chunky sparkle guitars and rehearsal-space drums kick in on “Believe,” you won’t have a hard time believing that The Oranges Band leader Roman Kuebler spent time playing bass on the road with minimalist juggernauts Spoon. “Believe” is something of a red herring, though, as their latest album comes off as decidedly sunny over the long-haul and works as a kind of companion to Broken Social Scene’s self-titled slice of summer breeze. If BSS is the van full of cool kids heading to a beach party, Oranges are the brooding wallflowers reluctantly following in their VW Golf. They’re blasting their Nuggets box set and arguing about whether Morissey could take Robert Smith in a fight. Along for the ride are a couple local vets, including Tad Kubler, who took their promo photos and raved about the band in a recent interview, and Craig Finn, who wrote their press release. With winter fast descending here in lake country, you should take the opportunity to snatch up as much sunshine as possible. With Die Electric and headliners Askeleton. 10 p.m. 21+. $7. 629 Cedar Ave., Mpls. 612-333-7499.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2005
The New Pornographers
First Avenue
I have to admit: I wanted to hold the horrible interview I had with Carl Newman against the New Pornographers and their new album Twin Cinema, but I just can’t. Once you get past the twists and turns and some of the spikiness which separates Twin Cinema from the sunny smackdown of Electric Version, you’ll find a record brimming with fantastic melodies, crisp production and some of the best damned drum beats and fills you’ll hear this year. The kind that make you (or at least, me) look like an idiot while waiting for stoplights to change. Yup, that’s me flailing my arms in the air and trying to hit the high harmonies on Neko Case vehicle “These Are the Fables.” The usually non-touring Dan Bejar will be joining them on this outing, and that’s great news, because his angular and difficult compositions make for great and slightly bitter palette cleansers between Newman’s relentlessly (if nonsensically) sanguine pop gems. You’ve probably heard “Use It” on the Current and even though I can’t make heads or tails of the lyrics, I still shout along. So if you see me at Marshall and Cretin making a fool of myself, laugh quietly to yourself, and if you run into Carl Newman, tell him I’m not taking it personally that he didn’t feel like talking much. 6 p.m. 21+. $15. 701 First Ave. N., Mpls. 612-338-8388.

Parts and Labor: Building steam

2007-05-02T13:58:00.000-05:00

"It's interesting to try combine things," says Parts & Labor vocalist/bassist BJ Warshaw, "but I also think we alienate a lot of people out there. The people that really like harsh noisy music can't get with us because we're too melodic and we sing. And also your average indie rock band-- we're a little too ballistic and strange for the average listener. But people that get into it really get into it and that's kind of a rewarding aspect of doing what we do."

Straddling that divide between noise music and indie rock seems to be what Parts & Labor are all about. The Brooklyn trio's getting set to release their latest LP, Mapmaker, and to call it bracing would be an understatement. To put it plainly, Parts & Labor are not fucking around. Atop a high-pitched cycling drone that echoes Pete Townsend's looped keyboard at the start of The Who's "Baba O'Riley," album opener "Fractured Skies" bursts forth with a manic drum pattern that seems on the edge of running the song right off the rails. More loops-- of static, of climbing, oscillator-generated noise-- come in for support, but rather than push the song further out, they seem to bring it closer, and when the vocals come in, climbing in lockstep up a major scale, you begin to sense that this is a wall of sound built not to keep you out, but to give you something to climb and raise a flag of victory on. It's easy to see how it might be a troublesome sound for sensitive ears and people who demand more abstraction, but Warshaw's right: for the right listener (me, apparently) it's a heady mix of seemingly disparate musical influences.

"That's kind of been there from the very beginning," Warshaw replies when I ask about how this clash of sounds developed. "When people ask us this question, we sort of have the same stock reply that it has a lot to do with the music that we listen to. It's really as simple as that and kind of boring. [Vocalist/guitarist] Dan [Friel] grew up listening to a lot of grindcore and harsh noise stuff and free jazz and then also Sonic Youth, but then also got into indie rock in the late '90s-- later than most people. I played music since I was really little. I played saxophone as my first instrument and in jazz band, concert band. My parents liked Peter, Paul and Mary and Simon & Garfunkel and were a folk duo when they first met. And later on I got into a lot of punk and noise. It's sort of this combination of all the things we like about music mushed together in as interesting a way as possible."

Friel and Warshaw are the primary songwriters in the band, splitting songs and vocal duties. Friel's voice is slightly froggier than Warshaw's, lending tracks like the churning "Brighter Days" a tinge of Bob Mould, while Warshaw's slightly clearer tenor guides "Long Way Down" along a fractured groove into a noise rock freakout. The thread that connects all the songs on the disc is a chunky arrangement style that bundles the songs around little pieces of melody or rhythm and then basically playing the shit out of them.

"For the most part," Warshaw explains, "[Dan] and I will come up with a melody or an entire song and then arrange it on our own and then bring it to the band. And then from there, we collectively figure out how we're going to turn it into a Parts & Labor song. We'll collectively talk about what the drum beat and the feel is going to be. We're a little bit all over the place with the feels of our songs. We have a lot of straight pop-punk anthems and also some more pummeling Boredoms-y style or more Krautrock repetitive stuff, too. The long process is really just deciding what noises we're gonna put underneath the vocal melodies. I'm playing electronics and bass and Dan's playing electronics and guitar so we've got this pretty enormous vocabulary of sounds and textures we can use. It's a long process.

"To give you a more concrete example," he continues, "I wrote the melody for the song 'Long Way Down' on Mapmaker and originally intended that to be a straight psych-Krautrock jam-- like, really heavy and really loud and kind of midtempo. And we originally started playing it like that, but it didn't feel right. So we slowed it down and it ended up being this more pastoral, quieter song for us. Arranging kind of has everything to do with how a song ends up sounding for us in the end."

I might take issue with calling "Long Way Down" pastoral, but I get where he's coming from. For bands that rely on samples and loops, there's a real dilemma when it comes to putting the song together in a way that can be performed live and stay true to the studio sounds. It's a problem that first reared its head when drum machines came to prominence in the early '80s, but as the ability to replicate studio trickery in an organic way on stage has become more accessible, band's have solved it in many different ways. The Books create nearly full arrangements of music on DVD to go with their videos, contributing only vocals, guitar and cello to the live setting. Menomena compose their songs around whatever seems right at the time, feeding the bits into a sampling computer program, arranging them, and then doing their best to replicate the finished compositions live, in essence covering their own songs. Dosh recreates his loops from the ground up each time out, and Parts & Labor's approach is probably closest in spirit to that.

"We tend to put a lot of emphasis of being able to do what we do live," says Warshaw. "So pretty much what you hear on our records, we're able to duplicate live and just with three people. We have looping pedals, so we'll create our drones live and then they go through volume pedals so we can swell them in and out and we haven't done much where we're arranging while we're recording, while we're putting it into a computer. There's some exceptions to that rule-- for Mapmaker we recorded all our vocals and electronics ourselves and then went back to the studio for mixing and recorded all the drums in the studio. But the songs were like 90 percent completed and then we think it'd be cool if there were a keyboard melody in the background. We did a couple overdubs, but we really write for the live show, more than the studio record."

Ever since I got Mapmaker back in early March, I've had their show at the Entry circled on my calendar, because it's obvious from the record that they're absolutely going to bring it live. At SxSW, Menomena were fairly impressive in recreating the sounds on their album with just three members, but you could tell they were stretching beyond their reach on a couple numbers. If Parts & Labor can deliver on the live show promise displayed on Mapmaker, they'll be picking up bricks from the Entry off of tables in the Hard Rock Cafe and windows will be shattering on Summit Avenue in Saint Paul, just like when the Washburn A Mill blew its top in 1878.

Parts & Labor play Wed., May 2 at The Seventh St. Entry with headliners ADULT. 8 p.m. $10/$12. 21+. 29 N. 7th St., Mpls. 612-332-1775. Mapmaker comes out on Jagjaguwar Records on May 22. For more info on Parts & Labor, check out their official website at partsandlabor.net.

Tonight on Homegrown

2007-04-29T18:43:00.000-05:00

Tonight at 10 p.m. CST on Drive 105 and also at radiohomegrown.com, I'll once again be guest hosting in Dave Campbell's stead while he's out on the road. Tonight's guest will be Minneapolis hip-hop duo extraordinaire Big Quarters, who just released their debut LP, Cost of Living, about a month ago. Good times are guaranteed.

You can't go home again

2007-04-29T14:37:00.000-05:00

After getting the following bulletin from The Plastic Constellations on MySpace, I knew I couldn't resist:

Friendthrens-

The four of us in TPC went to high school together, back in the proverbial day. Did you know this? Odds are yes since it seems to be mentioned fairly frequently in press coverage of our dumb band. Did you know that this aforementioned high school was none other than Hopkins High School (aka Tha 270, as in "Independent School District #270) in Hopkins, MN, a small industrial suburb ten minutes to the west of Minneapolis?

It's true.

Since we're at the "let's play a bunch of crazy little shows for fun while we finish writing a new record" stage of 2007, we've decided to book a show at a Hopkins mainstay -- Decoy's on Mainstreet -- just like, cause, it'll be crazy fun. If you've ever been there, you know that the bands who usually play there are of the bar band-cover jams-keyboard solo-long hair variety.

On this Saturday, April 28th, we will be ripping this venue a new asshole along with our rapper friends (and also Hopkins High School graduates) Sims and Mictlan from Doomtree. Here is the stats:

Saturday, April 28th
9:30 PM till close
Decoy's in Hopkins, MN
1022 Mainstreet (corner of 11th and Main)
The Plastic Constellations
Sims and Mictlan from Doomtree
$5 - 21+

A show this special deserves a special approach. We'll be playing mutliple sets, covers, tracks from our entire catalog (including a bunch of new jams), invoking audience participation -- you know, all the ridiculous stuff that a bar band normally does. Except it will be us, TPC, inciting the riotus good times and not Wicked Slammerz or whatever other bands normally play there.

We think that you should come to this. For reals. Hopefully we'll see you there.

Love and Jason Kubel,
TPC

I don't spend a lot of time in the West Metro. All right, I don't spend any time in the West Metro, so a set of MapQuest directions and one Friends Like These EP later, I parked on Main Street right out in front of Decoy's last night around 10:30 p.m. Decoy's is pretty much what you'd expect from a suburban bar-- long sightlines, tables strewn around the area on different levels, a bevy of televsions (half tuned to the Devils/Senators game, half to the Rockets/Jazz game), a lot of locals and a whole lot of smoke. Right, I forgot about smoking in bars.

The stage is set on an angle in the northeast corner of the room (at least, I think it's northeast-- the 'burbs have a way of messing with my internal compass), rising all of six inches from the bar floor and adorned with neon beer signs featuring guitars. I run into Jordan Roske (bassist for TPC), and we chat about the upcoming set and how things have been going. TPC have been at work composing a follow-up LP to last year's Crusades, and apparently, they've got six songs done, all of which they'll be playing tonight. Recording's supposed to start in August. Just a heads up.

I grab a Sam Adams and make like Magellan around the bar, running into Doomtree rapper Sims in the back. He's sporting winter hair, which for him means hair, and it's a little unnerving. But not as unnerving as this whole thing seems for him. Sims went to high school in Hopkins, like TPC and several other members of Doomtree, and he has that glazed/manic look in his eye that I imagine I have in those dreams where you're wearing pajamas (or less) in the middle of second period math class. I empathize, man. I was back in Williamstown not all that long ago, and experienced a truly odd mix of emotions upon seeing people I had gone to high school with. Sort of an initial reaction of shock and horror that they're still in that tiny-assed town all these years later immediately followed by scolding myself at feeling superior. So I moved; so what? It's perhaps a little more jarring for the assembled Minneapolitans tonight since it seems like it shouldn't be that tough to achieve escape velocity from Hopkins when the Twin Cities are just up the road. I don't know much about Hopkins, though-- I just know Main Street seems sleepy as shit on a Saturday night.

Cecil Otter comes up and gives me a warm greeting, the warmest I think I've ever gotten from him, perhaps a reflection of the above. People who've come out from the Cities are kind of like little liferafts for the graduates of Hopkins High, it seems. Cecil starts his set by saying, "Hi, I'm Kyle and I went to Hopkins." He spends the whole set on the floor in front of the stage, drawling his lyrics out against the booming backdrop of cuts provided by Paper Tiger, and the effect is, well, odd, although not in the way that the performers seem to think it is. Cecil Otter's stage persona is a marked contrast to that of Sims or P.O.S. or really most of the whole rest of Doomtree, who seem to feed off each other, moving to create more motion. Sims tends to prowl the stage, Mictlan kind of stalks, but Cecil just kind of lounges. Sometimes it seems like he belongs more to the Rat Pack than Doomtree, like he should be holding a martini and telling dry jokes, but tonight the music's so big and his presence so bracing in this space that he just seems huge and absolutely in command, but not in a dominating kind of way. It seems like effortless aplomb.

When he gives way to Sims and Mictlan, things get considerably more rambunctious. Mictlan mostly sticks to saying things with his rhymes, but Sims is clearly a little unhinged by the whole thing, telling people that a real rock band is coming up real soon, and relishing the prospect of people in the back coming up to him after the set and giving him shit. It's not so much that the crowd isn't into it, because a throng of about 40 people have crowded around the front of the stage; it's more that they just chatter real loudly through everything, even the people up front. In a way, it's probably harder than dealing with either reprobation or approbation. The crowd isn't wicked into it, but it's not like they hate them-- they're mostly just not paying attention. As a performer, pretty much a fate worse than death.

Paper Tiger keeps it going between Sims/Mictlan and TPC, cueing up "Be Easy" by Ghostface Killah and following it immediately with a tantalizing slice of "Luccini" by Camp Lo. That's the good shit, but again, nobody's really giving notice.

TPC hits the stage, and the crowd seems to warm a little more to the idea of a real band, but it's still a bar-band bar. Really, though, it's a grand and kind of hilarious experiment that peels back all kinds of things about being a band that your average gig doesn't get at. For everybody playing tonight, their music is unmistakably theirs-- they've forged these sounds out of their influences, beginning at some derivative sound and ending up where they are now. Which is not to say that they've reached their destination and are fully-formed-- this isn't like Bruce Springsteen coming back to play a bar in Asbury Park or something, but that's what makes it particularly deliciously meta, really. The bands who usually play here are cover bands, playing someone else's music to people who want to hear somebody else's music. In a lot of ways, the music that bands are usually playing at Decoy's is further removed from what Doomtree and TPC play than other forms of original art are. What Doomtree and TPC are doing is creating themselves through creative expression. It's more than just saying, "This is who I am"; it's the metaphorical fashioning of themselves through the act of creation. It's really profoundly artistic in a really beautiful way. And most of the people here couldn't seem to care less.

Whatever, though. In keeping with my previous post about authenticity, I want to clarify that I'm not in any way saying original music is more "real" than that made by a cover band. They're both engaged in the kind of sleight of hand that's necessary for performance. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

TPC are willing to play the game, though, and before their set break ("Because that's what bar bands do," says singer Jeff Allen) they play a cover of Journey's "Separate Ways." It's kind of funny, and it kind of rocks, but frankly, the smoke's starting to get to me. My eyes are starting to burn a bit, plus I'm coming down with a cold, so I head out, away from Decoy's and Hopkins and back to the welcoming embrace of Saint Paul.

My heart ain't in it but I'll hold the door ...

2007-04-27T10:48:00.000-05:00

Hey folks: As you might have heard if you're around town here, Pulse of the Twin Cities will be shuttering its windows and closing up shop with a final issue on May 16. It's a sad day for local media, but this blog will continue. There'll be a name change, but you'll be able to get here through your current links with no problem. It's the magic of the internet.

That is all. More later.

The Books: The joy of cooking

2007-04-22T15:35:00.000-05:00

Just to give you a little context, I caught up with Nick Zammuto by phone while the band was on their way from Knoxville to Atlanta, and we just got through chitchatting about North Adams, Mass., which is a town over from where I grew up and how the Purple Pub just burned down in Williamstown. Exactly: it's not interesting to anybody except Zammuto, me and the residents of Williamstown.

And here's that full-length article:

“Well, we sell these oven mitts,” says The Books’ Nick Zammuto, “and so there were these two guys fighting over this oven mitt right in front of our van and it was about to come to blows and I wasn’t just going to sit there and let them punch each other.”

You wouldn’t think that fans of The Books’ thoughtful, intelligent music would roll so hard over a cooking accessory, but then again you probably haven’t seen those oven mitts. Like The Books’ music, they’re lovingly handmade, a collision between found object and a deft artistic touch that recontextualizes the familiar. Zammuto (vocals/guitar/bass) and Paul de Jong (cello/bass) are, primarily, collage artists, combing through source material and building a musical bird’s nest out of snippets of dialogue, the sound of a bouncing basketball, a language instruction tape, interviews, old newsreels and their own original instrumental compositions. Like any collagists worth their salt, they’ve found that preparation is far more important than any kind of methodical process.

“People use the word ‘random’ all the time when describing our sample library,” says Zammuto, who’s on the road between Knoxville, Tenn., and Atlanta, Ga., when I reach him, “and I think of it as totally the opposite of random. I mean, it’s really carefully selected material. And it’s selected for its quality—not with any particular use in mind, but just because it stands well on its own and it makes for something that’s compelling every time you see it or every time you hear it. So it’s sort of like cooking: if you have good ingredients, it’s hard to go wrong with the composition. So that’s always been the approach: We just try to make really compelling bodies of material. And then from there, things start to coalesce in subconscious ways. We just listen through the sample libraries on a regular basis and kind of get them in our working memories and things crystallize from there.”

The result, on record, is music that’s simultaneously bracing in its originality and comforting in its familiarity, composed as it is out of the rhythms of spoken language. Even the parts that Zammuto sings in his modest tenor voice (“The fact that it’s my voice is completely arbitrary. If I could find somebody else to sing, that’d be great,” he laughs) are often drawn from texts that they simply didn’t have a recording of. These, then, are samples not as decoration or ornamentation in music, but as a structural element, as the very lifeblood of the work, and the line between incorporating found sound into a song like “None but Shining Hours” from 2005’s Lost and Safe, or composing music to go with a piece like “Venice,” where a reporter interviews an artist who seems to be Salvador Dali as he creates a painting live.

“More and more, it’s an integrated process,” Zammuto says. “What sparks the composition—it could be anything. We don’t have much of a preconception of how it’s going to work; there’s just a feeling of integrity that we’re looking for within the process. We don’t want to ruin anything with what we do, so you can’t force a sample into place. You can’t force an idea; you kind of have to wait for it to find its right place. So there’s a lot of patience and a lot of trial and error involved.”

When the pieces come together, as they do powerfully on the recording of “Be Good to Them Always” on Lost and Safe, the result is a kind of ever-expanding dialogue between the music and the texts, creating a new text in the process. As the music settles after an agitated intro, Zammuto sings in a soft monotone, “You know, I simply cannot understand people / Oh how sadly we mortals are deceived by our own imagination / This is not real; this is for us aleatoric television / A mixed consulate of soft instruments.” As the verse continues to unspool, Zammuto’s voice is joined by samples of people speaking the lines he is singing, and they match up to his sung rhythm, eventually taking center stage. For those with a passing familiarity with work like composer Steve Reich’s “Different Trains,” in which Reich took short spoken samples from interviews and then crafted melodic lines that would match their inherent spoken melodies, this is the intellectual seeds of experimental music bearing powerfully affective and effective fruit. The juxtaposition of disparate elements creates new meaning and a new space for the recombination of ideas.

But what’s particularly stunning is that The Books’ audio recordings are only half the story. A live performance by The Books integrates video samples as well, fashioned into artistic pieces in much the same way as the audio. “That was really our vision from the beginning,” says Zammuto, “to have this kind of performance where attention was moving around a lot between sound and the image and guitar here and cello there and a voice there. To keep it from becoming this egoistic rock star thing. We wanted to diffuse attention in a way that you would meet people halfway. Whatever they had within themselves, they can engage with it in their own way. So the image became really important right away for us, and we wanted to go after this synesthetic approach, where there was really a one-to-one relationship between what was going on in the music and what was happening with the image.”

When the recordings are combined with the imagery, which ranges from stock footage to a video recording of another musician playing a part that Zammuto and de Jong play along with, to moving type compositions, the effect can be nearly overwhelming from a synaptic perspective, but in the best way possible. The only word I can really come up with for it is joyous—the sheer joy of the human act of creation.

“People are really focused during the shows,” Zammuto says. “They’re really trying to take it in and they smile a lot, too, which just makes me happy. That’s definitely one of our goals: to make people laugh. Not in a comedic way—in a ha ha way—but like that Zen approach of using language to destroy itself. To find something profound within the absurd. And yeah, the joyous quality of it comes very naturally from our own engagement with it. It is really a joy to be able to find this stuff and then put it into a context where it can really shine.” ||

The Books perform twice on Fri., Apr. 27 at the Walker Art Center in the McGuire Theater. 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. $13 members/$16 general. 1750 Hennepin Ave., Mpls. 612-375-7600. For more info on The Books, visit their official site at thebooksmusic.com.

I think we're all poseurs on this bus

2007-04-20T12:16:00.000-05:00

Here's a well-written review of what sounds like a pretty interesting book by Hugh Barker and Yuval Taylor called Faking It.

I haven't read the book yet, but it seems like they're pointing to the inherent pointlessness of dividing musical acts into authentic and inauthentic. And it feels kind of liberating to think of all pop music as essentially contrived, and therefore it becomes a matter not of judging realness, but of examining all kinds of other aspects of the music. After all, authenticity has this monolithic quality based on the fact of its indefinability-- most often it's cited by people as something you "feel," or as something a performer either has or doesn't. Well, that's not very helpful, now is it?

It seems definitely true that certain bands are going to get at you in a way that feels profound and for which you have no explanation, but that doesn't mean they're any more authentic than a band that doesn't do that to you. We're all conglomerates of influence and experience, and it seems to be, by my own internal reckoning, that a band that strikes me in that peculiar way falls in a kind of sweet spot between so familiar to my taste that they don't challenge me, and so outside of my familiarity that they don't connect with the things that I've previously found meaning in.

One thing that always perplexes me a bit is when people say they like a band because it's not like anything they've ever heard before. I mean, I can appreciate the feeling of discovery, but in my experience, the things I've heard before (and heard a lot), I've heard because I liked them. That is, I've chosen to delve into and listen to things because they reverberated in some way with me, and things I haven't gotten into, well, they've left me cold. I can always appreciate it when a band does things differently enough that I begin to reconsider things I've previously ignored (viz. Jay-Z w/r/t mainstream hip-hop or Boris w/r/t metal), but those artists are gateway artists precisely because there are aspects to them which connect to what I know. Boris bring elements of experimental music into metal, which everyone acknowledges, but their recordings also have a garage-y quality which is quite different from most of the metal that I've heard in passing. The drums often sound more like the Meters in tonal quality-- they have a kind of boxy, woodiness to them that sounds more Motown than Motorhead. And then seeing them live totally sold me. There was very little of the posturing I associate with metal; the whole thing was very zen and calm, despite being overwhelmingly loud. Of course, I also appreciate a band like Zebulon Pike for embracing those very inauthenticities w/r/t their album art and stage presence.

Sigh. I guess we're back to discussing realness. But at least we're discussing it, rather than just haphazardly attributing it to stuff we like.

Too tight to squeeze in ...

2007-04-17T12:19:00.000-05:00

So we had a ridiculous flood of Hot Tickets this week for the print edition, but there are a couple shows I wanted to call your attention to because they sound, frankly, awesome.

Firstly, on Sat., Apr. 21, Afternoon Records is having a fourth anniversary blowout, and when I say blowout, I mean BLOWOUT! That means not one, but two shows, both All Ages, the first at 3 p.m. and the second at 8 p.m. And the lineups. Afternoon Records doyen Ian Anderson has stepped up his game over the past year, diversifying and deepening the AR roster beyond the fractured math-punk leanings that the label was known for in the early days to include everything from the folk/roots of Haley Bonar t the punk/doo-wop of God Damn Doo Wop Band and this showcase is going to feature them all. You can see the full lineups for both shows right here on Afternoon Records' website. It's going to be hard to pick a moment to duck out for some crispy orange beef at Shuang Cheng, but I'd circle the part of the program from 8 to 10 p.m., which will feature recent signees We All Have Hooks for Hands, soon-to-be blown up Mouthful of Bees, the Black Keys-meets-White Stripes-in-a-power-outage-knife-fight bluegrass and folk of A Night in the Box and the darkly melodic and deceptively complex pop of Ela. Maybe they should have tailgating starting at noon in the parking lot over on 5th.

Also of note is another showcase of sorts, the first edition of Revival Show, a new night of acoustic roots music hosted by The Get Up Johns at the Turf Club. I can't say exactly what you should expect, except that Josh Wenck from The Get Up Johns says the show "embraces the style of an old-time tent revival meeting while requiring only that the audience pay the price of admission ($5) and not that they get right with God." Well, thanks goodness for that. I'm ready for a night of old-timeyness, complete with "prayer benches and a rough-hewn pulpit," but I don't know if I'm ready for salvation just yet. For the series' debut, The Get Up Johns have enlisted Charlie Parr, Mike Gunther & His Restless Souls, The Ditchlilies and Molly Maher & Her Disbelievers. Back when House of Mercy was holding events on the Old Stage at the Turf, they were always a fun time, and I expect much the same from Revival Show. More info at turfclub.net. OK, you know what? There's not really more info there, but I feel obliged to put the venue's website.

New features added

2007-04-06T15:28:00.000-05:00

So I've added a couple new little sections over there to your immediate right to highlight albums, books and DVDs I'm currently into, although I might not have time to always talk about them actively on the blog. At this time, however, I am.

Man, I couldn't have slept any harder on Emily Haines (of Canadian bands Metric and Broken Social Scene) and her debut album Knives Don't Have Your Back, but now it's what I listen to practically every time I'm listening to music without a distinct agenda.

"Doctor Blind" is the second track on the disc, and I think it's the first place I detected a bit of an Aimee Mann vibe to her stuff, which is something I would cherish in any artist. Haines also has this way of constructing her piano lines in skeletal fashion, rather than via complete chords. So the progressions don't always seem to make sense right away, but they hang together beautifully on repeated listening. So maybe skeletal isn't quite the word I'm looking for-- it's more like your nervous system: intimately linked to an underlying structure but weaving in and out of that foundation. The music geek in me also loves how the chorus breaks down into a measure of 5, a measure of 4, a measure of 3 and a measure of 4. I know, you probably don't care, but I have a deep love for tender and beautiful music that falls across the drums in weird ways. The lyrics from the chorus are also very Mann-ish: "My baby's got the lonesome lows, don't quite go away overnight / Doctor Blind, just prescribe the blue ones / If the dizzying highs don't subside overnight / Doctor Blind, just prescribe the red ones."

Here's another key to a good album: if the first four songs are good, and all in slightly different but related ways, it's usually an album worth your time. Other examples I can think of: Menomena's Friend and Foe and Grizzly Bear's Yellow House. I'm going to skip ahead to the fourth track on Knives Don't Have Your Back, though.

"Detective Daughter," aside from fitting rather nicely right into my recent mix, "A Mix for Private Dicks," has a fantastic rhythm track, all bass drum and handclaps. The ominous walking piano line and guitar hits put it squarely in the path of Fiona Apple comparisons, but, much like that guy in the U.N.K.L.E. video for "Rabbit in your Headlights," she blows that car apart. Check it out:

"The Maid Needs a Maid" has probably the finest line on the album: "Your mouth should be working for me, for free." This would be a great choice for plopping right into the middle of a mix, a romantic song that skewers the genre in kind of a Clem Snide-esque kind of way. The twist is basically that Haines is saying she wants a kept man. Um, sign me up, incidentally.

It's also the rare album that buries a track as exceptional as "Nothing & Nowhere" as deep as track 9 of an 11-track album. Much like "Doctor Blind," the song is draped loosely across its pilings, but here, there's no rhythm section to drive that home, so it floats a bit more. The conceit here is a nicely literary and narrative one ("Some say, our life is insane," goes the chorus, "but it isn't insane on paper") but what I'd really like to draw your attention to is the first couplet of the second chorus. "Some say, we always only want to get off," goes the first line, and it's delievered in a flat enough way that the double meaning could fall just as easily in either direction, but when she delivers the second half, her mischievious smile is actually audible as she coos, "Some say, our hands are much too soft." Sexy isn't a sexy enough word for the effect, because it's not just hot-- it's brittle and apologetic and vulnerable and forthright, all at the same time.

That's just good rock and roll.

OTHER ALBUMS MENTIONED IN THIS POST

Battle of the Underage Underground

2007-04-05T14:10:00.000-05:00

Hey folks: Just got this e-mail from Aimee over at Radio K, so if you're a high school band looking to do something great for yourself, read on:

Hey Steve,

This is Aimee over at Radio K. Once again, I am in the process of planning
the Battle of the Underage Underground. This year, the high schoolers will
compete in the First Avenue Mainroom for a $2000 recording contract with
Say Rah Records (a brand new record company - a division of Afternoon
Records), $500 towards making CDs and promotional matierials at CopyCats
Media, and more.

We are accepting submissions until May 15th.
Demos and contact information can be sent to:

Radio K's Battle of the Underage Underground
610 Rarig Center
330 21st Ave. South
Minneapolis, MN 55455-0415

More information at www.radiok.org or www.myspace.com/radiokBUU.

Note: This battle of the bands is an exception to this website's motto.

Dear Music Industry: Your days are numbered ...

2007-04-03T14:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, as I was ripping a stack of CDs to iTunes, I decided to hunt down some music by Ames, Iowa's The Envy Corps. I'd heard their stuff in the van on the way back from SxSW because I believe Jesse Stensby knows them, and they sounded good. Then I heard "Story Problem" on the Current. Damn, thought I, that's a catchy goddamn song that sounds great. Plus they're from Ames! Ridiculous.

So I hit the iTunes store and searched for "envy corps." Nothing. I went to their website, which wasn't very helpful, so I went to their record label's website. Their label, Vertigo, is in the UK. So I clicked on The Envy Corps' EP link and got a bunch of options for buying the EP, including a link to the iTunes store. I clicked through, at which time the iTunes store told me that the product I was looking for was only available in the UK store, and would I like to switch to the UK store. Sure, as long as I can switch back. And then I arrived at the iTunes page for The Envy Corps EP, which cost something like £1.50, and I clicked on Buy Album, at which point the iTunes store told me that I could only buy products from the US version of the iTunes store.

At this point, I switched over to Acquisition, my rarely-used P2P program, typed in "envy corps" in the search box, and downloaded the songs for free.

I tried. I really wanted to give someone my money to get this disc AND THEY WOULDN'T LET ME. I don't know what the answer is here, but if they can't figure out some way to make this work better, nobody's making money off records anymore--and they don't deserve to.

Low on Homegrown

2007-03-30T16:22:00.000-05:00

Last night I pre-taped an episode of Homegrown with Low, who just released Drums and Guns on Sub Pop back on March 20. They won't be coming back through here until April 14 for a show at First Ave (which will also be featuring Loney, Dear, whom I heartily endorse as a worthwhile live experience), but they were down here doing press, so Homegrown hooked it up, but Dave Campbell couldn't be there to do his usual bang-up job hosting, so I had to do it all by myself. Andrea Myers was supposed to be there, but she wasn't feeling well, so Mandy and Christopher stepped in ably so I wouldn't have to be out there all by myself. By the end of the show, I had settled in much better. Anyways, Low played two live songs, "Breaker" and "Sandinista," both from their new disc, and the version of "Sandinista" was particularly excellent and very different from the album version.

So go ahead and tune in on Sunday night at 10 p.m. on Drive 105 to check it out if you're around the Twin Cities, or you can also get it off the website as a podcast a couple days after it airs.

Thus ends the shameless plug.

First Communion Afterparty at the Nomad

2007-03-30T00:50:00.000-05:00

Right now, I'm watching First Communion Afterparty at the Nomad. They're going to be taking over from Ice Palace as the resident band for the Minneseries in April. Frankly, I didn't like them the first time I saw them back at the Kitty Cat Klub last summer. They're derivative, barely in tune, and a little ridiculous with their overtly '60s stage presence, but dammit: they're winning me over. There's a woman at the front of the stage with voluminous blonde hair and a mega-mod orange dress that could have come straight out of the movie "Blow Up," and her only job, apparently is to play the tamborine, and she's taking it very seriously. She has an odd, unaffected look on her face, kind of like she's above it all. Even when the band (all seven of them) churn the music into a maelstrom, she betrays no emotional involvement at all.

More than any one band from the '60s (although the Jefferson Airplane and the Mamas and the Papas spring immediately to mind), they remind me of Spiritualized, which ain't a bad thing, let me tell you.

They always seem a little out of tune, and I couldn't really tell you if I like it or not. I know, based on the article that Charlie Vaughan turned in on them, that they have a kind of utopian dram of starting a commune somewhere on the west coast. And you know what? I can see it, because their music has a certain audienceless aspect. Follow me here.

Once upon a time, there weren't recordings that would allow you to play back whatever you wanted to hear at the touch of a button and, even further back, there weren't public performances of music with an audience seated in their chairs listening. Back in the days of Guillaume de Machaut and Perotin, who wrote sacred music in the 12th and 13th centuries, you either participated in the music, or you didn't hear it. The idea of a final musical "product" didn't exist. Take a moment and really try to imagine a world in which the only music you hear is music made by you and your friends. A world in which there's not even an option to do it another way. First Communion Party have just a touch of that feel to them.

You could construe their stage act as an affectation, and maybe you wouldn't be wrong about that. But if you can suspend your disbelief in their earnestness for a moment, I think you'll find a ragged, participatory beauty underneath.

Who wants in?

2007-03-29T14:09:00.000-05:00

I'm starting a Boston cover band, but we're going to play the songs slowed down in drone metal style, a la SunnO))).

The name? Boston Molasses Disaster.

Who wants in?

A theory ...

2007-03-27T12:53:00.000-05:00

Maybe nobody puts out records between the end of November and the end of January because you're more likely to get a positive review when the weather turns warm. I am in fact wearing shorts (okay, and a hoodie, but still) as I write this, and I'm listening to Ted Leo's new disc, Living with the Living. Leo's kind of a comfort food type of artist for me: I discovered him towards the end of my tenure in Connecticut a couple of years ago, and as much as I fell in love with Hearts of Oak and Tyranny of Distance-- to the extent that I actively considered getting the bridge from "Biomusicology" from ToD tattooed on my person ("All in all, we cannot stop singing / We cannot start sinking; we swim until it ends")-- I fell twice as hard when my life devolved into a bit of a shitstorm.

His hyper-intelligent and occasionally heart-stabbingly delightful lyrics were a balm for me, along with the music of Death Cab for Cutie and a couple other bands that shepherded me through a difficult transition, so I was mildly disappointed with his second-to-last album, Shake the Sheets. How could I not be? My favorite writing on music has always admitted to its biases, not tried to pretend that they don't exist. How we receive any new music is so heavily colored by where we're at, if you dig, that I think the best approach is to just go headfirst into where your heads at when something gets at you and go from there.

So where's my head at right now? It's warming up outside, there's still a dirty pile of snow lingering next to the warehouse across the street from my apartment, I just bought a gas grill, I've been driving around with the windows down, and I've spent half the last month away from home, half of that at SxSW and the other half in Chicago due to my mother's untimely passing. The National have a line that goes, "How can anybody know how they got to be this way?" and I think that line speaks powerfully to just how much of who we are lies beneath the surface at a depth we can't plumb actively. But we can feel the currents and ripples caused by these sunken factors, and that's where I'm at right now, kind of lounging in the shallows, up on my elbows and just feeling the gentle push-pull of that tide.

In short, it's a good time to have new music get at me, and despite Ted Leo's new disc not being nearly the record that Hearts of Oak was, it feels all right. And that's all right.

IN OTHER NEWS: Y'all should go to the Eclectone Records Showcase at the Varsity Theater this Saturday, March 31. Bob McCreedy, Big Ditch Road, Little Man, JoAnna James, Martin Devaney, Mark Thomas Stockert, Dan Israel, The Mad Ripple, John Ewing and more. The last one was just HUGE-- I had to come late because of another commitment and I couldn't even park anywhere near the place because there were just so many damn fans of Eclectone's brand of from-the-heartland American rock and country. The addition of Little Man to the roster has upped the rock ante considerably, and JoAnna James has given them a big shot of XX to their mix of X and Y chromosomes. Get on it.

A couple heads up ...

2007-03-22T14:04:00.000-05:00

Hey y'all: I was so busy with finishing up the SxSW diary and then also the cover story on Eclipse Records this week that I didn't get to write any hot tickets, so I wanted to call your attention to two things happening this week that will be awesome.

1.) Birdmonster @ The Varsity on Fri., Mar. 23. I caught these guys by accident the first time around when they just happened to split a bill with Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin at the Nomad. Live, they were simply an explosion of manic energy, putting on one of those stage shows you wish every band could bring. Since then, they've risen up a bit in the national estimate, hence their headlining slot at The Varsity. They've been playing them on 89.3 The Current and their album, No Midnight, stands up well next to their show, full to the brim with post-punk energy. Despite all the drive, they manage to be tuneful and sharp, plus epic in their own fuzzy way. You better go. 8 p.m. 18+. $10. varsitytheater.org and birdmonster.com.

2. Friendly No One release show for ex's for i's at the Uptown Bar on Fri., Mar. 23. Friendly No One are a terrific group of guys. I had the pleasure of hanging out with them one night while they worked on a side project called Crossing the Atlantic that has yet to be released, but I got to hear at least one of the songs from this EP. Their last full-length was mostly composed of tight and poppy stabs of punk-flecked goodness that sounded a good bit like indie rockers Cold Water Flat, but this new EP shows them stretching out a bit, incorporating drum loops and keyboards, and even whipping up a credible Tom Waits impression on "Boat." Kudos to bands who keep you guessing. Speaking of which, also slated to appear are Kill the Vultures, ex-Vox Vermillionaires Company Inc., and the awesomely named Quebecois Wheelchair Assassins. Lemme know when you find the samizdat, you crazy assasins de fauteuil roulants. 9 p.m. $5. 21+.

And be sure to check out Ice Palace with Beatrix Jar and Original Mark Edwards at the Nomad tonight. I'm finally going to get to check out the Minneseries in person, and I'm pretty damn psyched.

Also, I'll be on Homegrown this week with Cloud Cult, and I'll be guest hosting all by myself next week on Homegrown when Low visit the studio.

SxSW - Day Four

2007-03-20T15:28:00.000-05:00

BANDS COVERED IN THIS POST: FROG EYES | THE PONYS | ASOBI SEKSU | MENOMENA

Dear Austin: I think I need some me time.

You're looking at that list of bands there, doing the math, and realizing that that's only about half as many bands as I've been averaging. Thing is, at some point, you reach saturation, and there's nothing you can do about that. But we'll get there.

Today is Saint Patrick's Day, and the collision of St. Patty's Day revelers and SxSW attendees has all the makings of a Gamera vs. Mothra matchup: the winner doesn't really matter ('cause Godzilla will hand either one of them their ass)-- the real loser is the city they do battle in. I'm somewhat amazed by the amount of green clothing going on at SxSW. People had to think ahead to bring something green to wear. Myself, I'm plum out of T-shirts, so I'm wearing the free Menomena shirt I got at their show two nights ago. Speaking of which ...

I've been shut out of one Menomena show already, and only got to see a truncated set at Buffalo Billiards, so my plan is to stake myself out in front of the stage at the Hot Freaks party for the afternoon to ensure I'm front and center when they hit the stage.

But first, I need some BBQ. The Filter party ran out of vittles before the crew could make it over there yesterday, so we get there nice and early (well, SxSW early, which means noon) and get in line for lukewarm and half-assed barbecue. This isn't what I came to Austin to eat. I make a mental note to hit up Iron Works later on for dinner. Some band's playing and they're apparently from Rockford, England, although they never say who they are. It's a bit shocking how many bands fom England are here. You can never tell until they stop singing and start talking. I'm reminded again of the phenomenon whereby the Beatles tried to sound American, but then everyone tried to sound like the Beatles, the result being that lots of American singers sound vaguely British, while British singers sounds vaguely American. Welcome to the melting pot.

I catch sight of the Naked Cowboy on Sixth near Congress. Yes, the Naked Cowboy. People are snapping pictures of him. I imagine him sitting in his naked office, planning his naked budget for the year so he can make sure to hit all the festivals. No guitar with him, though; I guess he didn't make it into a showcase.

I head east on Sixth towards the Hot Freaks party, which is at the Mohawk a couple blocks north of Emo's. I'd like to point out that I have no idea what Hot Freaks is, nor will I ever learn what it is over the course of the show. Way to brand it, guys. I'm mildly shocked at how well they clean up Sixth St. each and every morning of this thing after the previous night's revelries and revelers turn it into something resembling the trash compactor from "Star Wars." Red River Avenue, though, where I make the turn towards Mohawk? Not treated so well. Some guy on the corner is handing out free energy drinks and scattered around him, starting about 30 feet out, is a ring of crushed cans. It was free, so that gives you a license to drop it on the ground?

I arrive at the Hot Freaks party in time to catch Frog Eyes, a band I'm mostly familiar with through their association Destroyer and Sunset Rubdown. Singer Carey Mercer isn't as yelpy as Krug (from Sunset Rubdown, and, apparently, Frog Eyes as well) or as mannered as Dan Bejar (from Destroyer). He's more of a soul singer, in a lot of ways. It reminds me of Van Morrison, even, although Van Morrison by way of Captain Beefheart, perhaps. They play long, sprawling songs that meander through all kinds of strange territory. Their stuff's great; I'll have to check it out further.

Hot Freaks may be somehow linked to this new web-based mp3-sharing thingy that's being promoted here called Hoooka. It's powered by something called Indie911, which I've heard of. But whatever: here's the thing about Hoooka: that's a dumb fucking name. And their slogan ("Take a hit and pass it on") only makes it worse. And then what makes it really terrible is the couple of slutty merch girls they've hired to promote it. You know, too much makeup, their Hoooka tanktops tucked up under their bras for maximum exposure of their stomachs, which are, of course, pierced. Top with ripped-up denim skirts that are all of, oh, four inches wide and BINGO! You've turned your product into a fucking joke. I highly doubt either of these moonlighting girls-gone-wild had any clue about any of the bands playing the party.

(Sigh) I'm getting a little tetchy.

The Ponys are up next, but I'm biding my time on the upper deck of the party. I've got to save my energy for Menomena, etc. Besides, everyone who likes The Ponys already likes them, and I'm sure someone else will be talking about them.

Asobi Seksu takes the stage next. I had thought that Asobi Seksu was the woman who fronted the band, but I'm pretty sure I'm wrong. Looking at their website, I see the singer is Yuki. Huh, apparently Asobi Seksu is colloquial Japanese for "playful sex." You learn something new every day. I had thought their sound was going to hew towards J-pop or lighter stuff, but clearly they're a lot heavier than that. Their stuff is more shoegaze-y-- all swirling guitars and string pads and keening vocals that are delivered both in Japanese and English. Amazingly, guitarist James Hanna breaks his high E string on the first song and then doesn't change guitars for, like, three songs, even though he's a got a perfectly functional looking Les Paul on a stand behind him. I suppose when everything's a wash of sound, it doesn't make a huge difference if you don't have that high E. Before they play their last song, Yuki invites people onstage at the end of the song to go crazy. Oh boy.

The less said about that the better. Give most people the chance to jump onstage and do what they want, and they'll usually act like idiots. This proves to be no exception. Most people just don't really have anything to say or do.

I'm posted up right on the stage for Menomena as a result of sticking to my guns, though, so that's nice. Here are some pics:

It was kind of nice to get to see a band twice. You know, compare and contrast. It still took them a pretty long time to get set up, but this time they got to play for the full time. The bonus treats this time around? Well, "Wet and Rusting" for one, which is just great. The first half of the set seems a little shakey, but maybe it's me paying attention more to their technique. They record in a real chopped up manner, composing their songs with a program called Deeler that allows them to record small snippets and jam them together until they're awesome. Live, they're considerably more sloppy than on record, plus, there are a lot of interesting choices they make with the recordings that are nullified live. For instance, Justin Harris' vocals are often double-tracked and then panned hard left and right and mixed slightly differently, plus Danny Seim's drums are often all mixed to one side, like the Meters or Motown stuff, and this all creates a very unique sound on the album. These kind of things are less pronounced on their first disc, I Am the Fun Blame Monster. The net result, in my opinion, is that their live show comes of better than their first disc, but not as well as their second, which, by the way, is spectacular, if I haven't told you personally already.

They're still number 3 on my list of top bands at SxSW, though, behind Loney, Dear and Boris. That's out of 28, keep in mind.

And guess what? That's all the bands I'm seeing. After hitting up Iron Works for some solid barbecue, I wander around aimlessly for a while, thinking maybe I'll get another drink at the Driskill. But it's full of people. And so are the streets. And so is Emo's IV by the time I get there. SxSW is starting to feel like pancakes: all exciting at first, but by the end, you're fucking sick of 'em. I'm preparing to check out Marnie Stern (who came recommended), when I realize I can't even hear the band that's on before her. As in, it's happening, but I'm just unable to process it. I've hit the limit, and it's time to go home, start working on my cover story for next week and pack.

Dear Austin: It's been real, but I feel like a popcorn hull caught in your teeth. It's time to flick me out.

SxSW - Day Three

2007-03-17T03:03:00.000-05:00

BANDS COVERED IN THIS POST: CLOUD CULT | IGGY POP (more of a sighting, really) | SALLY CREWE AND THE SUDDEN MOVES | LITTLE MAN | MARTIN DEVANEY | ANDREW BIRD | BROTHER ALI | AESOP ROCK | BORIS | TULLYCRAFT

Dear Austin: Who are you? Where are you hiding? I keep trying to imagine what this city looks like and what goes on when SxSW isn't going on. I'm beginning to feel a little dirty about this whole thing. It's like going out on that first date with someone who wears too much makeup-- you know it's all artifice, but you can't see past it because you don't know the person well enough. I want to see Austin wake up in the morning.

Unfortunately, that would probably require me getting up before 11 a.m., which is all I've mustered this week after staying out until 3 a.m. every night. Net result? I'm beat, and getting beater. So I'm going to try and maneuver this blog away from the stream of consciousness and more towards the stream of photos.

Good? Let's start:

CLOUD CULT

I don't want to spend too much time talking about Cloud Cult, because I'm going to be writing an article on them in the pretty near future, and I still want to have things to say. Suffice it to say, they're a bit different than most of the bands that have been playing at the Fader party so far. First of all: their pants are comparatively baggy and their music isn't a fashion statement. It's ragged and beautiful, but in a distinctly organic way. The bulk of their set comes from their upcoming release, The Meaning of 8, but they close with two tracks from Advice from the Happy Hippopotamus, "Wash Your Car" and the title track. That title track is just a killer jam. All right, that's all I'm saying about that.

While fielding a phone call near the fence that looks out from the Fader party to 4th St., Iggy Pop rolls by in an Escalade. That's right, Iggy Pop.

I'm still jonesing for a full Menomena set, and they're playing at Emo's and the Pitchfork Showcase, but guess what? There are one million people waiting in line, so instead of Menomena, I spend some quality time with an Italian sausage from The Best Wurst, who have stands set up along 6th St. It's more than just a hot dog from a street vendor, kids: It's got grilled onions and mustard and it kicks ass. Highly recommended for fans of meat tubes.

Another note for your edification: Emo's IV (which is a little indoor venue wedged into the corner of Red River Ave. and 6th St. Emo's and Emo's Jr. sort of wrap around it) has the best bathrooms of any venue I've seen so far. Big mirrors.

DAN IBARRA (L) and MIKE BYZEWSKI from AESTHETIC APPARATUS

Still smarting from the disappointment of missing Menomena, I retreat to the Convention Center to check out Flatstock, SxSW's poster show, and run straight into Dan and Mike from Aesthetic Apparatus. They've got a sweet location right up at the front, and, as you can see, are wearing sweet matching shirts. They're great, and they make great posters, so go buy one from their site.

Flatstock is just staggering-- tons and tons of great screenprinted posters and I'm getting sensory overload looking at everything. It's art, and I love it. One guy in particular stands out, though: Jason Munn and his company The Small Stakes. I wish I could buy every poster he has, but settle for a Broken Social Scene poster that's flatout (pun!) gorgeous. The web image doesn't do it justice. Commission this guy to do your stuff, bands.

I've got nothing to say about this pic. Just beautiful as hell. Legos in the Convention Center.

SALLY CREWE AND THE SUDDEN MOVES

A couple of years ago, Sally Crewe (who, according to the SxSW guide is from Austin, but sounds British) put out a record that Britt Daniel of Spoon produced, which is why I bought it in the first place. She's playing at the Soho Cafe upstairs, so I spin by to check it out before returning to the Eclectone Showcase a couple blocks down. Oh, also? P.F. Chang's has surprisingly good General Tsao's Chicken. I think they call it Chang's Spicy Chicken or some such nonsense, but it's about as close to real New York-style Chinese food as I've found outside of the Northeast.

Anywho. Ms. Krewe and co. put on a repsectable rock show, and you can see why Britt might have been interested in her stuff. It has the leaness of Spoon, although it lacks the melodic brilliance. Some of the stuff, though, is good. And we're out to check out Little Man.

LITTLE MAN

Never has there been a more aptly named band than Little Man. Chris Perricelli might be five feet tall, and he makes a guitar look like a bass. And a bass look like some kind of Norse battle axe, probably. He's got enough swagger and rock for a dude twice his height though. That dude would still be shorter than Yao Ming, but I digress, and Chris? I hereby swear that I'm done discussing your height. I catch "Light Years" from his new album, plus the title track, "Soulful Automatic." Without being flashy about it, he's got some serious guitar chops, and man, guitar heroism is a lost art. Perricelli and his band pull it off admirably.

MARTIN DEVANEY

My friend and yours, Martin Devaney, delivers a sweet and winsome set that leans heavily on his more country side, despite the fact that I know he's cooking up a fantastic pop-rock side project. He's got an attractive guitar, for sure.

JEREMY YLVISAKER playing with ANDREW BIRD

ANDREW BIRD

Andrew Bird's playing over at Stubb's, which is an outdoor venue tucked away behind Red River Ave., and it's a nice one. It's the place that Bloc Party played last night and The Good, The Bad & The Queen are playing tonight. Bird's got Martin Dosh and Jeremy Ylvisaker with him for this show, and it's nice to see him with a full(ish) band, despite the fact that he's almost a one-man band himself. Plus, really digging the shirt/tie/hoodie/blazer combo. I'd try and rock it if it wouldn't make me look like a stuffed turkey. Bird's slim enough to pull it off, though. His stuff is gorgeous and complex, noisy and a little exploratory while still being very melodic. Kind of baroque and fuzzily beautiful, like old furniture. Highlights from the set include "Plasticity" (ed. --That's Plasticities")and "Sisyphean Empire" (I think that was the title (ed. --That's "Scythian Empires")), plus the crowd favorite, "A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left." His new disc, Armchair Apocrypha, comes out on Tuesday. Put me down for one.

I make an attempt to get inside Beauty Bar to check out Bonde do Role, who are what you would call an "It" band at the moment, but they're at capacity. I'm three people away from getting in on the badge line when I decide it's not worth it. See my note about Greg Kot's policy below. On my way over to Emo's, I bump into Danny Seim and Justin Harris from Menomena. I learn that they're friends with Mark Baumgarten, who's currently the editor at Metro, but who lived in Portland, Ore., for a while before coming back here. That'd be Menomena's hometown. They're not coming to the Twin Cities anytime soon, but they will be playing the Pitchfork Festival in Chicago this summer. And they don't even play "Air Aid" live yet because they haven't figured out how to do it with just the three of them. My disappointment at their shortened set the night before is ameliorated some by this news-- I wouldn't have gotten to hear it even if they'd played the full show, I guess.

SLUG onstage with BROTHER ALI

I snake inside Emo's just in time to catch Slug jumping up onstage with Brother Ali, and I manage to get the above photo, which I know is less than stellar. Sorry. Of interest is the fact that Dennis Miller is standing behind me watching the show. I'm almost on the point of asking him if he's a big hip-hop fan when he leans in and talks to a young man (high school age, looks like) in front of him, who's clearly his son. Kind of sweet, really. I remember when my dad would take me to shows. He even enjoyed many of them, although sometime remind me to tell you about the time when he fell asleep during ministry. Brother Ali delivers a solid set, capped off with an audience call and response number where he exhorts the crowd to chant, "More! More! More!" I'm pretty pumped for his new one, The Undisputed Truth.

Aesop Rock hits the stage in a Yankees hat, which boo. Boo Yankees. His set seems to go well, although I end up spending most of it talking to J-Bird from Rhymesayers and Sarah Sandusky, who's come down from Frisco. She's the bestest. She and Chris Perricelli should start a band together and call it Little People. (Sorry, Chris)

ATSUO of BORIS

Boris is one of the few bands (Menomena and Loney, Dear being the other) that I double highlighted and underlined as a band I needed to see at SxSW. The Japanese group released one of my favorite records of last year, Pink, a brutal sonic assault that went from drone metal to grinding and propulsive hardcore in a heartbeat. So imagine my surprise when I find out that their guitarist, Wata, looks like this:

Wha?! Call me prejudiced, call me sexist. I just didn't expect this. Their set stays away from anything on Pink, instead unspooling as a 40-minute piece that moves from droney to epic and back again. The drummer, Atsuo, starts offstage, letting Wata and bassist/guitarist (he's got two necks on that bad boy) Takeshi gradually layer in feedback and distortion into a solid sheet of sound. It's placid and serene, actually, despite it's edgy sound. Quite beautiful, really. This is really closer to experimental music than rock and roll, but once Atsuo comes out and starts going at the gong (yup, gong), it builds into a woozy structure that's pinned down by Atsuo's drum pattern. The intensity is built so slowly it's hard to notice-- this is really music that requires patience and attention to fully appreciate. They move through different sections of music before returning to the initial guitar/bass motif. I'm completely blown away. As of right now, Loney, Dear is still tops, but Boris put on the second best show I've seen here.

Afterwards, I head over to meet Jesse and Jerry for Tullycraft. For some reason, my photos of Tullycraft didn't download when I did the transfer, so I'll have to come back and add them, but I'll just say that exuberant isn't an exuberant enough word for this band. As a stage band, they have something in common with the Barenaked Ladies. Not musically, really, but in the way that it's obvious they're just having a great time out there and want everyone else to have a great time, too. Unfortunately, they don't tour and have no plans to, so you better just go pick up their records. If they come to the Twin Cities, I'll be sure and let you know.

SxSW - Day Two

2007-03-16T16:25:00.000-05:00

BANDS COVERED IN THIS POST: SOMEONE STILL LOVES YOU BORIS YELTSIN | BROTHER ALI | SAGE FRANCIS | SMALL SINS | JESSE SYKES & THE SWEET HEREAFTER | AQUEDUCT | MENOMENA

Corrections: Yesterday, I asked the question, “We have to do this four more times?” There were two mistakes in that sentence. We only have to do this three more times, and it should have ended with an interrobang (?!), not a question mark. Also, JoAnna James' frappucino was not potentially dosed with cod liver oil, but rather, the earthy gentleman was implying that by using 2% rather than half and half in the concoction, he may have created a ripe environment for the breeding of bacteria. Still, kind of lame.

So …

Dear Austin: It’s really all kind of about how a day unfolds, then, isn’t it? It’s like ultimate determinism down here—none of this crap about going to your job and then whiling the night away on the couch (which sounds so awesome right about now). Each day lays before you with unlimited potential, and, by the end of the day, it’s a relatively simple calculus you have to execute to determine whether you spent it well. So far, so good.

And also? Beware the ides of March.

With the night that wouldn’t end behind us, we all split up in the morning. Cell phone recharged and ready (thanks V-Cast Lounge in the Convention Center), I want—nay, need—some terrible food for lunch. Yesterday, Oren and Ryan told me about this burger joint on 6th St. past Congress called Hut’s. It’s a real ’50s relic, with a quality neon sign and it looks just a bit dilapidated on the outside. Inside, however, it’s a top-notch diner/burger joint, and they’ve got about 20 different kinds of burgers on the menu, with every conceivable topping imaginable. Plus, they’re available as buffalo burgers or veggie burgers, if you lean that way. I go for a cherry Sprite and a Sink Burger, which comes with lettuce, tomato, ham and hickory sauce. My waiter suggests a delicious substitution, since it’s his favorite burger: a pineapple slice for the tomato. I like this guy already. The burger, when it arrives accompanied by a side of peppered onion rings, is certainly the messiest burger I’ve ever had. Not a bad thing, though, and it certainly ranks up there with great non-gourmet burgers like those at the Corner Bistro in New York.

On the way back east on 6th St., the familiar strains of “Pangea” by Someone Still Loves You Boris Yelstin waft over the fence from the patio of a joint called Mother Eagan’s. The SSLYBY boys are still a shock every time I see them. Their “look” (as people in the biz say) hasn’t caught up with their killer hooks and melancholy lyrics. Seriously, people, these kids from Missouri write some of the most unassumingly beautiful power pop I’ve ever heard, and if the new songs they played are any indication, they’re only getting better. They have a kind of goofy nonchalance onstage, passing instruments around and trading off vocal duties. They’ve garnered a fair amount of attention for their debut album, Broom, and I sincerely hope they can keep it together and keep growing as a band.

While SSLYBY is playing, I notice a guy tuning up a guitar on the side of the stage. Like roughly 85% of the people there, he's wearing incredibly skinny jeans, but he's also rocking a pretty terrible tie-dye T-shirt and makes me wonder: What the hell is up with this hair band fashion thing? I understand the ironic component to it, and the fun component to it, but at some point, you're just mimicking something terrible, and you're no longer making a comment about it. You're just dressing like a fool. I'm all for fashion moving forward, and reposessing acid wash jeans and all that, but let's not mistake bad for good, eh?

Meanwhile, 89.3 The Current is throwing a shindig at Buffalo Billiards, and the whole crew’s down here, including DJs Steve Seel and Mary Lucia, Program Director Steve Nelson and Music Director Melanie Walker. I get there in time to see Brother Ali walk in with Sound Unseen Artist of Distinction Award winner Randy Hawkins and Rhymesayers' J-Bird. And that guy Slug is here. He's a sweetheart--don't let anyone tell you different.

Before Ali takes the stage, Mary chats with music writers (and hosts of their own awesome music talk show) Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot. Kot wrote an awesome book about Wilco and he and DeRogatis' show, Sound Opinions, is basically the show that I'd love to do on radio. Not just have bands on to play live and talk about the picayune details of their last album or tour, but to really do a critic's show, where music can be seriously discussed and delved into. And not just the personalities of the musicians themselves, like on the Actors' Studio, but the nuts and bolts of the craft of making music. Anybody? Call me.

DeRogatis (I believe--from the back of the bar, where I've retreated to after snapping a couple of pics, it's hard to know for sure) espouses his philosophy about showgoing at SxSW: If you come to someplace and there's a line, just move on. There's too much good stuff to waste time waiting in a line when you might be missing out on a surprise. I concur. Of course, I'm also sitting on a couch at the Convention Center writing this while literally dozens of bands, some of them no doubt awesome, play sets. Moving on.

Ali takes the stage with his DJ, BK One, and chats with Mary for a bit about his new album, The Undisputed Truth, and about some of the problems he had getting down here, and then he rips into a new track, which is simply jaw-droppingly good. I should start writing down song titles. I'm sure you can find it online at the Current's website somewhere, but anyways. He has what I would call a cast iron flow. There's no hype, no flash; it's just solid as hell-- thoughtful, measured and cohesive, but still playful when it wants to be. It's all that and a bag of chips.

After another little interview segment, where Ali discusses meeting his rap heroes (including KRS-One when he was 12 years old), he drops another new one on us, and this one's called "Uncle Sam Goddamn." I know so because he can't say the whole title on the radio. It's a stirring and topical track, quite obviously. I have little reason to doubt that his new joint will live up to its title when it drops on April 10.

I take a break from the hustle and bustle to return my computer to our van so I won't have to lug it around for the rest of the day. On the way back up to the epicenter, I walk by David Cross. Hey, David Cross. (waves back) I can't come up with a Tobias Funke joke quick enough.

Other than Antone's, Emo's is the club name I most associate with Austin, so I'm glad to be heading there for the Kork Agency's showcase, which Slug is hosting. Emo's is a sweet venue-- it's sort of semi-enclosed, with the stage and a portion of the floorspace under a roof, but with the rest of the joint outdoors. It also connects to a smaller stage, 7th St. Entry style, through a patio. First Avenue would be a lot cooler if part of it could be outside, but that'd be as dumb as having an outdoor baseball stadium for the Twins, right? Slug comes out to introduce the showcase's first act, Sage Francis, and tells a story about a time when he and Sage were on tour and decided to go out on Halloween while they were at Penn State for a show. The way Slug tells it, within five minutes of getting into a bar with a costume contest, Sage was demanding that the contest winner hand over his inflatable Budweiser couch to him. Clearly, a troublemaker. Sage's response when he hits the stage is to say that Slug was just upset because he got carded that night-- and he was 42 at the time. Har.

Sage Francis looks like about the last guy who would ever be a rapper, but he's actually incredibly good. A lot of his stuff is built around famous samples, like "Broken Wings" by Mr. Mister and "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, but he does more than just jack the beats-- he uses the songs as jumping off points that recontextualize the originals. His lyrics strike a nimble balance between dextrous and technically impressive runs and killer punchlines and hoooks. He bites KRS-One's "I'm going back to Cali, to Cali, to Cali. Nah, I don't think so," turning it into "I'm going back ro rehab, to rehab, to rehab. Nah, I don't drink though." He ends his set with a fantastic spoken word thing that revolves around a breakup. Yeah, it was emo. But damn, Sage really has a way of sucking you into the stuff and making it relevant. There's nothing pro forma about him; it's just the realness. Did I mention he's also funny as hell? He is.

On my way back west on 6th St. to hit up Antone's and Small Sins, I walk past an impromptu demonstration in the middle of the street exhorting sinners to repent. There's a clutch of respectably-dressed people handing out flyers or pamphlets, plus a guy in the middle with a bullhorn. It's a.) kind of nice to see business casual-dressed people look like the freaks for once and b.) just kind of silly and misguided. The bulk of the people here are not just music fans or wayward children on a road to nowhere-- most everybody is either a musician who's gotten into a showcase that might further their career or a music professional who has taken their passion for music (or for being a lawyer or an agent or whatever) and turned into a career that can allow them to come bask in music and nothing but for four straight days. We're not sweating it, is my point.

The scene outside Antone's when I get there is another reminder of SxSW's superiority to that other music conference, CMJ. At CMJ, a badge don't get you shit. As Jerry from Vitriol pointed out, you were treated worse with a badge at CMJ than if you had just paid cash to get into the shows. But here at SxSW, there are separate lines for badge holders, people with wristbands, and people paying cash, and you can almost always get into the showcases with a badge. Now, I've gotten mine as a professional thing, and I'm in no way thumbing my nose at anyone who's paying cash. It's nice for me to be able to get in and all, but who it really rewards are the people who shelled out the $500 for the badge. You damn well better get something good for that kind of scratch, right? Plus, there are plenty of staff at every venue entrance ready to tell you which line is which and give you all the info you need. Take notes, CMJ.

So I snake right inside just as the Stax 50th Anniversary is wrapping up, and I manage to take this sweet shot of Booker T & the MGs with none other than Isaac Hayes:

Pretty sweet, eh?

The joint empties out before Small Sins take the stage, but it afford me a chance to get right up front, and the venue starts filling up again shortly. This is the Astralwerks Showcase, and Astralwerks has been killing it recently. Smalls Sins hail from Toronto and put out a great self-titled album last year full of restrained power pop that owed more than a bit of debt to Spoon, Jackson Browne and a whole host of other pop influences. Live, they're quite a bit more fiery than on record, and I have mixed feelings about it. Their disc had a couple great sonic tricks to it: Lead Sin Thomas D'Arcy sang with a hushed croon, but when the choruses to songs like "Stay" would kick in, this giant choir of harmonies would enter, and it was a jarring and evocative effect, especially when set against the icy restraint of the songs. With that aspect removed, Small Sins are more like any other able powerpop band. That said, they're still very able, and their new stuff was great, showcasing more effectively than their album their debt to Austin-native Spoon. After six songs, someone tells them to cut it, and they start packing up, but then some other guy jumps on stage and tells them not to listen to that first guy and to keep playing. There's been a nice quality, generally, at the shows here that weds looseness with regard to execution to keeping things on track and on time. Maybe that's a Texas thing.

It's getting on towards 10 p.m. by this point, and I'm dragging. My dogs are barking and I'm pretty sleep-deprived, not to mention the fact that the sleep I did get was not really quality. So I decide to park myself at the Barsuk Records Showcase for the night. Besides, Menomena are playing and they're the only band I really care about seeing this week. I catch the tail end of Rocky Votolato's set, and then muscle my way to the front for Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter.

After a couple of technical stumbles, Sykes and co. hit their stride and deliver ably on the the promise shown by their latest album, Like, Love, Lust & The Open Halls of the Soul. I'd seen them once before, actually, about three years ago at Bumbershoot in Seattle, but I didn't really get into them until I got this latest disc, which is a fantastic mix of brittle vocals and roadhouse rock. Sykes' voice sounds just raw on record, but she's been preserving it on the road, and hasn't had anything to drink for the past six weeks. "I can't wait to get fucked up after this," she says to the crowd between songs. I miss the horns and some of the other textures from the disc (she's just got a bassist, drummer and guitarist along for this show), but it's still a solid set. Apparently, some blogger last year wrote that the only reason Sykes' band stays with her is because of the poontang they get after the show. Sykes says, "His name was Mike. Mike, if you're here, fuck you." I'd like to make it plainly clear that no one in her band is getting any from Sykes. Damn bloggers.

I buy an EP from the Menomena merch guy that features "Wet and Rusting" plus three new songs and two remixes. He's a genial dude wearing dark brown khakis, a blue button down and has a haircut like a Congressional page (no jokes, please). He's also reading Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I ask how it's coming and he says, "Great." I'm unable to come up with a Colonel Kurz joke. Nice chap. Turns out he's the keboardist/guitarist for Menomena. And also now the winner of the "Guy Least Likely to be in an Amazing Rock Band, Based on the Way He Looks" award.

Aqueduct play next, but I'm firmly staked to the bench at the back of the venue, which is Buffalo Billiards, by the way. Sitting with your legs crossed when your feet are tired? The new black. It's incredible. Aqueduct are a little too silly for my taste, although they open with the theme song to "Walker, Texas Ranger," which is a nice touch.

I've waited all damn night for Menomena, who were slated to play 1 a.m., but don't actually start until 1:30. As such, and because there aren't enough pictures of drummers, I'm putting up two, starting with this one:

I can't believe they pull off their songs with just three guys, but the volume of stuff onstage is remarkable: three guitars, one bass, one baritone guitar, a bari sax, an alto sax,a keyboard, a set of bass foot pedals, a drumset and assorted percussion. Their latest, Friend and Foe, is still the best record to be release this year, in my opinion, and they're even better live than they come off on the record. What little sacrifices are made in the way of subtletly are more than made up for by their energy. Unfortunately, a couple of douchebags behind and to my right decide that Menomena would be a good band to mosh to. Idiots. Moshing is so '95, and it wasn't cool even back then. One of the cardinal rules about showgoing should be to not disturb other people's space. If you're going to a punk show, there is one set of acceptable behavior, because people know that slamdancing might go down. But at your average rock show, even if it's a particularly loud and/or energetic band, it's not cool.

Menomena split their set down the middle between their first disc (I Am the Fun Blame Monster!, which is an anagram of "Menomena's First Album"--genius) and their latest. I'm joyed by the inclusion of "Muscle 'n Flo" and "Wet and Rusting," but dismayed by the lack of "Air Aid." Maybe they'll play it when I catch them again tomorrow. Their set is cut short when they turn on the lights at 2 a.m. (a lame move--why would you even have a band start playing 1 a.m. if you're going to close at 2?), but by that point I'm the walking dead. I can't even think, I'm so beat. I'll just close with this photo, because every blog post about SxSW should have a photo of a dude with a guitar screaming.

SxSW - Day One

2007-03-15T12:56:00.000-05:00

BANDS COVERED IN THIS POST: KENNA | FOALS | HOT CLUB DE PARIS | I CAN LICK ANY SONOFABITCH IN THE HOUSE | CALL ME LIGHTNING | TINY VIPERS | LONEY, DEAR | IAMX

Dear Austin: If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. But more on that later.

The night before Day One, we head back to the PureVolume/Virb party and, after a modicum of finagling, snag festival-long passes. Vodka and red bulls all week! Actually, the vodka and Izze is much better. That Izze Grapefruit flavor is just stupendous. Tonight, we're here early enough to get in some quality Wii time, mostly playing tennis. Man, that thing is great. I make a mental note to get one when I get back home. Right when we get there, there's a bunch of music stuff set up along the back wall including an electronic drum machine and three keyboards. A spontaneous jam session ensues, but man, electronic drums feel like absolute crap.

Eventually we settle into a couch behind the Wii station, and Jesse Stensby tells the funniest joke ever, depicted below:

I can't remember how it went.

On the way back to the car, I pause with Jesse Stensby to take this record cover photo:

Jesse Stensby, Beneath the Surface. Or perhaps, Pull My Finger.

DAY ONE

No rain today, but there's mist, and plenty of it. Walking around on 6th Street is kind of like having someone blowing spittle in your face constantly-- especially when it's misty. Ba-dum ching. Seriously though, the rockers and rollers are starting to roll in now and, as a Texas tour bus rolls past us, I think I overhear the tour guide say, "If you'll look to your left, you'll see a bunch of fucking hipsters."

The general air of local fed-upness with this whole thing is confirmed at various points throughout the day, most pointedly by the bearded dude in a coffee/cigar chop wearing a T-shirt that says, "Welcome to Austin. Remember to Leave." He may have also dosed JoAnna James frozen cappucino drink with Kaopectate. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After a delicious lunch at Iron Cactus on 6th, we meander towards the Fader party, which is known to be the jam year in and year out. On the way, I wonder: Are moustaches still ironic? Or are they now post-ironic? Is it now legit for a man to just have a moustache, not as a punchline, but as a bona fide fashion statement? Has the 'stache jumped the shark?

In case you don't know, The Fader is a music/culture magazine, and they throw a party every year here with plenty of free drinks, so it's pretty much the place you want to be. This year, they've turned a warehouse into a maze-like structure they like to call The Fort. There's a Levi's store in there, although it looks like bands are getting pants for free (damn bands), a blogger room (which is not where I am as I write this), press rooms, an Adult Swim lounge and, primarily, a big outdoor area with a covered stage where bands play all day long. Providing the beverages? Southern Comfort, which, I'd like to note, is not actually whiskey, but is technically classified as a liqueur. Personally, I think it's crap, but whatever. Most of the people there seem to disagree with me. I spot Snowden, who are playing at the PureVolume outdoor stage later in the week, wandering around the party.

Around about 3:45 p.m., Kenna hits the stage with a band of awkward white guys. I was a big fan of Kenna's first album, New Sacred Cow, but it's been nearly four years since that came out, and he obliquely alludes to the delay before explaining to us that his new album, Make Sure They See My Face, has nothing to do with that one. His stuff is hard to peg, really, a fact that's been noted before in the press. He's a black man with a hell of a set of pipes, but he's not really doing either R&B or rock and roll, and he's not really doing a combo either. It's largely epic, generally funky, and definitely futuristic. He plays nothing from his old album, which is a little disappointing, but at least one of the new tunes is an absolute banger. Despite the outward bombast, his stuff is largely built around tiny pieces that are more than the sum of their parts, so I'm looking forward to hearing the new disc in full when it drops in June.

After some considerable techinical difficulty, England's Foals take the stage. Their singer may be the shortest frontman ever, plus he's playing an old Ampeg guitar, the kind with a metal neck. Once they get everything sussed, they explode into furious and spiky post-punk, blending the velocity of Wire's first record with some of the more experimental aspects of their second. The songs are built upon almost incidental sounding riffs that sometimes stray a little further towards technical proficiency (and away from melody) than they really should, but the truly admirable part of the sound is a stuttering, bookish funkiness. They seem like the kind of band that might really open up on record, where texture can take primacy over energy and melody.

Hot Club De Paris take the stage with some swaggering, '70s-style bar rock-- and not a lot more. I guess it's cool because they're British, and this thought in turn makes me wonder if Kenna would quite so interesting if he weren't black. Context counts for a lot in this game. A bar band from Indiana's just a bar band, but a bar band from Liverpool is apparently worthy of playing the Fader party. Three of the guys have voluminous beards and long, shaggy hair but one of the guitarists has close-cropped hair and is wearing a blazer, while the others sport jeans and t-shirt. It looks like he's playing at the Fine Line while the other guys play the Turf. I'm not impressed. (A helpful soul pointed out below that I was actually watching David Vandervelde. Sorry, Hot Club,for besmirching your fine reputation and music, which I've been assured is not bar rock)

Towards the end of the day portion of the Fader party, I start running into lots of Minnesota people: Oren Goldberg and Ryan from the Turf Club, musicians James Apollo and Matt Palin, Modern Radio honcho Tom Loftus, Minneapolis transplant and current San Francisco firecracker Sarah Sandusky and even Chris Riemenschneider from the Strib. I doubt he'll return the favor, but I'm going to give you a link to his blog. And I don't mean to imply anything about his character there. I'm not saying, I'm just saying. I hook up with Josh Peterson, JoAnna James and Martin Devaney, and JoAnna, Josh and I strike out on our own to explore Austin for a while. This where the guy implies that he may have given JoAnna something more than just coffee. I don't blame you Austin, but really, JoAnna's a sweetheart. Be nice.

Later in the evening, I check out I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House (henceforth, SOB) at the 710 Room. Now, I had heard from singer Mike Damron himself that they had broken up, so I was curious to see what was going to happen. Damron had long been wanting to do more solo stuff and things that leaned more on the country side than the rock side. You can read the whole story at their site. Bottom line? SOB tonight is a shell of its former self, composed of Mike and several ringers. They ably navigate through SOB's signature Steve Earle-meets-AC/DC sound, but something's missing. It's just not SOB anymore, but I suppose Damron knows this. Hopefully he'll swing through the Turf Club again soon as a solo artist, since the highlight of the set was his solo rendition of the SOB classic, "Westboro Baptist Church," a venomous screed against Fred Phelps and born again evangelists in general. As Damron told me, he's not a poet-- he's the big middle finger on the left. The song is completely without subtlety, but it doesn't need it.

Loftus told me to check out Call Me Lightning, who hail from Milwaukee, WI (not NY, as the sign outside Red Eyed Fly reads), and are on Frenchkiss Records. They could handily be categorized as a Frenchkiss band, sharing as they do a penchant for propulsive and shouty post-rock that never gets too angular to be impactful, much like labelmates Les Savvy Fav and The Plastic Constellations. Plus, they're a power trio, and there's just something about power trios. It's an elemental musical combination, sharing something with genre pics like westerns and kung fu flicks. A guitar, bass and drums are tools, and you use them a certain way in a power trio. They mostly stay our of each other's way, frequency-wise, so they're never fighting for space in the mix. They can all just be themselves. I look around a realize that I need to buy some slip-ons or some Vans or something. No way can I get my legs into the kind of jeans I see everyone wearing. Josh (who's joined me) and I decide to weather the storm and wait for baggy jeans to come back in style.

After this, I make my way, alone, to what is easily the highlight of the night, Loney, Dear's set at Emo's IV. Unfortunately, I don't have photo credentials (yet-- I got 'em now), so I couldn't take any pictures. Loney, Dear (who hail from Sweden) put out a great record on SubPop called Loney, Noir not s long ago. It's a collection of gentle tunes and some great pop moments that recall, oddly enough, the BeeGees, mostly due to the falsetto vocals. However, rather than being grounded in disco, Loney, Dear is a distinctly acoustic and folk-tinged act. All of that left me completely unprepared for the majesty of their live show. Live, the songs expand and grow around the fantastic melodies, and it's easy to be swept away into it, which is just what happens to me. About two and a half weeks ago, my mother passed away and, after a week spent with family and friends in Chicago, I've returned to work and to this trip ready to get back to life. Most of the time, it works great. But during "The City The Airport," which is nothing if not an upbeat pop song, I find myself crying, just a bit, and I can't help but think about the way a crystal wine glass will shatter at the sound of a human voice singing its resonant frequency. I find it hard to privilege individual and subjective experience of music above all else-- I'm more than aware that what I'm bringing to Loney, Dear's performance is above and beyond what most people will go in looking for. But they must be doing something right. I recommend you catch them when you can, and, if you're in Minneapolis, that time is this Friday, when they open for Of Montreal at First Avenue.

The rest of the night unspooled in what I assume to be a typical way, stopping in to various bars, including checking out the new project from Sneaker Pimps' Chris Corner. They're called Iamx and they filled the Elysium with so much fog I couldn't take a decent picture. It basically sounded like apocalyptic dance music, and you'd probably dig it, if that's what you're into.

Around about 2 a.m., we all reconvened back at the van, where rides were dispensed to a couple of pals (Brian and Eric Stromstad) and we headed home for a well-deserved nightof rest. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The key to the apartment had been lost, and now we were standing outside at 3 in the morning, with no help in site. Plans were made to scale the building and go in through the balcony, but this proved impractical. Calls to the owner of the apartment went unanswered, and why shouldn't they? It's 3 in the morning. Stromstad, who works for the Varsity Theater, is good enough to let us crash his hotel room, and Stensby and Steller split a bed while Kimball, Perkins and I hit the floor. No toothbrush, no jammies-- just a comforter on the floor of a hotel and a towel and my sweater for a pillow. Five hours later we rise and get coffee, then finally manage to get in touch with Russ, who lets us back into the apartment. We're idiots. Firmly. Showers get showered, phones get charged, and we head back out, short on quality sleep. Very short.

We have to do this four more times?

SXSW - Day T minus 1

2007-03-13T12:43:00.000-05:00

Dear Austin: You're looking good. Yesterday, Kimball and I ended up driving into town in search of coffee. We had intended to just hit up the first Starbucks we saw, but we ended up on Congress heading downtown. There's a little strip of stores outside of downtown that smack of recent development. It's a little like (but not exactly like) Hennepin leading south into Uptown. Jo's: great coffee (the kind where it still stays kind of a dark and muddy rich brown when you put half and half in it) and I had a delicious sandwich with roast beef, provolone cheese and hot peppers. Another beautiful thing about Austin? There's patio dining just about everywhere and I heartily approve.

Kimball gave me the ten cent tour of downtown Austin, which looks like it's waiting for something. I have this sense that a certain percentage of the population here battens down the hatches for the second half of this week, hiding out with the complete "Friends" on DVD and potted meat while the storm that is South by Southwest passes. I started to get antsy about not knowing where I was or what was going on, so we headed to a bookstore to search out a Lonely Planet guide.

I had to settle for a Moon Handbook to Texas, in the hopes that perhaps I'll make it back down here again to somewhere other than Austin. When I plopped the book down in front of the cashier, she asked, "Planning a trip to Texas?" I couldn't help but note a bit of ice in her tone. Fucking tourists, she's probably thinking. Damn hipsters. I'd be thinking the same thing, honestly. One of the striking things about CMJ is how little impact it has on New York. New York just doesn't give a damn. It's like some kind of giant blob creature-- pour all the .45 slugs and crossbow bolts and MIRVs you want into it, it's not stopping. Austin seems to take this all a lot more personally. I have mixed feelings about descending like this on a town-- I experienced New Orleans on the cusp of Mardi Gras and also around Christmas, and I much preferred it sans Gras. I'll have to come back and hit this place up some other time.

After a bunch of lunch, work, Simpsons on DVD and reading, we head downtown. (I'm going to straight up admit right now that I'm having a hard time keeping my tenses straight. From now on, I'm going with the present-- it's just much easier.) Nothing much is cracking other than an open bar at Sidebar, but we're rolling in half an hour shy of midnight, which is when Sidebar's shindig ends, so instead we meet up with the folks from Pirate Publicity for karaoke at Beerland. It's always a bit odd to meet people you've only dealt with via e-mail. It's not so much that they aren't like you expected-- you just never expected anything to begin with. You begin to think you might kind of know these people, despite the fact that all you ever talk about is what bands are coming to town or what you're runnning in the paper that week. Which, by the way, sorry Brooke, but I still haven't sent you that tear sheet on the Annuals.

Karaoke apocalypse ensues. First of all, I don't care if you can't sing and you do karaoke. Honestly? That's part of the appeal, but this is just transcendentally bad. "Welcome to the Jungle," etc. Things take a turn for the better with Brooke and co.'s killer rendition of "Tempted" by Squeeze, and then it shifts into overdrive with Stensby's heartfelt rendition of "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. He even gets felt up by a couple of comely lasses.

There's actually more to SXSW than just the music: it's also a film and interactive festival, and that part's happening right now. So basically, what you have in town are film geeks, computer geeks and people who do everything with music but play it. It's like a high school where some strange disease has killed off all the popular kids. It's like "Revenge of the Nerds." Take that, you jocks.

The night ends with a trip over to a party sponsored by Virb and PureVolume called Tejas2007. Virb is a kind of MySpace-type joint, but even more musically-oriented, apparently. PureVolume is also some kind of music promotion thing. Regardless, we show up at the front, where there's a staggering line to get in, and then, magically, the Pirate people pull a "Goodfellas" and go around to the back where we're ushered in. And it was all filmed in one shot.

There's a Wii going with some folks playing the bowling game from Wii Sports, and there's free vodka and Red Bulls and also vodka and Izze and some kind of frozen drinks. It's hotter than a muhfugger, but we dance anyways. The DJ's spinning mashups of The Knife and other indie darlings and I wonder to myself what this space would be used for when it's not a dance club for the music industry. It's probably an empty storefront, but tonight, it's like the AV club and the tech crew for the musical and all the kids from band hanging together, reveling in their self-made world. And it's good, because if I had a comfy bed to go home to right now, I probably would, but because all I'm looking forward to is a loveseat and a sleeping bag, I'm down for whatever.

SXSW - Day T minus 2

2007-03-12T11:24:00.000-05:00

"You're like, 'Yeah,' and then it's like 'Fuck Yeah!' And then you're just, 'Whoa.'"

Good morning, Austin. We're here! I've journeyed, via minivan, from Minneapolis with an intrepid crew consisting of Matt Perkins, Jerry Steller and Jesse Stensby from Vitriol Radio and Lindsay Kimball from 89.3 The Current and her own bad self.

And boy, let me just give you some highlights: A BMW tried to kill us in Minnesota. Then Kansas tried to kill us in an Econo Lodge. Then Denny's killed us south of Waco. And then cat pee tried to kill us in Austin. Lemme 'splain ...

All the driving almost all of the way down to our first night's stop in Wichita was uneventful, except for the nutjob in the Beemer who nearly flipped his car right in front of us on 35 just south of the Twin Cities. We almost called 911, but then he mercifully veered off onto an exit ramp. I'm sorry for whoever had to deal with him after that.

A great thing about a roadtrip with a group of radio promoters is there's just no lack of good music going on in the car. Oh, the things we listened to. I can't even remember it all, but suffice it to say, there were no showtunes and no a capella music. Dinner was at the Drake Diner in Des Moines, Iowa. Good times.

And then Kansas. Man, if I were Dorothy, I'd count myself lucky to be whisked away by a tornado to Oz and never look back. We'll just have to rely on a tornado named minivan to whisk us away to Oz-tin, I guess. We stopped in Wichita for the night. Man, their roads don't make a lick of sense-- it took us at least 20 minutes to get to the Econo Lodge from the highway and we could see it the whole time.

The room: tiny. The bathroom: less than savory. Oh, and despite promises proffered by the desk guy, there's not wireless internet to be found. Not even using the username Econo and the password Lodge, which is what dude at the front desk told us. While Kimball, Stensby and Perkins soak in the Wichita nightlife at Old Chicago, Jerry and I made a game attempt to get the air mattress down in between the two double beds and then, suddenly, we're down one air mattress. Who puts nails into the sides of their beds? Fortunately, we've got a backup for tonight, but tomorrow, the specter of the search for a new one will haunt our day.

Next day: See ya, Wichita. I will give it this: I can think of two songs with Wichita in the title right off the top of my head: "Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell and "True Dreams of Wichita" by Soul Coughing. I can't say that about Kansas City. Bert is waiting in his Mustang out in the parking lot to bid us farewell.

We pass through Oklahoma without incident, and no sign of Curly McLain. After blowing our big chance at bottomless salad and breadsticks at Olive Garden, we settle for Denny's. And man, I don't even know where to start with this one, kids. Don't go to Denny's. Just don't. I think we were there for a grand total of an hour and a half, during which time no less than three parties walked out without being served. Basically, there was a staff of at least 12 on hand, but our waitress was the only one doing anything productive. She was working her ass off, while a giant, Amazonian woman who was clearly high took care of the other tables. The cook was new, apparently, and was seen on the phone at least once, probably asking a friend what "over easy" means.

And then there was the prize couple sitting behind us. When we sat down, the young lady was demanding at the top of her voice that her boyfriend, "try some slaw! Try some slaw!" And she kept yelling at him, "Stop it!" And also, "If you make that socket sound one more time, I'm going to kill you." And, "I think your head and neck must be shrinking, because the collar on your shirt is way bigger now." I'm not even kidding. This poor waitress. She was kicking ass all over the place and getting no help. Dear Denny's: I'm never speaking to you again.

I'm going to skip over the thunderstorm, the search for a replacement air mattress and all that. I mean, really, SXSW hasn't even started yet. We're all just hanging out around an apartment that smelled of cat pee until we took to it with cleaners late last night, happy to have the internet and doing work. There'll be another post tomorrow, probably about Austin in general, and maybe I'll actually start talking about music.

A beyond obscene list of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's Definitive 200 Albums

2007-03-09T16:31:00.000-06:00

Basically, a pile of trash

So the R'n'R HOF issued this piece of garbage with the command to complete your collection. If Kenny G's Breathless (#107) sells even ONE more copy because of this list, every single person involved with its creation needs to be lined up against a wall and be shot. It doesn't stop there, though.

Coming in at nos. 99, 117, 134, 173? The soundtracks to "Dirty Dancing," "Top Gun," "Footloose," and "Forrest Gump." I'm sorry, but soundtracks are not albums, unless they're the work of some singular person, and even then, I don't know. Why don't they just put all the "NOW! That's What I Call Music" comps on there and be done with it? I mean, fuck it: why not just put the "Best Ofs" of the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix, etc. and forget about it? Which, let me not forget to mention, they didn't include Hendrix's Electric Ladyland. Criminal.

At #91? Matchbox Twenty's Yourself or Someone Like You. At #95? Creed's Human Clay. At #162? Avril Lavigne. This is now cred for these people. They can put it in their press kits. Look! My album was on this prestigious list which is really just a pile of absolute crap!

Incidentally, Outkast's Aquemini is below every single one of the album's already mentioned, as is Aja by Steely Dan, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust by Bowie and Led Zeppelin's first record. That last one comes in one spot behind Avril Lavigne's debut album and that's a goddamn crime. How you can even have those two albums next to each other than if your collection's alphabetical is unbelievable. And even then, they're in the wrong order!

This is just inexcusable. Pardon me while I go projectile vomit.

Are you alive? I am, I am

2007-03-05T17:49:00.000-06:00

Pitchfork Review of "All Day," Aesop Rock's Nike Run track

I've got to watch out, or Pitchfork commentary could become, like, a habit. I actually agree with this review, largely. Aesop Rock was not an ideal choice for the series--his track is not nearly as propulsive and chameleonic as LCD Soundsystem's, nor even as good as Crystal Method's, which is really more of a mix than a single track.

Here's what I can't fucking stand: Referring to Aesop Rock as "Aes." Just ... god, give me a break.

Mind the gap

2007-03-05T15:47:00.000-06:00

Sorry there's been a bit of a dry spell here for the past couple weeks--I've had a family emergency to deal with that's been taking my mind away from music, but I'm back behind my desk at the Pulse offices now, and I should have some new stuff soon. I was up on Homegrown last night for an appearance by rap duo extraordinaire MC/VL, who were a lot of fun, so that should be up soon at Homegrown's website. In the meantime, you can head over to The Bottle Gang and check out some of the stuff I've contributed over there, most recently about local musician Rob Skoro's Scottish Picnic drink, which he firmly made up the name for on the spot last night at the 331. More soon.

The La's and the quest for perfection

2007-02-20T13:24:00.000-06:00

Case in point of the kind of album review I hate:

Pitchfork Review of The La's, BBC in Session

Personally, I couldn't disagree more with Mr. Tangari's opinion of The La's (I'm not going to even attempt to figure out what the possessive form of The La's is-- it's probably real ugly) lone studio album. And I'm not going to debate that these recordings from the BBC could very well be stronger in some sense.

But what I really bristle at is this: "It's hard to believe that the band on the last session is the same one that recorded The La's, mostly due to the fact that they sound so inspired, and it's weird that they couldn't duplicate the feel of the session in a different studio. It seems they may have simply put too much pressure on themselves recording the album to get what they really wanted."

There's absolutely no context given for this statement. While Lee Mavers' notorious perfectionism is alluded to early in the review, there's no delving into what that meant for him personally. No thought as to investigating the whole divide between what an artist hears in his or her head and what they hear when they listen back to their record. No hint of the frustration that can come with that, or how interesting Mavers' pursuit of an elusive sound was. Just the reviewer's assumption that he knows what Mavers is looking for and by golly here it is-- how could he not have seen it?

I remember reading a fantastic article in Mojo back a couple of years ago around the time when The La's was re-issued and it did what I like for music writing to do: it taught me how to love an album. It contextualized it and put Mavers' particularly stunted brand of genius into perspective. Since that time, I've been a huge La's fan, and I'll certainly be getting this new disc. But rather than introduce to you the glory of an underrated band and their entire tangled history in pop music, their struggle to grasp the holy grail of pop as defined by a very personal vision, Tangari has opted to tell you that if you have to pick between the two La's releases, get this one. Lame.

02.15.07 :: Elk / St. Vincent / Midlake

2007-02-18T10:54:00.000-06:00

When you're going to see Death Cab for Cutie, it's a fair bet that it's going to be packed, but for smaller bands on the rise, it can be tough to tell. I remember going to a show in the Entry last February that featured Tapes 'n' Tapes and Voxtrot, and it was pretty far from sold out-- I doubt that would happen if the same bill played the Entry now.

Midlake are pretty terrific, and I'd learned by lesson with Grizzly Bear last week, so I got there on the early side-- early enough to post up in front of that box that sits just in front of stage right at the Entry. A place to sit, a place to put my coat, and great access for photos. Bingo. Up first, Elk.

The joint was already fairly jumping, I think in large part thanks to Eric Luoma's new project. Bellwether (Luoma's other band, who are always in a sort of gloaming-esque state of barely existing) have always been one of my favorite local bands, so I was really looking forward to hearing him in a new context. I had been promised a more poptastic sheen by Martin Devaney, but that turned out to be a pretty relative pronouncement. The sound was still signature Luoma, with his beautifully wounded voice the cynosure, as well it should be. Luoma's voice is a truly unique one, the kind of effortlessly mournful croon that's just begging to be harnessed by movie soundtrack producers. Luoma mostly stuck to a 12-string guitar, which gave him some tuning problems, although he also picked up a handsome Gretsch hollowbody for a couple songs.

I'd love to tell you exactly who's in the band, which included a woman on keyboards, the dude who's been playing bass with Bellwether and whom I totally recognize, a drummer and the only guy I really know, Brian O'Neil, on pedal steel, but there's very little info out there on the band right now. Not even a MySpace page, I don't think. The stage was simply jammed with gear, much of which would turn out to belong to Midlake, and Luoma's guitar was in constant danger of smashing O'Neil's knuckles on the steel. Elk turned in a very laidback, casual set of fairly short length, the highlight of which was the second to last tune, a lovelorn ballad of the type that Luoma's just aces at called something like "Somebody Else." There might be another word in the title-- I couldn't quite see the bottom of the setlist from where I sat. I have no idea how seriously Elk is taking their life as a band-- they might start playing lots of shows, or they might end up playing once every six months. I hope it's the former.

A considerable gap followed Elk, during which time St. Vincent dealt with all kinds of technical problems, including getting shocked by the vocal mic, which, let me tell you, is not a walk in the park. I had thought that it was going to be a duo, but it turned out the bespectacled and bedreaded guy setting stuff up onstage was only there to set stuff up on stage. Thus, St. Vincent is just Annie Clark, a young woman from Texas. As you can see, she had a distinctly Jennifer Beals look to her, and sported huge glasses of the type beloved by my mother circa 1985. Yeah, I was pretty much prepared to write her off, as was the crowd, who began to grow antsy as the delay stretched to nearly 45 minutes. It wasn't a promising start, but the instant she started playing, everyone shut up. She began with a strident and aggressive, yet slinky and cabaret-esque murder ballad that you couldn't help paying attention to. The mic you can see to her left in the pic is some kind of super-old microphone that she used to good effect as a scratchy filter that lent her voice a gramaphone quality. There were shades of Jeff Buckley's solo stuff in her performance, her voice and guitar skills showing an equal level of virtuoso talent. The most affecting song was the one she played on the keyboard, which was hidden behind a false front. It was a tender ballad that stretched and meandered, smoldering with sexuality, a quality shared by the acoustic piano version of Sarah McLachlan's "Posession" that comes after the last track on Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. Everything Clark did within the performance was fantastic, and she resoundingly won the crowd back over to her side, but I'd suggest cutting down on all the bells and whistles with the stage set-up, especially as an opener. Less to go wrong.

Midlake made their wway on stage to set-up the gear, and the only clean-shaven one was the roadie. When was the last time you saw that happen? The only photo I'd seen of the band was from a bit of a distance, so I was having a hard time picking out which one was singer Tim Smith, whom I'd interviewed for my article in Pulse. I knew from speaking with him that he wasn't a big fan of touring and the whole scene, so I pegged him as soon as a lanky and, of course, bearded guy with ear buds in got on stage. Don't anybody tell David Stern. Keyboards were moved back into place (lots and lots of keyboards-- beside the dedicated pianist, who also had a synth on top of his keyboard, the bassist, guitarist and Smith all had keyboards they played at various time), mics were adjusted and away we went.

The Trials of Van Occupanther is such a layered and nuanced album that I wondered how they were going to pull it off live, but clearly, that's what all the keyboards were for. Like Grizzly Bear, transplanting the songs into a live setting gave them a toothier quality, but unlike GB, the arrangements were mostly intact. They opened with "We Gathered in Spring," appending an extended intro that slowly gave way to the proper song, and over the course of the set, played nearly every song from Trials, save for "You Never Arrived," and they even played a couple of older songs from their debut album, Bamnan and Silvercork. It's an album with which I'm not familiar, but "Balloon Maker" was great, showcasing the more keyboard-based sound of that record. At least, I've heard it's more keyboard-oriented. I'll have to pick that one up.

The band shifted around the tiny stage nimbly, trading off instruments, including one song where Smith joined the pianist and they both played piano. It's hard to pick one highlight-- one of the best qualities of their album, which was duplicated ably live, is how consistent and of a piece it sounds. I know, I know: It's not a concept album, but it still has the feel of telling different facets of a single story, and the entire set mimicked this consistency. Their single, "Roscoe," was greeted warmly by the crowd, and in the silence that followed, one fan yelled out, "That's the best song ever written!" to which Smith replied, "That'd ridiculous." Calls for "Head Home," a rolling Fleetwood Mac-inspired track, were answered with the information that that would be the last song they'd play before they came out for their awesome encore. They finished as promised before coming backout for a pair of songs, closing with "Branches," which they stretched out just a bit, giving the drummer free rein to indulge in some quietly impressive fills. Despite Smith's obvious leadership, the band really seems like a platoon of likeminded souls bent to a single goal, and their humility, combined with an absolute confidence in their own music, make for a compelling and satisfying concert-going experience.

02.10.07 :: Grizzly Bear :: Seventh St. Entry

2007-02-11T10:39:00.000-06:00

Honestly? I had no idea that Grizzly Bear would sell out the Seventh St. Entry. I wasn't sure if they had really broken through from critically-acclaimed to buzz band, but I guess they have. I arrived late, due to some festivities that needed taking care of beforehand, but just in time to catch what I believe to have been their first song, "Lullabye." I had been hoping to get close enough to get some good pics, but as you can see (see above) I was stuck in the back. I'll be sure to arrive early next time because Grizzly Bear put on one hell of a show.

First, the piddly stuff: Chris Taylor (bass, vocals, sundry) has a crazy mofo voice when he wants to use it. Apparently, the sort of creepy/urgent/falsetto vocals that warp around the post-verse section are just him, straight up and live, because he basically duplicated the sound of it exactly live. One of the things about Grizzly Bear that makes them really great is the way that moments, not songs, but little moments within songs, will evoke bands spaced further apart than the intervals in stride piano, and then just breeze on. T. Rex (thanks to Taylor's vocals) came to mind for that moment, but also Neil Young's countrier stuff, Modern English and other New Romantic '80s bands and lots of other touchstones are all living up inside their music, and it's nice the way they all let them step forward in minor ways throughout a set.

Another thing that was really brought home by the live performance is how much weight is placed on the vocals, given that all four members can sing and often do, blending into ragged but beautiful four-part harmony. It made me realize that bands often end up putting more weight on one side of the vocal/instrumental fence. Many do it consciously, but most do it subconsciously, and the result is overcompensation one way or the other. Grizzly Bear were very well-balanced in this respect. And despite the paucity of texture when compared to their album, the live show was mesmerizing, largely for the way they used their voices.

Which brings me to the last thing I want to say about them. The thing which really makes them a great band is that their songs, despite seeming so fragile a lot of the time, are durable enough to be bent and re-shaped in a live context in a way which renews them and invigorates them, without it sounding for one moment like a self-conscious process. Lots of bands will re-work songs for a live context when they find them unperformable in their recorded form, but the bulk of the time, you can tell they're doing something to it. "Let's speed it up!" or "Let's cut out the drums and make it a ballad!" but Grizzly Bear are having none of that. There's a strong fibrous core to their stuff, and they're smart enough to cut a bud off that core and replant it in the live context, letting it grow as it sees fit. A lot of the time, front man (kind of, but he's the one who gets all the press) Ed Droste didn't even play an instrument, content to just sing, which seems amazing, given the sheer amount of sound on Yellow House. He often seemed entirely uncomfortable with the role, tentatively wrapping his hands around the mic stand. The lack of outward bravado was heartwarming, even as the musical bravado carried the day.

My Super Bowl prediction

2007-02-04T10:31:00.000-06:00

Winner: The American people.

Loser: Terror.

Please excuse our appearance during construction.

2007-01-31T21:55:00.000-06:00

I could come up with something here about how the changes will improve your life, but they probably won't. It's more like just a way to kill some time and make some nifty new logos and color changes. I did try to match everything up, though, and make it as gentle on the eyes as possible.

In the meantime, I'm posting my proposal from the last time I pitched a book for the 33 1/3 series. That pitch was for Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, Derek and the Dominoes' only studio album, an unquestioned classic of rock. Not a winner, though. I think perhaps I was trying to cover too much ground, and maybe all the stuff about bridging the gap between dry academic writing and popular biography just didn't come off right. The thing about writing, as I've learned in the year or so since I pitched last, is that a small idea can carry you really far.

Proposals for the next round are coming due on Valentine's Day, and I'm waffling over what to choose as an album and how to approach it. But I've still got two weeks. Until then, here's the first pitch:

Few albums come with as cohesive and overpowering a narrative as Derek and the Dominos’ Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. Eric Clapton’s unquenchable desire for George Harrison’s wife Pattie Boyd is at the heart of this story, but around it are woven other threads: a bid to slip the spotlight behind a pseudonym, the introduction of a crucial catalyst that creates a dynamic spark (Duane Allman) and the tragedies that followed in the project’s wake (its intial critical failure, Allman’s fatal motorcycle accident a year later, bassist Carl Radle’s death ten years on from alcohol poisoning and drummer Jim Gordon’s imprisonment for the murder of his mother a few years after that). Taken together, all these pieces form not just a story, but a bona fide myth, and as myths are wont to do, it makes convenient shorthand of a far more complicated and confusing story.

In looking at Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, I want to dissect the myth that surrounds it, fill in the gaps and holes and reassemble its story into something altogether more nuanced that will enhance any music fan’s appreciation of the album. The meat of my book will hew closely to a chronological look at the recording of the album during late August and early September of 1971, including in-depth looks at the additional material that’s since become available.

Ever since I began writing about music, I’ve wanted to create a bridge between the kind of dry, academic music analysis that dominates the dialogue when musicians talk to other musicians and the more natural writing in music books for the non-musician which, while an easier sell to the general public, often tend more toward biography than true musical appreciation. For example, it doesn’t help a non-musician to know that the shift in “Why Does Love Got to be So Sad” from verse to chorus is Duane Allman’s bread and butter when it comes to improvisation because it provides him the chance to modulate between pentatonic minor and major scales while throwing in a couple choice modal touches. But to simply say that the song’s alternation between frenetic desperation and bittersweet hope comes from Clapton’s lovelorn situation does little to illuminate what’s truly going on. Clapton wrote the song with keyboardist/vocalist Bobby Whitlock and their vocal interplay is a hugely important and overlooked component not just to this song but the album as whole. In the verses of “Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad,” Clapton’s threadbare and straining voice is continually being smacked silly by Whitlock’s exhortations and outbursts while at the same time fending off the attacks of Allman’s guitar. For each line Clapton delivers, Allman counters with a jab of razor sharp, nickel-plated bite and with Clapton trapped between Whitlock’s steadily escalating cries and Allman’s buzzsaw, his desperation becomes palpable. When the chorus sweeps in to save the day, all these forces suddenly align, and what formerly seemed to be trapping Clapton’s vocal lifts it up, Whitlock pulling it up from above in harmony while Allman gently nudges it along. But instead of true resolution, the A major 7 tonality keeps it from feeling completely resolved. There’s nothing more solid than an octave in music, both notes ringing out in tune, but there’s something just a little forlorn about a major seventh, the top note slid off a bit from true, and so the back and forth proceeds for the whole song until it winds itself out into an exhausted and temporary peace by its end.

This kind of complicated interplay among the musicians courses through the entire album, and it’s one of the things that marks it as a genuine work of art, and not just another guitar wankfest. Allman’s each and every note resounds with taste and skill and it forces Clapton into the kind of concision and focus that’s matched only by his earlier work with the Bluesbreakers and never since. Couple that with having something real to say, and you’ve got a fertile field for improvisatory greatness.

It also turns out that the love story that inspired the album is considerably more complicated than most people realize. Clapton had already begun an affair with Boyd, despite her marriage to one of his best friends. Furthermore, he was in the middle of an ongoing fling with Pattie’s younger sister Paula, who served as a kind of surrogate for Pattie. Clapton, for all his emotive facility as a guitarist, has always been a private man, and in its way, this most personal of albums is no different. Clapton took inspiration from Persian writer Nizami Ganjavi’s Layla and the Majnun to craft “I Am Yours” and, of course, “Layla.” There are few things more stereotypically male than a wailing guitar solo, and from within the safe confines of songs that drew from epic sources or seemed to eerily echo his own situation (“Have You Ever Loved a Woman?”, “It’s Too Late”), Clapton used another man’s words to woo another man’s wife and constructed an onanistic fantasy of pure and chaste love. Examining this central dichotomy of the artistic process—the creation of a work dedicated to the adoration of another requires holding the beloved at a distance—will form a central pillar of the more psychological side of the book.

I offer this project up as a chance to fully explore the central myth of a great album, to reintroduce it to those who love it as something new and more complex, and to introduce newcomers to its intricacies, its rewards, its ruddy brown and gold texture. Fans of Clapton are bound to take an interest, and my hope is that even people who never cared for him might find out that there’s much more to Layla than Clapton. It’s an exultingly messy, beautiful, desperate sprawl of a work that’s begging to have its full story told.

Oh actors who think they're rockers, when will you learn?

2007-01-30T14:02:00.002-06:00

First John Corbett, now Kiefer. Here is Jack Bauer holding the new KS-336, which has all kinds of custom Kiefer touches, like a holster on the back for your Glock and an unerring sense of your own moral compass. Disdain for bureacracy comes optional.

More info on the Kiefercaster

Separated at birth?

2007-01-23T15:24:00.000-06:00

Mark Metcalf, of the video for "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister, who also played Bob "The Maestro" Cobb on Seinfeld.

Mark Madsen, of the Timberwolves.

Another tip for bands ...

2007-01-23T10:59:00.000-06:00

And this one is pretty simple, although it's related to the one I put up here about a year ago: photos from MySpace are not high resolution enough for newspapers and/or magazines to print, generally. The biggest favor you can do yourself as a band-- with regard to getting press-- is have a decent picture of yourselves taken and have it easily available online and at least 1800 x 1200 pixels. It's really a no-brainer, because an article with a banging picture is way way better than one with an ad hoc solution.

It's official ...

2007-01-22T23:19:00.000-06:00

George Karl's a crybaby

I just lost all respect for George Karl over this bush-league baiting crap. "I'm a simple guy. I couldn't pass calculus." Just shut up.

Duh daaaah duh-dah-dah

2007-01-19T12:31:00.000-06:00

Menomena. My comrade-in-crime Max Sparber has just informed me that the tune we all know and love as one of the finest Muppets moments is actually from an X-rated movie from 1968 called "Sweden: Heaven or Hell". He's now pointing out that it's X-rated in the way that "Midnight Cowboy" is rated X. Not for being porn, but rather for general weirdness.

Enough about that, though. There's this band called Menomena from Portland, Ore., who are about to release a record on Barsuk called Friend and Foe. There are a lot of reasons to love this record: The cover art is by Craig Thompson, the comic artist who wrote the fantastically winsome graphic novel Blankets, and, even more importantly, it's probably the first great indie release of 2007. Of course, it's going to be joined this week by The Shins' Wincing the Night Away (which is also quite good-- I just finished an interview with guitarist Dave Hernandez, who was quite a pleasant fellow to chat with) and Deerhoof's latest, which people keep telling me will be incredible. I'll believe it when I hear it.

But Menomena (Duh daaaah duh-dah-dah). Short version: They sound like TV on the Radio cleaned themselves up and tried to be the Dismemberment Plan. Obviously, a gross oversimplification. There's something about the way that it's recorded that makes it, well, slippery. The vocals and the drums are very up in the mix, and they're often panned in creative ways, and good panning is something that's underrated and long-abandoned. Anyways, I'm just getting into it, really, but I'm planning on trying to nail them down for an interview in the near future. I understand they have some kind of crazy computer program that injects a bit of chance into their songwriting process, and it sounds fascinating.

From The Onion or ESPN?

2007-01-18T13:11:00.000-06:00

Bonds says Rose, McGwire belong in Hall of Fame

He's serious with this shit? Isn't this like someone on death row saying the two guys they executed last week should have been granted clemency?

In Hinder-related news

2007-01-18T11:08:00.000-06:00

I spent a post a couple weeks back lambasting crap-rock band Hinder, which is something I generally don't spend a lot of time doing, but, you know what? It felt pretty good. So then a week or so later, I got a call from a publicist about a band called Finger Eleven, and the carrot that was dangled in front of my writerly nose was that they were opening a national tour for ... wait for it ... Hinder. So I was already suspicious.

I got the disc a couple days later and threw it in. The first track on it is called "Paralyzer" and it's the only track up on their MySpace page, so you can go listen to it for yourself. Remind you of anyone? It is, for all intents and purposes, exactly the same as the second half of "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand. I was flabbergasted. Writer types like to bemoan the music industry and how record labels are only interested in duplicating past successes, resulting in them always being a step behind when it comes to what's going on. A lot of the time, this is fairly accurate and sometimes it's not fair at all. But here? It's spot on.

I don't like crapping on bands. It doesn't make me feel good about myself or music, but that's because most of the time, the bands are working very hard trying to make a living doing what they believe in, even if what they really are is derivative and not all that special. But this Finger Eleven disc just smacks of a band that's either out to get paid, or one that started idealistic and then has let themselves be abused by a manager who's telling them what they need to do to make it to the top.

Apparently, that involves aping Franz Ferdinand. Of course, they're probably going to make more money this year than me, so that'll probably ameliorate the sacrifice of their soul a bit.

My BFFs

2007-01-16T22:53:00.000-06:00

I'm at the Nomad Pub over on the West Bank right now, checking out this week's Minneseries, which is this weekly night of music that I've been working on (and when I say working on, I mean asking my main man Matt Perkins what fantastic amazing bands he's lined up and then making an ad for the Pulse) for a bit. Really, Matt is the guy who's been doing all the heavy lifting, although when I can, I try to pimp the shows with Hot Tickets and hot ads and hot blogs. Like this one.

Best Friends Forever is playing right now. Heard 'em? They're like spaz geniuses: two chicks and a guy drummer who sing songs about being best friends, Orlando Bloom and Abraham Lincoln. The Lincoln song is hitting particularly close to home with me, since I'm knee-deep in reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Team of Rivals, which is about the run up to Lincoln being nominated as the Republican candidate at the convention in Chicago and how he assembled his cabinet out of his staunchest rivals, rather than toadying yesmen, like some presidents we have right now.

Stuff like Best Friends Forever is kind of a mystery to me, because by all rights I should hate it. I'm not a fan of cutesiness in my rock, nor of barely tuneful vocals, but somehow, they make it work. And I mean work. I guess it's got a genuineness, a guilelessness (wow, is that a word? Yes, confirmed by dictionary.com) that keeps it actually cute, rather than cutesy. Plus, if you look around, every person here is smiling. Funny music is hard to do-- way harder than you probably think. Nobody who's good at it probably spends one-quarter of the amount of time thinking about it as I do. For stuff like this, to paraphrase that miserable Dane, there's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

This just in: Knob Creek is great.

Sour grapes.

2007-01-15T10:37:00.000-06:00

Crybabies

Man, the Chargers need to shut up. Of course, I have to say that I'm a Shawne Merriman hater from back at least a week ago, and I think his "Lights Out" dance is incredibly stupid and that he's a self-aggrandizing, pumped up freak. I saw him interviewed last week and someone asked him if his four-game suspension hurt him statistically in terms of being named defensive player of the year and he said it probably did a little bit. You know what hurt your chances for being named defensive player of the year? Being suspended for using steroids. I'm not naive enough to believe that he's the only one using steroids in the NFL or anything, but seriously, how cheeky do you have to be to think that the reason for your suspension has nothing to do with losing out to Jason Taylor?

Early in the game I saw him tackle somebody and then jump up and look around to make sure everyone was watching and then he did his spastic, idiotic little celebration. Seriously? It makes you look like a moron. If I thought I could make fun of him without getting the snot beat out of me, I would.

Should the Pats have shown a little more restraint? Probably. Do I blame them for getting excited when they upset the Super Bowl favorites on their home turf in a dramatic comeback? No, I don't, and LaDainian Tomlinson can go home and cry on his MVP trophy for all I care.

Done. I'll be back to music very soon, I promise.

I'm on the radio right now.

2007-01-14T22:55:00.000-06:00

But you're probably not going to catch it, because I highly doubt you're reading this at 11 p.m. on a Sunday night. Nevertheless, you can listen to me on Homegrown at this address. I'll have some more stuff to say about all this later.

Go. Now.

2007-01-06T19:10:00.000-06:00

Everyone. Right now. Get up and go see "Children of Men."

I'm still too completely overwhelmed by it to really say anything yet. I'll just say, I didn't listen to music in the car driving home. And that never happens.

That said: Digable Planets' second album, Blowout Comb: still great, and still underrated.

MinneapolisCast Call for Songs

2007-01-05T14:23:00.000-06:00

Just stirring the soup here, folks:

Write a song to be posted on the Minneapoliscast website. I'm looking for 28 artists for the 28 days of February. A new song from a different artist every day.

February is a short, cold and dare I say, abysmal month. So to help get through the cold, I'm trying to put together a project inspired by They Might Be Giants' Dial-a-Song. I'm looking for 28 artists to submit one new song each to be posted on Minneapoliscast during the month of February. One new song each day. In the spirit of They Might Be Giants, the songs can be anything. A 30-second recording into a handheld tape recorder is fine. Whatever you can muster and get to me by February 1, I'll use. This is NOT limited to folks who have already been on the podcast, so spread the word. Send them to me on cassette, CD or mp3.

Artists this is a call to action.

Fellow media and music industry folks, please help me by promoting this with your people, either by posting it on your website or sending it out in your newsletters.

Mail songs to:

Minneapoliscast February Song of the Day
c/o Tony Thomas
4044 13th Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55407

Or send me an mp3 either as an e-mail attachment to truetone at gmail.com or a link to one posted somewhere.

Full (of crap) from a value meal

2007-01-03T17:33:00.000-06:00

Has anyone else noticed that every single ad for a value meal from any chain at all touts its giant size in comparison to some kind of eensie-weensie value meal from another restaurant? What restaurant is this? If they all have huge value meals, then who has the little ones? You used to see direct competition between McDonald's and Burger King where they really went at each other, but has the competition become so scattered (among Taco Bell and Subway and all of them) that they're reduced to attacking some kind of made-up chain with overpriced food on their value menu?

Which doesn't even enter into the question of the questionable nutritional value of these value meals. Like it's our inalienable American right to get giant burgers for a dollar that will all end up killing us.

Killing us deliciously, but still.

In music news, I've been listening to Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism recently. A great turn-of-the-year album. That and a bunch of Miles Davis from the Prestige years (the first great quintet with Paul Chambers, Philly Joe Jones, John Coltrane and Red Garland) and this Chess Records compilation called Killer Fretwork, which has some great guitar nuggets by people like Bo Diddley, Howlin' Wolf, and plenty of other lesser known blues performers.

Radio Free Minnesota

2006-12-31T11:27:00.000-06:00

I'm posting this for two purposes: 1.) to direct you to the website of Homegrown and tell you that I'm going to be on there tonight, New Year's Eve, with Dave Campbell talking about the year in music and playing some staff picks and some of my picks. Given that it's NYE and all, we pre-taped it on Wednesday, but you can listen online tonight at 10 pm CST. You can also listen on Drive 105 (105.1, 105.3 and 105.5) if you're in the Twin Cities. Come on, you probably have nothing else to do tonight, right? And 2.) to get that picture of Hinder further down the page. I can't stand looking at that anymore.

Holy crap.

2006-12-28T09:41:00.000-06:00

Anybody ever hear of Hinder? I hadn't either, until I turned on the TV this morning and VH1 was showing a video by them. Such are the dangers of watching "I Love the '90s" late at night (it was '98 last night--remember the dancing baby?).

The only reason I even bring it up is that they suck. And I mean suck in ways I can't even conceive of, and it made me think: I'm not a very critical writer, in the sense that I don't spend a lot of time talking about what I don't like. I tend to like this, because I feel like my job isn't to hand down judgements on what's good and what isn't, but rather to find the things that I think are really unique, special and worth listening to and give 'em a little nudge or just talk about why I think they're important in the hopes that people might get motivated to go get some great new music.

Hinder reminded me that there's a truly gigantic swath of absolute trash clogging the airwaves and record stores of America. I'm not going to give it any more time than just to say please. Please step away from the piles of pseudo-heavy sentimental bullshit that get stuffed down your craw by MTV and VH1 and Clear Channel and check out something that's worth something. Like, maybe something from the post below.

All right. Done. Sorry to get all Tom Hallett on you there.

The 20 '06 Appendix

2006-12-27T16:56:00.000-06:00

In case you didn't get here from there, here's a link to my article about my 20 '06 mix, 20 songs from my 20 favorite albums, local and national, of '06. This here's the appendix, and some fancily pantsed stuff that links you to the mix, I hope:

Here are the lists, in ranked order, which I actually put some thought into.

Top Ten National Records of 2006

1. Grizzly Bear, Yellow House
2. Midlake, The Trials of Van Occupanther
3. Ghostface Killah, Fishscale
4. Crystal Skulls, Outgoing Behavior
5. The Knife, Silent Shout
6. Band of Horses, Everything All the Time
7. Boris, Pink
8. Islands, Return to the Sea
9. Snowden, Anti-Anti
10. Small Sins, Small Sins

Top Ten Local Records of 2006

1. P.O.S., Audition
2. Mouthful of Bees, The End
3. Kill the Vultures, Careless Flame
4. Haley Bonar, Lure the Fox
5. The Plastic Constellations, Crusades
6. Jeremy Messersmith, The Alcatraz Kid
7. The Danforths, Look Out for Wolves
8. Dosh, The Lost Take
9. One for the Team, Good Boys Don't Make Noise
10. Awesome Snakes, Venom

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Subtle, For Hero: For Fool :: The Hold Steady, Boys and Girls in America :: Phoenix, It's Never Been Like That :: Lupe Fiasco, Food and Liquor :: Jeremy Enigk, World Waits :: Destroyer, Destroyer's Rubies :: Duplomacy, All These Long Drives :: Adam Arcuragi, Adam Arcuragi :: Rhymefest, Blue Collar :: Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, Broom :: TV on the Radio, Return to Cookie Mountain :: M. Ward, Post-War :: The Alarmists, A Detail of Soldiers :: Jelloslave, Touch It

And you know what? I'm probably forgetting some local releases in the honorable mentions, so I'll come back and fix that up, too.

Happy 2006.