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

have you tasted the finest of trout

Over the years, Grant Lee Phillips--as a member of Grant Lee Buffalo and as a solo artist--has garnered an enviable list of patrons: Bob Mould, REM, Pearl Jam, Smashing Pumpkins, the, er, Cranberries, various movie and TV types, and of course, the Largo cabal. Bob Mould's recommendation initially moved me to check out this talent, but Grant has more than proven that he can stand on his own, and I see his show every time he comes to town.

Grant Lee Phillips, Cafe du Nord, July 28, 2006: Grant has been the gateway drug, of sorts, for at least two major music-related epiphanies in my life. Back in 1994, I saw Grant Lee Buffalo at Slim's, for a scorching gig that not only stands as my favorite concert ever but also cemented my love of American indie rock.

Some time after the group disbanded, I heard of Grant's reemergence at a certain little club in Hollywood. A couple of bootleg recordings even made their way to me. In 1998, I finally got there, caught some shows, noticed a particular multitalented, multi-instrumentalist frequent guest--and, well, you know the rest.

It's hard to believe that it's been two years since Grant played San Francisco, but I can't complain, as I've had the pleasure of catching him elsewhere in the interim. For this stop, he was accompanied by only a drummer: Kevin Jarvis, who also played on the Virginia Creeper tour.

Grant was here ostensibly to promote his new CD, nineteeneighties, launching with "Under the Milky Way" and "Wave of Mutilation," a longtime staple of his solo shows. But just about immediately afterward, someone shouted out a request for "Jupiter and Teardrop," which Grant instantly, um, granted.

This would prove to be the pattern for much of the rest of the night. For the most part, Grant took up the requests quickly and cheerfully, interspersing his goofy, charming banter between songs. Fortunately, the audience seemed familiar with a fair amount of his catalog. I think the only album not represented was Mobilize, and Grant himself came up with the sole Copperopolis selection, "Even the Oxen."

I shouldn't have been surprised that the gloriously underrated Mighty Joe Moon got the best showing, but for some reason, I was surprised to find how much the songs from Fuzzy moved me, even if we didn't hear my favorite "Stars 'n' Stripes."

Later, Grant revisited nineteeneighties for at least a couple more songs, though he stopped himself early in on "So. Central Rain," claiming that playing it with Peter Buck (who knew the correct chords) earlier that week messed up his interpretation. The old school fans probably also recognized a Grant Lee Buffalo favorite, "For the Turnstiles," even if it was from the wrong decade.

Cafe du Nord can be notoriously cruel to the typical singer/songwriter, and the club's chatter can often drown out sensitive, delicate material. It was a testament to the audience's affection for Grant and a triumph for the man himself that he could call attention to the only sound beside his voice to be heard in the room at one point: the air conditioning whooshing through the pipes. This was especially sweet, as his parents, siblings, and cousins were present, and toward the end of the night, he dedicated "Everybody Needs a Little Sanctuary" to them.

The only thing I missed during the show was Grant's trusty 12-string. Combined with a certain combination of effects pedals, that guitar in Grant's hands could take on an army of axes.

Paul Durham, formerly of Black Lab, opened the show. I want to say I remember his band, but I soon realized I was mixing them up with other "black" bands from the last decade or so (Black 47, Black Heart Procession). He had a good voice and extremely earnest songs--the standard markings of a singer/songwriter--but his low-key and fairly solemn stage manner would later stand in marked contrast to Grant's high spirits and comedic tone.

See also:
» Take Me Home, Country Pigeon
» top 5 Largo memories
» please share my umbrella
» unplug the jukebox and do us all a favour

it's business time

Last time we saw them, Evonne reminded me that our first sighting of the Conchords at Largo was not onstage. It's odd to think that we've become such fans in the last few months, but then again, Largo has a way of taking you by surprise.

Flight of the Conchords, Largo, July 21, 2006: Clearly, I'm a creature of habit, but this usually applies only to music. Although I can listen to certain songs and albums for hours, days, months at a time, I can't maintain my enthusiasm for repeated viewings of most movies or TV shows. Fortunately, Flight of the Conchords isn't just a comedy duo. Rather, Bret and Jemaine come armed with catchy songs and incredibly charming demeanors, which is why I've made it a point to catch their rare U.S. shows when I can.

You know you really dig a band when the main complaint about their gig is that they didn't have time for all the songs you love. Oh, what I would've given to hear "Bret, You Got It Going On" or the song for Suzanne, but on the bright side, they opened with my absolute favorite from their catalog, "The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room." They didn't forget their more familiar crowd pleasers, such as "The Humans Are Dead," "Issues," and "It's Business Time," and the dashes of improv within the songs made us laugh even harder. Far be it from me to desecrate their punchlines, but in that last tune, Jemaine's throwaway ad-lib about a korma stain hasn't left my brain all day.

In a sure sign of the Conchords' growing notoriety, the audience yelled out song titles all through the show. Bret and Jemaine granted one request, but it was probably the only tune that didn't work. However, they handled the hecklers beautifully; Jemaine's responses seemed especially sharp. To his credit, Bret was lovely, but more than once, he (good-naturedly) dropped hints of his jetlag and exhaustion.

According to reports, we're poised to see more Conchords action in the states this year; in addition to the Sub Pop signing, the band has shot a pilot for HBO. On a much less official note, however, some of us at Largo may have noted a few comedy names, such as Mitchell Hurwitz (creator of the brilliant Arrested Development) and Mary Lynn Raskjub (24) in the audience. Maybe it's the start of something, or maybe it's another LA moment--it's worth waiting to see.

As usual, I've already said too much--just go to YouTube and check 'em out yourself. I'm already sad I'll have to miss their next Largo gig.

The night's MC was a comic whose name I didn't catch. He used a persona for his entire act, and he was OK in parts. The other performer on the bill was Colin Hay; I suspect Flanagan is the brilliant party who thought to pair the young Kiwis and the veteran musician associated with a famous Australian band (though, as it turned out, originally hails from Scotland). He's been on the Largo roster for years, but this is the first time I've seen him. For his 15-minute set, Colin talked quite a bit, in true storyteller fashion. He also did two songs: the Men at Work hit "Overkill" and a newer tune for which he requested his wife's and the audience's participation. Evonne and I heartily agreed that his wife seemed like a true Lady of the Canyon, but I'm always a sucker for a good Largo singalong.

See also:
» Hiphopotamus Meets Rhymenocerous
» i am in paradise