if i can't change your mind

Last month, I managed to miss all of SF Sketchfest, due in large part to conflicting engagements. I would've felt doubly bummed if I let Noise Pop -- my other favorite local festival -- pass by. I almost did, actually, but a friend's diligence saved the day. The only U.S. date for Bob Mould's tour to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Copper Blue didn't hurt either.

Bob Mould, Bottom of the Hill, February 24, 2012: Last fall, I hit a milestone birthday (120, for those playing along at home), which may have made me more susceptible to these zero-year memories. For example, a few weeks earlier, a friend and I remarked that we first met 10 years ago in front of the El Rey, and that same number is approaching with a different group of pals. Similarly, Noise Pop hit its 20-year mark with this round of gigs, as does Copper Blue itself.

The truth is all these reunions and commemorations make me feel old -- er, older. Though I've enjoyed many of them immensely, I've mostly avoided them for the last few years. This is no slight on the music, the artists, or the audience. It's just a tic I've noticed in myself, but on occasion, that reflex can be turned off, such as when one of my musical heroes plays one of my favorite records of all time in its entirety.

It's no exaggeration to say there was a good, long stretch when I listened to Copper Blue at least once a week or maybe even once a day. I still cue it up on a regular basis. It occupies an outsize portion of my gray matter, and I know exactly where certain musical cues occur (well, as much as a nonmusical person can know), how the edits come down, when the backing vocals slip in. I never tire of the instant segue from "A Good Idea" to "Changes" or the expert plunge into "Helpless." It might not be hyperbole to say Copper Blue was my Pet Sounds.

On a more analytical level, Copper Blue was the sound of Bob giving full rein to his pop instincts and carrying us along with him, as well as the perfect melding of his Husker Du lineage and his post-breakup introspection. Good day? Put on Copper Blue! Bad day? Put on Copper Blue! And turn it up while you're at it.

I'd been a fan for a while, but Copper Blue's commercial and critical success meant you could hear Sugar on the radio and see Bob and/or the band on TV. I wasn't a grunge fan, but I'm thankful the movement helped revive Bob's musical standing and reminded many of us why we listened in the first place. All this time on, it was particularly satisfying to see Bob take his place as the Foo Fighters' special guest on Conan last year.

But back to Bottom of the Hill: Bob was once again accompanied by Jason Narducy and Jon Wurster. I've commented on Jon Wurster's ubiquity before, but I'm now convinced Avogadro's number was devised to calculate the sheer total of bands and musicians Jon Wurster will play with over the course of his career. The guy is everywhere! Or at least everywhere worth showing up.

With these two touring veterans behind him, even if they weren't the original members of the band, Bob and crew had no problem tearing through this beloved record. I didn't see Sugar on the Copper Blue tour (commence tear-strewn flashbacks of college transport woes), but I caught subsequent outings, and the overwhelming verdict among friends: Man, they're loud! This point came into play at Bottom of the Hill; the fact that they were offering free earplugs to everyone upon entering should've been a giveaway.

If I had to dredge up a fake complaint about this show, it might be that the finer, more subtle notes from the record, such as the harmonies and acoustic touches, were drowned out by the pure rock attack taking place in front of our eyes. I don't think anyone minded, though. This was a night of celebration; if you wanted your introspective acoustic show, you were in the wrong place. Granted, "If I Can't Change Your Mind," Bob's famously would-be country anthem, lost its folksy lilt, but "The Slim" -- always devastating in any performance -- stood out even more dramatically amid the party.

I'm not sure if I've heard "Fortune Teller" or "Slick" in a live setting before. The former might be the one song from the record I never warmed to, but "Slick" featured a fantastic low-groove bass that put you right back in the spirit. Then, of course, the effervescent, swoon-inducing "Man on the Moon" closed out the record and the first part of the show. Bob said few words to us over the course of the 10 tracks, but he didn't need to. We all knew why we were gathered.

It wasn't quite over. When Bob and the band returned, he explained they'd spent the last month and a half working on a new record that was almost done, then played a couple of tunes off that forthcoming release. They both sounded great, but the second selection, noted as "Descent" on the setlist, was right up Bob's alley, an effortless, catchy mix of a strong melody and killer chords. I can't wait.

Bob remarked they'd close with a "party song," and I racked my mind trying to guess what part of his notoriously downbeat catalog could possibly qualify. "Favorite Thing"? A double-time version of "See a Little Light"? Nope! It was Cheap Trick's "Downed," with a strong showing by Jason on vocals. For the record, I didn't know that tidbit myself, as my Cheap Trick knowledge is several notches shy of inadequate, but a quick search on Twitter answered the question.

Reunions and anniversaries appear to be a mainstay of the touring circuit these days, and odds are I'll eventually hit more of them in the future. I reserve the right to be a hypocrite, especially if it means I can bask in the pleasures of a well-treasured record such as Copper Blue.

See also:
» listen, there's music in the air

scraping paper to document

I always feel bad when I miss Noise Pop, partly because it's a local tradition worth supporting and partly because the festival attracts so many amazing bands, often before they catch on with the general public. In the last several years, my attendance has been spotty--often due to my goofy travel schedule--so I was glad to squeeze in one gig this year: Ben Gibbard's solo appearance at the Great American Music Hall.

Ben Gibbard, Great American Music Hall, February 28, 2011: Full disclosure--my tickets probably could've gone to a more deserving fan. I've registered my Death Cab demerits previously, but Ben Gibbard has sealed his spot in my good graces, thanks to one bulletproof association and another surprising collaboration. Besides, I'm partial to the solo frontman routine, and I know a rare outing when I see it.

Even if I wanted to, I can't tell you what songs Ben played; besides, I'm sure they're listed on a forum somewhere. He tried out a handful of songs from the forthcoming Death Cab album, but seeing as I don't know the band's old tunes, I can't tell you much about the new ones either. As an impartial listener, my main takeaway from this show was discovering Ben's gift with melody and his thoughtful, expressive lyrics.

Ben heralded one of the more memorable segments of the evening when he put away the single guitar and sat down at the baby grand piano for several songs. The big hit "Soul Meets Body" was less effective in this setting, but the Buck Owen cover was an inspired choice, even if the fans were requesting more questionable titles. Overall, the rapport between Ben and the crowd was funny, sweet, and easygoing, and it was one of the highlights of the show. Surprisingly, male voices dominated the conversation, including the flat-out declarations of love. Then again, this is San Francisco.

The absolute golden moment of the show--for me, at least--came as a complete surprise. Yes, I saw Bob Mould come in, but I figured he was merely circulating among the festival as a local resident. Wrong! Instead, Ben offered a giddy introduction, brought Bob to the stage, handed over his guitar, and dueted on "If I Can't Change Your Mind."

I've gushed and cooed extensively over Bob Mould in this blog, and I was glad to see Ben's reaction mirror those emotions. I vaguely wondered how many people in the room recognized the musical legend joining Ben, but those apprehensions evaporated as soon as the song started. I suppressed the urge to yell out for "See a Little Light" upon the conclusion of their single song, but Ben's full fanboy grin, unabashed air drumming, and unadulterated admiration said it all.

Zach Rogue opened the show, joined by Jimmy LaValle from the Album Leaf for a few songs. Clearly, I enjoy a well-chosen cover version, but Zach's selection of Buddy Holly's "Everyday" was more illuminating than most. Following that tune, it was impossible not to hear the influence on Zach's singing and songwriting--not a bad beacon at all.



See also:
» i see my light come shining
» we can be us
» between two worlds
» your favorite thing

your favorite thing

This post has been brought to you by the good people at Noise Pop! In addition to putting on some of the finest music events in San Francisco, the kind staffers picked my name out of what I imagine to be a mountain of entries--you can't convince me otherwise--and awarded me with a pair of tickets to see Bob Mould. They not only allowed me to see a longtime favorite, they did it at the exact right time, as my concert calendar would've otherwise been empty for this month. Noise Pop, you have my undying loyalty!

Bob Mould, Swedish American Hall, November 19, 2010: On my way to work Friday morning, I listened to the Fresh Air podcast with Keith Richards, and the interview echoed in my brain throughout the day. Feel free to debate the Rolling Stones' relevance on your own time; the main point that stayed with me is Terry Gross's inquiry about the Rolling Stones' advancing years. In response, Keith mentioned that Count Basie and Duke Ellington were subject to the same barbs--this isn't a new question. (He also slurred some off-hand remark about getting on with it or some such generalization, but you get the point.)

I, for one, appreciated that shot of perspective, and for the first time ever, I kind of appreciate the fact that Keith and crew are still doing their thing, even if you'll never find me at a Stones show. And as a self-involved music fan, I couldn't help but think of its implications for my friends and myself, who are far beyond the teenage and 20-something demographic usually associated with this particular hobby.

On the heels of that interview, tonight's Bob Mould gig set off another round of rumination on music and maturity. I suppose you can levy some of the same complaints lodged against the Rolling Stones to someone like Bob--or anyone in the business for more than, say, five minutes--who's no longer the young punk we first saw in the '80s. I'd venture, though, that Bob has maintained his dignity and integrity, while remaining a vital artist, in a way that few other musicians can claim. Of course, that's my highly biased opinion, but to me, Bob stands as the epitome of a class act in an industry not known for decent role models.

...and if you stuck with me through that soapbox schpiel, you deserve to know how the show went. The evening's performance was billed as a solo acoustic show, and one of those adjectives turned out to be true. Yes, Bob was entirely on his own, but he brought along two guitars: one acoustic and one electric. Despite my adoration of Bob's mellower pieces, I also love when a Bob gig goes to 11; tonight, I didn't have to choose between the two.

I knew we were in for a solid night when, at the top of the set, Bob requested more guitar in his monitors because he felt like singing loud. As a friend mentioned at the end of the show, it's always a good idea to catch Bob at the start of the tour, before his voice is toast. Truer words were never spoken--Bob sounded better than I've heard him in years.



Bob opened with the familiar triumvirate of "See a Little Light," "Hear Me Calling," and "Hoover Dam," and overall, the setlist shaped up to be a well-edited representation of his repertoire, ranging from Husker Du to his more recent releases. Bob's catalog runs so deep that no single setlist could possibly hit every highlight, and I know I can come up with a few left-field requests that may or may not go fulfilled. Still, I can't complain about the evenhanded appraisal of his career and, especially, his trademark unrelenting guitar attack. Bob's foray into dance music is well known at this point, but in this setting, you couldn't ignore the spartan roots that anchor his songs, including newer compositions such as "Circles"--simply fantastic tonight--and "Life and Times."

As mentioned above, Bob allowed himself the choice between electric and acoustic. He started out on acoustic, but another side came out when he donned the electric. Sporting the electric, Bob churned out song after song, in a stream of words, chords, and melodies, often without a break between titles. At times, the guitar seemed like an extension of him, and you could sense how it allows him to speak through fuzz and distortion.



I honestly can't tell you how many times I've seen Bob in concert--I've lost track. But this show made known a side I haven't seen before. Bob was, in a word, talkative. Of course, there were the expected comments about a song's inspiration--for example, "Thumbtack" was written at a time when he was miserable and living in Austin--but Bob held forth on whole range of topics, from the pleasures of living in San Francisco to the Northeastern audience's disbelief of claims public nudity in his new hometown to his partner's shared history with Greg Dulli. Apparently, they worked in the same Cincinnati mall as teenagers. We especially enjoyed learning of Greg's former employer: Camelot Music.

Bob also revealed that Dave Grohl recently called him up to play on the upcoming Foo Fighters record. In Bob's telling, he thrashed out a note or two for Dave, who demanded to know what chord he'd just played. Bob's reply: My chord. Bob made no promises as to whether Dave and gang will keep his contributions, but keep your ears peeled. Also, if you're thinking that call was long overdue, I'm with you! But Bob seemed cool with the acknowledgment, and that's good enough for me.

When you watch certain performers, you have no doubt that they were meant for the stage; other artists, however, take their time in reaching those comfort levels, but if you stick around for the journey, it's hugely rewarding to see them hit their stride. I can think of several examples of the latter, many of whom are my favorite artists. Bob easily qualifies as one of them--on both counts, now that I mention it. I've never seen him more at ease in front of audience, especially on his own and not as part of a band. The most telling moment of the night may have been when he commented matter-of-factly, "I love this song," and launched into the epic "Brasilia Crossed with Trenton." He's in good company on that count.

Bob may have worked his way to a discussion of his upcoming memoirs on his own volition, but we didn't have to wait long, as the audience jogged his memory early on. Amid declarations of "you're hot" from both male and female voices, one person asked flat out, "What have you been up to?" Bob duly reported that he hasn't written any new music; instead, his energies have gone into writing his book, set to be released in June 2011. He laid out some of the history, including his turning down the initial offer about a decade ago. He cited Michael Azerrad as an influence on both his decision and his authorship, and he promised us it'll be a good read. I'd expect no less from him.

See also:
» listen, there's music in the air
» i want something that's warm and honest

listen, there's music in the air

An unfortunate by-product of the presently percolating preoccupation is that I have a hard time focusing on other subjects or, more precisely, other musicians. In this instance, it means I haven't been able to devote much attention to new releases from old favorites -- sorry, Bob Mould and Stephen Malkmus! But at least I have tickets to their respective shows.

Bob Mould, Great American Music Hall, March 23, 2008: How has it that two-and-a-half years have passed since I last saw Bob Mould in concert?! I mean, I know I missed a couple of gigs here and there; I blame rock tourism and freelancer finances, respectively, for those no-shows. But I had no idea I'd let it come to this.



I guess in order to understand why this lag even matters, I should back up and share one of my oft-told tales of teen angst. (Please feel free to skip this part.) When I was in junior high, my parents forced me to go to Vietnamese language school on Saturday mornings while my brothers stayed home, watched cartoons, and played GI Joe--but I digress.

The school, in and of itself, was not so traumatic. The troubling aspect came from the fact that my fluency was so laughable that I was placed in the beginner's classes, where my so-called peers were a good three to five years younger and--thanks to puberty--anywhere from several inches to a foot shorter than me. First lesson learned: It's indeed possible to feel awkward, self-conscious, and stupid all at the same time. (Addendum: When I started taking Vietnamese classes again in college, I realized my language skills were about average for people my age and/or who had immigrated to the United States around the same time. Whew!)



Anyway, somewhat to my parents' chagrin, I ended up hanging out with the Amerasian kids, who also happened to be old friends. I did learn some basics of the Vietnamese language in the couple of years I was required to go, but just as important, the mixed-race kids and I talked (in English) about music during recess. And this is where I was introduced to Hüsker Dü.

In truth, British bands continued to dominate my listening habits for a while longer, but this limited exposure to the American DIY scene revealed a musical universe dedicated to a set of values diametrically opposed to those of the polished pop musicians I favored. I wouldn't fully recognize this legacy until nearly a decade later, when lo-fi brought it all back for me, but I was already smitten. And when Bob released his first solo album, I thought it was one of the most beautiful collections of songs I had ever heard. I was hooked.

Between then and now, a lot has changed, but my admiration has never wavered. During the grunge years, Sugar was nearly the only American band I listened to, it was Bob's Singles Only Label that introduced me to Grant Lee Buffalo (this blog provides ample proof of where that led), and I remember buying a Magnapop CD just because he produced it. I could even relate to his dance stuff, having gone through a similar phase.

I realize that sounds like a lot to invest in one concert by one artist, but I certainly am not alone. The fans at this well-attended show welcomed Bob with hoots, hollers, and lots of love, and Bob reciprocated with a set heavy on older songs. I think only a couple titles each from the new album District Line and its immediate predecessor Body of Song made the cut, while Sugar representation was strong, evident in two opening numbers and several more songs sprinkled through the set. Of course, we heard plenty of solo material as well, and most surprising of all, Hüsker Dü featured prominently too.

Rich Morel and Jason Narducy were once again along for the ride, but replacing Brendan Canty at the drumkit was Jon Wurster, whom I had last spotted touring with the New Pornographers. Standing stage right, I had a great view of Jason Narducy, one of the most energetic bassists you'll ever see, and his backing vocals filled out the songs (especially the Hüsker Dü tunes) nicely. My only real complaint of the show might have to do with the keyboards. Though I was right next to Rich Morel, I could barely hear his contributions apart from the obvious segments, such as the opening of "Hoover Dam."



If I had to state a preference for Bob with a band vs. Bob solo, I think I'd go with the band setting just because Bob's happiness is palpable when he's playing with his fellow musicians and friends. It wasn't unusual during this show to see Bob, in the midst of his musical duties, grinning at his bandmates or conferring with them on changes to the setlist. A number of times, Bob also stepped back into the shadows far on stage left, perhaps to give his backing players a share of the spotlight? Well, that's my take.

The blistering main set fired us up good, the first encore gave us a chance to catch our breath, then the second and final encore kicked our asses all over again with a triple dose of Hüsker Dü. In fact, it appeared that they had planned on only two songs, but in response to the roaring reaction, Bob decided to throw in "New Day Rising," which I've never heard him do. I'd like to think that Bob is continuing to make peace with his past, and that's why he's revisiting his earlier work now. Seeing as he continues to look to the future, I don't know why he shouldn't allow himself that leeway.

Saturna opened the show, and they sounded really good, both poppy and rock--and I don't mean emo! Their guitarist, especially, produced some wonderful tones. One song took me right back to Killing Joke, the Chameleons, Echo and the Bunnymen and that guitar sound I love so much. Another, with its huge wall of heavy but melodic guitar, may not have existed at all were it not for likes of Bob and other musical pioneers. They paid the obligatory homage to Bob, but I get the feeling that they really meant it.

See also:
» i want something that's warm and honest
» use it tonight

i want something that's warm and honest

Bob Mould Band, The Fillmore, October 14, 2005: Ahhh, just what I needed this week--a show from one of my favorite musicians ever. Bob played here earlier this year during the Noise Pop festival, but I couldn't make it that night--the first of his local shows I've missed in maybe 10 years. I wasn't exactly happy with my decision at the time, but when I heard that he had a new rock album in the works, my regret doubled. As it happens, I love Bob's new one, Body of Song, but regardless, there was no way I was going to miss him when he came back.

I got to the Fillmore a little after doors opened, and on the way in, I noticed the little stickers the staff wore said "Bob rocks," along with the usual info--perhaps a faithful Bob fan had gotten access to the printer. Inside, it was very empty. There were a couple of diehards at the front of the stage and a decent amount of people wandering around, but the Fillmore staff had set up tables on the floor, a sure sign that it would not be a capacity show. I don't recall a sold-out or even near-capacity Bob show in town for a long time, but I thought for sure there'd be a better turnout this time.

Bob solo vs. Bob in a band are two very different things, but both are incredibly intense. We got Bob in full throttle, starting off with three Sugar songs before touching anything from the new record. As the media has reported, Bob has been playing songs from throughout his career, including--as everyone wants to hear--Husker Du. Bob didn't say much, but he poured all his energy into the songs and even did his trademark heavy-footed pacing of the stage. I somehow ended up directly in front of Bob, so I got to watch all his guitar moves (if only I knew what they meant).

"Hardly Getting Over It" was positively epic, thanks in no small part to Brendan Canty, though the song itself is pretty much a scorcher to begin with. The electric, balls-out version of "See a Little Light" was a huge treat, and of the new songs, "Circles" and "High Fidelity" are probably my favorites for vastly different reasons. Richard Morel was a very cool presence on keyboard, and Jason Narducy was way cute (tee hee). It was great to hear all those harmonies again, which Bob obviously can't do when he's on his own. They did the usual three short encores, and I started to head out after I saw the roadie unplugging various instruments, but I guess the crowd managed to convince them to come out for the true finale, "Man on the Moon." I have vivid memories of a very happy crowd at Bob's last show with a band at the Fillmore (1999?) when "Man on the Moon" closed the night. It wasn't quite the collective scene this time, but it was still a delight. Most importantly, Bob looked so happy and so appreciative.

I can't conclude this review without touching on two subjects: the crowd and the opening band. Firstly, the crowd: unsuprisingly, there were a lot of older people and a lot of guys at the show. The drunk 40something dude behind us was a one-man mosh pit for a while, which was horribly annoying on its own. He managed to get others to join him, but the spectacle still looked very silly to me, especially when I noticed that the same guy was using the opportunity to cop a feel off the women nearby. Hmph. I noticed another dude but for a different reason. He was much younger, and--shocker of shockers!--he could dance, and I wondered if he was an old-school Bob fan or if he had discovered Bob in this later phase of his career.

Finally: the opening band, Shiny Toy Guns. They turned out to have taken a huge page from '80s bands, even going so far as to cover Depeche Mode's "Stripped" as the penultimate song. From the get go, they reminded me a lot of Information Society, and they definitely aped the hair and the clothes of the time. They were fun to watch and had huge stores of energy, but the music was definitely not my bag. It was funny to watch Bob's more predictable audience--the somber men--looking on without interest. I think there were a lot of confused Bob fans for that hour.