on the bubble

I have a pathetic track record when it comes to the Broken West. For no good reason, I've missed them more times than I've seen them--as recently as back in February for Noise Pop. However, I managed to get my act together for this show and buy a ticket in advance. What a concept! Next thing you know, I'll also learn how to enjoy music in an electronic form, perhaps acquired through a computer interface (patent pending).

Broken West, Bottom of the Hill, June 22, 2008: It's no secret that I've become entrenched in certain concertgoing habits. I can give you a million reasons why, but it doesn't really matter. Simply, I don't see as many bands, especially newer ones, as I used to. This, combined with the fact that the musicians I stalk see most often are well established, has shut me off from what I imagine is a reality for most touring musicians: sparsely attended gigs at smallish bars--albeit at Bottom of the Hill, one of the coolest venues in the city.

For the music nerd, those relatively empty gigs can be a badge of pride, a sign that whatever band you dig isn't trendy, overexposed, or about to be plastered on legions of teenage girls' walls any time soon. On the other hand, it's frustrating to see a band you like struggling to bring in the crowds they deserve. The latter prevailed at this show, which counted maybe a few dozen people in the audience.



Despite my consternation, the band put on a good gig anyway. I say "good" because, as much as I love I Can't Go On, I'll Go On (my favorite album of last year), the group's live incarnation hasn't exactly sent me seizing on superlatives. Then again, I've learned that a band's studio and live representations may have little to do with one another, so I tend to judge them on their own merits. The Broken West is a solid live act, and the music is great--those are the reasons I come back to see them (when I remember).

Oddly, tonight's show was the best they've sounded to these ears, probably due to the venue itself. At both Cafe du Nord and Bimbo's, they came across as somewhat muddy, but there was no mistaking those gorgeous jangly riffs and subtle harmonies tonight. If I clapped my hands raw keeping time with "Down in the Valley" or threw my back out bobbing to that infectious stop-start rhythm of "Big City," it would all be for a good cause.

Julie tells me that at their show in February, they tried out a lot of new material, and that seemed to be the case tonight as well. If what I heard is anything to go by, the works in progress definitely diverge from that sun-kissed, patently California sound of their debut record. If you (like me) got into the Byrds/Teenage Fanclub/Wilco-like feel of that album, don't worry--they haven't abandoned those layered hooks and tuneful sounds.

But some of the new songs exhibited a darker tone and a knowing swagger, sounding downright slinky in parts. You could even hear a drum machine on a couple of tracks! Good-bye Mr. Tambourine Man, hello Echo and the Bunnymen? Well, no, not even close--but something's certainly afoot in Silverlake. I'm staying tuned to find out more.

Addendum: According to the band's MySpace page, their sophomore album Now or Heaven is coming out September 9 on Merge, and you can hear a new track "Perfect Games." Yay, a reason to make it through the summer!

See also:
» top albums and gigs of 2007
» you can fall in love with every other soul you meet
» it spoke of secret fortune
» The Broken West on MySpace

it spoke of secret fortune

How do you follow up three consecutive nights of shows on the East Coast? You eat a last late meal with friends, pull an all-nighter, catch an early flight home, put in five hours of freelance work, battle jetlag, and catch another unrelated but highly anticipated gig, of course!

The National/The Broken West, Bimbo's 365 Club, June 27, 2007: Unlike many concert attendees, I not only often look forward to seeing the opening band, I sometimes hit a show expressly to catch their set. Unless the headliner makes me break out in hives, I normally stick around for the top of the bill too--hell, I paid full price for the ticket, right? This, then, was the model I was operating under for the night's gig.

One of the reasons easily fooled is a concert blog rather than an all-purpose music blog has to do with the fact that I see far more gigs than I buy--or even listen to--albums. Thus, my next statement won't mean much, but I have to say it: The Broken West's I Can't Go On, I'll Go On is currently one of my two favorite releases for 2007, and my enthusiasm has only grown since I saw the band at Cafe du Nord back in April. And as regular readers should know by now, I'm nothing if not a repeat customer!



There's always some trepidation when you go to a gig for the opener; it's impossible to know if the crowd will be at all respectful of the warm-up act or whether you'll be the lone supporter mouthing the lyrics and clapping along--not that it stops me, of course. The crowd at Bimbo's seemed lukewarm to the Broken West at first. The floor was relatively open when they made their low-key entrance at 8, and the initial bursts of applause were a bit sparse as well.

As the band hit its groove, though, the crowd response grew accordingly, much to my relief. They sounded crisper tonight, perhaps thanks to Bimbo's sound system or maybe because of their continued days on the road. Their opening slot dictated a shorter set, as expected, so they couldn't get to all the songs on the album, but they turned out a bunch of the highlights, as well as one tune from The Dutchman's Gold EP, "My Love Is True." They favored by a slight margin the more upbeat songs, such as "On the Bubble," "Down in the Valley," and "Big City," to name three.

My favorite selection, "You Can Build an Island" was the loveliest surprise, though. The album version of the song sends me somewhere above the cumulus clouds, but for this show, the band presented a different take on the tune, highlighting its low end and ultimately transforming its frothy, chiming radiance into a sultry summons. I wouldn't mind hearing that again.

My knowledge of the National is limited to a handful of songs I've heard on Internet radio, endorsements from a number of friends, and a documentary I caught a couple of years ago about their life on the road. Oh, and I think I saw their bass player/guitarist Aaron Dessner at one of the Wilco shows in London last month. I'll refrain from trotting out my usual tired excuse for missing bands when they come to my town; let's just say that I was glad to finally have a ticket in hand.



When I was growing up, one of the reasons I preferred British bands over their American counterparts had everything to do with fashion, style, and elan. Fortunately, that attitude has changed drastically over the years, but my first reaction to the National was illogically shallow: They looked so damn normal! (Thanks for humoring me.)

The music, of course, made an impression of its own and took no time to draw me in. I don't want to play Spot the Influences too much, except to say how much I liked that the band seemed to combine the sophistication of certain U.K. acts with the urgency that I more commonly associate with homegrown music. Their passion and cohesiveness were unassailable, and I love almost any band with players who switch instruments between--or even during!--songs. The final haunting track, "About Today," not only provided the perfect emotional cue to end on, it also served as a gorgeous review of the band's strengths and gifts.

This show was also a nice break in another regard. In the age of the Internet, hype is more prevalent than ever before, and it's sometimes hard to discern the flash-in-the-pan acts from the real deal. With the National, it was a relief to see a group that's paid its dues and earned a well-deserved following. Of course, no rock band would be complete without fans declaring their love or making other attempts to connect with the performers, but the singing voices around me spoke louder than all the hecklers (no matter how adoring) in the room.

See also:
» you can fall in love with every other soul you meet

you can fall in love with every other soul you meet

You wouldn't necessarily know it from this broken record of a blog, but I welcome the opportunity to check out new bands, and I'm delighted when they turn out to be good. Admittedly, I'm not as susceptible to their charms as I used to be, which is why it's all the more satisfying when truly exciting new talent comes along. Enter stage right: the Broken West.

The Broken West, Cafe du Nord, April 16, 2007: Boy, did I luck out. Back in February, I missed the Broken West at this very venue--not due to my usual diversions (rock tourism) but because I completely lost track of time for one house-bound week, when I couldn't tell you what day it was to save my life. How pathetic! Even worse, I was in Chicago when they played there last month, but there was no way we could've packed any more music into that already ambitious weekend. Hooray for second (third?) chances and hard-working bands!

I Can't Go On, I'll Go On has emerged as one of my favorite albums so far this year, but it didn't win me over right away. Rather, it snuck up on me via the Shuffle option on iTunes/the iPod. More than a few times, when an unfamiliar song came on, I'd note to myself how much I liked it, look to the display to see its stats (all along thinking that it might be some record I've owned for 10 or more years), and find that the Broken West was responsible for the lovely piece of songcraft.

It's pretty easy to play Spot the Influences on this record, so much so that I think it'd be pedantic to list them all here. Ultimately, influence-spotting is akin to talking about wine, roller coasters, sex, what have you: It's one way to get across the sensory explosion, but in the end, it doesn't compensate for the in-the-moment experience. Suffice it to say that with their mellifluous harmonies, jangly guitars, syncopated handclaps, and timeless songwriting, the Broken West follows in the tradition of many wonderful guitar bands both contemporary and classical, with maybe a surprise nod or two (Phil Spector?!?) thrown in. The result: a sublimely effervescent indie rock record, the kind that doesn't come around often enough for my tastes. By the way, if I sound smitten, that's because I am!

On to the gig: Since this was their first headlining show in a while, we got a longer set than usual that included a few songs they never do live; I believe these bonus tracks were "Abigail," "Slow," and "Like a Light," but don't quote me on that. We also heard a cover of Love's "No Matter What You Do," but the bulk of the set comprised the band's own glorious album tracks.

And how did I Can't Go On, I'll Go On's melodic mastery translate to the stage? Well, away from the mixing desk, the record's seamless vocals and multilayered guitars showed a little bit of fraying at first, but that's understandable. Besides, the band seemed to loosen up and gel as the night wore on. By the time they unfurled "You Can Build an Island," for example, I was totally swimming in the warm stream of their voices, and a day after the show, the song has supplanted "Down in the Valley" as my favorite tune on the record. Other times, such as with the more epic songs, they exhibited a raggedness that's absent from the record; it sort of humanized them as a band and showed that they aren't some superslick studio creation. Instead, you got a glimpse of four (actually, five, including the keyboard player they brought along) guys who started out making a racket in the garage and ended up with--well, still a racket but a beautiful one at that.

Two openers played tonight. Matt Lutz of the Herms took to the stage with an acoustic guitar, funny and deadpan tunes, and a few yarns about his in-progress horror movie screenplays (Fat Camp: Time to Diet, for starters) before he packed up to catch Willie Nelson's show at the Fillmore. Mezzanine Owls from Los Angeles were the other openers, and from the get go, they brought to mind many of the U.K. bands I've loved, taking a page from the poppier shoegaze bands, as well as one of my favorite movements: the gloomy guitar bands that came out of northern England in the early to mid-'80s (the Chameleons, Echo and the Bunnymen, Comsat Angels). It wasn't a bad way to spend a late Monday night in San Francisco.

Does the world need another indie rock guitar band churning out dreamy, earnest, irresistible pop melodies? I think you know my answer, but this time, I actually have evidence to support it: Go (Broken) West, young man or woman.