amateur

The prospect of attending a huge, free musical festival featuring some of my favorite artists and several more appealing performers mere blocks from my apartment is both exhilarating and maddening. Even as my eyes grew wide at the sight of all those great names populating the bill, I knew that the explosion in talent would correspond to an uptick in audience. The question, then, becomes whether it's all worth the bother; for now at least, the answer is yes.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 3-4, 2009
For my first couple of stints at the festival, I went with a plan, and it served me well, though I have a friend's fearless move to thank for my best positioning ever at the Banjo Stage. I'm never getting that close for the closing festivities ever again! With that concession fully banked, I flew under the radar last year, slipping in and out of the festival and catching the handful of acts that mattered to me. I had intended to do the same this year, but my twitchy nature won out, forcing a compromise. In a nutshell, Saturday, we wandered. Sunday, we camped.

Initially, I thought maybe the early acts of the day would be my favorites by default, just because the crowds had not yet convened. We wandered to the Star Stage in time to catch Jon Langford, Sally Timms, and the Sadies, filling in for Roger Knox, whose entry visa was denied, on Saturday, but Okkervil River delivered the true debut. Okkervil River largely reprised the set they played when opening for Wilco back in June, and much as they did then, they won over a good chunk of the audience with their impassioned, lively display. From the middle of the field, it was great to see the hands in the air and to hear Will Sheff work it the crowd as hard as he did earlier this summer.

In a similar vein, Elvis Perkins in Dearland threw the doors wide open on Sunday morning with a fun, brisk set. I've missed Elvis (who bore a striking resemblance to Abbey Road-era George Harrison) and crew more often than I've seen them, and that includes their last appearance in San Francisco. The mix-up isn't really worth explaining, except to say it ranks high among my ditz moments.



The band has written and recorded its fair share of moody, introspective numbers, but they opted for a mostly upbeat set for the festival, with their drummer strapping on the bass drum and moving to the front of the stage for several titles. For me, the highlight of their revue was a three-song stint featuring tunes from their forthcoming EP, out October 20.

The first selection was a spiritual called "Weeping Mary," but it was the transition to the second--whose title wasn't offered--that caught me by surprise. It was a full-on Eddie Cochran-style rave-up, and they followed up with a bluesy, soulful piece. That's going to be a great EP, I hazard. They closed with "Doomsday," thus killing my hope of hearing "Ash Wednesday," but their choice was definitely more appropriate for the hour and the setting. Note to self: Don't miss them again.

I've navigated some extreme measures to see my favorite performers, whether at a club, a festival, or elsewhere; by that barometer, I didn't do anything out of character to see my headliners at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. In fact, you could say I dialed it back, for a change. But after Saturday's middling effort, I figured I'd need to invest a little more energy if I wanted to catch either Neko Case or Aimee Mann the way I wanted to see them. Long story short: Everything worked out.

As much as I appreciate the festival's expansion into different genres, I still wonder how certain groups will go over with the masses, and prior to Aimee's set, I was apprehensive over the outcome. Aimee is nowhere close to bluegrass in any regard, and though she's hit the festival circuit more in the last few years, I can't wrap my head around the idea of her playing to anything other than mannered, courteous indoor audiences--even though I've seen Aimee take on similar circumstances before.

I repeat: Everything worked out (despite the woman behind me who asked me to sit down because I wasn't in the standing section--of a field?! for a free show!?). A doting group gathered at the front of the stage for Aimee's set, and as always, the songs from Magnolia drew the biggest response. Aimee even got to throw out the fun fact of her losing an Oscar to Phil Collins' "monkey love song." In the witty repartee department, she also shared that her forehead felt like a big solar panel as they played directly into the the sun.

My guess is that much of the audience hadn't seen Aimee before, but zealots regulars saw a couple of fun changes. I'm not sure if I've heard "Nightmare Girl" before, but I know that was a rare outing. Also, Aimee and her band revealed new talents when they each took up woodwinds for the beginning of "This Is How It Goes." The only oddity may have been the hoarding of Smilers tracks ("Freeway" and "31 Today") until the very end, but overall, the audience took in a good overview of Aimee's catalog of songs.



I had no doubt that Neko Case, however, would have any problems with the crowd. For starters, she was hardly a stranger, having played a supporting role at the festival a couple of years ago. And though Neko's sound is less definable these days, it's closer to the festival's namesake genre than most of the acts I saw on Sunday.

Neko's band, including Jon Rauhouse, remained intact, and Kelly Hogan stood by her side. (Also of note: The musicians gathered on the side of the stage to watch them, including Billy Bragg, Will Sheff, and Scott McCaughey.) Neko and Kelly, as always, are so entertaining that I find it hard to believe anyone can resist their charms. The women repeatedly lauded the organizers for allowing dogs into the festival, and other topics of conversation included Neko's ill-fitting jeans and her self-proclaimed lack of an ass. Neko's pipes were as staggering as ever, but at other moments, she chose to speak in--for lack of a better word--a high-pitched squawk. I hesitate to guess at what inspired that tone, but believe it or not, I'd heard a lot of weirder things at the festival.

Neko and company bounded all over her catalog, from the country-ish early works to the rich, ornate style she prefers these days. In between, she and Kelly offered generous shout-outs to the Sadies and worked up two of the song they'd co-written. In a strange twist, Marianne Faithfull had sang "Hold On Hold On" at the stage immediately to the back of the setup just prior to Neko's set, but that didn't stop Neko from running with it herself. They closed with a cover of the Shangri-Las' "The Train from Kansas City," such a perfect selection that you wonder how we'd never heard it before.

Those are the sets I feel most comfortable blogging, but I caught or attempted to catch several more artists over the course of the weekend, with varying degrees of success, comfort, and interest--not to mention the acts I didn't bother approaching, for whatever reason (the crowds, the cold, the lack of willpower). However, I managed to squeeze in among the throngs to watch most of Gillian Welch's set at the overattended squall known as the Banjo Stage.

The conditions would probably qualify as hellish were it not for Gillian and David, but they rewarded the hordes with guest appearances by Emmylou Harris and Old Crow Medicine Show. Emmylou and "Go to Sleep Little Baby" were not a surprise, but I gasped when all the above parties assembled for "The Weight." I'm not going to hear anything approaching those harmonies for a long time to come.

News reports peg attendance at this year's festival at 750,000--almost the population of San Francisco itself--and I think I smooshed into every single one of them at one point or another during the weekend. Threatening equal parts intrigue and insanity, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass tempts me as few other festivals do. I'll have to wait and see what 2010 brings, but I'll keep October open.

See also:
» now I try to be amused
» feels lucky to have you here
» play one more for my radio sweetheart
» searching for light in the darkness of insanity

where roses bloomed out of thin air

Like millions of others, I can't live without my iPod, but I still place a great amount of faith in radio. After all, what are the chances that you've tuned in when that song goes out over the airwaves to catch your attention and arrest you in place, whether you're driving, doing laundry, or trying to work? It's even more amazing when you think about all the songs that wash over you on any given day without making any sort of impact. It's a feeling I've yet to experience from downloading any MP3 or reading a review or blog entry. "Ash Wednesday" is one such song that came to me thanks to (Internet) radio, and it led me to Elvis Perkins.

Elvis Perkins in Dearland, Cafe du Nord, March 25, 2007: I've frittered away a ridiculous number of opportunities to see Elvis Perkins live, even after I figured out that he was kinda based in Los Angeles, came up to San Francisco relatively often, and was responsible for perhaps my favorite song of 2006. On a number of occasions, I've absentmindedly checked his Web site to find that he had played, for example, 12 Galaxies a few days earlier. My typically hairbrained rock tourism plans are also to blame, as they've taken me away from this city quite a few times when he and his band swept through on--more often than not--a decent to amazing multiple-band bill (Cold War Kids and Pernice Brothers, to name just two).

I'm just grateful that the stars aligned last summer when they opened for World Party, though I gotta admit that I wasn't bowled over by the band that night--at least, not compared to the impact that the song "Ash Wednesday" had on me. Nonetheless, it was impossible to ignore their charm or Elvis's distinctive songwriting stance. And though this isn't meant to excuse my earlier slacking on this band, maybe all those missed dates were actually a blessing in disguise, prepping me for this show on their first-ever headlining tour. (Throw me a bone!)

It's not hard to draw comparisons between Elvis Perkins and his predecessors; I don't think it's a stretch to see the resemblances to Dylan, particularly, with his acoustic guitar, harmonica, and opaque lyrics, while the backing band's cargo of thrift-shop-find instruments brought to mind Tom Waits. For me, at least, as gorgeous and moving as his more unvarnished tunes are, the undeniably intriguing aspects of Elvis's sound and performance popped up when he detoured from the typical singer/songwriter script, such as on the songs that could've doubled as boisterous drinking anthems. Also, a large chunk of that credit goes to his spirited and solid backing band.

The bass player moved around so much in time with the tunes that I couldn't take a decent picture of him. The drummer came out from behind the kit on three different songs to play a big marching drum on du Nord's tiny stage, as well as add percussion (in the form of a corrugated metal thermos and a hair pick, based on my very nontechnical estiimation to Maudie). The remaining member of the band mostly manned the piano and harmonium, but he also threw in electric guitar on a few songs and, at the end, picked up a trombone too. They all contributed harmonies as needed.

One of the surprises of the set was a song called "The Weeping Pilgrim." Elvis said he didn't know who wrote it, and I take it to be a traditional folk song, though you wouldn't have guessed it from the band's arrangement. They started off the song gathered around the drum kit, as if ready for takeoff, in a formation more often associated with, say, Van Halen's "Jump" video than any folk-inspired act I can think of. And when the rollicking rock beat kicked in, they were truly off to the races: crossing the tiny stage to play next to each other, hopping around like jumping beans, and simply grinning in their enjoyment.

They played a bunch of songs not on the album. One of the new tunes without a title adopted a very slinky, reggae-ish beat and included some lyrics about "setting sun." I think it was a song called "Shampoo" that featured a white-noise-inflected intro, which saw the members of Dearland messing with their instruments in unusual ways (playing the guitar on the floor, rubbing the rim of the cymbal, blowing into what looked like a child's plastic toy horn, adorned with a tiny birdcage). I only wish I could remember what song came after Elvis's comment about losing a girl to Rivers Cuomo! [Edit: The song is "The Night and the Liquor," as determined by copious further listenings.] In all, it was completely refreshing and a very welcome antidote to your average singer/songwriter shtick. I can't wait to see this band again.

The openers, Let's Go Sailing, were also from Los Angeles, and they played a familiar blend of bright, catchy, but ultimately melancholy indie pop, as epitomized by their song about panic attacks. They got off to a somewhat slow start, but once the double guitars kicked in, the show picked up. However, they could probably use a little more practice in developing their stage banter and presence (admittedly, very trying and difficult skills to master).

See also:
» save me from tomorrow

save me from tomorrow

Do you ever wonder how your music tastes worked out as they have? I mean, now I can see what drew me to World Party: the solid songwriting and the classic influences (Beatles, Stones, Marvin). But at the time of their debut, my criteria for liking a band were substantially shallower, and World Party was far from cool--good, yes; hip, not likely. I guess I should just be thankful that a killer hook could penetrate my overly fad-conscious skull. Funny how music works that way.

World Party, Great American Music Hall, August 12, 2006: Two thoughts struck me as I arrived for this show:

1. The place sure was empty. I could see why the gig was moved from the much larger Fillmore, but by the end of the night, the floor had filled out nicely.


2. The crowd sure was old--not that I'm a spring chicken. Later, when I caught my first glimpse of Karl Wallinger, I had a better context for his fanbase. (This is what happens when your worldview is hopelessly mired in recollections of MTV's 120 Minutes circa 1994.)

Vanity aside, this was my first time seeing Karl Wallinger in any incarnation. I skipped the Waterboys reunion show a few years back, and I never made it to any of World Party's tours. Karl doesn't help the case, taking so long to complete his albums and return to U.S. shores. Yes, he can lay the blame on extenuating circumstances--both professional and personal--so let's call it even. I was just glad to finally see him, and after a truly shitty Friday, I needed this show.

On record, World Party is often considered a one-man band, thanks to the mostly solo accomplishment of Private Revolution, but tonight, Karl was accompanied by six other players. At times, there were as many as four guitarists onstage, and we saw liberal use of the violin, a touch of accordion, and a fair shake of the keyboards. Karl mostly played acoustic guitar, but he sat down at the piano for a couple of songs and switched to electric for the big hits at the end.

Speaking of hits, this show was all about them. I was surprised but tickled to hear them open with "Put the Message in a Box," followed by "Is It Like Today," or the history of Western philosophy in four verses, according to Karl. In fact, over the course of the 90-minute show, they did little new material, mostly sticking with the back catalog.

At first, Karl seemed to be in storytellers mode, charming us with his great accent (heh), friendly chatter, song explanations, and politically inflected comments in line with his reputation for socially conscious lyrics, though he made no overt mention of the current world powers. As the show progressed, he spoke less, though I don't think it was a reflection of flagging spirits. In fact, he and his band seemed quite jovial, sharing jokes and gibes and, in the case of the backing players, singing along, even when they were nowhere near the microphone.

For the encore, they brought out the two big guns: "Ship of Fools" and "Way Down Now." The already adoring crowd kicked further into gear, contributing spirited and heartfelt vocals. I felt the pull of the "whoo hoo hoo"s on both songs, especially the former, which I can't get out of my head. It makes me think that if we could bottle the power of a good singalong, the world would be a much happier place.

For the record, the show was taped, which means that this is the fifth time (to my knowledge) I've been captured on film at the Great American Music Hall. I guess every concert film needs a dorky Asian fangirl in the front row--casting agents, take note!

I missed the night's first opener, but I arrived in time for Elvis Perkins. Months ago, I heard Elvis's stunning track "Ash Wednesday" on KEXP, and it stopped me cold. I didn't catch him last time he was in town, so I was delighted to find him sharing the bill with World Party. Alas, the rest of Elvis's output didn't move me as much as that one song, though he and his band definitely looked like they were having a ball up there. I especially loved the gorgeous wood-carved harmonium that colored a number of the tunes.

Fun fact: Jim told me after the gig that Elvis is Anthony Perkins's son. I wouldn't have guessed, as Elvis somewhat resembled E from the eels circa Souljacker, though without the more overt Unabomber influence.

See also:
» Elvis Perkins live on KEXP