you can tell that i'm not lying

By unfortunate coincidence, another double-header came up on my side of the country this very same weekend, but my tickets had long been booked and arrangements made. I was headed to North Adams and Mass MOCA for Wilco and friends at the second annual Solid Sound Festival--the right decision through and through.

Solid Sound Festival, June 24-26, 2011: I've scoffed and recoiled at many images of filthy festival goers wallowing in the mud and rain, so the irony wasn't lost on me that, after Solid Sound, I qualified as one of them. Well, not exactly--you'll never find me soaking my cares away in an E. coli bath, no matter the greatness of the gig or the drug intake, but I voluntarily spent way more time in the driving rain and gathering silt over the weekend than ever before. Obviously, I survived, and we even dodged the thunderstorms, ignoring the staff warnings to take cover. Truth is, I'd probably do it again if I had a good reason.

We can debate what constitutes "good reason" at some other juncture, but here's how I saw it: (1) Wilco; (2) Wilco on the cusp of a new album; (3) a good mix of acts to fill out the bill, most notably Liam Finn and Pajama Club, featuring Neil and Sharon Finn, not to mention a sterling comedy lineup; and (4) a full roster of Wilco's side projects.

This expanded roster translated into more acute scheduling conflicts this year than last, so I ended up missing certain acts altogether or catching only snippets of other performers. For example, Liam Finn's full-band set was a no-go, as were many of the band's extracurricular endeavors.

Comedy took a huge hit too; I missed Eugene Mirman and Wyatt Cenac and caught only a portion of Morgan Murphy's and John Hodgman's sets. Fortunately, my visit to the comedy hall coincided with two fantastic bits from Morgan, including a sexting scenario I first heard on the Comedy Death Ray podcast and that had me crying from laughter on the bus ride from work. John Hodgman's set veered from the traditional standup routine, but then again, he's hardly the traditional entertainer. I wish we had done a better job on the ukelele-led sing-along that closed out his set, but we really tried, despite the jumble of unfamiliar words.

However, it's much more fun to talk about the bands who made the weekend. On Friday, the big draw apart from the headliner was Pajama Club, Neil Finn's new project with wife Sharon and a couple more players, among them an awesome girl drummer. Neil remained the frontman, but as with his projects since the initial dissolution of Crowded House, you could detect his ongoing effort to shake up his signature pop sound--then Neil hit one of his patented soaring bridges shortly into the group's first song, and we knew we were in good hands. A bonus: Glenn Kotche joined the band for their last song, "Little by Little" from the 7 Worlds Collide project.

Saturday's encampment at the front of the stage translated into a primo view of Syl Johnson and the Sweet Divines. Even from his short set, you could easily tell he was insane in the best way possible, and he was a fantastic antidote to the thunder and rain that preceded his performance. On the same day, I also checked out the Handsome Family and Thurston Moore (separately). The former brought to mind other folksy couples I've seen in concert, only with a better sense of humor. Thurston turned in a surprising set, delicate and acoustic, at least the part I heard while rambling around the grounds.



The rain subsided on Sunday, and we finally relaxed, letting ourselves sleep in and wander to a greater extent than before. Fortunately, Liam Finn turned up in one of the galleries for a solo electric set, backed with a trusty looper and two of the tiniest, cutest amps you've ever seen. He also brought the enthusiasm and commitment in every performance of his I've ever witnessed. Based on an informal poll of friends, Liam attracted a number of new fans among the throngs--a win-win, as far as I'm concerned.

Pronto's set was beset by technical difficulties, to the band's frustration, but they stuck with it as best as they could. I could be mistaken, but it sounded like they concentrated on new songs; odds are, their mistakes would've been forgiven anyway. The Pillow Wand set was pretty much what you'd expect from a collaboration between Nels Cline and Thurston Moore, though judging by the streams of people leaving the set, not everyone got the memo. Levon Helm and His Rambling Band headlined Sunday night, and at one point during his set, as we stood in the sunshine somewhere toward the back of the field, it felt exactly like my city's Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival--not a bad comparison at all.



And then there was Wilco, the headliners, proprietors, curators, and all-around majordomos. As mentioned above, the schedule simply didn't allow for you to attend every known configuration of the band and its members, and the fact that they showed up unannounced to accompany select acts didn't help either. Most of us had to be satisfied with their two headlining slots, but they gave us plenty to be thankful for. Per Wilco style, they played two almost entirely unique sets, save for a couple of new songs that they were clearly excited to debut. "I Might" is the new single, which some of us first heard at the S'n'S in April. "Born Alone" was marked by a great rolling rhythm and an exceedingly Tweedy-esque couplet rhyming "born to die alone" with "loneliness postponed."



In all, the band debuted five new songs and "I Love My Label," the Nick Lowe cover featured on the B-side of "I Might," as well as a nod to the band's new distribution model. I won't bother characterizing the new tunes; I don't trust my judgement, and I have no perspective on this band anymore. You'll have to wait until the album leaks and decide for yourself.

Among setlist surprises, the band presented "Hotel Arizona," even if Jeff sort of disavowed it before they even began. They also broke out "Shouldn't Be Ashamed," which I'm spotlighting because I love it when they take one of their more country-ish classics and inject a measure of Nels's newfangled riffs.

I've been to (more than) enough Wilco shows to know what constitutes a regular portion of the proceedings and what can be chalked up as a real surprise. The crowd sing-along to "Jesus, etc." is almost a given, and I would've been shocked if John Stirratt hadn't stepped up for "It's Just That Simple." Heck, we even expect Jeff to forget the words to any number of songs these days, especially after such a long layoff for the group. But when the audience lustily and impressively picked up "Radio Cure" without hesitation after a power surge cut off the mics and a portion of the electrical current onstage--that was completely spontaneous and entirely stirring.

Guest appearances and cross-pollination are de rigueur for festivals, and Solid Sound was no exception. On Saturday night, Liam Finn dropped in for "You Never Know," while Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion piped up for "California Stars." Wilco took their turn in the support slot with Levon Helm for "I Shall Be Released" and "The Weight" for a gorgeous and uplifting close to the weekend.

But the absolute musical highlight of the entire trip--and possibly in my whole life--was Neil Finn joining in for his "I Got You," which followed Wilco's song by the same name. I'd like to point out that we initially suggested this sequence a couple of years ago and, at the time, were brushed off by one of the songwriters. Granted, I'm sure the double-header has graced a mix tape or two back in the day, but hearing and seeing Neil and Jeff trade off vocals is a dream made real. Those three-odd minutes of screaming along to the song claimed much of my voice for the weekend, but I would've suffered more from trying to keep it in.



Before I wrap up this post, I want to mention my nonmusical highlight of the weekend, which also occurred on the first day of the festival. It was sometime while Pajama Club were still setting up, while dry skies held. The treasure: the simple sight of a great group of friends, decked out in rain gear, gathered on a cheap tarp, and chatting amiably. To borrow a cliche I sometimes like to trot out, music may be the vehicle, but our ties to one another are the payoff.

See also:
» trees held us in on all four sides
» above you and beyond me too
» wise man
» the message
» that year

when are you gonna come down

Howdy, I'm back! I had to skip Jon Brion's April engagement after indulging in the Robyn Hitchcock double header, but the May date worked out nicely. Advance notice: I can't make the June shows, so you'll have to get the lowdown elsewhere. In the meantime, here's what I saw at my most recent visit to Largo at the Coronet.

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, May 27, 2011: I often forget how Los Angeles empties out over the holidays, but according to Largo's website, it was another sold-out night for Jon Brion. Obviously, some people made the wise decision and lingered locally.

Jon emerged onstage, showing off a spring-tinged palette, to introduce the opener. As he informed us, the performer had been with Largo since the very beginning. My mind raced with potential candidates, but the mystery was resolved soon enough when Karen Kilgariff took the mic. I first saw Karen Kilgariff many years ago as part of Girls Guitar Club at, yes, the old Largo. Coincidentally, you can hear her backing vocals on the first Rhett Miller solo album too. Do you notice a pattern here?

Is it my imagination or has comedy music enjoyed a renaissance recently? In any case, Karen's set was a compelling reminder that today's newer acts weren't the first to pair a guitar and a punchline. She did four songs in all, at least one of which was extremely timely. I hope we get to see her again.

Jon's official set began with a lengthy instrumental interlude, stretched out over at least 15 minutes, maybe more, and eventually encompassing the celeste, the Chamberlin, and the MicroKorg. One selection sounded strangely familiar; if I had to take a stab at it, I might guess "You Don't Know What Love Is," but don't hold me to it. If a better-versed attendee has any ideas, I'd love to hear them. And if my failure to recognize the song doesn't offend you, keep reading.

"Knock Yourself Out" was the first tune I could confidently identify, even with its minor tweaking. For one, Jon favored the piano instead of the acoustic guitar, and he invested it with a lovely preamble and some different turns of phrase. I realize the truly talented artists know all about reinvention, but it still boggles my mind that they can hear new ways of presenting well-worn material. It's almost as if they're covering their own songs, and I can't wait for the next iteration.

Jon followed up with his own "She's at It Again," then proceeded to what I think was "Sleepwalk" by Santo & Jonny. I corrected the error of my ways only a few years ago, when I learned it's not "Blue Moon," and I'm thankful for the lesson. It's a beaut and a perpetually welcome selection--er, if it was indeed that title.

Friends always ask me if Jon will ever put out a follow-up to Meaningless (apparently, his soundtracks don't count). First of all, I'm in no position to know. Second, I don't particularly care, but every now and then, I feel that twinge and long for an official studio version of a certain song; failing that, I'll also take a good bootleg copy. On both counts, "Piece of You" puts on the hurt in a big way. It never fails to impress at Jon's show, and I'm aching to get a hold of that tune and put it on repeat until its huge chorus and sweeping chords burrow into my brain.

Jon switched on the video players and first brought up footage of Leopold Stokowski, the iconic white-haired conductor of yore. Once again, Jon let the music do the talking, as he subjected the orchestral tones to distortion and all matters of musical manipulation. At times, I heard industrial notes; in other instances, the Chemical Brothers could've been on the decks, and psychedelic touches flitted through too. "Please Stay Away From Me," of all songs, eventually settled into this sound bed, where its crescendos and shifts were highlighted in a way I hadn't noticed in its typically Spartan treatment.

The request line opened up, and Jon let us put in our two cents. In the end, he drew the initial inspiration from our suggestions as he cued up a clip of Coltrane, which he paired with Jacques Brel and a separate snippet of a men's chorus and orchestra. Into the mix, he nestled a torchy take on a favorite cover at Largo, "Tainted Love"--even I had to giggle when I recognized the words. I should also mention that Jon's opening chords, especially when video is involved, are often red herrings to his ultimate intent, but as is often the case, the inclusion of Coltrane and Brel made much more sense as the tune evolved.

Jon found his way to the vibes for the next song, another request. With the vibes, some tunes take on more of a jokey quality, while others shine through. It was the latter for "Waterloo Sunset," practically a standard at Largo. I can't tell you how many times I've heard Jon perform this title, but in this barest and most delicate of arrangements, this rendition ranks up there with the best. At this point, I'd happily sign up for an all-vibes show, if Jon were ever of the mind-set.

"Same Thing" soon beckoned. If you've seen this song performed before, you know Jon employs a few tricks on piano to carry it off, most notably a hammer to bang out the rhythm and other keyboard manipulations I can't identify. Tonight on acoustic guitar, he employed no such props, instead opting for manual tricks, such as playing slightly off-mic or holding down the strings to achieve the tune's trademark stops. In the process, he also carried off an especially melodic round of fingerpicking.

"Happy With You" was a request as well, and Jon built it from the drums up. This might've been the first time he really shredded on guitar all night, and it served as another sharp reminder of what that second solo album could be--and that's the last time I'll bring up that sore subject.

Sebastian Steinberg joined Jon for a round of tunes, working through our requests. Sebastian, of course, came armed with a stand-up bass, while Jon switched between instruments. "Paper Moon" required the acoustic guitar, while "Don't Think Twice It's Alright" unwound over the piano, not the usual implement, but a fine choice regardless.

We soon entered what Jon called live karaoke mode as he and Sebastian supplied the instrumental backing to our vocals. Actually, Jon fed us lines too. I can't lie--I've heard better from the audience, though I admit my own weaknesses with the song selection. "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" turned out to be a lot more verbose than most of us expected, though we jumped on the chorus and the wordless passages with relish. "God Only Knows" started out weakly, but we warmed up beautifully, replicating the multipart harmonies by song's end. I'm going to call it a success, if only because it inspired Jon to tell a story about once buying a copy of the Beatles' white album for Brian Wilson at the Tower on Sunset.

Speaking of the white album, "Blackbird" came about as a request from a woman named Arianna in the front row who said she wanted to sing it with Jon. The stars aligned that night; not only did Jon hear Arianna's entreaty among all the titles hurled at him, he even shut down one audience member who thought it was another group sing-along. I don't blame the would-be vocalist--I've long wanted to hear Jon tackle "Blackbird," and I too would be hard-pressed to keep my mouth closed for the classic track. As it turned out, Jon merely (!) played guitar while the lady sang, sort of in the style of Joni Mitchell. I can't be snarky--it was supersweet and genuine on both sides.

I can't guess at how many requests Jon entertained through this segment, and you can see how few actually made the cut. For the closing segment, against a huge looped foundation, Jon reversed the tide and tackled a bunch of songs at once in the mega-medley style he occasionally breaks out. After a nod to Paul Simon, he concentrated his energies on a good chunk of Del Shannon's "Runaway."

I scrawled "deconstruction" next to "Baby's on Fire" and "Never My Love," but I don't know that means. However, I managed to scribble a note about Jon throwing down the guitar for "Never My Love" and playing the pedals instead, then proceeding to "Rocky Raccoon" with only the wall of sound as support.

It wasn't over, as Jon brought in Eric Clapton on video for "Stop Your Sobbing," then combined it with more clips of an orchestra, a woman on theremin, and an opera singer. For the true coda, Jon followed his own muse with "Carol's Theme," the lyrics echoing Jon's concluding statements at many of the shows I've seen. I hope he knows the feelings are mutual.

Setlist
--Karen Kilgariff opener

--piano
--more instrumental music
--Knock Yourself Out
--She's at It Again
--Sleep Walk
--Piece of You
--Ruin My Day
--Please Stay Away From Me
--Tainted Love
--Waterloo Sunset
--Same Thing
--Happy With You

with Sebastian Steinberg
--Paper Moon
--Don't Think Twice It's Alright
--Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
--God Only Knows

--Blackbird
--Graceland/Slip Sliding Away/Runaway/Baby's on Fire/Never My Love/Rocky Raccoon/Stop Your Sobbing
--Carol's Theme

See also:
» there's a band playing on the radio
» i'm happy, hope you're happy too
» come around

come around

Note: This post went up last week but was apparently eaten by the Blogger outage. Let's try this again.

First off, thanks to Julie for the extra ticket, even if it came about due to her lack of oversight. I appreciate the night out and the opportunity to check out a marathon performance by the eternally charming Rhett Miller at the Swedish American Hall.

Rhett Miller, Swedish Music Hall, May 7, 2011: Here's a scene that plays out at every concert you'll ever attend: You're waiting around -- maybe for doors to open, maybe for the bouncer to check IDs, or maybe for a beer -- and you overhear a fellow gig-goer bragging about how many shows they've seen by certain bands or musicians. Invariably, that massive number adds up to, say, three or four different appearances by the artist in question. I'm not typically impressed by the tally.

Granted, I'm the last person who should pass judgement on another person's concert choices. I admit it -- while I was queuing up, sweating over on-sale dates, plotting itineraries, and basically killing myself in anticipation of a 90-minute set by musicians I've probably seen a million times before, other people were probably leading full, multidimensional lives. Also, considering the current state of the music industry, repeat customers are highly desirable, so anyone who comes back more than once is worth pursuing.



Anyway, I'm going to be that guy -- er, gal. According to my records, this is the third time I've seen Rhett in concert, though that number seems awfully skimpy and doesn't include any Old 97s gatherings; I must've hit those gigs before I started this blog. In the case of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, I was present for their set, but it didn't warrant a whole entry.

However, I can claim an out-of-town date and even a rare configuration, neither of which should be held up as any sort of achievement. Rhett and the Old 97s have an ardent and long-standing fan base; in fact, I count a few of the faithful among my good friends. They can rattle off stats and song titles much more readily than I can. Despite this deficit, I have to say that this may be the best gig I've seen from Rhett yet.

Many factors led to this proclamation, but I have to start with the sheer number of songs Rhett pulled off. I didn't keep a setlist, and I can't tell you how long the gig ran, though I'd place it in the neighborhood of two hours. In a rock show, two hours is nothing to sneeze at, but in the solo setting, when Rhett is banging out the tunes at a scorching pace, the titles pile up.

Rhett may or may not have brought along a setlist, but he seemed to veer from it several times to follow lines of memory or to expand on themes. One of the motifs he came back to was a fixation on disasters; for example, "Just Like California" led to "Buick City Complex." In at least one instance, an audience request appeared to inspire an instant song selection ("Terrible Vision"), and Rhett credited Twitter with another choice for the night ("Meteor Shower"), though he needed a lyric sheet to carry off the latter. For the life of me, I can't remember what moved him to go with "Making Love to You," but I recall he provided a charming intro.

Speaking of charm, Rhett was in full Storytellers mode; maybe this isn't so surprising to Rhett's regulars, but I can't say I've seen such a display from him before. Between the barrage of songs, he managed to work in tales of the Sharon Osbourne talk show, his dating life with UCSC Banana Slugs, and his debt to Steve Miller. He also oohed and aahed over the vintage-looking room, gushing over the gorgeous wood detail and dark varnish -- then broke into "Nightclub" and distanced himself from any notions of burning down the room.

I've heard from at least one person displeased with Rhett's solo career, especially the debut album. I happen to love that record for obvious reasons, but after tonight's performance, I finally understood what could've inspired those complaints. I'm a pop girl at heart, so the bountiful harmonies and catchy arrangements on The Instigator are completely up my alley. However, after hearing the rawer elements of Rhett's songwriting, I admit the shift would be off-putting if I'd previously been listening to the Old 97s' patented ruckus. It's a good thing we don't have to choose these days, as both Rhett and the Old 97s are actively touring and recording. With any luck, I'll yet make it to that fifth gig!

See also:
» this is what i do
» tell it to the radio
» it took almost seven hours to sing