let's get old fashioned

I have no intentions of giving up rock tourism, but if it ever comes to pass, at least I know my hometown ranks up there in terms of cool gigs and uncommon engagements, such as Frightened Rabbit's acoustic show at the Rickshaw Stop.

Frightened Rabbit, Rickshaw Stop, May 18, 2010: I like to think I've disabused myself of many rock 'n' roll myths, but I reserve the right to cling to certain beliefs. Chief among them is the idea that the best musicians place playing live on par with breathing and need to gig at least as much as--or maybe more than--we need to see them.

Oh sure, I know live shows are more often than not where bands make money. Also, you couldn't pay me to listen to some of rock's so-called road warriors. But dammit if it doesn't warm my heart when musicians carve out another live date when they could be lollygagging around town--and bonus points for those musicians who promise to go through more than the de rigueur promotional motions.

Which brings us to Frightened Rabbit and the group's somewhat slapdash acoustic gig at Rickshaw Stop, a day ahead of their first ever gig at the Fillmore. Lead singer Scott Hutchinson reminded us as much in his early remarks, requesting that we take it easy on them, as they still considered it their day off. He hardly needed to; if they were firing on anything less than all cylinders, the mind boggles on what they'd pull off at full throttle. Rather, the band hit songs old and new, chatted amiably, attempted an unexpected cover--and made it clear they could become the next world-changing band if they keep crafting such majestic, momentous songs.



You can say this gig boasted two atypical angles: the acoustic setup and the intimate surroundings. I normally eat up any show that can claim either credential, so you can imagine what the combination does to me--and you'd be right. Frightened Rabbit would have to fuck up big time to ruin this concert, but of course that didn't happen in the least.

Frightened Rabbit pulls few (if any stops) in its music; in any arrangement, their songs deliver a full load of petty tiffs, ugly grudges, and shameful urges. But compared to their plugged-in equivalents, which can sweep you up in their bombast and ferocity, their works when rendered acoustically leave you no choice but to hear the words, contemplate the events that inspired them, and possibly admit to nursing some of the same thoughts. Not that it was anything approaching gloom and doom--even in this supposedly laid-back environment, they were relentless, and their undeniable ardor came through.

The show was filled with highlight after highlight, but several moments stood out among the multiple crescendos. Early in the show, when the band broke out in layered harmonies for "Good Arms vs. Bad Arms," it hit me that I could be witnessing the future biggest group in the world. It's only a matter of time before these songs are accompanied by thousands of voices singing along.



As if we weren't already insanely grateful to the show's promoters for bringing Frightened Rabbit to the Rickshaw Stop, their cred jumped another notch when Scott opened the encore by granting their request: the National's "Fake Empire," leading into "Poke." Granted, the intention may have been more commendable than the execution, but the gesture did not go unnoticed. Also, given the circumstances, no one could fault Scott for using a lyric sheet with this one-off.

From there, Scott ushered in the "request-o-matic" section and gamely carried out the audience suggestions he could hear. The guy in front of me got in a great one with "Head Rolls Off." Additionally, extra credit goes to his friend, who noted that the band played "Be Less Rude" at their show at the Independent last year--not, in fact, for the first time in three years as Scott claimed.

In the midst of their typically passionate performance, the band showed a lighter side, bantering easily and glibly about the club's rules (specifically the $300 penalty for shitting in the dressing room), urging us to help ourselves to the bucket of Voodoo Doughnuts transported directly from the Portland landmark, and gulping down the Hamm's beer provided. I've never subscribed to the theory that you have to be miserable to make miserable (in the best way possible) music, and I'd challenge anyone to take in a show of this quality and disagree.

Update: Check out the video of the show!


Full setlist.

See also:
» we adopt a brand-new language
» before i change my mind

leaving england

It's not the same as an early show, but the timing worked out perfectly for this triple bill with Brakes (or, I suppose, Brakesbrakesbrakes) sandwiched right in the middle. Call it a surgical strike--after the all-day undertaking known as the Treasure Island Music Festival, it was a relief to wander into the Rickshaw Stop five minutes before the music started and depart even more quickly as soon as the set concluded.

Brakesbrakesbrakes, the Rickshaw Stop, October 21, 2009: I work on the assumption that all music is ephemeral--not just the tunes themselves, but the bands, the lineups, and, generally, your tastes and preferences. Get it while it's hot.

But as anyone who reads this blog knows, I can be a loyal listener, and once a band or an artist gets under my skin, I want to support them for as long as I can. It doesn't hurt when the performers in question continue to kick around the club circuit, even flying in from overseas and traipsing all the way to the western edge of this country to do so. Chalk one up for Brakes on each of the aforementioned counts.

Brakes has taken me by surprise at nearly every turn--from their very existence to the fact that I love their first two albums so much, and now with their third album. Who knew it would be such a charming and varied sampler? I'm all for young bands airing their piss and angst on those early records, but I'll take melodies, verses, bridges, and--dare I say it--maturity nearly any day, and that's exactly what Brakes have delivered on this release. Certainly, we've heard hints of it before, even going back to the first album, but the leap they've made with Touchdown is a pleasure to behold.

As veritable veterans these days, Brakes aren't lacking in material to fill out their live show, and their set at the Rickshaw Stop drew fairly from each record. I detected a slight emphasis on songs from the first album. Was it just me or did they take their time to work their way to songs from the new record? Then again, I wasn't keeping count; it's likely I'm just more familiar with the first two albums, having spent so much time listening to them, that those tunes stick with me more than the new stuff. And like I'm going to forget any performance of "Jackson" (even if their friend didn't quite deliver on his promise to sing or dance for us)?!



I've complained that the band hasn't quite figured out how to balance their song selection to reflect their range of sounds. I think they've remedied that situation, and it was great to hear those immediate jabs of music alongside the prettier, lilting titles. They remain a band I like better on record than live, but the fuller sound of Touchdown translated quite well to the environs of the Rickshaw Stop. Among the newer songs, "Don't Take Me to Space (Man)" swept through on a refreshing breeze that characterizes much of the record, while "Leaving England" carried some poignancy when Eamon informed us it was based on a true story.

Those of you who've seen Brakes in concert before may be heartened to know that other elements have remained the same. They made use of their last moments of stage time with not one but two--two!--takes of "Comma Comma Full Stop." The paean de punctuation forever endears them in this copy editor's heart, but apparently, I wasn't alone in feeling its pull. The song was so explosive that guitarist Thomas White had to descend from the stage and plant himself on the club floor, as if to ground himself from the tune's full force. Prepare for blastoff.



See also:
» top 5 albums of 2006
» heard about your band

let us be free

Though the highlight of my Noise Pop schedule had come and gone, I still had some shows to see on the last day of the festival. Off to the Rickshaw Stop, then, for Tilly and the Wall.

Tilly and the Wall, Rickshaw Stop, March 2, 2008: I stay home a lot more than I used to, but given the right coaxing, venue, and timing, I can be easily convinced to check out a band I haven't seen. Such was the case with Tilly and the Wall, whom Paul counts among his favorite touring bands. Alas, I've repeatedly missed their shows in the Bay Area, so this gig was a long time coming.

For all of Paul's talk of them, I didn't know much about Tilly and the Wall except that they had a tap dancer in the band. But I was willing to keep an open mind--and was rewarded by a really fun, youthful show with the kind of wholehearted, carefree energy that often goes missing from the somber singer-songwriter affairs I favor or the self-consciously cool, aloof bands whose gigs sometimes litter my schedule as well.



It started before the show even began, as they set up the stage with a homemade neon backdrop and handed out balloons to the audience. The fans took their cue to inflate the balloons and bat them around the room while a hip-hop soundtrack supplied by the band's soundman played over the speakers.



From there, the band soon took the stage and simply blew the roof off the place. There were hands in the air, warnings/encouragement to shake our bodies, and calls for help with the shout-along choruses.



I wouldn't know where to begin in trying to describe their sound. Certainly, they have the two main vocalists sharing harmonies and backed by a couple of guitarists, a keyboardist, a drummer, and their extra percussionist (the tap dancer), but that in no way limits them to a specific genre. They'd be the perfect accompaniment for your Saturday night pre-going-out ritual, as well as for the actual going out itself. I can't imagine leaving the show without a smile on your face; they were that infectiously and effortlessly fun.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the openers. We missed Little Teeth, the first band on the bill, but heard their shrieks and noise movements from outside the club. Tally Hall, the second band, weren't bad, but they were gimmicky in a way that reminded me of OK GO, for example. Capgun Coup kept me interested for about half their set, with very lo-fi, unpretentious songs, but by the second half, the singer's voice started to grate on me. I'm going to have to call it another overall miss for the Noise Pop crew, though the headliners once again delighted.

kill her off

Make no mistake: Music is the single factor that sparks the majority of my friendships, even way back to my preteen days. Although those ties are sometimes as fleeting as the NME's "best new band" proclamations, they can go pretty deep too. Case in point: This week, my old friend Sharon breezed through town with her band the Ropes on their first-ever tour of the West Coast.

The Ropes, Rickshaw Stop, November 29, 2007: If you've ever heard me use the phrase "visual violation," you can thank my old friend Sharon for the coinage. We met through a mutual friend, and I miraculously bumped into them at the bustling Liverpool Street Station on the way to the V Festival in Chelmsford, England, in 1999. Despite our 10-year age gap, Sharon and I got on famously and have remained friends as she went to college, then grad school in New York City.



Our musical tastes were never that similar, but it didn't matter, as I could always count on her unique take on the world and some world-class character portraits whenever we hung out. I was a little surprised, however, when she told me she had formed a band. Though her love of music and her way with words were always evident, I had no idea she had a lovely singing voice! And thanks to the Web 2.0 world, other fans have found the Ropes, the band she formed with her friend Top.

On the other hand, our musical tastes have certainly changed in the last several years, but I can assure you that the Ropes' wry, misanthropic lyrics are pure Sharon, as evident in songs such as "Kill Her Off" (their first MySpace favorite, I believe) and "I Don't Like to Get Dirty." Though I know bands dread the comparison/influences angle, I could hear hints of Shirley Manson, one of Sharon's former favorites, as well as the more electronic acts she's always liked (Bis, for one).

But as I'm all about the singer/songwriter types, my favorite song was probably a spare, introspective number she and Top performed. I can't remember the name, but it shined a charming spotlight on the two of them as artists. And I really had to admire Sharon for putting her voice out there like that (especially considering how silly I felt over Thanksgiving weekend, hoping my vocals would be obscured by Rock Band's lead tracks).



I'm clearly biased, as Sharon is my old friend, but I'm hoping they can make it out here again. I'll be in the front row.

See also:
» The Ropes on MySpace

singing songs about the weekend

I like my music recommendations to come with a personal touch--thus, my aversion to magazine reviews or even most music blogs, even in the age of downloadable MP3s, MySpace, and the like. Radio helps to a certain extent, but it has built-in shortcomings. So what's a new music junkie to do? Personally, I've come to rely on the word of trusted friends with a long history of music appreciation, many of whom I've met through the Wilco--if you will--community. These enthusiasts are some of the biggest music hounds I've ever met, and I love their dedication to seeking out new, unheralded bands and artists of nearly every genre, usually without reliance on dogma or regard to hipster cache or "buzz band" hype. Of course, it helps that we have relatively similar tastes, though we don't always agree. One area in which they've really opened my ears is with homegrown talent, which is how I made it to the David Vandervelde show this week.

David Vandervelde, the Rickshaw Stop, April 5, 2007: Greg over at captain's dead pimped out David Vandervelde a while ago, and after months of dilly-dallying, I finally got around to listening to the tracks. What I (and probably everyone else) heard: a major nod to T. Rex and the like. That opening track, "Nothin' No," is a scorcher, sounding a little like Wilco's "Kingpin," except without throwaway lyrics and backed by the Spider from Mars. (Some credit should probably go to Jay Bennett, who contributed to this recording.) The rest of the album is less blistering but ultimately more surprising, as it reveals delicate touches among its hot licks, culminating in an enchanting closing instrumental. The vocal similarities to Marc Bolan are undeniable, as well. Overall, this album has snuck up on me in the last few weeks.

As it turned out, the live translation had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. David and his two supporting players went for the jugular, forgoing the album's keyboards, bells, and organs in favor of raw, bluesy jams. The guitar solos, in particular, came on heavy and sludgey. If the album brought to mind Electric Warrior and Aladdin Sane, the live performance veered closer to the era's cock rockers. As such, the band got out only six or seven songs in their already truncated opening slot, and in fact, a couple of songs weren't even from the album. But we heard that slamming opening track, as well as the very lovely "Murder in Michigan," so the crowd was exposed to some of the band's range.

I just read the other day that David and crew are slated to open some dates with Spoon later this spring, and it'll be interesting to see how their live show evolves. I'd be up for revisiting this group.

I managed to catch a couple of songs from the first opener of the night, a local guy named Peter Walker and band, who churned out serviceable, hook-laden rock. I also stuck around for Richard Swift, the headliner--who turned out to be really good. My CD budget (and attention span) aren't what they used to be, so I most likely won't seek out the Swift catalog, but the group's full, bouncing tunes provided a lovely backdrop for the night and brought to mind the best singer/songwriters from the '70s.