i wrote elegiac stanzas for you

The fact that I'm still listening to British Sea Power four albums into their career is somewhat surprising. Sure, I'm a fairly faithful listener, and it helps that the band has maintained a level of notoriety that lets me see them at the kind of venues I prefer. However, it was a huge relief to hear such compelling chords at the opening of Valhalla Dancehall. Way to keep the streak alive, guys (and girl), and thanks for coming back to the Independent for your San Francisco appearance.

British Sea Power, the Independent, April 5, 2011: According to my records, British Sea Power has managed to visit the States every three years or less, but for some reason, the previous tour felt like it was a long time coming. That, in part, explains why I went, er, overboard with British Sea Power's last series of shows in the States, though I can't lie--I also did it because I'm crazy about the band. For once, the excess might've cured me. Though I considered and penciled in another gig on this tour, I ended up hitting only one show--in my hometown, to boot!

To refresh, British Sea Power played the Independent in support of Open Season six years ago to the month, but a lot has changed since then. Most notably, the personnel has shifted, though they've kept the same lineup from the 2008 tour. Also, despite asking for contributions of foliage on their mailing list, the stage was sadly flora-free. The band didn't skimp on the owls, however. Ultimately, their stage-climbing, piggybacking hijinks went MIA, as did their banter, but as Yan explained, it was nothing personal--they just wanted to play as much music as possible.

In exchange, we got a primo setlist covering all four albums, including a few titles out of left field. "Something Wicked" may have been the big surprise of the evening, so thanks to whomever requested it. Also from the debut record, perennial crowd-pleasers "Remember Me" and "Carrion" took their usual spots as the anchors of the show.



In addition, the well-represented Do You Like Rock Music succeeded on two fronts: It brought me back to the previous tour, and it reminded me of Hamilton's growth as a songwriter on that record. Thus, it was great to see him get his own dedicated four-song section of the show.

I'm always delighted to hear anything from the underappreciated Open Season, so "Larsen B" and "It Ended on an Oily Stage" were welcome selections, even if the fickle fangirl in me would've campaigned for "True Adventures" too. "A-Rock" wasn't officially on the list, but an eerily familiar--if also truncated--commotion descended at the end of the gig. It's nice to see that some things never change.



Alas, I opted out of the following night's gig when they announced the venue had changed from the Brookdale Lodge to the Catalyst because of asbestos issues. I've never been to the former, but I'm familiar enough with the latter to know it wasn't worth the drive (and the car rental and the lost sleep). I also recently saw that BSP canceled the Marfa gig because of local wildfires. I hope this isn't an unlucky streak for the band, but then again, if any group has survived an injury scare or two, they can. I look forward to their 2014 run!

See also:
» carry on, inside of your heart
» fans of alcohol
» from the books you don't read anyway

carry on, inside of your heart

You don't want to know the cross-country maneuvers considered before this date emerged as the last show of British Sea Power's North American tour. Or maybe I don't want to say. But I'm glad I made it. And because I occasionally feel the need to produce noises that might convince other people (read: myself) that I don't have problems, let's get this out of the way: I didn't go to Boston, Buffalo, or Pittsburgh, OK?! (Oh, but how I wish I had.)

British Sea Power, Maxwell's, May 19, 2008: You know that book 1000 Places to See Before You Die? I'd like to write the music world equivalent: say, 100 rock clubs to visit before you become a yuppie and move to the 'burbs (i.e., die). In fact, it'd make a fine companion piece to my proposed coffee-table book on setlists. Anyway, Maxwell's in Hoboken, without a doubt, is on that roster, and it's about time I found out for myself. I'm somewhat surprised that it took a British Sea Power show to get me out here, but better late than never.

I pay plenty of lip service to the Second Night Rule, but a corollary to that is the End of Tour Show--see it if you can! This is a principle I don't get to test out often since (1) that guy in L.A. doesn't tour, and (2) I'm pretty picky about venues, thus precluding many gigs put on by that band out of Chicago. Instead, I usually have to hope a band I like chooses to end its run in San Francisco--not bloody likely, lemme tell you.

But I'm not limited to seeing gigs in my hometown, and that's the whole point of stretching out my "vacation" to take in this show. My already high expectations for this concert were shattered by the time the show ended, in a chaotic mix of roadie standup, nearly 20 minutes and multiple waves of "A-Rock" pandemonium, and more piggyback rides than a four-year-old's birthday party.



First off, I want to say that Maxwell's lives up to its legendary billing. You can have your state-of-the-art, pristine mausoleum of sound--I'll take these dark, tiny caves any day. In fact, British Sea Power's decorative flags looked especially bright against the pitch-black stage. I often wonder how U.K. bands feel about playing such small rooms over here when they could be selling out much larger spaces back home, though I suppose these intimate dates can be a treat--or, at least, an adventure, especially for groups as renowned for their live shows as British Sea Power.

In any case, the band betrayed no trepidation, despite lots of problems with the monitors and mics, kicking out "Atom" as the opener of a fairly run-of-the-mill setlist (on paper anyway). Actually, that's my only and very minor complaint about the show. Sure, we got "Open the Door" again, but they left off the magnificent "True Adventures," especially appropriate for tonight's full moon. And speaking of Open Season, I love that "Oh Larsen B" has found its way back to the nightly rotation. They need to play that one as often as possible.



I've devoted a lot of blog space to "Impossible Germany" and the way it lights up just about every Wilco show I see. "The Great Skua" belongs in that same category. Its beautifully rendered gravitas anchors each gig, a contrast to the tumult to come. If anyone ever doubts the band's musicianship, they need only listen to that song; it's a four-minute miracle.

Don't let this staid account fool you; from the beginning, all signs pointed to an especially loose, goofy show--even by BSP's standards. A notice at the merch booth alerted shoppers to the evening's fire sale, as the band tried to dump as many superfluous items as possible before they flew home. If you weren't aware of this before the show began, Nobby aired a reminder early in the set, when he removed his shoes and offered them for $2 each, with the promise that more items would be available later. (He ended up giving his loafers away gratis.)

Back onstage, the band repeatedly called their tour manager to the mic to tell jokes, and they engaged in tons of banter with the crowd and one another. They granted a request for "Open the Door" to a particularly faithful fan, though at the same time, Yan shot down a bunch of audience-submitted suggestions, claiming his choices would ultimately win out. Yan sort of jinxed himself, though; immediately following this declaration, he stumbled through the first lines of "Canvey Island" as the giggles overtook him. Meanwhile, Nobby acted the diplomat, advising the guy who wanted to hear "The Spirit of St. Louis" to wait about about six more songs.

All this exposition is my way of putting off the hugely daunting task of trying to capture the dangling disarray. We got hints of it during "The Spirit of St. Louis," when the gesticulating kid behind me (who also happened to elbow me in the head--though he apologized for it--in his earlier attempts at "dancing") stepped up to the mic Nobby had set out at the front of the stage and tried to interject some non sequiturs during the quiet part of the song, only to be shushed by Nobby himself. The tune itself was especially awesome, though, as Nobby sidled up to Woody, and the two of them attacked the song's opening thunderclap.

As ever, though, anarchy ascended during "A-Rock." Though "Spirit of St. Louis" got the ball rolling, moving Nobby to scale the speaker and play the guitar on his back before taking down the flags, the deluge hit with "A-Rock." Here, Nobby made several forays into and out of the crowd--sometimes on his own two feet, sometimes not; sometimes alone, sometimes with company.



I wish I had eyes in the back of my head because for the next 20 minutes, every corner of the room saw some action. The remaining band members mostly stayed up front, picking up different instruments than they usually play: Yan on keyboard and cornet, Abi and Phil on guitar. Jeffrey Lewis joined them for a stretch before being carted away by--like you need to ask?--Nobby, who, in turn, dragged an audience member or two back to the stage with him. Their sound guy also broke through the crowd to play guitar while wearing a couple of cardboard boxes (think Flight of the Conchords' "Robots" costume).

Hamilton remained on bass for much of this derangement, but he gave it up at some point and, after a long while perched at the stage's edge, tumbled back into the crowd. We supported him as best as we could, but I'm not sure how he did after the first several layers of people. All I know is that I looked back at some point, and he was on his feet, hopping up and down with a very amused concert-goer.

A little after that, probably while I was watching Nobby engaged in some other drunken caper, I felt a couple of bodies pushing toward the stage--it was Hamilton again, with Abi slung over his shoulder in the classic "me Tarzan, you Jane" arrangement. But that was only the beginning. Once they got to the stage, she urged him to climb on her back, an offer he didn't refuse, and the two of them twirled dizzily in front of us. The ride wasn't over, though; Hamilton soon jumped over to Phil, who had been thrashing away on a guitar. Hammy clung on for a stretch before standing up on Phil's back to touch the low ceiling. I can't recall how events unfolded after this, but there's no way I'll forget Hamilton planting a piece of duct tape on Paul's forehead as he left the stage.

During this episode, a half dozen audience members had rushed the stage, some to play instruments, others to gawk. But with the barrier grandly and irrevocably broken by the band members themselves, it hardly mattered. It was one big party.

Pragmatically, I'd say the Brooklyn show, which mixed an amazing setlist with the band's trademark hijinx, was the best balanced of this run, while the Manhattan gig was their most technically accomplished. Philly, for that matter, was no slouch either. And hey, who can forget those early California dates? But when I think back to this tour, I'll inevitably land on two dates: Visalia and Hoboken. The gigs themselves couldn't have been more different, but in both instances, I saw a band unlike any other on the face of the earth.

Chicken or egg: Does liking certain musicians lead me to see them in concert so often, or does seeing certain musicians so often make them my favorites? It's likely the former, but oddly, the repetition exacerbates those feelings, instead of decreasing them. It helps that those musicians I've latched on to have made live shows an integral part of their schedules, so I don't lack for opportunities to get my gig fix. Unfortunately, I can't claim this privilege with British Sea Power. I'm not about to see them in England (to the best of my knowledge?), and it's hard to say when they'll return to the States. As always, I'm glad I indulged while I could. Come back soon, British Sea Power!

Jeffrey Lewis opened the show tonight, accompanied by a full band. They performed a few songs from the Crass album, as well as Jeffrey's own tunes. As with Abi in Brooklyn, his seemingly simple songs revealed their depths and possibilities when bolstered by other instruments. He sounded great tonight.

Note: The sounds from this night were expertly captured by nyctaper. Download it now!

See also:
» do you like my megalithic rock
» we walked under neon skies
» we're going on a trip out
» your winter overture
» fans of alcohol
» Download the show at nyctaper.com

do you like my megalithic rock

My original enabler and co-conspirator chose to ditch me for Texas barbecue and other heartland delicacies, but I was able to rope in an old friend to help me brave the home of the hipsters for my third British Sea Power show of the trip. Thanks again, Sharon! Sorry I didn't warn you about the short pants beforehand.

British Sea Power, Music Hall of Williamsburg, May 11, 2008: Get off at Grand Central, take the 6 to Union Station, catch the L to Bedford, and walk a few blocks to the Music Hall of Williamsburg. If you have time, browse the racks at Academy Music.



Those were my instructions to get to this show. Besides being right on the money, they're words I don't hear much in California. Heck, even if I wanted to take BART to shows in Oakland or Berkeley, I rarely get the chance, as bands don't usually play more than one gig in the Bay Area on any given trip. Why do you think I went to Visalia?! Stupid manifest destiny!

Here's a blanket statement if ever there was one: I love introspective singer/songwriters and sad music in general, but the stuff that sends me usually combines the extremes--the loud and the soft, the pastoral and the rocking, the effete and the virile, the brash and the considerate, the ridiculous and the sublime. Tonight in Williamsburg, we had it all. And then some.

But let's back up a little. When I see a touring band more than once, I don't expect them to reinvent the wheel every night, though a few favorites did/do so (Pavement never repeated a setlist, and by now, you've heard plenty about that guy in Los Angeles). Prior to this outing, my single recollection of seeing British Sea Power more than once on the same tour led me to believe they didn't change up their set much. Of course, at the time, they had one album to promote, so their choices were limited. Five years and two albums later, they haven't veered too much from that formula, but they sneak in a classic or two every night.

And boy, what classics we got in Brooklyn. The first Yan prefaced by saying it was a song that felt right for a Sunday night, which paved the way for "Childhood Memories," one of the tunes (along with "The Lonely") I've rediscovered in the last couple of months. I always cite Echo and the Bunnymen as the influence I hear most prominently in British Sea Power's music (especially in the ad-lib section of "Oh Larsen B" live), but the Smiths' sway has recently jumped out at me, especially on this song. Sorry, I hate to namecheck, but in this case, it's not a bad thing to be reminded of one of my favorite bands of all time.

The band saved the other chestnut until nearly the end of the night. They hadn't played this one, apparently, in two years, but regardless of the time frame, I was thrilled to hear "Lately," especially now that I can fully enjoy its sprawling, chaotic glory. I mean, I've always loved it, just because it meant that anarchy beckoned, but my appreciation of it as a song has skyrocketed. "Lately," of course, bled into "A-Rock," which--well, at least they weren't bleeding by the end of this one.

It occurs to me that in my blinding fascination with this band that what I see as humor and eccentricity might come across as preciousness to others. Certainly, they've toned down their sartorial choices, and the pastoral touches aren't a part of their show anymore. But their music, especially the first album, has always undercut any suspicions about tweeness, and all other doubts are vanquished as soon as you them. The awkward games of unilateral hopscotch, the unsuspecting arms and shoulders recruited for interactive tomfoolery, and the general clamoring and clawing are not the signs of a fey, retreating band. Rather, they're the calling cards for a band that doesn't think pratfalls have to take away from a performance.



Anyway, that's my long-winded and affected way of saying, HOLY SHIT, THEY TORE THE MOTHERFUCKING ROOF OFF THE PLACE. Excuse the shouting, but I can honestly say that was the best British Sea Power gig I've ever seen. On the musical side, we got Phil adding a playful touch of omnichord to "No Lucifer" and Abi sounding beautiful on "Waving Flags." And there's no disregarding the artful swell and wane of all those favorite tracks.



Topping off the musical goodness, however, was the kind of physical display that makes me swoon and grin at the same time. Look up in the sky--it's Nobby going over your head, perhaps on his own accord, scaling whatever piece of the room that can support him, or with the help of various audience members lifting him through the crowd. On stage, Phil's moved away from his station to thrash and strum, Hamilton's hopping around, and Yan's digging in. Nobby's returned to share a microphone -- and maybe some saliva? -- with Hamilton, but once he moved off, Abi joined in instead (for the singing, that is).



Finally at the end of the night, when the devastation had been wrought and Yan tripped over a fallen mic stand to land directly in Hamilton's lap, Nobby twisted it all into a big ol' bow. No, he didn't help his friends up; rather, he grabbed their limbs and attempted to swing them from side to side -- as one does. You couldn't have wished for another outcome.

Both Jeffrey Lewis and the Rosebuds opened for British Sea Power once again, and they were especially awesome tonight. Jeffrey was accompanied by Abi on several songs, and her playing added a wonderfully soulful touch to his simple compositions. He also showed a "documentary" about the history of Rough Trade Records, which struck a sweet chord, especially since I first saw him open up for another labelmate.

The Rosebuds played to an appreciative audience peopled by many fans who came expressly to see them. I've liked the band since I first saw them open for Teenage Fanclub, and I was glad that they joined the bill for this tour. I'm looking forward to their new album, due this summer.

See also:
» fans of alcohol
» we're going on a trip out
» we walked under neon skies

we walked under neon skies

Before Chicago and Los Angeles dominated my travels, New York City reigned as my go-to rock tourism stop, thanks to the generosity and understanding of friends who live in the area. Lately, though, the visits have been fleeting, so it felt great to settle in for several days and for the second British Sea Power show on my schedule.

British Sea Power, Bowery Ballroom, May 10, 2008: There's a considerable flip side to seeing shows in New York, however. Firstly, when you're used to intimate spaces, the clubs here tend to dwarf comparable venues in other cities, then you have the preponderance of lame scenesters or jaded industry folks. Thankfully, the latter concern has been less prominent these days, probably because I don't see many buzz bands anymore (did I ever?).



Bowery Ballroom, however, remains the hallowed hall where I lived out several memorable moments, including a cameo appearance in the pages of the late Melody Maker, as well as an impromptu guest slot on the sleigh bells. Sigh. Even without those recollections, I fell in love with the room all over again as soon as we hiked up the stairs from the bar.

If last night's look tipped its hat ever so slightly to early 20th-century Russia (barely--I'm stretching here), tonight's wardrobe choices were directly influenced by the world of sport, Yan professed early on. Both Yan and Hamilton wore headbands, though more in the early-'90s Hillary Clinton vein than, say, Bjorn Borg. Meanwhile, Yan and Phil had kitted up in soccer jerseys (I think?), and the back of Nobby's shirt was marked with a large piece of tape bearing another player's name. Yan actually furnished further details on who was who, but they flew right over my head. Sorry!



Tonight's setlist change-ups included the return of "Remember Me" (like I'm ever going to complain about that one) and "Leaving Home," the first time I've heard it in my handful of shows on this tour. The latter provided a nice reminder of how Hamilton's songwriting has progressed from mellower numbers to the rockers and anthems on the new album. Then again, I love it all.

When I saw British Sea Power earlier in this tour, we got a couple of relatively well-behaved shows, which proved to me they can still make my head swim with reverb and melody sans the hijinks. The last two months of incessant playbacks on the iPod further drives home that point.

But after the follies in Philly, I have to admit that, though I remained floating, I hovered a little closer to the ground following the Bowery show. As Paul pointed out, they were technically better tonight in New York City--the aforementioned "Remember Me" was blistering, "The Great Skua" held us rapt, and I know I heard voices singing along to "Carrion." But I have to admit that I missed the raw mischief, though I have absolutely no complaints about the rest of the show. It's not often that you get to see a band who can soar both musically and physically. Can you blame me for wanting to get my fix?

Note: You can download an excellent recording of the show from nyctaper.

See also:
» we're going on a trip out
» your winter overture
» fans of alcohol
» Download the show from nyctaper.com

we're going on a trip out

When British Sea Power announced the dates for their massive three-month U.S. tour, I joked with some friends that it was a good thing they were starting on the West Coast, as that would give me ample time to cobble together a rock tourism jag, should I be so enraptured after their California gigs. If you were any of these friends, however, you knew that I wasn't kidding. At all.

British Sea Power, Johnny Brenda's, May 9, 2008: In the two months since British Sea Power's San Francisco date, a lot has happened. In March, I crossed the legally contestable line between pleasantly charmed to thoroughly besotted, with all the baggage that entails (scouring the Internet, mapping itineraries, learning bird calls). April and May, however, brought a number of major shows that, in addition to reminding me why I do stupid things for music, helped bring me back to earth. Or some semblance thereof. The two-month interim has also helped cool my jets and will hopefully prevent me from typing anything mortifying. Bwahahahahahahaha.

But to prove that some shred of sanity remains, I'm happy to report that I won't be submitting my application to the Third Battalion any time soon, as I highly doubt I'd survive training camp. For one thing, I can't hold my liquor. For another, the sports references would be lost on me. But dammit, I'd love to see some of the band's weirder shows in England! Clearly, British Sea Power is in on the secret of tertiary markets--a subject near and dear to my heart. (Hello, Marfa! And, if all goes according to plan, Alaska this summer.)



So anyway: Philly! When my best friend went to grad school here, I occasionally flew in to visit and to drag her to shows in and around the tri-state area. I always liked that Philly hosted a lot of the same names as New York City, but in much smaller clubs and with a lot less hype. Johnny Brenda's fit this pattern to a T. The tiny stage, the saloon-like feel, the relaxed air--no wonder I didn't break a sweat while my flight was delayed for three hours in Chicago. (It's also a good thing I hadn't planned on attending the World Cafe show.)

Though the logistics didn't worry me much, I gotta admit I nursed a different set of apprehensions going into this show, as I often do prior to any trip, regardless of who's playing. Had I overcommitted? Was I being greedy? Can't I be happy seeing shows back home like everyone else does? Long story short: No, a probable yes, and no.

All doubts dissipated even before the opening notes of "Lights Out for Darker Skies," when Noble, Yan, and Hamilton, guitars donned raffishly, convened for an impromptu lineup, flashing wan but warm smiles at each other before shuffling off to their respective quarters. Then again, maybe the stage was so small that they had nowhere else to go. In fact, early on, Nobby remarked that he'd like to see the members of the Polyphonic Spree on that sliver of stage (my tip: pyramid formations). But when those familiar power chords followed, I got a ringing reminder of why Do You Like Rock Music is, by far, my favorite album of the year.

The band offered a couple of variations in their shows since I saw them in California. For one, they played the effortlessly charming "Open the Door," a song that a mere two months ago Paul was swearing he would never hear live. Lucky bastard!



The other variance was the band's rediscovery of its wild side, not that I ever doubted its absence. I'll chalk up the relatively proper San Francisco and Visalia shows to jet lag instead. I've been following their U.S. exploits, so I know they've been indulging their impishness across the land, but it was a wonderful thing to see again. So despite Noble's claims of sleep deprivation, he worked up enough energy to scale the heights, play from the balcony, tote a sizable amp, and sweep Yan up in his arms. Yan returned the favor by hoisting Nobby over his shoulders in a classic wrestling maneuver.

There was actually quite a bit of audience participation tonight, most notably when Nobby decided it was time to crowd-surf. We (the royal "we"--I never got a hand on him) punters obliged, supporting him across the floor and boosting him back up to the second-floor railing; he managed to take over from there and plant himself on the balcony. Before this happened, though, Nobby (with a knowing nod) presented his guitar to Paul for safekeeping, and somewhere in the craziness of "A-Rock," I picked up Phil's signal to hand him his cornet.

Oh man, it felt good to be back, and even better: Tonight was only the beginning.

See also:
» your winter overture
» fans of alcohol

your winter overture

If it's February in San Francisco, it must be Noise Pop, and this year offered a stellar crop of shows. Unfortunately, ticket confusion led me to scratch the first festival gig I'd planned to see, but no harm done. My true interest resided elsewhere: the return of British Sea Power to Bottom of the Hill!

British Sea Power, Bottom of the Hill, March 1, 2008: I went searching for any remnant of my first British Sea Power gig ever, which happened to take place at Bottom of the Hill in the autumn of 2003, but all I found was a ticket stub from their second show at the club (this is why I now keep a blog). Not that the second appearance was too shabby--in fact, I recall that one pretty well, as I had already been blown away by the band and brought along a couple of friends in hopes of converting them (done and done). That same night, Noise Pop hosted a Neko Case gig that would've otherwise lured me in, but honestly, she didn't stand a chance against the boys from Brighton.

Four years later, and the odds had grown even more hopeless for any show in conflict with this gig. I even set the DVR to record Wilco's debut on Saturday Night Live! OK, that's not exactly a resounding endorsement, but let me assure you that I wasn't about to miss this show for the world.

On the heels of the Visalia gig, this date felt a lot more formal, and I'm not even talking about the real stage or the working PA or the apparently successful soundcheck or any of those ho-hum details. Rather, there was the matter of the photo bank parked in front of us and to our left. As an incessant concert photographer, I shouldn't talk, but these were professionals carrying huge, heavy lenses, and they were camped out for the prime photo ops. In addition, the first row of the crowd included a fair number of non-accredited camera enthusiasts. Two things were clear: (1) This would be a well-chronicled concert, and (2) The audience was not here simply to kill time on a Saturday night.



As the hours passed and the fans closed in, I grew somewhat nostalgic for the supremely laid-back nature of the previous night's gig, but those feelings left me immediately upon the band's arrival onstage. Sure, the foliage and the furry friends didn't appear as they had in previous years, but you couldn't fake the band's wardrobe choices (Yan's all-white ensemble; Hamilton's seemingly hand-sewn trousers and the puppet attached to his waistband; Hamilton and Noble's complementary bird-print shirts). And perhaps to prove that they were bringing their A-game, they kicked off with the hypnotic "No Lucifer."



The biggest surprise of the night was the beloved "Oh Larsen B." Granted, it wasn't exactly a wholesale return to Open Season, but if there was a single song I wanted to hear, they nailed it. I felt a little bad for the girl in Visalia who was denied her request, but maybe she helped jog the band's memory. Now if only they would bring back "It Ended on an Oily Stage" as well!

As I mentioned in my earlier post, the rockers fared better at the Cellar Door, but at Bottom of the Hill, we could actually soak up the more ambient tracks. "The Great Skua" was nothing short of breathtaking, and I absolutely ate up the evening's rendition of "True Adventures." That's not to say, however, it was an easy listening kind of night, a point that was apparent from early on and was emphasized immediately by "Remember Me" and "Beetroot Fields" at the top of the set and reinforced by the epic "Spirit of St. Louis/Scottish Wildlife" near-closer. In between, of course, we got much of Do You Like Rock Music?, which is great too, but you can't really fault me for wanting to hear the chestnuts.



In the mischief department, Noble kept the tradition alive by climbing out on to the bar ledge to the right of the stage, ripping off the "No Stagediving" sign from the club wall, and mostly observing the festivities. I believe a couple of staff members tried to coax him down from the post, and he gestured as if he might take them up on their offer to crowd surf. But when it became apparent they had differing intentions, he instead grabbed on to one of the ceiling pipes and swung from it for a few moments before rejoining his bandmates.



Overall, the band was looser and more engaging tonight than they had been in Visalia. In addition to Noble's forays into the audience, there was talk at the beginning of the show of their Welsh guitar tech and St. David's Day, commemorated by the wearing of a leek. And speaking of the guitars, they had their way with the equipment too. At one point, Noble did this cool thing where he yelled into his guitar's pickups for a white noise effect. Also, Hamilton lost a string on his bass, but didn't make too big a fuss over it. Instead, he opted to use only the two remaining strings, while wearing the other as a guitar strap of sorts.

I don't know if it's a sign the band has mellowed or grown older or if Eamon's departure has changed their approach or even if the crowd wasn't sufficiently encouraging, but even without the antics, the group put on a fantastic show full of intensity, energy, and amazing music. With any luck, I'll be able to catch them again before the end of this massive U.S. tour; three years is simply too long to wait for a band I dig so much.

As this was Noise Pop, three openers passed through before British Sea Power came up. Usually, I enjoy at least one of the up-and-coming bands chosen by Noise Pop, but the acts didn't gel for me this time. Off Campus played fun but not particularly notable retro-sounding rock; Colourmusic indulged in a jumble of styles that didn't really work, especially on the more overwrought numbers; and 20-Minute Loop had some interesting songs, but they too lacked a distinct style. Truth is none of them stood a chance against the headliners anyway.

See also:
» fans of alcohol
» from the books you don't read anyway
» heard about your band

fans of alcohol

In my years as an Anglophile, rock tourism felt almost like a race against the clock, as I tried to milk as many gigs out of bands who came to the United States, at best, every three to four years, if they returned at all. Not that I maintained anywhere as aggressive a schedule as I do now, but I definitely clocked some miles tracking the Brits (and Scots). Given that track record, it seemed almost effortless to hop in a car, cruise down the Central Valley, and catch British Sea Power in as random a locale as I can remember.

British Sea Power, The Cellar Door, February 29, 2008: If Paul hadn't agreed to come with me, I would've likely hit British Sea Power's three gigs on the Los Angeles-San Diego circuit. But that would've been easy and far more predictable than a $5 show in California's farm country.

At first, that unpredictability looked pretty promising, as we spied the setup: a 200-capacity bar with a raised middle dance floor. The stage comprised a foot-high section that hosted the drummer, the multi-instrumentalist, and lots of amps, while the singers, the lead guitarist, and the violinist would occupy the main floor--exactly where the audience would stand as well. In fact, the line of demarcation between the band and the audience appeared to be a flimsy monitor cord. You can't get much closer than that. The perimeter of the room, meanwhile, was peopled by patrons sipping at their wine, drinking their beers, and watching the big-screen TVs. Odds are they were not here for the show.

And as the hours unfolded and the supposed set time passed by, we started to worry. By 10:30, a full hour after the printed start time, they were still soundchecking and adjusting the monitors, and I mentally made plans to find a hotel/motel somewhere along CA-99, as I was sure we'd never get out in time to make the drive back to San Francisco in a coherent state. My prayers were answered, however, by one of the promoters, who thanked us for our patience and announced that British Sea Power would go on first.



So it was around 11:15 that the band took the stage. I've purposely kept myself out of the loop about British Sea Power's current touring setup, so I'm not sure how anarchic their live show remains, but I was struck by how mannered they appeared: no shrubbery, no taxidermy, not even those adorable cricket uniforms they used to wear, though I suspect it had to do with the not-quite-rock-club setting.

But whatever misgivings I had about the room mostly vanished as soon as the music started (following an 11th-hour mix-up when it appeared Yan's mic wasn't working) and they tore into a mix of tracks from the new album, Do You Like Rock Music?, and the first release, The Decline of British Sea Power. Oddly, Open Season merited only one track, despite an audience member's request for "Oh Larsen B" (one of my favorites as well). The new songs sounded great, the band poured their energy into the show, and the crowd ate it up.



Let me make this clear: I love British Sea Power. Very few bands, especially ones that I haven't seen for three years, incite the same mania in me. Ask me about their live shows, and you can expect to hear my voice go up a couple of octaves and my speech to speed up, as well as see my eyes take on that glazed, out-of-body expression usually associated with cultists. It would be an understatement to say that I keenly anticipated this show, odd room or no.



But as you might expect in room not entirely suited to live rock performances, the sound was not great. British Sea Power isn't exactly known for its subtleties live, but we lost a lot of details in the songs, such as the soaring harmonies of the choruses, not to mention major contributions by the viola. As we were standing at stage right, we could hear the trumpet nicely, but I don't know if it was as prominent in other parts of the room. On the other hand, the band's trademark piercing guitar chords cut through the din with typical laser-like precision, thus reminding us of what they do best. The band handled both the frenetic rockers and the atmospheric epics with ease, though I favored the barn burners in this case.

I suspect the room's layout also prevented the band members from engaging in some of their usual shenanigans, though Noble, not to be discouraged, managed to climb up on the stage's back wall and play a whole song from that position.

The audience, it must be said, deserves a ton of credit for its enthusiasm. Even the promoters threw themselves into the show, rocking out from the first row. A peek around the main floor revealed hearty sing-alongs, fists raised aloft, and awkwardly convulsive dancing. It was great to see!

The band wrapped up around 12:30, which was fine by us, as we had quite a few miles to cover to get back to San Francisco. But with such a fun show under my belt, the drive turned out to be no problem at all, especially with the band's entire catalog on shuffle. Thank you, Visalia and British Sea Power, for the delightful excursion!

See also:
» from the books you don't read anyway
» your winter overture

from the books you don't read anyway

Today is a sad, sad day for me, as my iPod decided to go crazy. Despite my every attempt, it refuses to resuscitate, so I'll try a couple of measures tomorrow, then it'll be off to the *gasp* repair shop. I'll probably just cry on my auntie's shoulder and whine to her until she takes the thing back to her client/Apple guy. Boo hoo. Fortunately, I've come off a simultaneously exhilirating and exhausting week of cool shows, and I will gladly reveal the details below.

Wilco, Price Center Ballroom, April 29, 2005: Though San Diego is the second-biggest city in California and 200 miles away from the heart of Los Angeles, it seems to enjoy an entirely different lifestyle from its much gaudier northern neighbor. So when Wilco announced a show at (basically) a conference room on the UCSD campus, I couldn't resist, especially as it also meant sharing a couple of days with some of my favorite rock tourists. We got in Thursday and enjoyed a wonderful meal at Jake's by the Sea in Del Mar (on my cousin Khang's suggestion), followed by a nightcap at the historic Hotel del Coronado. I was loving every second of Heidi's reports of the recent Jon Brion whirlwind in New York, and it just made me more excited that I have a reservation to his show on Friday the 13th (cue Psycho theme). And Paul, well, when aren't I glad to see him? Of course, the last time we were hanging out, it was back on the Continent, halfway around the world, but variety is the spice of life. Heh heh.

The UCSD campus is gorgeous and a great place to spend the day. Yes, San Diego indeed has beautiful weather: warmer than my corner of the world but nowhere as oppressive as Los Angeles. We soaked in the sun and the breeze and the eucalyptus scent in the air. Sigh. One of the student organizations was setting up a luau for the evening, something called the Ring of Fire. As the day progressed, we noticed that the ring was a misnomer--it turned out to be more of a copper bowl of fire, though I don't think it mattered to the participants. We were kinda sad to miss the interactive drum circle, but we had other obligations.

The Price Center is quite small. We estimated perhaps 1,000 capacity. However, it's as flat as a pancake, and the stage was quite low, so I felt bad for anyone shorter than 5'5" and farther than five rows back. Of course, this was not our problem. The openers, Polar Goldie Cats, were totally fun and, unsurprisingly, had a feline theme going on. I recognized their bass guitarist as Bob Bruno, former tech to Jon Brion. That explained why I haven't seen him at Largo lately!

The single highlight of Wilco's set was probably "Bob Dylan's Beard," on which Nels used a new guitar. It was quite small, especially on his lanky frame, and shaped almost like a harp. Regardless, he sounded great, and Jeff teased him about his new toy. I'm always excited to hear "Misunderstood," and I think we were pretty convincing on "Political Science," but I really, really dig "Something in the Air." I think it has to do with the way all three singers belt out the vocals and how good it feels to sing right along with them. It's such a simple song, too, but I clearly recall feeling soooooo good when they played that song.

After the show, we got a chance to say hi, and I noticed Rick Moody hanging out with the band, though I didn't get to talk to him. Demonology is a great book, if you haven't read it. And even better, it's a short story collection, so you don't have to slog through too many chapters to get to the pay-off (though the last story involves a patented Rick Moody recurring theme). After that, it was off with my cousin to Roberto's for the promised carne asada fries. Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Brianne had brought the vaunted crancheddar, and we had been snacking on Heidi's Dancing Deer flavors. That's living, folks. ;) To top it all off, we spent the wee hours of the morning celebrating Trish's birthday. The McCormicks are such awesome people; I love counting them as my friends, neighbors, and fellow music nerds.

British Sea Power, the Independent, April 30, 2005: For a self-proclaimed music nerd, I have a weird history with rock festivals in the United States. I've been to a few of them (the original Gathering of the Tribes, the precursor to Lollapalooza; All Tomorrow's Parties; WOMAD), but I've completely skipped all the big ones over the years, the ones that will inevitably show up in history books down the line. I still haven't gone to Coachella, though it's in my own state, partly because all of the bands I really want to see tend to stop in San Francisco either before or after the big show. This was again the case, and British Sea Power was the first of the Coachella-related bands on my gig list.

I seriously love this band. My fate was sealed at that first show I saw, when I didn't know a whole lot about them except that they were British and playing Bottom of the Hill. But when I noticed the taxidermy onstage and saw the guitarist (who I didn't know was a member of the band at the time) positioning fresh foliage on the amps, I was definitely intrigued. When they hit the boards in cricket uniforms and looking like British schoolboys from the early 1900s, I was ready to paste their photos to the inside of my locker. And when they went nuts during the show, turning cartwheels, giving each other piggyback rides, and so on--well, I wanted to change my last name to Sea Power at that point. It also didn't hurt that their songs paid powerful homage to the '80s bands I loved, with a huge debt to Echo and the Bunnymen.

I like the new album, "Open Season," even if it doesn't have the same punk energy as the first album. To my ears, the guitars sound so cool on this one--fluid yet cutting and just so damn melodic. Tom hears notes of Kitchens of Distinction in the album, and though I can't fully agree with him, I can see where he's coming from. But it would take a much worse record to deter me from catching them in concert again.

Before BSP took the stage, we first saw sets by Kelly Stoltz and the Heavenly States, both local bands. I've seen Kelly before, though in his Echo and the Bunnymen-aping incarnation with Spiral Stairs. He did a great short set, and I decided I need to buy his CDs soon. San Francisco has too many "states" bands, and I couldn't remember if I had seen the Heavenly variety. They weren't my thing--a little emo in parts, a little Green Day in others--but they had great energy.

On to the headliners: I noticed what looked like a wooden pheasant on the side of the stage before the show, but it never made its way front and center. However, the foliage was present, and we could smell the pine scent emanating from the freshly shorn branches. The stage was set.

The show was a good mix of the early punkier material and the new, mellower songs. They did my two favorite songs from the new one, "North Hanging Rock" and "Larsen B" (about an ice shelf!), as well as the earlier hits. They managed to play it pretty straight for most of the show until the very last medley, a monster of a performance. Yan had been wearing a red scarf tied around his knee, but he removed it early in the show. Meanwhile, Hamilton kept his on. I'm not sure if technical problems were involved, but Noble, the guitarist, put away his guitar and at first crowdsurfed. When he returned to the stage, he picked up Yan's discarded scarf and proceeded to blindfold Yan. He did the same to all the other band members except the drummer. For himself, he tied the arms of his jacket around his eyes. It was a glorious mess by the end.

I find that we're ridiculously lucky to have hosted this little UK band three times already. I've always urged people to take advantage of these circumstances while they can, and BSP has once again proved to me that I can't possibly miss them when they come to town.

Gang of Four, the Fillmore, May 3, 2005: I've seen more reunion shows than I thought I'd ever bother with, but sometimes, you can't say no. I own one album (yes, on vinyl) from Gang of Four, but in light of the recent rash of imitator bands, I welcomed the chance to see them for myself.

I can't comment that much on the music, as I'm not that familiar with their work, other than the hits, but no, they didn't play "I Love a Man in a Uniform," though it had apparently turned up the first night. Still, they played with tons of energy, and we had a great time playing "what band ripped off this song" game. The first track was clearly cribbed by Bloc Party, and one other song was half of the Franz Ferdinand album. We were curious to see the tech setting up and miking a microwave before the band took the stage; it later turned out to be a percussive element, and a very convincing one at that. Tom said you could tell which songs were from the horrible second album, and as he mentioned that, I realized it wasn't my imagination that some of the songs sounded alarmingly arena rock, far from the art punk that I associate with the band. But perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of the evening was watching how many people were seriously into the music and who were so moved by the show. I'm an unapologetic fangirl, so it's nice to see that same enthusiasm (I hope other people see it as enthusiasm) shared by others. This time, I was happy to stand at the side.

Coldplay, the Fillmore, May 4, 2005: I don't want to sound apologetic about my fondness for Coldplay. I like them. I don't love them, but I think they're far from the scourge of the current music scene. Granted, I don't own the second album, but then again, they don't need me to buy another copy. Of course I wanted to get tix to the Fillmore show when they first went on sale, and though I was denied, I still wanted to go to this truly intimate show, especially since I have no plans to see them when they come back to play the arenas and amphitheaters. Fortunately, I got in, thanks to leaving work early, waiting about 3 hours in the drizzle, and being #25 for 33 available tickets. Yippee!

There was no opening act, and the Fillmore stage looked strangely sparse. We were right at the front barrier, in front of Johnny. I love hearing his guitar, so I was glad we got that spot. Chris's piano was right in the middle, and it had been personalized with Make Trade Fair symbols. Also at the front and center was a Tesla coil, which Chris used for only one song before the tech stole it away (we speculated that maybe the band had visited the Exploratorium). I couldn't see Will at all, as the drum kit was completely obscured by the piano, and on the other side, Guy worked the bass and a console of some sort.

Coldplay took the stage at 9 p.m. and played for about 90 minutes. I think there were about six or seven new songs, with a fair sprinkling of the older material. I loved their attempt at "Don't Panic," still my favorite of their songs and the one that kicked it all off for me, even if they couldn't remember how it went. I'm not besotted with Chris Martin, but I found it impossible to take my eyes off of him. He seems so damn sincere and passionate that it's hard for me to not think (hope?) he must be an OK guy. Regardless, he has an incredible amount of energy (at one point, he jumped over the piano), and though Coldplay is so huge these days, he didn't seem that different from the other times I've seen the band, when they weren't yet selling millions of records. They still look very boyish, and no one pulled any messiah moves *cough*bono*cough*, and there was no grandstanding either. What can I say? I love that humble shit.

I happened to have read the New York Times review of Coachella, which noted that Coldplay's new songs aren't as straightforward as their earlier tunes. Based on what I heard Wednesday night, I'd have to agree. The new single ("Speed of Sound," I think) is easily the most accessible of the new songs we heard, and old tunes such as "The Scientist," "Clocks," and (of course) "Yellow" elicited the biggest responses of the night. I also recall many reviews that mentioned a certain swagger in the second album. I'm not sure I agree with that, but I can say that reviewers probably won't say the same thing about the new album. At the least, the crowd gave the band their full attention on the unfamiliar songs. For one tune, the guys convened as if gathered around a campfire, with Johnny on slide guitar, Chris on acoustic, Will on piano, and Guy on harmonica for a little, understated song. There were also a couple of patent ballads, featuring Chris on piano.

On a couple of non-music notes, I gotta say that the San Francisco glitterati were out in force that night. I noticed that they cordoned off a much larger part of the balcony than usual, to accomodate the overflow, I assume. Before the show, we saw Robin Williams wandering around, and after the show, Steve Young walked right past us. And on a much cooler note, the lighting was beautiful! If we had been allowed to take photos, I would've shot about three rolls because the angles and shadows were so beautiful.

I'm really glad I got to see this show, as it may be the last time I ever see Coldplay in concert. Then again, I thought that the last time as well. Hahahahaha. I'll always have a soft spot for this band.