hush hush keep it down now

Old habits die hard. I had conferred with a few friends before tickets went on sale for the Aimee Mann/Ted Leo aka #both show at Bottom of the Hill and even decided I didn't need to see both nights. However, I immediately reverted to my old ways when the Web page flipped and bought in for the two evenings. For me, more nights are always better. For everyone else, I'm pretty sure one night of #both will suffice -- and will certainly be worth your while.

#BOTH, Bottom of the Hill, March 26-27, 2013: Let's address the elephant in the room: #both is a terrible, terrible name, and the artists themselves fessed to it early on in the show. I'm guessing they got plenty of guff over it on the Internet, but clearly, they weren't backing down, as they chose to headline this show as the entitled entity. As far as I'm concerned, #both is as bad a moniker as LMFAO -- but that's the only comparison worth drawing between the two.

I didn't know too much about #both before this gig, though I'm not sure Aimee or Ted shared a whole lot of details in the run-up. My lizard brain basically saw Aimee Mann and Bottom of the Hill, and pure reflex took over. I've blogged enough about Aimee to make clear how much I love her music, but it's worth repeating. She marries melancholy to melody in a way few others can, in my estimation.

As for Ted Leo, I've caught him a couple of times before, most recently a guest appearance at a Paul F. Tompkins gig. I appreciate him more than I like him. Does that make sense? But he and Aimee have developed a great rapport, which has been clear from anyone who's followed them on Twitter and quickly became apparent in their shared stage presence.



Technically, I've seen Aimee in a smaller venue (at least a couple of times at the old Largo, to be exact), but Bottom of the Hill is a whole different environment, a bona fide grungy rock club. So it seemed appropriate that Aimee's opening statements addressed the strong pot smell that seemed to spontaneously materialize near the stage. This led to an awesome round of speculation between the two on their respective audience's drug of choice. Well, Ted's take sounded more definitive (speed), but Aimee had the last word on her base's preferred sedative: laudanum. You know she's right!

I hope this gives you an idea of the general air of the show because I can't begin to capture the chummy banter between the two. Fortunately, this camaraderie carried into the music. They opened with a new song from their forthcoming duo record. They reported they've been writing together, which makes sense; after all, they're both singer/songwriters at heart. I'm going to guess, though, that if you hear the new songs without any vocals, the tenor and tempo will give away the main instigator behind the tune. The set opener was pretty much a classic Aimee song, with an easy, effortless pace and a tempered narrative -- in other words, bliss.



Overall, they almost adhered to Aimee's promise of one-third of her tracks, one-third of Ted's tracks, one-third #both titles, and one Thin Lizzy cover. You can do the math, but I think the set slightly favored Aimee's catalog. On the first night, we got 1.5 extra tunes: a parody cover of "Freebird" in response to a cliched request (wasn't it part of her set a couple of years ago?) and "Fourth of July" for a much more informed and discerning fan. Bonus points to Ted for trying to sing along, though he couldn't quite remember all the words. To be fair, Aimee messed up on a couple of Ted's songs -- along with her own "Living a Lie" on opening night!

I can't really talk about Ted's music, though he pointed out that mentions of alcohol have a way of working themselves into his lyrics. I'll take on the mantled of Captain Obvious and state that Ted has a great voice and an deep respect for melodies. He also put in soothing harmonies and striking guitarwork on Aimee's selections. If you want more details on his contributions, I'm afraid you'll have to find a Ted Leo blog -- I'm not up to the task.

As for Aimee, there was obviously no way we'd get to her usual allotment, so we made do with a truncated selection of the tunes the two had rehearsed. I don't think Aimee even got to certain albums, but of course the recent Charmers earned a few slots, as did her best-known Magnolia titles, which elicited their usual warm wave of recognition. I was quite pleased to hear "Little Bombs" from the underappreciated The Forgotten Arm; I believe that's what you'd call a deep album cut.

One variation between the two shows came at the very end of the second night. Whereas Ted has been content to busy himself on guitar for "Deathly" at their first show, he decided to add harmonies on the second night. He did well, but I'm the last person to ask, as the studio recording has my favorite harmony of all time. I appreciated his effort anyway.

I'm putting off discussion of the biggest treat and revelation of the night, which arrived nearly at the end of the gig. Aimee prefaced the song with a long, self-deprecating introduction, calling parts of it dumb, as well as pointing out her young age when she wrote it. She also said the only reason she agreed to it was to hear Ted sing a verse. Ted countered and proclaimed it a "stone classic" -- no argument here. Ted has shown his support of this song before, most notably with his recent cameo in Aimee's video for "Labrador."



The song, of course, was "Voices Carry." I can't undersell this video's impact -- not to mention Aimee's striking image -- on my teenage self, but the truth is I love the song, and I can still sing most of it from memory. I may even still have it on vinyl. In all my times seeing Aimee in concert, I'm pretty sure I've heard it only once before in that long-ago Acoustic Vaudeville tour with Michael Penn.

A funny thing happened, though. Earlier in the show, Ted had shared a story about Paul Stanley and the latter's endorsement of singing along at concerts. I guess it was fresh in our minds because the audience audibly chimed in on the chorus, even eliciting a compliment from Aimee. I hope she takes it as a sign that she should air it more often.

OK, one more attempt to capture their repartee. On the second night, Aimee felt compelled to share a bit of backstage graffiti with us -- namely, the Pussy Rules. This brought up Ted's own report of a disgusting illustration of a hermaphroditic bird at a club in Cleveland. The performers and the audience returned to these talking points again and again throughout the gig for all kinds of hilarity. I won't try to sum them up. Instead, check them out for yourself, courtesy of Aimee's Instagram:



I claim no firsthand knowledge of #both's future plans, other than their announcement of an EP coming out on Matador in August. But you don't have to be a fortune teller to predict they'll be taking this show on the road at some point. With any luck, voices will carry all across the globe in their wake.

See also:
» green typewriters
» today's the day
» i'm the stuff of happy endings

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

forever's on your side

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned scheduling my vacation around a set of gigs. The time has arrived for second of those shows: Miles Kurosky, the former lead singer/songwriter of Beulah, in his return to San Francisco and Bottom of the Hill after far too long.

Miles Kurosky, Bottom of the Hill, April 8, 2010: Every now and then, I can look forward to a show by an artist whose music colors an abundance of favorite memories, who at one time or another dominated my listening habits, and whose return to the concert circuit leaves me sorting through too many words and thoughts now that I finally get to blog about him. Miles Kurosky is such a musician, and I'm trying to figure out the best way to frame this concert report.



I should probably backtrack to Beulah, Miles's former band. Local favorites, Beulah played in San Francisco a lot, and I hit as many of those dates as I could--you can spot me in a concert scene on their live DVD. I even saw their very last show in New York City (during a torrential downpour) back in 2004, but my favorite gig was probably a gathering of a dozen-plus friends in Chicago, also in 2004, at the Abbey Pub. We were actually in town for another show, but we took advantage of the great timing to get in one grand adventure that has yet to be duplicated. Alas, despite my promises, we didn't rush the stage for "Silver Lining," but it's hard to begrudge Rock 'n' Roll Jesus, also in attendance that night.

At the time, it was common knowledge that Beulah would split at the end of the tour. I typically don't get upset when bands break up and this news was less jarring than similar announcements, so it's not like we were holding a wake for them--but maybe we would've poured one out that evening if we had any idea of how long Miles would disappear from the scene.

Fast-forward to 2010, and based on the crowd at Bottom of the Hill, I'd say that many of the attendees harbored similar memories of long-ago (in rock terms) Beulah shows. At the same time, not everyone was a geezer, so there's hope yet that new ears are tuning into to Miles's music. Making no assumptions, Miles mentioned once being in a local band to the gathered crowd and gave a shout-out to Bottom of the Hill and its staff for all their support. (He also informed us he's moved to Portland, where he can afford to be a homeowner--a punch in the gut to many of us Bay Area wage slaves.)

Now that I've reverted to my more laissez-faire habits, I may not hear a jot of the performer's music before I attend a gig, and former local heroes are no exception. Thus, the evolution in Miles's songwriting was a surprise to me. Sure, his penchant for marrying dark lyrics to charming melodies, harmonies, and hooks remains intact, but the sound was notably beefier and, at times, discordant in a way I hadn't heard from him since Beulah's lo-fi days. Overall, though, it's still great stuff, and after the show, I headed straight to the merch booth to remedy the situation.

You may have noticed over the last decade or so the phenomenon known as reunion tours. I'm hardly a stranger to them, but lately, the prospect has inexplicably saddened me. I don't begrudge anyone who hits these gigs, but I find it hard to indulge in them (says the woman who sees the the same artist/s excessively).

Despite my protests, I'm not going to walk out when a couple of old friends happen to get together and make music right in front of me. Joining ex-Beulahs Abbey and Eli in Miles's band was Bill Swan, Beulah's co-founder and its jack-of-all-trades. When Miles wasn't turning to him for what looked to be private laughs and cheerful chatter, Bill took his place in the horn section for both old and new songs, as well as providing backing vocals.

As I understand it, the old Beulah tracks "Emma Blowgun's Last Stand," "Landslide Baby," and "Popular Mechanics for Lovers" are part of the regular set at every show, and in that regard, San Francisco was no different. However, I'd venture that Miles and company went the extra mile in San Francisco with a performance wouldn't be duplicated anywhere else. Bill's presence had a lot to do with that, most notably during the encore, which shaped up to be Beulah request hour. With the help of Abbey and Eli, as well as on their own as a duo, Miles and Bill took on as many old songs as they could remember--and a few they couldn't.

The guy who yelled for "Space vs. Matter" was both gently corrected on the title--"Matter vs. Space"--and got to hear the opening notes of the song, but that was all Miles confessed to remember. In fact, he stated that it's been a good six or seven years since he's attempted these works, but I hope he knew we were thrilled to hear them at all.

This is when I wish I kept notes of the gig. I can report that Bill bailed out "Gene Autry" when Miles forgot the second verse (it happens to the best of us). I know he saved other songs too, but I can't name them off the top of my head. The titles that do come to mind: "You're Only King Once," "If We Can Land a Man on the Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart," and "Silver Lining," to name three.



About "Silver Lining"--that was my request, which Miles quickly admitted to no longer recalling, but several voices (in addition to my own) reminded him of the opening lyrics and carried most of the song. Specifically, a couple of women in the audience knew all the words--and weren't shy about sharing them. I don't usually mind singing at concerts anyway, but they deserve some credit for moving the songs along. Miles certainly noticed too, as he called one of them onstage for "Maroon Bible." She did extremely well, but Miles cut off the performance, claiming that when the show devolves into Beulah karaoke, it's time to call it a night.

Unlike most gigs at Bottom of the Hill, we saw only two openers. The first was Lia Rose, a local singer/songwriter formerly of the band Built for the Sea. I'm not a big fan of female vocalists, but she sounded very lovely and did quite well for her first solo gig. The second was Pancho-San, which happened to (1) be Miles's backing band and (2) comprise Abbey and Eli, also formerly of Beulah. I hadn't heard Abbey sing before, but I wasn't at all shocked to discover that they favored a brand of upbeat, catchy pop that perks up my ears. I hope to hear more of them in the future.



I sincerely hope Miles is lying when he vows to never tour again, but I also know that he's not one to soldier on if he's not feeling it (witness: pulling the plug on Beulah). At the least, I hope he understands that many of us would welcome a night of Beulah karaoke anytime.

on the bubble

I have a pathetic track record when it comes to the Broken West. For no good reason, I've missed them more times than I've seen them--as recently as back in February for Noise Pop. However, I managed to get my act together for this show and buy a ticket in advance. What a concept! Next thing you know, I'll also learn how to enjoy music in an electronic form, perhaps acquired through a computer interface (patent pending).

Broken West, Bottom of the Hill, June 22, 2008: It's no secret that I've become entrenched in certain concertgoing habits. I can give you a million reasons why, but it doesn't really matter. Simply, I don't see as many bands, especially newer ones, as I used to. This, combined with the fact that the musicians I stalk see most often are well established, has shut me off from what I imagine is a reality for most touring musicians: sparsely attended gigs at smallish bars--albeit at Bottom of the Hill, one of the coolest venues in the city.

For the music nerd, those relatively empty gigs can be a badge of pride, a sign that whatever band you dig isn't trendy, overexposed, or about to be plastered on legions of teenage girls' walls any time soon. On the other hand, it's frustrating to see a band you like struggling to bring in the crowds they deserve. The latter prevailed at this show, which counted maybe a few dozen people in the audience.



Despite my consternation, the band put on a good gig anyway. I say "good" because, as much as I love I Can't Go On, I'll Go On (my favorite album of last year), the group's live incarnation hasn't exactly sent me seizing on superlatives. Then again, I've learned that a band's studio and live representations may have little to do with one another, so I tend to judge them on their own merits. The Broken West is a solid live act, and the music is great--those are the reasons I come back to see them (when I remember).

Oddly, tonight's show was the best they've sounded to these ears, probably due to the venue itself. At both Cafe du Nord and Bimbo's, they came across as somewhat muddy, but there was no mistaking those gorgeous jangly riffs and subtle harmonies tonight. If I clapped my hands raw keeping time with "Down in the Valley" or threw my back out bobbing to that infectious stop-start rhythm of "Big City," it would all be for a good cause.

Julie tells me that at their show in February, they tried out a lot of new material, and that seemed to be the case tonight as well. If what I heard is anything to go by, the works in progress definitely diverge from that sun-kissed, patently California sound of their debut record. If you (like me) got into the Byrds/Teenage Fanclub/Wilco-like feel of that album, don't worry--they haven't abandoned those layered hooks and tuneful sounds.

But some of the new songs exhibited a darker tone and a knowing swagger, sounding downright slinky in parts. You could even hear a drum machine on a couple of tracks! Good-bye Mr. Tambourine Man, hello Echo and the Bunnymen? Well, no, not even close--but something's certainly afoot in Silverlake. I'm staying tuned to find out more.

Addendum: According to the band's MySpace page, their sophomore album Now or Heaven is coming out September 9 on Merge, and you can hear a new track "Perfect Games." Yay, a reason to make it through the summer!

See also:
» top albums and gigs of 2007
» you can fall in love with every other soul you meet
» it spoke of secret fortune
» The Broken West on MySpace

your winter overture

If it's February in San Francisco, it must be Noise Pop, and this year offered a stellar crop of shows. Unfortunately, ticket confusion led me to scratch the first festival gig I'd planned to see, but no harm done. My true interest resided elsewhere: the return of British Sea Power to Bottom of the Hill!

British Sea Power, Bottom of the Hill, March 1, 2008: I went searching for any remnant of my first British Sea Power gig ever, which happened to take place at Bottom of the Hill in the autumn of 2003, but all I found was a ticket stub from their second show at the club (this is why I now keep a blog). Not that the second appearance was too shabby--in fact, I recall that one pretty well, as I had already been blown away by the band and brought along a couple of friends in hopes of converting them (done and done). That same night, Noise Pop hosted a Neko Case gig that would've otherwise lured me in, but honestly, she didn't stand a chance against the boys from Brighton.

Four years later, and the odds had grown even more hopeless for any show in conflict with this gig. I even set the DVR to record Wilco's debut on Saturday Night Live! OK, that's not exactly a resounding endorsement, but let me assure you that I wasn't about to miss this show for the world.

On the heels of the Visalia gig, this date felt a lot more formal, and I'm not even talking about the real stage or the working PA or the apparently successful soundcheck or any of those ho-hum details. Rather, there was the matter of the photo bank parked in front of us and to our left. As an incessant concert photographer, I shouldn't talk, but these were professionals carrying huge, heavy lenses, and they were camped out for the prime photo ops. In addition, the first row of the crowd included a fair number of non-accredited camera enthusiasts. Two things were clear: (1) This would be a well-chronicled concert, and (2) The audience was not here simply to kill time on a Saturday night.



As the hours passed and the fans closed in, I grew somewhat nostalgic for the supremely laid-back nature of the previous night's gig, but those feelings left me immediately upon the band's arrival onstage. Sure, the foliage and the furry friends didn't appear as they had in previous years, but you couldn't fake the band's wardrobe choices (Yan's all-white ensemble; Hamilton's seemingly hand-sewn trousers and the puppet attached to his waistband; Hamilton and Noble's complementary bird-print shirts). And perhaps to prove that they were bringing their A-game, they kicked off with the hypnotic "No Lucifer."



The biggest surprise of the night was the beloved "Oh Larsen B." Granted, it wasn't exactly a wholesale return to Open Season, but if there was a single song I wanted to hear, they nailed it. I felt a little bad for the girl in Visalia who was denied her request, but maybe she helped jog the band's memory. Now if only they would bring back "It Ended on an Oily Stage" as well!

As I mentioned in my earlier post, the rockers fared better at the Cellar Door, but at Bottom of the Hill, we could actually soak up the more ambient tracks. "The Great Skua" was nothing short of breathtaking, and I absolutely ate up the evening's rendition of "True Adventures." That's not to say, however, it was an easy listening kind of night, a point that was apparent from early on and was emphasized immediately by "Remember Me" and "Beetroot Fields" at the top of the set and reinforced by the epic "Spirit of St. Louis/Scottish Wildlife" near-closer. In between, of course, we got much of Do You Like Rock Music?, which is great too, but you can't really fault me for wanting to hear the chestnuts.



In the mischief department, Noble kept the tradition alive by climbing out on to the bar ledge to the right of the stage, ripping off the "No Stagediving" sign from the club wall, and mostly observing the festivities. I believe a couple of staff members tried to coax him down from the post, and he gestured as if he might take them up on their offer to crowd surf. But when it became apparent they had differing intentions, he instead grabbed on to one of the ceiling pipes and swung from it for a few moments before rejoining his bandmates.



Overall, the band was looser and more engaging tonight than they had been in Visalia. In addition to Noble's forays into the audience, there was talk at the beginning of the show of their Welsh guitar tech and St. David's Day, commemorated by the wearing of a leek. And speaking of the guitars, they had their way with the equipment too. At one point, Noble did this cool thing where he yelled into his guitar's pickups for a white noise effect. Also, Hamilton lost a string on his bass, but didn't make too big a fuss over it. Instead, he opted to use only the two remaining strings, while wearing the other as a guitar strap of sorts.

I don't know if it's a sign the band has mellowed or grown older or if Eamon's departure has changed their approach or even if the crowd wasn't sufficiently encouraging, but even without the antics, the group put on a fantastic show full of intensity, energy, and amazing music. With any luck, I'll be able to catch them again before the end of this massive U.S. tour; three years is simply too long to wait for a band I dig so much.

As this was Noise Pop, three openers passed through before British Sea Power came up. Usually, I enjoy at least one of the up-and-coming bands chosen by Noise Pop, but the acts didn't gel for me this time. Off Campus played fun but not particularly notable retro-sounding rock; Colourmusic indulged in a jumble of styles that didn't really work, especially on the more overwrought numbers; and 20-Minute Loop had some interesting songs, but they too lacked a distinct style. Truth is none of them stood a chance against the headliners anyway.

See also:
» fans of alcohol
» from the books you don't read anyway
» heard about your band

we like the newness, the newness of all

Noise Pop is an institution in San Francisco, and though I'm not its biggest booster these days, I try to make it to a show or two each year. This time round, Midlake lured me away from my usual musical obsessions and reminded me why I need to check out gigs by up-and-coming bands in the first place.

Midlake, Bottom of the Hill, March 4, 2007: Chief among the likely culprits for my estrangement with Noise Pop: the exhausting roster of opening bands. If I were a reasonable person, I'd show up much later and save myself the trouble of rickety knees, potentially bleeding eardrums, and a compromised attention span. But as anyone who's followed these concert dispatches can tell you, I simply can't do that. Besides, Noise Pop has exposed me to some terrific opening bands I may have otherwise missed, including Beulah (sharing a bill with Guided by Voices) and the band of the hour, Midlake, who dropped by last year with the Flaming Lips.

For me at least, Midlake came out of nowhere that night at Bimbo's. There were no preconceived notions to bat aside; there was no hipster buzz to consider. We concerned ourselves with only the music and the show, and in those regards, they delivered. Though the music bore major references to sounds that came before, it definitely wasn't trying to be the flavor of the day. Instead, they incorporated the timeless qualities that more often than not win me over: a wealth of both melody and harmony, strong musicianship, and artful arrangements, with a healthy dollop of earnestness and longing thrown in.

In turn, these tunes seemed well matched to the movies running in the background; perhaps the songs' lack of irony kept the films from coming across as pretentious or laughable. Regardless, I clearly felt that we were getting the whole package. It certainly didn't feel like Midlake intended to be a flash in the pan.

Cut to a year later, and Midlake has released its second album, earned glowing reviews all over the blogosphere as well as in the U.K. music press, and toured Europe at least twice, with another round of Continental dates scheduled for this spring. Lucky for us, they finally managed to swing by their native States as well. In San Francisco at least, they were rewarded with a sold-out show at Bottom of the Hill.

Unlike last year, I obviously had some expectations before the show began. For one, I've spent a good deal of time with The Trials of Van Occupanther, and I had some context for the songs now. And naturally, I was just curious to see how they handled their success.

The short answer: they seemed to take it on pretty well. Success in the indie rock world is such a relative term; no one in the band's buying Bentleys and grillz just yet. This being Bottom of the Hill, they still set up their own equipment--no biggie there.

They opened with a slow build of "We Gathered in Spring" and proceeded to hit nearly every song from The Trials of Van Occupanther, including the "hits"--well, the anthems: "Roscoe" and "Young Bride," the latter riding on a bass line that made for an especially sultry and hypnotic effect. We got a couple tracks from the first album ("Balloon Maker" and "Some of Them Are Superstitious") and a new tune ("Children of the Ground"), still in progress. The new song showed traces of the influences I cite far too often when it comes to Midlake, so I thank Julie for pointing out the tinge of the Allman Brothers in the sound too.

They played with a quiet confidence, betraying no sign of nerves, and as befits a band who's been touring so extensively for the last year, they sounded completely in sync with one another. I don't think they made any major missteps, despite the potential disaster awaiting them in their numerous instrument swaps. The only halfway noteworthy malfunction was the projector; alas, we were deprived of the video component of their performance. Overall, though, I was left thinking that I definitely want to watch this band's development in the years to come.

Opening this afternoon were (in chronological order) Minmae, Ester Drang, and Minipop. They were all actually pretty good, though they got progressively better as we proceeded up the bill. Minipop, especially, lived up to its name with the kind of jangly guitars and pure pop vocals I could really cozy up to.

Update: Hey, look, someone recorded the show!



See also:
» in fact, you're fanatical
» top 5 albums of 2006

our shore town knockdown sure was fun

Overheard at the show: "I wish we could be cool and say, I like you, you like me, let's get to know each other, but it always has to be about who's in control. Like, she goes crazy if I haven't responded to her e-mail within the hour, and in my own sick way, I know that, so I sit on her message for three hours."

When you're seeing a show by the band that wrote perhaps the greatest breakup song ever ("Happy"--more on that later), you couldn't ask to overhear a more appropriate exchange.

Any self-respecting indie kid knows that the Wrens are one of the notable success stories of the past few years, and I won't rehash their tale, though it's certainly inspirational. I fell in love with the songs I heard on KEXP, and after another month or so of listening to The Meadowlands, full-blown wonderment blossomed. By the time the lyrics had knotted my stomach and sent shivers of recognition down my spine, I finally got to see the band live at Noise Pop in 2004. Talk about living to play! It's rare that you see a band pour so much energy and enthusiasm into a show, supposed coolness and hauteur be damned. Thus, it was with great pleasure and anticipation that I marked my calendar for two more shows from the band.

The Wrens, Bottom of the Hill, December 1, 2005: I know I've been resting on my laurels when it's been a while since I've gone to Bottom of the Hill, by far the coolest venue in the city, booking groups that go on to bigger and better. For this show, the club was packed with people who had braved the cold, blustery night to see an incredibly deserving band.

The last time the Wrens played San Francisco, Kevin Whelan had a whole bass, albeit one held together with--in addition to a wing and a prayer--lots of gaffer tape. This time, he seemed to sport an oversize, misshapen mandolin, now that entire chunks of the guitar had been lost to onstage antics. Paul mentioned that it had, for example, speared the ceiling of the Knitting Factory in New York. Julie speculated that the next time we see the band, he'll be playing a toothpick.

As usual, the band set up their own equipment, with the help of a couple of tech guys--good to see the Meadowlands profits (ha) being invested wisely. They opened with Greg Whelan and Charles Bissell onstage, playing an older song that I'm not familiar with. Midway through the song, they were joined by Jerry and Kevin, the latter engulfed in a huge parka with a hood that hid much of his face. As the energy mounted, he threw it off; later in the night, a voice from the back of the room requested "more parka." The crowd was pretty noisy at the beginning, maybe because they didn't know whether soundcheck had ended, but early on in the set, when the band unfurled the eerie intro to "Happy," a respectful silence had descended. In the past, I've noted the resemblances between "Happy" and U2's "With or Without You" as well as the Chameleons' "Tears," but tonight, the Comsat Angels' "Lost Continent" was the first tune that came to mind--none of which may matter to anyone other than me, but I dig 'em all.

It's been about 18 months since I last saw the Wrens, and their show was just as powerful as I remembered. The band mostly stuck with Meadowlands favorites, reinterpreting a few. For example, "Boys You Won't" got the now customary audience participation treatment, whereas Jerry didn't sing on "House that Guilt Built" for this outing. Kevin retold the story about Bottom of the Hill's legendary booking agent, Ramona, and how she was the only person who gave them a chance 10 years ago. If they continue to play Bottom of the Hill solely for the sake of nostalgia or gratitude, I'll be a happy girl.

Though the Wrens are emphatically a band--that is, they share vocal duties, none of the members seem like prima donnas, and they don't seem to take directions from a ringleader--it's hard not to single out Kevin Whelan. He's the one jumping up and down, threatening the audience with his guitar, and generally pumping up the crowd. Also, in my humble opinion, he has the best voice in the band. Tonight, he piggybacked on one of their tech guys, and within the span of about a minute, the two had somehow managed to turn him around so that Kevin flipped over the tech's head and was laid gently on his back on the tiny stage. (Think Cirque du Soleil, Jersey style.)

We missed the first band, Pale Pacific, also a 10-year-old band, though from the Washington state. Instead, we arrived just in time to see the Rum Diary, though I didn't realize who they were until the end of their set. You can hear some nods to Grandaddy in their sound, but they're a little too emo for my tastes.

The Wrens, Slim's, December 2, 2005: It's easy to cite today's ADD as a reason for the music industry's slide, but you wouldn't have guessed it Friday, judging by the crowd that came out to see the band "promoting" a 2-year-old album that proliferated mainly due to good word of mouth in the first place. Shockingly, my cousin came to the show, based on what she had heard from me and her coworker. The dear McCormicks also joined the party. Yay!

Slim's can't hold a candle to Bottom of the Hill for many reasons, but fortunately, it's bigger and less claustrophobic, and it means that more people are hearing the band's music. The show opened with Charles and Greg again, though they went with "This Boy Is Exhausted," one of more glaring omissions from the night before. In the Kevin Antics Department, he managed to climb atop one of the amps and jump down to the stage; he also mentioned that it was his 36th birthday and thanked the audience for making it the best one ever. In terms of music, though, Greg took the lead vocals for "Thirteen Grand," and they did a rousing version of "Napiers" during the encore. Alas, they didn't do "Ex-Girl Collection" over the course of the two shows, even though they had put in a good attempt last year.

Overall, this show was looser and jokier, whereas the night before had been more intense. I'd see a full week of Wrens shows if I could, but unfortunately, this was the end of the line for now. I hope they come back sooner rather than later.

Again, we missed the first opener, but we saw the set by Parchman Farm, a local band that has been getting some buzz. Their lead singer is the guy who used to be in another local band, Mover. Even an '80s girl like me could tell they borrowed heavily from Led Zeppelin's sound and '70s style in general. Make of that what you will.