winter wonderland

Can you believe it's December already? My concert year will end with two beloved perennials. First up: Aimee Mann's Christmas show, featuring Ted Leo, Liz Phair, Jonathan Coulton, and John Roderick at Bimbo's 365 Club.

Aimee Mann and Ted Leo, Bimbo's 365 Club, December 6, 2015: This show was going to be a good one long before the date and hour approached because I managed to convince the McCormicks to join me, despite their busy holiday schedules. It doesn't happen enough -- a lament many of us surely share as our priorities shift and the days fill up. Leave it to an awesome show to bring us together.

My records tell me this is the fifth Christmas show I've seen from Aimee Mann and friends. That sounds too low, and I might've missed a date or two during the leaner year(s). Regardless, it's always a highlight on my calendar, and I look forward to seeing what Aimee and company have cobbled together for the audience.

Aimee has created a general template for these shows: Lots of music of course, connected by a goofy storyline, with help from talented friends. The tunes generally stay the same, with an emphasis on Christmas songs, particularly the titles from Aimee's holiday album. "Calling on Mary" might've been the most serious song of the night; otherwise, even the classics felt airy and fun. The surprises come with the guests and the annual narrative -- but more on that later because it was kind of complicated.

I guess I should note that this was the second year Ted Leo has joined the show; it's basically the Both's Christmas special. If you've been to a Both show, you've heard some of it, including Ted's turn on "A Bottle of Buckie." They also reprised that supersad donkey song and another classic track -- but more on that later.

Liz Phair was the first guest of the evening, and she went directly into "Supernova," which she mentioned was kind of about a star (in reference to the one over Bethlehem, I guess). I haven't seen her in concert in ages, and wouldn't you know, she still looks amazing. The surprise for me: I think she's a better singer now. I think most of us will admit it was never her voice that drew us in on the early records, but she sounded pretty good, especially on the Yuletide tracks, which can be a real test on the vocals. Later in the evening, she delivered a holiday version of her "pop" hit "Why Can't I," with the lyrics rewritten to reference shopping, tinsel, and decorations. As I recall, Susanna Hoffs and "Walk Like an Egyptian" filled that role last year.



About a million years ago, I saw Jonathan Coulton accompany John Hodgman on a book tour. Little did I know Jonathan Coulton would carve out a following over the years -- though I had every confidence that John Hodgman would continue to thrive. Rereading the blog entry, I see that I got a good look at the Jonathan Coulton's act even in that small window. He's a fantastic wordsmith with a ton of humor, and my mind immediately went to They Might Be Giants. Honestly, he's not my preference, but his own Christmas song was pretty great, and he took on the very important non-gentile role for "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve."

John Roderick filled out the trio of guests, and he assumed the coveted role of the Grinch in the annual reading. He took a fair amount of stick from Aimee for not rehearsing before the show and forgetting the cadence of his own song -- not to mention he seemed a little toasty toward the end. Hey, every holiday party has one, right?

Now back to this year's premise: Aimee and Ted addressed the elections their own way, with a yarn about Santa's term limits and the North Pole polls. In the process, Ted revealed his political aspirations and a secret identity. Aimee too dropped her own bombshell about past dalliances, and Jonathan Coulton had the biggest reveal of all, capped off with an Andrew Lloyd Webber number.



To tell you the truth, the premise was a little sweaty, especially compared to years past, but I loved watching the banter between Aimee and Ted. I suspect all the time they spend with comedians and improvisers has paid off. It's not like they were reading from a Teleprompter, but their exchange never sounded anything less than natural and convincingly on cue.

I've probably said this before, but my favorite fruits of the Aimee-Ted musical union is the "Voices Carry" revival. I don't think I can overstate how much I loved this song both then and now, and I knew it was coming as soon as Aimee strapped on the bass -- though I probably could've guessed at it as soon as this tour was announced. However, not content to play it as is, they toyed with it and penned an entirely new premise. Maudie mentioned that Jonathan Coulton may have lent his ear for lyrics to the troupe, and I wouldn't doubt it. But no matter who contributed, the rewrite on "Voices Carry" was inspired and hilarious. If Aimee and Ted ever decide to leave this songwriting thing, I bet they could punch up scripts around Hollywood.

They're the best thing to happen to the holidays since the Rankin-Bass productions, and as with Rankin-Bass, I hope they're back every year. It's a tradition worth celebrating.

See also:
» 2006: it's not going to stop
» 2007: unless you hate baby jesus
» 2008: if there's a star above
» 2014: here comes the jackpot question in advance
» "A woman lives here who is fond of triangles."

king of spain

Surely, you've heard and possibly partaken of the phenomenon known as summer music festivals. I've seen a few, but this post is not about a summer festival. Rather, this post is festival adjacent, detailing a one-off gig preceding the massive gathering mere blocks from my home -- namely, the Tallest Man on Earth's appearance at Bimbo's 365 Club ahead of his slot at Outside Lands.

Tallest Man on Earth, Bimbo's 365 Club, August 8, 2013: I don't know when this blog turned into intermittent postings by a 40-something music fan (er, when I turned 40?), but I have to reach into that bottomless bag of old-timer cliches once again to set the scene for this gig. Bear with me -- or skip this altogether. It's your choice, and either way, I'll respect your decision.

Here's a tip to all the young-ish people who might possibly read my blog: Your concert-going habits will change over time. Actually, you may stay the same, and your gig attendance may remain on the same clip. But I can almost guarantee that the group of friends who accompany you won't stay static as people move away, have kids, take jobs, or simply lose interest. Also, tastes shift, and you or your buddies may realize your back is going or your feet just can't take the ache from standing for hours on end through opening acts and the like.

If you're lucky, you get a second (or third or fourth or ... ) wind when a band draws you in, and you'll go to extensive ends to hit their gigs. Alternately, a friend whose taste you trust will suggest a gig that might be up your alley, and you'll go without a ton of forethought but a strong helping of faith -- which is how I found myself at the Tallest Man on Earth gig.

It's no secret I've been out of the loop with music for a few years now. Somewhere in the recent past, all the blogs and the podcasts and the tweets and the hype became dreadfully tiresome, and it's almost an accident that I can be bothered to investigate any sensation at all. I don't mind admitting I've probably missed the boat on a lot of new acts, but you know what? It's not a terrible thing to let a little wind out of the sails at this point. Mind you, music is still my first option when vacation or downtime beckons, but I'd be lying if I claimed it enjoys the same prominence as before.



I think the Tallest Man on Earth hit these shores around the time my dedication was wavering. I recall the name being bandied about by various friends and on certain forums, but despite my love for dudes with acoustic guitars, he didn't really stand out among the crop of singer/songwriters at the time. Now, having seen his show, I can admit I was terribly wrong in most respects. Color me corrected.

I can't tell you what his songs were about; then again, I stopped listening to lyrics a long time ago. But I can report that he draped his tunes across the structure I love so much: verses, choruses, melodies, bridges, and so on. Maybe you like them too? I even picked up on a handful of refrains without knowing a note of his tunes beforehand. Along the way, he offered a number of charming non-explanatory explanations, including a claim that most of his songs were about birds and one was about falling off a horse, except it wasn't, though it had really happened to him.

For a solitary guy with a single guitar at a time, he definitely made some noise. You could fairly characterize his music as sensitive, but it was anything but shy, as he roared out the lyrics and banged on his instrument. At one point, I wondered if he was using loops because the cumulative effect was so grand, but I ultimately concluded it was all him and his talent.

One of the main reasons to go to a live show is to check out the intangibles a recording could never get across. With the Tallest Man on Earth, this extra oomph came down to a palpable connection between the artist and the crowd. On our side of the stage, this meant plenty of college-age females with hearts popping from their eyes and their breath caught in their throat, but the male admirers were well represented too, including a couple of guys closer to my age who staked out primo spots at the edge of the stage. To be fair, the millennials were right there too, wearing their official Tallest Man on Earth shirts and bearing their newly purchased merchandise.

In return, the artist known as Kristian Mattson responded with tons of unequivocal eye contact, several replies to audience shout-outs, and even one request for a David Bazan song. One of the biggest reactions of the night came when he segued into Paul Simon's "Graceland" (I think -- this was not my part of my '80s), clearly a crowd favorite. In between, he said a lot of nice things about San Francisco, but one of his final gestures of the night offered the best statement of all.

At the end of the main set, as he accepted our applause, he knelt down at the edge of the stage and embraced one of the aforementioned more mature fellows in a huge bear hug. With his real-life small stature, the Tallest Man looked like he was almost in the fetal position as he cuddled with this fan. Then he did the same with someone else on the other side of the stage. "Heartfelt" would be an understatement for the moment.

At my current rate, there's a good chance I won't ever see another Tallest Man on Earth gig unless, say, I drag my Swedish sister-in-law along to bolster her national pride. If that happens, at least I can assure her we'll be in for a fun, engaging show by a magnetic performer, and she won't regret coming along.

i'm a realist

Though I have no qualms traveling hundreds or even thousands of miles for a concert, the prospect of dragging myself off the couch and catching a couple of buses across town to get to a gig can sometimes be daunting. It helps, though, when I know that a group of good friends, one of my all-time music heroes, and a great club await me at the end of my journey. That may sound like a tall order, but it can be achieved--as evidenced by the Cribs in their visit to Bimbo's 365 Club.

The Cribs, Bimbo's 365 Club, January 27, 2010: The memory may have faded by now, but it was pouring rain the day before the Cribs' show at Bimbo's. Ordinarily, it would've been pretty discouraging, at least for those of us with feeble West Coasters sensitivities, but at a friend's urging, I made a point of hitting this Cribs show.

One of the lingering effects of my longtime Anglophilia is a belief that I can like only British bands or only American bands at any given time. Additionally, according to my self-imposed--and utterly unfounded--restrictions, there can be no cross-pollination among each nation's musicians. I'm starting to wriggle free of this straitjacket, but I still can't help comparing the two traditions. Thankfully, bands like the Cribs are setting me on the right path.

Though originally hailing from northern England, the Cribs (I'm told) call the Pacific Northwest their home now, and those cross-cultural leanings showed. Perhaps the most obvious examples were their brief homage to San Francisco's own J Church, as well as the film clip of Lee Ranaldo that played in the background against one of their tracks.

But the Stateside influences popped up in a subtler manner too, notably in their lean, brisk sound--bearing no resemblance to the bloated, stadium-ready production I often associate (rightly or wrongly) with British music. In a word, I'd describe them as scrappy, though songs such as "We Share the Same Skies" and "Be Safe" revealed layers of melody and tantalizing hooks as well. Then again, when Johnny Marr is stationed stage right, you know the gig won't be some two-chord travesty--you will hear real songs throughout the night.



It's no exaggeration that the Smiths (along with Duran Duran) ruled my teenage world, and their influence continues to be felt in my listening habits, especially in my lingering preference for sad, clever lyrics set to pretty guitar tunes. That alone would win my eternal fealty, but then Johnny had to work with even more artists I love and lend a hand with some of my favorite records. And I'll admit it doesn't hurt that he's resisted the offers for a Smiths reunion, even if my parents didn't let me see them play at the Henry J. Kaiser Convention Center in 1985. (I'm not bitter.) As a music nerd, I already owe Johnny a huge debt of gratitude for all his work over the years, but I'm more excited to discover that he isn't resting on his laurels and has plenty left to offer.



Previously, I caught Johnny on tour with Neil Finn in what would eventually result in the first 7 World Collide collaboration. Johnny's very participation was mind-blowing at the time, but he was more a sideman who took a couple of spotlight turns. This wasn't the case with the Cribs. Here, he was a part of the band, not calling out his presence in any way (even shooting down the drunk fool who barreled to the front in an attempt to give Johnny his hat), except where it counted: with some lovely harmonies and a truckload of gorgeous riffs.

As a kid, I listened to the Smiths for Morrissey's lyrics, but I eventually recognized the genius of the music and arrangements behind those words. Still, it didn't prepare me for what I heard at this show. The sheer variety of sounds coming from Johnny's guitar was mesmerizing: hard attacks, soft shadings, and so much in between. Certainly, the Jarman brothers deserve major props for their songwriting, but during the course of several songs, I mostly marveled at the eloquence and musicality Johnny brought to the table. These direct, fuss-free numbers bloomed with his contributions.

By the end of this gig, I came away with an ideal mix of emotions: the gratification of seeing a talented young band earning their stripes, the satisfaction of watching a master ply his trade, and the sheer spectacle of the delighted fans taking it all in. This won't be the last time, I'm sure.

See also:
» above you and beyond me too
» Obscurity Knocks: Marion, "The Program"

between two worlds

I dream of this kind of concert bill: one that brings together artists who've never before been mentioned in the same breath--say, Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard--and that won't likely be duplicated any time soon. Novelty factor aside, there's another advantage to seeing a major musician's side projects: It'll up your insufferable superfan cred in no time flat. Take it from me!

Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard, Bimbo's 365 Club, October 24, 2009: Aside from some prominent exceptions, I try to go to shows with a blank slate, shut off from whatever gossip, PR spin, or blogger chatter might be circulating. But even by those standards, I approached this gig with nary an agenda. I hadn't heard a note of Jay and Ben's collaboration, I had no idea of what format the show would take, I couldn't guess as to whether they'd do any of their own material, and I hadn't a clue whether they'd be joined by supporting players.

Truth be told, it wasn't so difficult to maintain radio silence, considering I'm hardly a devoted Son Volt or Death Cab for Cutie fan. Don't get me wrong--I like both of them fine, and I've seen Jay and Ben (separately) in concert before, in sort of one-off appearances. However, I'm much more familiar with the people they've worked with and played beside, rather than with their main gigs. Furthermore, I've never read Jack Kerouac (admits the English major).

I don't recommend that everyone adopt this willful ignorance, but believe it or not, it keeps me sane. Besides, most of those questions were answered soon enough. Joining Jay and Ben were Mark Spencer on pedal steel, guitar, and keyboards; Jon Wurster on drums; and Nick Harmer on bass. Though I didn't keep track of vocal turns, Jay and Ben seemed about even in their share of mic time, and each took to the piano once or twice. As it turned out, they did stick to the Jack Kerouac-inspired material, so the kids in line hoping for Death Cab or Postal Service songs were out of luck. Full disclosure: My half-joking wish for "Tear-Stained Eye" didn't pan out either.

Preferences aside, there was some question in my mind about which group of fans would be more likely to stage an uprising and demand their money back before the end of the night: Son Volt followers, so often set in their musical ways, or the Death Cab for Cutie tribe, especially those who caught on after the group went mainstream. Of course, fans of splinter groups are always self-selecting; almost by definition, your interest exceeds that of the average listener. Still, my guess is it was more of a stretch for Death Cab fans, particularly with the twangier tunes. To their credit, the pitchforks and torches were kept in check, no matter who was singing.

I extend my kudos to Ben Gibbard as well. This marks the second time I've watched Ben apart from his primary band, and he's won me over on both occasions. Back in October 2007, I got to see him in a rare, unadorned light, but at Bimbo's, he took the opposite tack with a rootsier, more rocking sound. Clearly, Ben is willing to step outside of his comfort zone, to impressive effect.

Ben and Jay showed nothing but respect and consideration for each other, but if I had to choose, I'd say Jay emerged as the leader of the group. For example, Jay split the lead guitar duties with Mark Spencer, and more prominently, the rest of the band ceded the stage to Jay and Mark for two songs. In terms of the music, the project aligns more closely with the sound that Jay's known for than what we'd previously heard from Ben.

Ultimately, Jay's voice sounded amazing (as usual), his gratifyingly world-weary tone complementing the subject matter--especially those images of empty spaces and indifferent towns--beautifully. Moreover, Jay looked like he was having fun, peeking out of his notoriously closed shell more than you might expect. There was, for example, the matter of his capo flying off the guitar after the band's first song and incidentally landing directly in front of us. He accepted its return with a wide grin, an expression he wore for much of the night.



Jay revealed they'd been a group for all of a week, and he had plenty of kind words for San Francisco in general. I have only one other show to compare it to, so I'll leave it to longtime Jay watchers to confirm or deny whether this is typical behavior on his part. But it sure makes me want to hit Son Volt's show at the Fillmore in December.

As of this writing, the tour is done, and it's anyone's guess as to whether Jay and Ben will reconvene for more shows. Thus, you can disregard this small aside to a night of overall cool tunes, but I'll lodge the observation anyway: For all their cooperation and deference to one another, I didn't get the feeling that Jay and Ben were a band, as opposed to a couple of guys who happened to work together. It's a minor issue, and I'd love to stand corrected, but that was the view from stage right.

John Roderick of the Long Winters opened the show. I'd seen his band once before, many moons ago; if I'm not mistaken, they played with the Decemberists at the Great American Music Hall. I'm happy to report that his goofy energy remained intact, as evidenced by the pitcher of hot water he brought onstage. It was soon enriched with a shot of Theraflu provided by an audience member whom I like to think was a well-stocked fan and not merely a plant. Regardless, his work here was done, and the medication allowed John to try out a bunch of songs, including a tune about not moving to Portland.

See also:
» i see my light come shining
» we can be us
» worn-out wood and familiar songs

if there's a star above

My plans to put up a Christmas tree for the first time in I don't know how many years fell by the wayside--again. At least I have Aimee Mann's holiday show to remind me of the season.

Aimee Mann's Third Annual Christmas Show, Bimbo's 365 Club, December 7, 2008: Here's what the holidays mean to me: Rankin/Bass reruns, tons of baking, lots of shopping, and time to see my friends and family. Fortunately, I can also look forward to at least a couple of regular musical events in this otherwise touring-adverse time of the year.



Aimee's show, in its third iteration, carried over familiar factors from years past, while at the same time bringing in new(ish) faces and sounds to keep us coming back for more. The overall show included fewer titles from One More Drifter in the Snow than before, though they reprised Aimee's own Christmas song, the Penn/Brion tune "Christmastime," and "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," to name a few. Newer selections, however, included "Sleigh Ride" (which moved Aimee to giggle on every third line) and the Heat Miser song (featuring Patton Oswalt on guest vocals).

Speaking of guests, as much as I miss Paul F. Tompkins, I loved having Patton Oswalt on the bill. I haven't seen him team up with Aimee since the Acoustic Vaudeville tour in 2000, and though he served a slightly different role this time, he was nothing short of hilarious. Of course, Patton commented on the recent election and shared some Christmas memories. I wouldn't have minded hearing his Cirque du Soleil recollections again, but I'm not complaining about the new (to me) material.

Nellie McKay was the other newish addition. I wasn't particularly impressed with her at Outside Lands, but I got a better sense of her charm in this show. Her vocals and her quips meshed nicely with the rest of the players', and she even got Aimee's supporting players Jebin Bruni and Jamie Edwards to dance around during her solo portion. Still, she just doesn't do it for me overall.

Thankfully, the returning members of the cast get better and better. Not that I needed yet another reason to love Grant-Lee Phillips, but his turning up as Willie Nelson to cover "Voices Carry" assured him a throne in my Hall of Fame. (And I'm sure that Patton knew exactly how close to home he hit in his introduction for "Willie" when he characterized a large portion of Aimee's audience as "over-40 shut-ins.") And that's not even taking into account Grant's other costume changes, with no help from his bandmates. In addition, the Hanukkah Fairy, a.k.a. Morgan Murphy, turned out a new rap this year covering the challah in her oven, made possible via immaculate conception.

Following last year's blueprint, Aimee presented a movie, "A Christmas Carol Aimee," directed by Tim and Eric and featuring Aimee as the Scrooge figure. You probably won't be surprised to hear that the film parodied the Dickens classic; that Paul F. Tompkins, John Krasinski, and John C. Reilly showed up in cameos; and even that it was incredibly hilarious. But we also saw a new face: Michael Cera, playing much closer to Evan from Superbad than George Michael from Arrested Development.



Lest you fear we succumbed to sugar (Plum Fairy) shock, no worries--Aimee dropped in several of her own tart, studied songs, about one from each album. Among Aimee's originals, I kinda bounced around inside when they rocked "Long Shot"; not only is it from my favorite of her albums, but I kinda love that she did a song that repeats the lyric "you fucked it up" at a Christmas show.

Same time next year?

See also:
» unless you hate baby jesus
» it's not going to stop

throw those curtains wide

If forced to name an early signal of my decline as a concert-goer (aside from shows by that one band or that one guy), I'd single out Elbow's tour of the United States a couple of years ago, when I failed to get tickets before the gig sold out. Oh how I rued that day. Fortunately, the band has returned with a new album and with plenty of tickets to go around.

Elbow, Bimbo's 365 Club, May 8, 2008: I first saw Elbow opening for Doves, and their bond was easily evident, notably in their penchant for crafting sweeping, atmospheric songs with a strong rhythm-based foundation (for British bands, anyway). Elbow, however, could lay claim to one other asset: Guy Garvey, for his lyricism, his vocals, and his outright charm.

I mean, I love Doves, and they remain high on my list of favorite bands (which is saying a lot when I haven't seen them play in three years), but I'm not blind to their weaker points. That is, you get the distinct impression that they're more at home in the studio than playing in front of people. What they may lack in onstage charisma, however, they compensate for in terms of pure musical power.



I'm not averse to that arrangement, but a little bit of personality has its rewards. Guy Garvey has more than a hint of this allure. Hailing from Manchester -- a city not known for its charm -- he possesses an understated, natural magnetism that never feels forced and that appeals to both men and women. More than one declaration of love this evening came from a dude. Also, Guy's lyrics are often breathtaking in their detail and pathos.

However, Elbow hasn't sustained my interest as well as Doves, and it's not just the lack of tour time either. For whatever reason, the songs haven't hit me in quite the same manner as the earlier albums. Then again, a band's recorded output is only one factor of its appeal, and it may have nothing to do with whether I care to see them live.

In that regard, Elbow still makes for a compelling live band. Tonight, they started off with a trumpet flare, as each of the five band members lifted a cornet to the roof and blew a note to kick off the proceedings with "Starlings," the lead-off track from The Seldom Seen Kid. From there, the set highlighted tracks from the latest album, with a few older tunes, including "Mexican Standoff," "Leaders of the Free World," and "Newborn."

The most beseeching audience requests were for "Powder Blue," coming from at least one person on my side of the room, as well as someone from the opposite half. There were probably more, but their voices were the loudest and the most persistent. To the dude on the other side of the stage, Guy shared his reason for turning down the offer; I'm going to mangle his hilarious retort, so I'll only mention it involved testicles.



At the very end, Guy urged us to give into cheesiness (note: I love cheese) and sing along to "One Day Like This" from the new album. At least from where I stood, the crowd didn't hesitate to follow his instructions. In fact, the outpouring of voices, requests, and general affection from the audience put me to shame, but it also made me glad to know that they're still winning over American audiences. With any luck, I'll once more buy tickets in time when they next return.

See also:
» here comes the action

unless you hate baby jesus

With my own Christmas plans somewhat derailed this year, it's nice to know that at least some traditions are going strong. Also, if you have room at the stable for me and two dogs this Christmas, drop me a line!

Aimee Mann's Second Annual Christmas Show, Bimbo's 365 Club, December 2 and 3, 2007: Back when I sent out Christmas cards, I may have pulled the supremely cheapo move of collecting extras from years past and mailing them, with the hope that the same card wouldn't land in the same friend's mailbox.

I don't know if Aimee Mann does that, but her Christmas show, in a manner of speaking, does not.



So though we saw some of her friends (Paul F. Tompkins, Morgan Murphy) and bandmates (bassist Paul Bryan, pianist/keyboardist Jamie Edwards, and drummer John Sands, accompanied by new--for the group--addition Mark Spencer on lead guitar) return to the lineup, we also got a good dose of fresh material too.

The biggest update was a little film Aimee presented, charting her "Peanuts"-like "journey" to the Christmas show. I won't try to describe it too much, except to note that it was hilarious and that both Aimee's and Paul F. Tompkins's acting chops were spot-on. Oh, friends-of-Largo John Krasinski, Emily Proctor, Fred Armisen, Bob Odenkirk, Patton Oswalt, Ben Stiller, and Will Ferrell turned in cameos too. But don't let those names dazzle and derail you; as good as they were, Aimee was the star attraction.

Also new this year was a seemingly local emphasis on musical talent, as Aimee tapped a couple of Bay Area figures for the show. This is where I hang my head in shame, as my incessant rock tourism has led me to squander a lot of opportunities to see the acts who happen to live and work in town. Thankfully, artists such as Aimee take up the slack, as both Sean Hayes and Chuck Prophet were pretty awesome, though in different ways.

Sean Hayes, who graces Largo from time to time, exhibited many of the characteristics you'd expect from someone familiar with the club. That is, his songs were thoughtful, wry, and effortless, and his stage presence assured and welcoming. On the second night, he and Aimee performed a duet that will appear on her new album, and both nights, he rolled out the only song in his repertoire that could be vaguely connected to Christmas: a tune about having sex on the living room floor with Mary Magdalene.

Chuck Prophet, on the other hand, brought the rawk. He and Aimee belted the Christmas song that Michael Penn and Jon Brion wrote a million years ago, then with just her band, he dug into covers of Iggy Pop and Alex Chilton songs. The second night, the band seemed to especially relish the second number, roaring out the "hey"s in unison.



Paul and Morgan reprised their roles as comic foils and showed off their musical bent along the way. Paul provided the especially louche-sounding half of "Baby It's Cold Outside," complete with a moral to the story ("no means no"), as well as the more authoritarian tone to "You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch." In between songs, he also worked his stand-up, sharing a combination Christmas story/public service announcement that DARE might want to get behind.

Morgan donned the body suit and tutu once more (along with a big cardboard cut-out of the Star of David hanging on her chest) for her turn as the Hanukkah Fairy. This year, however, she was more than the window dressing for the show, as she also kicked out a rap about the story of Hanukkah, complete with backing vocals from Aimee herself. Yet again, I will invoke audience privilege and not attempt to replicate her rhymes, except to say that there was a shout-out to Loehmann's and the Trader Joe's on Geary and Masonic among the couplets. Though she stole the show, the Hanukkah Fairy couldn't join us the second night, as she had to fly back to L.A. for a one-line role in a Jeremy Piven movie. Hmph.



Aimee's musical contributions were fairly similar to what we heard last year, highlighting songs from her Christmas album, and for the most part, they hit the older tracks you'd expect too. Thus, we got some of the slightly more holiday-themed songs ("Clean Up for Christmas," "Jacob Marley's Chains"), as well as her go-to favorite hits ("Deathly," "Save Me"). I always want to hear "Deathly," but Aimee reworked it this round, starting out with just her voice and the acoustic guitar, bringing in the band, then ending on a gospel-like flourish, in the process delivering on the song's grand arc, both lyrical and musical.

On the second night, Aimee also tried out a couple of tunes from her forthcoming album (due out in the spring), including the aforementioned duet with Sean as well as "Freeway," which I recall hearing the one time I've seen her at Largo.



December means a lot of things to me, as it does to many people, but if Aimee's willing to make her Christmas show a regular gig, I'm glad to add another item to that long list of associated events.

See also:
» we can be us
» it's not going to stop
» i'm the stuff of happy endings

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

done well is so much fucking better

Say what you will about arbitrary dates, but there's something about the portents of the new year. I'm hoping that seeing Stephen Malkmus--perhaps my Socratic (if not platonic) ideal of the indie rocker--and the Jicks for my inaugural show of 2007 is a promising sign of great things to come.

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, Bimbo's 365 Club, January 5, 2007: If you've read this blog more than a few times, you've probably noticed that a large degree of the musicians/bands/artists I cover qualify as "must see" performers in my book. What can I say? Besides being prone to sentimentality, I've reached (surpassed?) the point where I'm more likely to spend my limited entertainment dollars on my true favorites instead of putting up with yet another flash in the pan that the teenagers will eventually spoil for me anyway. (Man, I'm going to regret admitting that.)

Pavement, though, enjoys a hallowed spot on my list of all-time faves. They were kind of my indie Beatles; though they certainly weren't the first or the only band I've loved, they sorta set me on the musical path I mostly follow these days. Heck, I even borrowed one of their song titles for the name of this blog. So when Stephen Malkmus comes to town, I'm there.

For all my adulation, I don't turn a completely blind eye. Case in point: I wasn't crazy about the last Jicks show I saw. Though John Moen was hilarious that night, Steve didn't seem particularly engaged, and that remains my overwhelming impression of the gig. Of course, it's not exactly the same band anymore, now that John has joined the Decemberists and Janet Weiss (formerly of Sleater-Kinney) has stepped in to replace him.

In fact, I think I'm going to have to get used to the fact that there's now more than one indie legend in the band and that she has her own adoring fanbase. Actually, Janet's devotees might be a little more rabid at this point, as Sleater-Kinney's run was recent enough that most of their fans got to see them in concert. Judging from conversations overheard at Jicks shows, I'd guess that a lot of the Stephen's current fans were too young to have seen Pavement. As it turns out, I'm just the girl to gloat that I have. (Man, I'm going to regret admitting that.)

I was never a Sleater-Kinney fan, though I saw them in concert a couple of times. But you don't need to be a fan to know that Janet Weiss is a powerhouse on the drums, and her effect on the Jicks' sound was evident from the first note. Watching John Moen, even at his most intense, I could never shake the idea that he could step out midbeat and dance a little jig--not so with Janet. She was forceful, steady, and all those things that a drummer is supposed to be, and though she wasn't as playful as John (is anyone?), she joined in the festivities with rim shots and asides to Joanna, Mike, and Stephen. She truly anchored the heavier songs, and at times, hints of Led Zeppelin came through--something I've never heard from the Jicks before. She definitely passed the audition.

Oh yes, the man of the hour, Stephen Malkmus, my alpha indie rocker and forever my fantasy of the hot TA that you totally want to catch in office hours. (Man, I'm going to regret admitting that.) Since I've already embarrassed myself with too much attention to physical attributes, I'll damn myself a little further by reporting that there was some 'stache sportage. Oy. And his plaid boxers stuck out between his trousers and his polo shirt for much of the show. But the chiseled profile is intact. OK, enough of that.

The set was about evenly divided between old favorites and brand-spanking-new songs. I would love to offer some catchphrase to sum up the new songs, but I don't think any single statement applies. At first, I thought they might be poppier than the last album, but as the show progressed, we heard a lot of the longer, psychedelic jams that seem to pop up quite often on Jicks records. In short, they were all over the place. I'm just going to wait to hear them in their final form before I pass judgement.

The old songs saw some inspired Malkmus twists, none more revelatory than a breezy, irresistible version of "The Hook." The version we heard tonight was so striking that I pressed Julie for a description of the song, and she suggested that it sounded almost like a '70s country rock hit, which was somewhat in line with my idea that Steve reminded me of middle-period Dylan on it (a pretty ridiculous statement coming for a Dylan dunce like myself). Regardless, it was cool. Later, we also got the band's attempt at "I Nearly Lost You" by Screaming Trees in response to a challenge by Joanna.

Stephen was in good spirits, with his typical successive non-sequiturs and supremely laid-back manner. The topics of discussion tonight included James Joyce, the Gettys, the SF MOMA and its current exhibits, sports (of course), and his facial hair. Stephen and Joanna are obviously the core of the group, now that John's gone, and she gave him hell as needed. In the intimate confines of Bimbo's, there was more banter with the audience than I recall from previous shows, and that's always a treat. Mostly, though, I was glad to see/hear that Stephen continues to follow his muse, wherever it may lead him and us.

The opener was a one-woman band called St. Vincent from Austin, Texas. She looked a tiny bit like Winona Ryder, and she switched between electric guitar and an old Rhodes keyboard. In lieu of a rhythm section, she stomped on what looked like an amplified wooden panel that sort of filled in for a bass drum. Her sound was fairly eclectic, and though I thought we might be in for another sensitive girl singer/songwriter, she quickly proved she had a sense of humor and knew how to use it.

See also:
» penny rich & dollar dumb

it's not going to stop

Regular readers almost got a reprieve. I'd vaguely planned to catch a Cat Power show over Thanksgiving weekend, despite my earlier claims of having hit the Chan Marshall wall. Alas, it didn't happen (I blame the tryptophan), so you're stuck with the usual objects of my obsession.

While we're on the subject, a warning: Barring extenuating circumstances, it's gonna be nearly all Largo, all the time until the end of 2006, including the following Largo-away-from-Largo scenario. You're on notice.

Aimee Mann's 1st Annual Christmas Show, Bimbo's 365 Club, December 4 and 5, 2006: I've squandered a lot of opportunities to see Aimee Mann, perhaps most foolishly during her (arguably) best years, following the success of Magnolia and her masterpiece Bachelor No. 2. It took that long for me to realize how much I love her. But I got a lucky break when I caught the Acoustic Vaudeville tour, featuring Aimee, Michael Penn, and Patton Oswalt at Bimbo's in 2000. I'm pretty sure nostalgia originally moved me to buy tickets to that show, but ultimately, the gig is less a testament to a longing for the past than a peek at my future life as a Largo nerd.

Only time will tell if the gigs' "1st annual" appellation will hold up, but at least the "Christmas" billing was well represented onstage. In addition to the usual array of instruments, more symbols of the season dotted the setup: a pair of reindeer, a Christmas tree, several stockings, strings of lights. Despite these details and the addition of some of Largo's favorite names, I don't think we really knew what to expect from the show.

Even after Aimee and the band had worked their way through a couple of songs, their intentions weren't clear until Paul F. Tompkins joined them onstage. As Aimee and Paul chatted back and forth (with Aimee getting in as many zingers as Paul), they revealed that they were going for a Bob Hope/Andy Williams/Donnie & Marie vibe. Aimee and Paul also proved that their friendship is not just an affectation for the tour. They bantered effortlessly and giddily, though it also felt like they were sharing a big private joke that we couldn't guess at.

In the spirit of those '70s holiday specials, Aimee eventually duetted with each of her big-name guests: Paul, Grant-Lee Phillips, and John C. Reilly. Paul, especially, sounded better than expected. Each also got his time in the spotlight: Paul with his MC responsibilities, Grant as his usual troubador self, and John turning in spoken word duties.

I've never caught Paul's standup, so I'm not familiar with his style apart from what I've seen on VH1's Best Week Ever. I think I like his banter more than his routine, but I loved what he added to the mix. As I've stated again and again, Grant-Lee is one of my longtime favorites, and his voice is always a beautiful thing. I was just happy to hear him with an electric backing band for the first time in a while! I adored hearing Aimee on backing vocals for "Truly Truly," and you had to smile at his duet with Paul on "Little Drummer Boy" (with a heavy tip of the hat to Bing Crosby and David Bowie). John C. Reilly's singing chops are well known, but watching him act out some of the lines from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, I realized that may be the closest I ever get to seeing him in a play.

Rounding out the cast were cameos by Scott Miller (the Loud Family); on the first night, he treated us to an old hymn and a Peanuts classic, but when he did his own songs the second night (complete with an Aimee duet), I understood the connection Aimee must feel with his detailed and maudlin songcraft. Last but not least was Morgan Murphy playing the Hanukkah Fairy--in a white body suit and a pink tutu. Morgan was pretty funny when I saw her with Aimee at Largo back in April, but at Bimbo's, she stole the show. Her mention of the Trader Joe's on Masonic alone was worth the cost of admission.

What about the hostess? In addition to her razor-sharp wit, Aimee treated us to a set heavy on selections from her new Christmas album and a handful of her own songs, including the always popular Magnolia-era hits. The last few times I've seen Aimee, she's turned on her inner Joni Mitchell, and she did so again both nights. It worked nicely on "Red Vines," but "Deathly" didn't fare so well. Though I liked what she did with the vocals, I wasn't a fan of the overall arrangement. One of my favorite aspects of the song is the build toward the bridge, and this new version sort of erased that wonderful, suspenseful effect. That might be my only complaint, especially since she gave us what she claimed was her first-ever performance of "Way Back When."

The ensemble closed out the show in the only way that made sense: with a big singalong visited by both Santa Claus (John C. Reilly) and the Hanukkah Fairy. I was gonna let you guess which one brought the confetti, but I couldn't resist posting the picture.

It's an odd affliction, the need to see an artist repeatedly for fear of missing some nuance that could cast a brand-new light on the performer in question. I know that most bands' performances don't change much, but I'm willing to stick it out for those nuggets of originality, especially if they're sandwiched between songs I love so much.

At this point, you don't have to ask me of all people if it was worth going to both nights. The two shows shared more elements than differences, but we got a slightly different setlist over the two nights, and the participants even mixed up their stage banter. If I had to choose, I guess I liked the first night better, if only because the group seemed less sure of themselves and, thus, more open to goofiness. In fact, Aimee later mentioned that the show felt more like a dress rehearsal than a real gig, but I think this loose take really energized the festivities. The second night, the crowd felt more responsive, and I enjoyed seeing what the performers did to keep the material fresh for themselves.

See also:
» i'm the stuff of happy endings

my own blood is much too dangerous

Oddly, I'm not feeling any PCD at the moment. It probably helped that just as I left Chicago, I was on my way to see a show featuring a bunch of performers with strong ties to that very town.

Neko Case, Bimbo's 365 Club, June 27, 2006: Neko herself claimed that she had never played three--let alone four--nights in a single city, but leave it to San Francisco to take her in, dust her off, and tell her to put her feet up. Some people in front of me were planning to go all nights, but I knew that Neko didn't change her setlist much, so I didn't feel the need to hit more than one show. My only miscalculation was that they added a fourth night (with Eric Bachmann from Crooked Fingers opening, no less) long after the initial run had been announced. Thus, I couldn't adhere to my rule about going to the final night of any multinight stand.

Neko's definitely not an artist I would've investigated if it weren't for my Wilco conversion, but boy, am I glad fate ran its course. It's all about that voice. Never mind the Grand Ole Opry and its silly ban on her--not even the Grand Canyon could hold Neko's pipes.

For this tour, Neko highlighted her most recent album, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, devoting about half the setlist to the newer songs. In between, she interspersed older titles, such as the erstwhile opener "Favorite," which moved to the number two spot for the night. We also heard chestnuts such as "Set Out Running," "Deep Red Bells," and "In California." (Note to non-Californians: Everything in that last song is true.)

I've seen Neko a number of times now, both solo and with the New Pornographers, as well as accompanied by various backing bands. From what I can tell, she thrives in an environment when she's surrounded by strong personalities to inspire her hilarious banter and to give back as good as they get. One of her best foils is, of course, Carolyn Mark, but in her stead, Kelly Hogan fit in beautifully. (The other is Carl Newman, but that's a different story.) I think my favorite statement from Kelly was how she felt like a "pallbearer at a hooker's funeral," referring to the bustier she wore under the sound man's (?) blazer, in combination with her red fuck-me high heels. On the other side of the stage, Jon Rauhouse--master of all manner of stringed instruments but especially the pedal steel--threw out jokes at Neko. She in turn put him on the spot more than once, but it was all in good fun. Frequently during the show, Neko would look to him, confirming my suspicions that he's one of her most invaluable collaborators.

More important, both Kelly and Jon provided gorgeous backing for Neko's songs. Kelly's voice is ridiculously pretty, and Jon practically stole the show with his expressive, soulful riffs. By the time they ended with "John Saw That Number," you could feel the connection throughout the room--not only between the band members but with the audience as well.

The opener was the local singer/songwriter Sonny Smith, whose appearance belied his show. He started off modestly on solo acoustic guitar, then was joined on the second song by two guitarists--one of whom was Leroy Bach, formerly of Wilco. As Sonny's set progressed, more people joined him. Soon enough, he had a full band, and by the end of the set, when both Kelly Hogan and Neko Case also took the mic, we were in for a downright hootenanny. Sonny's songs were quite good, populated by vivid characters, all contained within rousing hooks and choruses. If you think folk music is boring or old-fashioned, this show could change your mind.

See also:
» listening for too long to one song
» you may be sweet talking, daddy

in fact, you're fanatical

I'm finding stray bits of confetti in my bag, my clothes, my apartment, and my cousin's car--and I couldn't be happier. The explanation follows.

The Flaming Lips, Bimbo's 365 Club, March 27, 2006: Back in 1998, the Flaming Lips conducted one of their first Boombox Experiments as part of the Noise Pop Festival at Bimbo's. I recall wanting so badly to go and no one taking up my offer. That gig haunts me to this day. But even if it weren't for those regrets, attending this show was a complete no-brainer.

If you've checked out the Lips in concert at least once since 1999, you kinda know the schtick: fake blood, hand puppets, confetti, balloons, mayhem. And if you were less than enamored with their music, you might not care for the spectacle.

I've seen the Flaming Lips a number of times now, and I'm not one of those people. I've loved the last few albums, the energy of their performances, and maybe those crinkly laugh lines around Wayne Coyne's eyes. Heh. Of course, on the last occasion, I was in my pajamas and surrounded by a gaggle of some of my favorite people at Madison Square Garden. It would be a tough act to follow.

Bimbo's holds about 800 people, and its stage can support a good crowd. For example, it fit all of the New Pornographers and at least another 7 or 8 audience members who had been invited onstage to play air instruments. Thus, I was surprised that the Flaming Lips chose to use only the front 1/4 of the stage, squeezing in not only their equipment but all their accessories as well. In fact, they almost misplaced the nun hand puppet that accompanies Wayne at the end of "Yoshimi." But more on that later.

Before the music began, Wayne welcomed the Noise Pop organizers and an official from the mayor's office, who asked him to read an official proclamation for Noise Pop Week in San Francisco. From there, it was on to the favored Lips opening: "Race for the Prize," complete with all the usual goodies. The balloons, confetti, and streamers rained down on us, and I could only see smiling faces around the room.

They played most of the hits (I could've used more Soft Bulletin, to be honest), a few new songs, and their cover of "War Pigs." We also saw Wayne conducting a jerry-rigged Speak and Spell-like item on which he played the cow and the duck. "Do You Realize" doesn't make me cry anymore, but that doesn't mean I love the song any less. In between tunes, Wayne talked a lot about politics, taking a didactic approach at turns, though I never got the feeling he was speaking down to us.

The Lips are so big these days, and it's been a long time since I've seen them at such close range. But for those of us who like to think that their favorite rock stars are really just normal people, it was pretty cool to watch them not only setting up their own equipment but also checking in with each other between songs.

We took a spot right in front of Steve Drozd, and it became quickly apparent that he is the musical maestro in the band, switching between instruments and adding backing vocals. Steve and Wayne have great chemistry, looking to each other for cues and encouragement. I hope they were having as much fun as we were.

As is the case with most Noise Pop shows, we got three openers. The first was a local DJ. The second was Stardeath and the White Dwarfs, notable for the fact that their singer is Wayne's nephew. Let's just say they wear their lineage proudly. And after them was a band out of Denton, Texas, called Midlake who were truly excellent. They played against a backdrop of film clips, some of them taken from older movies and some of which seemed to be created especially for them. They made the wait for the big headliner very enjoyable.

listening for too long to one song

Back on the horse, as they say. Oh, it feels so good to return to the land of fog, even if our BBQ scene is nonexistent. At least I got one night at home before I went straight back to what I know: the front row.

New Pornographers, Bimbo's, September 27 and 28, 2005: First things first--Neko Case is touring with them again. I know that's what everyone wants to hear. I stand by my conviction that she isn't the band, but now that I've had a chance to compare and contrast, I understand what she brings to the group besides that wonderful voice. She's a good foil to Carl Newman in terms of banter, and that's part of the fun of a New Pornos show. Otherwise, Kathleen remains with the band in a backup role, and we even got Dan Bejar for a few songs.

Immaculate Machine opened, a three-piece out of British Columbia. Among its members is Kathleen, Carl's niece and the newest touring member of the New Pornographers. She filled in this summer when Neko wasn't available. They have other ties to the NPs as well; a couple of NPs produced their album, and I think they mentioned they were in a video for one of the offshoot bands as well. The NP stamp is notable in Immaculate Machine's poppy songs, though they were nowhere near as polished as the supergroup. The second night, they pulled off a decent cover of "Good Vibrations," though a few more harmonies might've helped.

Destroyer was also on the bill, making for a veritable BC love fest of a tour. Again, the incestuous relationship: Kurt and John from the NPs took the drums and bass, respectively, for Destroyer's set. The band had its own cheering section, and Dan seemed somewhat reticent during the set. Dan Bejar's songs and voice are so distinctive; I find it odd how he ever came together with Carl Newman, except in that they both write really smart lyrics. However, Carl's pure pop sensibilities are a far cry from Dan's arch, glam-infused songs. I liked about half the songs, but let's face it, I'm a pop girl at heart.

I tell this story ad nauseum, but it bears repeating. The last time I saw the New Pornographers, they just about killed me, the show was so much fun, but the indisputable highlight was the point where 10 audience members were invited to join the band on the smallish Bimbo's stage to play air instruments. It was that cool.

Alas, no such antics this time, but maybe you can pull that off only once in a while. Over the two nights, we got most of the songs from Twin Cinema, and it was great to hear Dan Bejar join in for his tunes. He got progressively drunker over the course of both nights, though in a good way. Neko sounded her usual amazing self, and they did more of the songs that highlight her vocals. And then there was Carl, being his self-proclaimed sardonic self. This time, he compared the Shins to Journey, and he may have taken some shots at Nirvana too, but I can't recall now. The second night, he dragged out a laborious comparison between the NPs and the Chumbawumba song, "Tubthumping"--it didn't exactly work out, so I really shouldn't try repeating it. He also denied my request for "July Jones," which he claimed they don't know how to play. However, they attempted some AC/DC, Nirvana, and Steve Perry tunes, though none to completion.

More good news, both nights had sold out a little ways back. It gives me hope that this supergroup will keep it together for a while longer. And maybe next time they're in town, I'll convince myself that $15 is worth it for New Pornographers panties.

See also:
» salvation holdout central

green typewriters

Lest you think I don't see any live music aside from Wilco and Jon Brion, for the last few months, you'd be pretty much right on the money. But in fact, I love seeing as many shows as I can--energy, time, and money permitting. Paul has been in town this week, so we embarked on an ambitious show-a-night campaign. The report from the trenches follows:

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, Bimbo's, September 7, 2005: I've seen Ted Leo before and was impressed by his energy and passion. I admire his dedication to ideals and am glad to see that his (pogoing) fan base continues to grow. At Bimbo's, all elements were in place. He turned it on and engaged the audience easily, and I could see many faces around me who knew the words to every song. Even better, he did "Six Months in a Leaky Boat," and I got to hear his novel arrangement for the instrumental break in the middle and the end of the song. OK, it's not exactly Sam, Heidi, and me with acoustic accompaniment in a basement, but that's really for the better.

Olivia Tremor Control, Great American Music Hall, September 8, 2005: This whole week is turning into a jaunt down memory lane, and I've logged yet another reunion show this year. The last time I saw Olivia Tremor Control, it was the last millennium (errrr, late 1990s, at least) at a community center in the bedroom community of Palo Alto. Do you recall your elementary and middle school days when you were required to sit in a big auditorium and watch educational movies about the dangers of drugs or other scary elements in the world? In my admittedly vague memories of the night, that's exactly how I recall the show.

Well, sign my Alzheimer's papers because this show couldn't have more different than those fuzzy recollections. I'll commend myself for correctly placing the role of a saw as a musical instrument; it was front and center and part of the instrumentation from the very first song. But from that point on, I'm the least reliable narrator you can find. For one thing, there were nowhere as many people onstage as my tall tales would have you believe. Though I like to claim there were at least 12 people in OTC at the time, there were only (only?) 7 people in the group this time. And whereas I also like to say that the band was freaking weird, this time out, the music sounded very straightforward and wonderful. Sure, they're still raggedy and loose, but the energy was inspirational, and I had a smile on my face from the opening notes. I would never call them tight--and maybe that would be an insult to them--but the harmonies were effortless, and even the long instrumental stretches made sense when they morphed into rockin' tunes. This show was just what I needed, reminding me of how little surprises can await you at every show.

Michael Penn, Cafe du Nord, September 9, 2005: Full disclosure: we went to this show because the Son Volt gig was sold out, but we had been leaning in this direction anyway.

It's been a while since I've seen Michael Penn live. Again, it might've been the last millennium when I saw him on the Acoustic Vaudeville tour with Aimee Mann and Patton Oswalt. But I've always meant to check him out again; it was just a matter of finding a night without conflicting arrangements, and such an occasion finally coalesced. Michael seemed to have improved with the banter, though he claimed to be as bad as ever. I know it's not a requirement, but when you're a singer/songwriter with somber, sensitive tunes, it helps to add a little levity to your performance. It also helped this time that his band included Buddy Judge (formerly of the Grays, among others), who had no problem engaging the crowd. Michael did mostly stuff from the new album, of which I really enjoyed "Walter Reed," and he even dipped back to March days with "Brave New World," but no big hit (if you know what I mean). Parts of the show were a little too low key for my taste, but overall, it was a night well spent. I don't mind skipping Son Volt in the least.

M. Ward, Bimbo's, September 10, 2005: This was another show I went to 'cos Paul wanted to see him. I'm not a huge fan, but M. Ward put in an impressive showing. His guitar playing is, of course, above reproach, but he did a number of songs on the piano, for which I have a soft spot. Also, I didn't realize he did the looping thing that also drives me *ahem* loopy. For me, standout tracks were "Outta My Head" and "Undertaker." In what I hear is a departure for him, he was accompanied on guitar by a friend named Zach Rogers (?) for five or six songs; he added subtle and tasteful guitar, though he stayed in the background on the whole.

The openers were a band called the Joggers, also from Portland. They weren't too distinctive from other indie bands. At parts, their sound betrayed a hint of Modest Mouse, but they were fun and goofy onstage. The drummer wore a tie-dye shirt and a headband, perhaps as an homage to San Francisco. You really wouldn't expect to see them opening for someone like M. Ward, but there seemed to be a mutual admiration society between them.

The Decemberists, the Fillmore, September 11 and 12, 2005: Separate blog entry to follow. :D

we get older every year

But you don't change
Or I don't notice you're changing

Teenage Fanclub, Bimbo's, August 5, 2005: For me, there are certain bands whose shows become mini reunions. Of course, Wilco is the ne plus ultra example, but in fact, I love plenty of other bands and even have a longer history, if you will, with them. Teenage Fanclub is one such group. I've loved them forever, and I look forward to seeing them at every opportunity I can. Even better, so many friends from over the years come out for the shows that it's a huge treat to catch up with them too.

I was kinda bummed that the band wasn't doing two nights, but considering it's been four years since they last came to San Francisco, I wasn't about to hold that against them. Bimbo's seemed pretty filled by the time the Fannies took the stage, and the crowd up at the front was incredibly enthusiastic--just the right mix. We were spared the drunken Scots countrymen trying to start a mosh pit, but at the same time, we got plenty of crowd interaction. I especially liked the spontaneous Gerald Love appreciation portion of the evening. Raymond had let his hair grow quite a bit, Francis looked exactly like Nick Arrojo from What Not to Wear, the new keyboardist could've come straight out of Grandaddy (or the Grandaddy audience), George was as lovely as ever, and Norman was his usual boyish, silly self.

I realize that the Fannies aren't exactly known for surprises, so I won't try to push that angle. At the same time, they're not playing, say, the winery circuit, nor have they taken any number of more nostalgia-ridden tracks that may be open to them. Instead, their set comprised about 20 songs, filling almost exactly two hours and two encores with a strong helping from the new album and most of the older tracks you'd want to hear. The many, many requests for "Alcoholiday" went unanswered, but hell, they did all the great ones from Grand Prix--enough said, really. We went nuts for just about every song, heralding them as the shoulda-been hits that they are, and I loved singing along to all of them. I live for all the little harmonies (the "wooo"s in "Speed of Light," for example), and you could hear the crowd singing along to "Everything Flows." I don't care how others define success; isn't this what music is really all about?

I haven't really been into the new one much, but I either read a review or heard someone say on the air that there are post-rock touches on the album, probably influenced by the Soma Studios recording environment. Again, I wouldn't say the band has taken a great leap forward, but for some reason, that helps me digest the understatedness of the tracks. I'll have to give it many more tries, though the Fannies are so deeply ensconced in my heart that I don't really care at this point. I'm just so freaking glad the Fannies have an American record label again. I hope Merge is a good fit and that they continue to come to the States for years down the road. God knows many of us will be happy to welcome them back to American shores.

The Rosebuds, also on Merge, opened, and they were quite good. A lot of their songs reminded me of college rock from when I first started listening to college rock (early to mid-1980s), showing signs of very early REM. Also, the singer's voice brought to mind Lloyd Cole, but that could be just me. Overall, it was a great night, and I left the gig with a huge smile on my face.

down the hyde street pier

Pictures from a few of the recent shows will go up this weekend. For now, I'm rounding out my 10 days of intercontinental rock tourism.

Decemberists, Bimbo's 365 Club, March 22 and 23, 2005: I'm not the biggest Decemberists fan. There are plenty of other people who are much more qualified to claim the title, but I like the band an awful lot, and it's great to see them find a following. Still, I had no qualms about catching their two-night stand in San Francisco.

The first night, they came out in vaguely Civil War-era-looking jackets, which Colin later revealed were created especially for them by their friend. Almost as soon as he said that, he removed his robe--they looked like they could warm up considerably when you're onstage. Unsurprisingly, they highlighted songs from the new album, Picaresque, which came out that day, but they threw in a number of older songs and album tracks. I was curious to see how the new band members, Petra and John, would fit in. Petra has a beautiful voice and obviously serious chops, but she looked uncomfortable through many segments of the show, as if she didn't know what to do with herself. John, however, threw himself into it from the get go. He played drums, of course, but also added harmonies. Thus, he had a microphone--and knew how to use it. He bantered with Colin throughout the night, and at many points, the two of them seemed to be playing to each other. During the epic "Mariner's Revenge Song," he placed his bass drum (?) between his knees and got so into the action that he ended up falling on his ass--without losing possession of the drum. He reminds me a lot of Bob Nastonovich, obviously because of the Malkmus association, except that he's a much better musician all around.

So by my rules of concerts, the second night was supposed to be better. And in a lot of ways, it was. The band came out in their school outfits from the "16 Military Wives" video (ooh! costume changes!) and mostly stuck to the same set, with a couple of variations ("Grace Cathedral Hill" and "Red Right Ankle," to be exact). But the crowd was much more energetic, and the band seemed to feed off that energy. Crutchy (a.k.a. Chris Funk, the guitarist) spoke up a number of times, and Petra seemed much more relaxed. She even pummeled Colin a few times and sang a great cover of "Wuthering Heights!" I love that this band is into the '80s Anglophilia (the Smiths, Kate Bush), which is probably why I dig 'em so. I wish John had shown more of the goofiness from the first night, but then again, it's probably a good thing that he knows to hold back now and again. And suffice it to say, but Jenny was as awesome as ever, especially on the accordian. Unfortunately, she was way on the other side of the stage, so I didn't get to see much of her. Though Colin mentioned the unfortunate disappearance of their instruments, they seemed to make do with their borrowed goods.

I'm so jealous of the people who will get to see them later on this tour, when they'll certainly be a tighter unit. And I wonder what sort of hijinks they'll perpetrate in other cities. Regardless, I'll be tuning in to find out for myself.

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» a writer, a writer of fictions
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