congeniality

As much as I mythologize that city to the south, there's no place like home. I'm duly reminded of this fact by concerts such as this: the Nels Cline Singers recording a live album over two nights at Cafe du Nord.

Nels Cline Singers, Cafe du Nord, Sept. 2-3, 2009: I've seen plenty of shows that have been filmed for TV, video, or movie purposes, but to the best of my recollection, I haven't attended the taping of a live album--at least none with real release plans. It was just a matter of time before my concert plans and an artist's recording plans intersected. The fact that the Nels Cline Singers would furnish this opportunity was a welcome coincidence.



My knowledge of live albums is mostly limited to--honestly, Duran Duran's Arena, but I have a passing familiarity with the Budokan, Royal Albert Hall, and prison recordings (among others) of note. One of the questions for me was how the abundantly improvisational Singers would present themselves on, in essence, a set document.

For one, they stuck to a similar--though not identical--setlist over both nights. They bashed through a number of originals, some unreleased, some reaching far back into their catalog, and others of more recent vintage. One of the new songs was provisionally and aptly titled "Build." They referred to another as "Thurstonius," subject to change before it reached its final form. The nod to its potential namesake was clear, but its rhythm and melody reminded me of a different Wilco/Sonic Youth project--specifically, Loose Fur's "Laminated Cat." Speaking of Sonic Youth, the Singers opened the two-night stand with their cover of "Mildred Pierce," killing time while the crew worked out technical issues.



But back to the earlier question about the experimentation of the Singers vs. the formalities of a live album: There was no reason to worry. The trio at no point held back, whether on the tentatively titled "Metalgasm" (or "Gee, I'm White," according to Nels), the psychedelic middle ramble of "Blues Too" on the second night, or either performance of "Fly Fly." It wasn't all discord and din, however; in between, they tempered their push with more hushed works from Carla Bley and Andrew Hill.

Then again, it wasn't all business as usual. For starters, there was the tireless presence of producer Ron Saint Germain, who dropped in frequently to adjust microphones or let the band know when each round of technical difficulties subsided. Those electronic bugaboos interrupted both nights' proceedings, though to a much lesser extent on the second go-round. However, they also brought out Nels's inner Goulet, to borrow his phrasing, as he made ample use of the microphone to chat, vamp, and generally await Ron's thumbs-up.

Striking a more joyful note (no pun intended) were Greg, Satomi, and John (who I didn't recognize at an earlier show with Nels) from Deerhoof, who dropped in on the second night--Bay Bridge closure, be damned!--to reprise their performance from last November, first on a Weather Report song, then on the Singers' own "Suspended Head." For the former, they raided Scott Amendola's extensive percussion kit; on the latter, Nels called Greg back to the stage to take the mic.

One more aspect worth mentioning, for both its unexpectedness and because I'm not sure how much of it will make it to the released recording, is Nels's loquaciousness. Even he admitted he had never spoken so much at a show. I can't begin to list all the topics that he covered with mic in hand, but I wholly believe Scott Amendola's comment that now we knew what it felt like to be on tour with Nels.

Ava Mendoza opened both shows, and she impressed the room with her lyrical guitar playing, bringing to mind the likes of Django Reinhardt and M. Ward. She was far from the typical girl with an acoustic guitar, which is not a bad thing at all.

See also:
» spider wisdom
» still carries a torch

how can i compare

The two words that guaranteed my attendance at Joe Pernice's gig at Cafe du Nord? Early show. It's shameful, I realize, but I've been exhausted for the better part of the last month and a half transitioning to a new place--apartment downsizing sucks. I'm just happy I made it out for a night.

Joe Pernice, Cafe du Nord, August 30, 2009: According to my records, I last saw Joe Pernice in concert before I started this blog, and I know for certain that I was out of town the last time he visited. Once more, I blame my skewed priorities rather than my lack of interest.

Of course, this time Joe's tour had a hook: These dates would encompass a reading of his book It Feels So Good When I Stop, along with a concert. I'm not particularly married to the idea that rock music has to be a certain way, but I admit to being skeptical of such a pairing--and it appeared that Joe did too. Though he came across as justifiably proud and invested in his novel, he was probably at his most assured when he was allowed to simply play his music.

Then again, if any musician can embark on a literary career without sending a collective cringe through both the listening and reading public, it's Joe Pernice. Even if you didn't know about his MFA, his way with words and characters has always come through in his lyrics. In an attempt to be frugal, I didn't buy his book, but the parts that Joe read were funny, lively, and both familiar and novel, in that way that some of the best books are. The Lou Barlow excerpt (even if the two have never met in person) alone was worth the price of admission.

Thankfully, music dominated the night--which is not a slight on the book. I just mean that Joe is such a gifted singer/songwriter that it'd be a shame to not hear his songs or, in this case, other people's compositions--because, of course, the book has a companion CD, wherein Joe offers his own takes on the tunes that color the characters' lives.

I'm wary of cover albums these days, but as with the reading itself, Joe shook up some of these prejudices. Though he chose some radio hits, such as Del Shannon's "I Go to Pieces" and, in his words, the "creepy" '70s ditty "Chevy Van," I can't say that either are obvious pieces. This wasn't a matter of redoing some song that's already been on a dozen TV commercials. In the case of both aforementioned titles, he simply sounded lovely. The former reminded me of the wonders he can work with classic pop; the latter comically contrasted with his darker, sadder songs.

On "Chevy Van," Joe enlisted James Walbourne from the Pretenders, who had played the Saratoga Mountain Winery the day before, and from Joe's own records. Though Joe both claimed the song was a hit before James' parents even knew each other and had to inform James of the chord changes even as they played it, neither technicality stopped James from adding some truly gorgeous touches to the tune.

Joe also treated us to a handful of his own tracks, including "Bum Leg" and "How Can I Compare," and brought out a couple more players: his brother Bob (thus comprising the Pernice Brothers) and Peyton Pinkerton, his longtime compatriot. These rarer tracks, combined with the equally atypical acoustic treatment, added up to an exceptional delight.

One of the other unforeseen effects of this setup was hearing Joe banter with the audience. Whereas his traditional shows tend to be straight-ahead affairs, he took advantage of the opportunity to explain the songs, both his own and the covers. Unsurprisingly, he was funny, profane, and easy-going. It'd be great to see more of that next time he comes to town.

Straight from England's Lake District, John Cunningham opened the show, and the Pernice Brothers accompanied him on a handful of tracks. Specifically, Joe took the lead vocals while Bob and John played and contributed harmonies. Joe explained how he had received John's CD more than a decade ago after a gig at London's Garage and how that recording turned out to be his favorite of the decade. John's songs were simple and melodic, echoing John Lennon at times. They did, indeed, sound better with Joe at the mic, but the tuneful fundamentals were already intact.

p.s. Hello to everyone coming to my blog from Twitter!

spider wisdom

Drizzly skies and Monday doldrums almost kept me at home, but I had to make up for the bout of early-onset senility that caused me to totally blank out on a gig last week. Also, it's always a pleasure to catch Nels Cline in yet another musical lineup--this time, the jazz ensemble known as The Good Life.

The Good Life Featuring Trevor Dunn, Ben Goldberg, Nels Cline, John Dietrich, and Scott Amendola (playing the music of Ornette Coleman, Jimmy Giuffre, and more), Cafe du Nord, March 16, 2009: Deep breath--that's a mouthful. It was also a mindful, at least for this pop-raised girl.

Even if I knew anything about Ornette Coleman, whose compositions the players returned to several times, I'm not sure how much of his work I'd recognize in the band's versions. Maybe some of his numbers are meant to build to a crescendo that called to mind Sonic Youth, then eventually trail off in a stop-start amalgam. In that case, the artists were a lot more faithful to the originals than I expected. Mixing it up, they also performed Nels's own "Spider Wisdom," cacophonous and sprawling.

One of the reasons I see Nels in all these formations is because there's something new to take in every time--and I'm not talking about guitarist John Dietrich's resemblance to actor Topher Grace. The last two appearances I've seen were with the Nels Cline Singers, both at Cafe du Nord and Largo, but this was something else altogether.



With the exception of Scott Amendola, I don't think I've seen him play with any of the other people onstage, nor was there a clear director. Ben Goldberg, on clarinet, provided the titles and the introductions between songs, and you could argue that he and Nels traded leadership duties. At the same time, Scott proved the anchor, sitting center stage, providing hints and ideas, and urging his bandmates to play shorter and longer accents as befit the song.

Add it all up, and you get The Good Life.

See also:
» still carries a torch
» blues, too

still carries a torch

Back on the horse--several concerts are on the schedule for next week, so expect more reports (as soon as I can write them, anyway). First up, the Nels Cline Singers return to San Francisco!

Nels Cline Singers, Cafe du Nord, November 19, 2008: I frequently mix up my Nels Cline shows, especially when some of the touring lineups comprise the Singers in all but name. Then again, this confusion wouldn't be possible without the embarrassment of opportunities I get to see these musicians--so no complaints here.

I gotta admit, though, that despite the Singers' frequent appearances, I still feel like a complete fraud when I talk about their gigs. But I'll try to offer the 30,000-foot view of the show and what details I can recall after a weekend filled with other people's tunes.

After seeing so many permutations of the group, I had almost forgotten what the three Singers--Nels, Scott Amendola, and Devin Hoff--were capable of on their own. Well, almost--Greg and Satomi from Deerhoof joined them on the first couple of tracks, though their contributions were on the conservative side, encompassing a dusting of percussion and a whisper of vocals. Nels explained that with the first selection, "Boogie Woogie Waltz," he simply wanted to bring together Deerhoof and '70s jazz fusion, but the second track, "Suspended Head" was a more studied choice, as he had dedicated it to the very band on the Instrumentals CD.



I have a majorly cred-destroying (work with me, people) story about the first time I saw Deerhoof play at All Tomorrow's Parties on the UCLA campus, but I'm not going to share it now. Let's just say that despite my early impressions of the band, even I knew it was pretty unusual for both them and Nels to be in town on the same night, so I was glad to see them come together in this tiny club.

Perhaps my favorite song of the night came during the first set: "Thurston County," from Nels's upcoming solo record, out in February 2009. As Nels explained it, it was the name of a real place, and listening to the more laid-back passages in the tune brought to mind the exhilaration of a crisp, clear drive up the Northern California coast. That track's a winner.

The Singers' second set kicked off with a hubbub that Nels admitted wasn't exactly what they had planned. If memory serves me correctly, he may have cited Godzilla as a factor in the number's lurching coda. In fact, Nels displayed a goofy energy all night, even through the more volatile numbers the trio is capable of carrying off. So though we would hear a stately Andrew Hill selection, as well as Nels's somber "Stela for Jefferson," I can't say the show's tone dipped at all, even as the music took us to the extremes of artistic expression.

See also:
» shady
» ascension

shady

Didn't I just see Nels Cline play a show a little while ago? Actually, isn't that the case with nearly every musician mentioned in this blog? You don't have to answer that.

The Scott Amendola Band/The Jim Campilongo Electric Trio, Cafe du Nord, July 7, 2008: As usual, I'll try to keep this short; if you want an account of tonight's show by someone who actually understands jazz, you'll have to look elsewhere. But for surface recollections, you've come to the right place.

The man of the evening was Scott Amendola, who played drums with both co-headliners, accompanied by John Shifflett on bass in the two instances, as well. With the Jim Campilongo Electric Trio, Scott took a more traditional turn, anchoring Jim's bluesy, honky-tonk-leaning compositions, which were as fun as all get-out. I can't remember the names of the songs, but I loved an especially Dick Dale-sounding work that made me long for a touch of wind and surf in the sauna-like confines of Cafe du Nord.



After a short break, Scott returned with his namesake band, complete with two guitarists: Nels Cline and Jeff Parker. I'd seen variations on this configuration a few years ago, as well as last fall, but that didn't necessarily mean we were in for a repeat of either performance.



As it turned out, the show more closely resembled the concert from a few years ago, though with Jeff Parker instead of Jenny Scheinman facing off against Nels, in that they mostly stuck with Scott's works. They started off with a trio of tunes from the group's album Believe: the title track, "Cesar Chavez," and "Resistance" all melding into each other for a resounding demonstration of the players' range. From the ethereal to the funky to the abstract, they covered it all.

On the heels of the salutatory medley, Nels and Jeff Parker kicked off "Shady" with complementary but competing licks. I couldn't catch the name of the song that followed, but they closed out the first part of their set with "Oladipo," which came across like the soundtrack to some '70s cop drama, albeit with massive amounts of electronic manipulation and guitar flagellation thrown in.



Jim returned for the second half of their set, which began with a work in progress called "Lima Bean" that was as playful as its name might indicate. Here, they made use of the triple-guitar possibilities, as each artisan contributed his distinct take on the bouncy melody. Before the night was over, they also eased out something called "Lullaby," complete with tinkling bells and liquid chords. I believe they closed out with "No Fly" from the Nels Cline Singers, but don't hold me to it. Regardless, it was a scorcher, even in perpetually chilly San Francisco.

See also:
» ascension
» sunken song
» smarty pants

where voices fill the air

For those playing along at home, I've reached the halfway point for gigs this month--only five more to go before the end of the year!

Richard Hawley, Cafe du Nord, December 12, 2007: Let's get the Boorish Pedant portion of this blog post out of the way first. I've witnessed Richard Hawley in two other incarnations: as guitarist of Pulp at the Finsbury Park show in 1999 and, less famously, with the Longpigs, who ruled my musical world circa 1996 to 1997. With Pulp, Richard seemed to be biding his time with old friends, but I got the impression that the role was a good fit at the time--especially on the heels of his tenure with the Longpigs.

I loved the Longpigs, but if you're looking for earlier indications of Richard's troubador leanings, you'll have a tough time finding it in the group's jagged guitars and highfalutin wordplay. In the four-piece band, Richard was easily the most skilled and experienced musician on the roster, but the lead singer (and main songwriter) dominated the shows and the recordings.

The Longpigs weren't unknown in the States, clocking several tours, charting with a modern rock hit single "On and On," and making their way into an Ellen von Unwerth-snapped layout in Vogue alongside supermodel Stella Tennant (pictured here), though their names are unlikely to register with all but the most dedicated Anglophiles these days. Add to that their supposedly unabashed pursuit of the rock star lifestyle, and you can understand why Richard has somewhat disavowed those years now that he's savoring his hard-earned solo acclaim. In fact, though he mentioned during the show that it's been about 12 years since he's played San Francisco [actually, it's been almost 10 years exactly since the Longpigs' last tour here--Britpop Ed.], he didn't at any point refer to either his former bands by name.

Just to be clear, I checked all expectations at the door and knew not to anticipate a return to the mid-'90s. Besides, I've heard Richard's solo work, so I had an idea of what was in store. But just in case I or any other ex-Britpoppers in attendance still clung to decade-old ideals, Richard quickly dispersed them when he and his band took the stage, each age-appropriate member dressed in proper jackets or, in a couple of cases, suits. Of the lot, Richard, decked out in impeccable sharkskin and sporting a slick quiff, cut the most polished profile.



The '50s fixation ran a lot deeper and touched nearly every song in the band's set, from the atmospheric ballads to the rockabilly stomps. Richard's musical influences have been cited in just about every review and interview I've read, so I won't bother to rehash them here. The bottom line is that Richard and his band brought the songs to vivid life with gorgeous, eloquent notes and Richard's rich, evocative voice. And between songs, Richard engaged the audience with his patently Northern sense of humor, simultaneously caustic and affectionate.

Not to linger on the '90s too much, but I couldn't help but think back to Richard's work with the Longpigs. If I recall correctly, Richard contributed a couple of b-sides to the Longpigs' recorded output, which I now realize is a right shame. The other major realization was how much of his own muse Richard must have had to suppress in his time with the band and how much of a reward it must be for him to finally make the music he loves, complete with stand-up bass, lap steel, and even his own array of hollow-body guitars--instruments not commonly handled by British bands around the fin de siecle.



The band truly brought it home, appropriately, on the closing number, "The Ocean." Where they had beautifully serenaded us for the preceding hour, "The Ocean" placed them squarely in the here and now. The sprawling epic delivered what you hope for from every closing number: It was so enveloping and satisfying that you had to admit there was no way to follow it up.

Ferraby Lionheart opened the show, and for this, the second time I've seen him, he brought three other players to fill out his sound. Though we didn't get a Madonna cover for this outing, the warmth in his voice and compositions remained readily apparent.

sunken song

One show down, one show to go--it definitely wasn't an average night out, even for me, but compared to other distances I've traveled between shows, rushing a couple of miles across town is a veritable cakewalk.

Nels Cline Singers (with special guest Jeff Parker), Cafe du Nord, October 25, 2007: Originally, I figured I'd duck out of the Herbst Theatre around 9, catch a cab, and make it to Cafe du Nord in the nick of time--but the scheme soon derailed. First, I realized there was no way I could leave Glenn Kotche's show early. Then the concert, in fact, went a little longer than expected. And to top it off, Van Ness was apparently a No Taxi Zone, so my fortunes were left to San Francisco Muni. It's amazing I made it to my destination at all.

Lucky for me, shows at Cafe du Nord rarely start at the time listed on the club's Web site, so I managed to catch the last 15 minutes of the Nels Cline Singers' first set. "Sunken Song" was already underway, then the group closed the set with "Something About David H.," one of my favorite tracks from The Giant Pin. Can a work be elegiac and white hot at the same time? Because that's how it came across to me.



After a short break, the Singers returned with an additional face: Jeff Parker from Tortoise. Not long ago, if you took bets on which Chicago group Nels Cline might join, I doubt that Wilco would place very high, whereas Tortoise would stand as one of the front-runners. Funny how things work out, but still, it's sort of amazing that it took so long for Nels to hook up with a member of Tortoise.



I thought we were due for a set similar to what my friends in the Midwest witnessed a couple of years ago, but early on, Nels revealed to the audience that the group had settled on a selection of titles that they all sort of knew. Thus, we got a trio of Ornette Coleman tunes (perhaps inspired by the legend's appearance at the San Francisco Jazz Fest over the weekend), as well as some works by more obscure artists that I can't begin to guess at. Nels, in his typically understated manner, also confessed that perhaps they should've rehearsed at least one of those tunes, while other, more oblique (and presumably original) forays moved Nels to state that "some of those don't have names."



If you want an academic breakdown of what they played, you've come to the wrong place. All I can say is that, to my ears, the pleasing, swinging beat that marked a few of the songs could qualify as classic jazz. But this being a Nels Cline Singers show, we got more than one jagged, sprawling barrage of instrumentation, some of which even coalesced into something resembling a song.

I've watched Nels play with numerous musicians, but his shows with the Singers reveal a facet of his musicianship that you don't see much when he's a supporting player. I mean, Nels's creativity and intensity come through no matter what project he tours with, but with the Singers, he's the undisputed leader. Often, he cedes the floor to the other players for their solo turns, but have no doubt--he's already wordlessly directed them to run with the passage. And when he's feeling it, either in his own playing or his colleagues' contributions, he lets them know with approving roars and infectious grins.



Though my Wilco fandom predates both Glenn and Nels's time with the band, the two of them have a lot to do with why I come back to the group again and again. I didn't need these shows to remind me that we've seen only a portion of their talent so far, but it's unlikely I'll ever assume anything less now.

Addendum: It was pleased to see that I wasn't the only one show-hopper tonight; at the end of the gig, I spied Glenn Kotche in the audience at Cafe du Nord as well.

See also:
» anomaly

as fickle as a paper doll

I was set to sit on my ass for the next few weeks and grasp at straws for blog posts, but Stephanie hit town, so we hit the St. Vincent show at Cafe du Nord for her visit. Thus, I'll spend only two weeks grasping at straws before the next rock tourism jaunt. Mark your calendars (ha)!

St. Vincent/Death Vessel/Ferraby Lionheart, Cafe du Nord, August 3, 2007: Among this triple bill, the only performance I can really address is that of Ferraby Lionheart, my hook for convincing Stephanie to come to the show. I hadn't heard a note of his music, but that's never stopped me before. In fact, I'm probably more likely to skip a gig if I'm familiar with--and turned off/bored/underwhelmed by--an artist's repertoire; sometimes the element of surprise is the best factor a new musician has working in his or her favor.

Just before the gig, Stephanie mentioned that Ferraby reminds her of Townes Van Zandt, a comparison that rang in my mind for the entire gig. It was an apt parallel, borne out by the twang-touched, Western-inspired guitar tunes that comprised half the set. Making generous use of the reverb on his voice, he brought to mind the singing cowboys of yore, though his lyrics felt more modern in their concerns.

The other half of the set, Ferraby took to the electric piano, and at first, the songs sounded less distinctive. The second number, we agreed, started out like an eels tune, teetering and sheepish, before turning on a Rufus Wainwright-esque flourish. They picked up steam, but I definitely preferred him on the guitar.

Toward the end of the set, he graced us with a cover that I didn't recognize until Stephanie elbowed me at the start of the second verse. It was "Crazy for You," reimagined as something worthier of Dolly Parton than Mrs. Guy Ritchie. I can't blame him; as much as I've tried to resist her, Madonna was undoubtedly part of the fabric of my teenage years.

We had to retreat by the second song of Death Vessel's set, but not before being struck by the contradictions he presented. With a name like that, I expected some goth group, but it turned out to be a lone metal-looking guy with an acoustic guitar, a high, androgynous voice, and extremely earnest though monochromatic tunes.

Because of Cafe du Nord's unforgiving stage times, we couldn't stay for all of St. Vincent's set, but I thought she was dynamite in the snippet we caught. When I saw her back in January opening for Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, she was definitely intriguing, but in the interim, she's added a whole other dimension to her show. Some of the credit has to go with her backing band, who brought out the textures only hinted at in her solo treatment. Of the handful of tunes we caught, she was interchangeably arty, rocking, and lyrical. Once again, she made use of an odd percussive implement (a mannequin's arm?), though her crush on Sufjan Stevens didn't come up this time. I think I'll be back for more when she inevitably returns.

See also:
» done well is so much fucking better

come on back 'cos it's all still here

My favorite artists do not, by most measures, subsist on the fringe, nor do they fly under the radar. Still, I'm often taken aback when they show up in the mass-market milieu, such as slick commercials, network TV shows, major-studio movies, and general interest magazines. Spoon has hit all these cultural landmarks, including one that recently tickled/alarmed me: a profile and review in the New Yorker. My unease was tempered, however, by the band's return to tiny clubs to promote Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga.

Spoon, Cafe du Nord, July 14, 2007: It's been several years since I've felt the need to proselytize Spoon, and I'm glad that their fortunes have changed so dramatically in that time. Through no fault of their own, however, they now inhabit the same territory as another group of recent visitors to San Francisco, the Decemberists. I like both bands immensely, but the venues necessary to accommodate their expanding fan base tend to keep me away. Fortunately, I chalked up plenty of Spoon shows during the pre-blog years, so I'm not lacking in that department. Nonetheless, a part of me feels a little twinge whenever I rule out catching one of their shows for no reason other than venue snobbery.

The only consolation to being a venue snob is that your pigheadedness is sometimes rewarded by bands who seem to enjoy playing to real crowds in minuscule spaces--bands such as Spoon. For me, there's no contest: I'd trade in front-row seats to just about any theater, amphitheater, or festival show for a perch in a glorified bar with a decent sound system, standing less than an arm's length away from a beloved band, even if I have to wait in line for the better part of a day to make the cut.



By now, it probably feels like you've been reading for as long as I was waiting! Of course, you can peek at the setlist below if you want the rundown of songs. Of the older tunes, "Anything You Want" had a slinky, subterranean undertone that felt new to me, while I welcome any opportunity to hear "Vittorio E" or "I Could See the Dude." Overall, I would've liked more Gimme Fiction and less Kill the Moonlight, but I can't complain about the Girls Can Tell love, especially "Everything Hits at Once." Later, it occurred to me that they didn't do "Me and the Bean"--a first for me.



I hadn't spent much time with Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga before the show, but "You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb" and "The Underdog" hooked me right away, and their charms were just as irresistible in the club. I love how the band embraces its pure pop instincts on those two, and when you see them play it live, there's no doubt that the tambourine makes both tunes. In fact, I think that the two songs' detour from the typical Spoon blueprint is what makes them so interesting. The rest of the new songs sort of flew past me, and I'm still taking in Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, but I like how the band has managed to incorporate a wider range of influences while simultaneously honing its signature sound.

As a fan, I know how much of a treat these small shows can be, but almost as satisfying is hearing the sentiment echoed by the band or performer. Toward the end of the evening, Britt even said it was the best show the band had ever played in San Francisco. Otherwise, banter was in fairly short supply, though Britt was more generous with his grins. At the same time, though, he seemed to play to his amp as much as to any human (with the possible exception of the rock-solid Jim Eno).

The very first Spoon show I attended was a major revelation that drove me to urge their music on anyone who inquired into my listening habits. Truthfully, I'm not sure any of the gigs I've seen since then have quite approached that plateau (with the possible exception of the 2003 El Rey gig with the Natural History), not even this intimate show. I can't write off any band that once grabbed me so emphatically, but at the same time, I'd be lying if I claimed they were in the best form I've witnessed.



Rogue Wave opened the show and previewed a bunch of songs from their new album, coming out in September. Their sweet, catchy tunes are intact, and they've apparently picked up a new bass player along the way: Abbey, formerly of Beulah! Graham from the band even joined Spoon for "Fitted Shirt" and "Lines in the Suit," a tradition first established when he jumped in at Britt's solo show at Hotel Utah in 2004.

See also:
» turn to crystal form
» you're never coming back here again
» i'll be out on the town

love is a doing word

I'm not a hard sell when it comes to concerts, but the Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble went straight to the top of my list of gotta-go shows. Chris Funk and Jenny Conlee of the Decemberists were the main draw, but throw an alleged animatronic gorilla into the mix, and you have the makings of a downright spectacle. Sign me up!

Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble, Cafe du Nord, June 7, 2007: It's very rare that I actively stop liking a band; the downward spiral usually starts with venue snobbery, which leads to apathy, and with the exception of all but my most adored artists, eventual disengagement.

That never-ending stream of up-and-coming, swoon-inducing groups helps feed the need for new music, but side projects are another great resource when you're seeking that mixture of new yet simultaneously familiar. Sure, they're often indulgent and willfully obscure, but they can be a lot of fun, especially if they carry any of the spark that initially drew you to the original players.

The Decemberists are in that awkward spot with me, in that I like them and find them undeniably endearing, but odds are, my interest has peaked. Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble lets me extend that enjoyment a little longer, and the group that Chris Funk put together shared many of the traits that made the Decemberists so charming in the first place.



Of course, Chris's own talents contributed to the Decemberists' growth, and they were on full display with Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble. Over the course of the evening, he manned the hurdy-gurdy, the dobro, and the relatively banal guitar, in addition to singing and narrating the action. Elsewhere on the tiny stage, Jenny Conlee presided over the Moog, Carson Ellis kept the time on a minimal drum kit, and their friends filled out the rest of the sound with banjo, bass guitar, fiddle, and even a gas can. Presiding over the ensemble was Sebastian the Animatronic Gorilla, waving a composer's wand and fueled by Patron tequila.



Funny or fatuous? You'll have to decide for yourself, but I can say that the music didn't take a backseat to the humor. Chris didn't reveal himself to be a frustrated lyricist relegated to sideman duties, nor will you hear the likes of "Chris Walla: Duet for Moog and Hurdy-Gurdy in G-Majorish" on mainstream radio any time soon. However, the fairly traditional-sounding songs came across as lilting, melodious, though meandering treats.

Real estate agents, take note of Chris's triptych of songs to his neighbors: "Chained to the Pole," "Can't See the Moon? Cut Down the Tree," and "Give Back the Recycle Bin Now!" Julie recognized "Teardrop" before I did, and Chris himself described it as "psychedelic bluegrass"--an apt call. I don't think we got any of the other covers you'll find on the album, but then again, I wouldn't put it past the band, and I don't trust my ears enough to swear to that. The gorilla held up well, even taking to the drums for the encore after repeated breaks to rehydrate the creature.



The Decemberists are, for all intents and purposes, Colin Meloy's metaphorical baby (aside from his real baby), so it's cool to see the other band members branching out as well. If you're willing to give them a chance, Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble might offer some clues as to how the band frames those distinctively detailed historical tales that marks the group's compositions. If, however, you're more interested in how to make use of a guy (?) in a gorilla suit, Flash Hawk can help you out there too.

See also:
» a writer, a writer of fictions
» hear all the bombs, they fade away

you can fall in love with every other soul you meet

You wouldn't necessarily know it from this broken record of a blog, but I welcome the opportunity to check out new bands, and I'm delighted when they turn out to be good. Admittedly, I'm not as susceptible to their charms as I used to be, which is why it's all the more satisfying when truly exciting new talent comes along. Enter stage right: the Broken West.

The Broken West, Cafe du Nord, April 16, 2007: Boy, did I luck out. Back in February, I missed the Broken West at this very venue--not due to my usual diversions (rock tourism) but because I completely lost track of time for one house-bound week, when I couldn't tell you what day it was to save my life. How pathetic! Even worse, I was in Chicago when they played there last month, but there was no way we could've packed any more music into that already ambitious weekend. Hooray for second (third?) chances and hard-working bands!

I Can't Go On, I'll Go On has emerged as one of my favorite albums so far this year, but it didn't win me over right away. Rather, it snuck up on me via the Shuffle option on iTunes/the iPod. More than a few times, when an unfamiliar song came on, I'd note to myself how much I liked it, look to the display to see its stats (all along thinking that it might be some record I've owned for 10 or more years), and find that the Broken West was responsible for the lovely piece of songcraft.

It's pretty easy to play Spot the Influences on this record, so much so that I think it'd be pedantic to list them all here. Ultimately, influence-spotting is akin to talking about wine, roller coasters, sex, what have you: It's one way to get across the sensory explosion, but in the end, it doesn't compensate for the in-the-moment experience. Suffice it to say that with their mellifluous harmonies, jangly guitars, syncopated handclaps, and timeless songwriting, the Broken West follows in the tradition of many wonderful guitar bands both contemporary and classical, with maybe a surprise nod or two (Phil Spector?!?) thrown in. The result: a sublimely effervescent indie rock record, the kind that doesn't come around often enough for my tastes. By the way, if I sound smitten, that's because I am!

On to the gig: Since this was their first headlining show in a while, we got a longer set than usual that included a few songs they never do live; I believe these bonus tracks were "Abigail," "Slow," and "Like a Light," but don't quote me on that. We also heard a cover of Love's "No Matter What You Do," but the bulk of the set comprised the band's own glorious album tracks.

And how did I Can't Go On, I'll Go On's melodic mastery translate to the stage? Well, away from the mixing desk, the record's seamless vocals and multilayered guitars showed a little bit of fraying at first, but that's understandable. Besides, the band seemed to loosen up and gel as the night wore on. By the time they unfurled "You Can Build an Island," for example, I was totally swimming in the warm stream of their voices, and a day after the show, the song has supplanted "Down in the Valley" as my favorite tune on the record. Other times, such as with the more epic songs, they exhibited a raggedness that's absent from the record; it sort of humanized them as a band and showed that they aren't some superslick studio creation. Instead, you got a glimpse of four (actually, five, including the keyboard player they brought along) guys who started out making a racket in the garage and ended up with--well, still a racket but a beautiful one at that.

Two openers played tonight. Matt Lutz of the Herms took to the stage with an acoustic guitar, funny and deadpan tunes, and a few yarns about his in-progress horror movie screenplays (Fat Camp: Time to Diet, for starters) before he packed up to catch Willie Nelson's show at the Fillmore. Mezzanine Owls from Los Angeles were the other openers, and from the get go, they brought to mind many of the U.K. bands I've loved, taking a page from the poppier shoegaze bands, as well as one of my favorite movements: the gloomy guitar bands that came out of northern England in the early to mid-'80s (the Chameleons, Echo and the Bunnymen, Comsat Angels). It wasn't a bad way to spend a late Monday night in San Francisco.

Does the world need another indie rock guitar band churning out dreamy, earnest, irresistible pop melodies? I think you know my answer, but this time, I actually have evidence to support it: Go (Broken) West, young man or woman.

where roses bloomed out of thin air

Like millions of others, I can't live without my iPod, but I still place a great amount of faith in radio. After all, what are the chances that you've tuned in when that song goes out over the airwaves to catch your attention and arrest you in place, whether you're driving, doing laundry, or trying to work? It's even more amazing when you think about all the songs that wash over you on any given day without making any sort of impact. It's a feeling I've yet to experience from downloading any MP3 or reading a review or blog entry. "Ash Wednesday" is one such song that came to me thanks to (Internet) radio, and it led me to Elvis Perkins.

Elvis Perkins in Dearland, Cafe du Nord, March 25, 2007: I've frittered away a ridiculous number of opportunities to see Elvis Perkins live, even after I figured out that he was kinda based in Los Angeles, came up to San Francisco relatively often, and was responsible for perhaps my favorite song of 2006. On a number of occasions, I've absentmindedly checked his Web site to find that he had played, for example, 12 Galaxies a few days earlier. My typically hairbrained rock tourism plans are also to blame, as they've taken me away from this city quite a few times when he and his band swept through on--more often than not--a decent to amazing multiple-band bill (Cold War Kids and Pernice Brothers, to name just two).

I'm just grateful that the stars aligned last summer when they opened for World Party, though I gotta admit that I wasn't bowled over by the band that night--at least, not compared to the impact that the song "Ash Wednesday" had on me. Nonetheless, it was impossible to ignore their charm or Elvis's distinctive songwriting stance. And though this isn't meant to excuse my earlier slacking on this band, maybe all those missed dates were actually a blessing in disguise, prepping me for this show on their first-ever headlining tour. (Throw me a bone!)

It's not hard to draw comparisons between Elvis Perkins and his predecessors; I don't think it's a stretch to see the resemblances to Dylan, particularly, with his acoustic guitar, harmonica, and opaque lyrics, while the backing band's cargo of thrift-shop-find instruments brought to mind Tom Waits. For me, at least, as gorgeous and moving as his more unvarnished tunes are, the undeniably intriguing aspects of Elvis's sound and performance popped up when he detoured from the typical singer/songwriter script, such as on the songs that could've doubled as boisterous drinking anthems. Also, a large chunk of that credit goes to his spirited and solid backing band.

The bass player moved around so much in time with the tunes that I couldn't take a decent picture of him. The drummer came out from behind the kit on three different songs to play a big marching drum on du Nord's tiny stage, as well as add percussion (in the form of a corrugated metal thermos and a hair pick, based on my very nontechnical estiimation to Maudie). The remaining member of the band mostly manned the piano and harmonium, but he also threw in electric guitar on a few songs and, at the end, picked up a trombone too. They all contributed harmonies as needed.

One of the surprises of the set was a song called "The Weeping Pilgrim." Elvis said he didn't know who wrote it, and I take it to be a traditional folk song, though you wouldn't have guessed it from the band's arrangement. They started off the song gathered around the drum kit, as if ready for takeoff, in a formation more often associated with, say, Van Halen's "Jump" video than any folk-inspired act I can think of. And when the rollicking rock beat kicked in, they were truly off to the races: crossing the tiny stage to play next to each other, hopping around like jumping beans, and simply grinning in their enjoyment.

They played a bunch of songs not on the album. One of the new tunes without a title adopted a very slinky, reggae-ish beat and included some lyrics about "setting sun." I think it was a song called "Shampoo" that featured a white-noise-inflected intro, which saw the members of Dearland messing with their instruments in unusual ways (playing the guitar on the floor, rubbing the rim of the cymbal, blowing into what looked like a child's plastic toy horn, adorned with a tiny birdcage). I only wish I could remember what song came after Elvis's comment about losing a girl to Rivers Cuomo! [Edit: The song is "The Night and the Liquor," as determined by copious further listenings.] In all, it was completely refreshing and a very welcome antidote to your average singer/songwriter shtick. I can't wait to see this band again.

The openers, Let's Go Sailing, were also from Los Angeles, and they played a familiar blend of bright, catchy, but ultimately melancholy indie pop, as epitomized by their song about panic attacks. They got off to a somewhat slow start, but once the double guitars kicked in, the show picked up. However, they could probably use a little more practice in developing their stage banter and presence (admittedly, very trying and difficult skills to master).

See also:
» save me from tomorrow

where the wild things are

Or, perhaps, the zealous ones, judging by the sheer number of gearheads who came out for the Nels Cline/Glenn Kotche double bill.

Nels Cline and Glenn Kotche, Cafe du Nord, February 26, 2007: Shaky employment prospects kept me from catching Nels and Glenn on their tandem tour of the East Coast last year. Luckily, they brought their act out west, and lightning, hail, and whipping winds weren't enough to keep me away from a show featuring two of my favorite musicians. I certainly missed Trish and Maudie's presence (get better soon, ladies!), but despite the ugly conditions, a respectable crowd filled Cafe du Nord. Heck, I even spied LeRoy Bach (formerly of Five Style and Wilco, among others) in the audience.

Nels and Glenn each took up about half the tiny stage, the two of them loaded down with a different set of musical implements than I'm used to seeing. Glenn, especially, brought a ton of toys: cymbals affixed to more cymbals, several varieties of drumsticks, and what looked like a torchiere bearing a spiraling metal cascade. Nels, meanwhile, brandished a set of guitars that he doesn't usually play with Wilco, including a shiny brown Danelectro; he also brought what I discovered is called the Mega Mouth--the thing I've likened to a pink hockey puck in past reports.

First up was Nels, but there was some question as to which incarnation of the man would grace us with his presence: jazz Nels, freeform Nels, rootsy Nels, rocking Nels--maybe even Nels the vocalist? Well, a little of all of them, but he started out on a major noise-drenched bender. In the background, he set up a droning, persistent tone. To my naked eye, his gizmos looked like a couple of old, mic'd transistor radios, but I defer to the surrounding gearheads, who said something about how these items were used to mimic the sound of a sitar.

At the front of the stage, Nels projected his voice through the Mega Mouth and over the guitar strings, creating another wordless, sweeping layer of ambience. Atop those sounds, he jammed in a series of short, forceful riffs. As this discordant exercise progressed and I wondered where Nels was headed, he turned on the sort of crystalline, inspirational notes that he's employed to lift many a musical composition.

Not long ago, the prospects of seeing Glenn solo out west seemed slim, but last year's tour with Jeff Tweedy took care of that precedent. However, in these intimate environs, Glenn's set took on a different dimension.

Although Glenn's set was very similar to what he played with Jeff, his actions seemed better defined and more visceral in this small space. Once again, I was struck by the strength of his arrangements; he has a way of bringing out the melodies in pieces that are ostensibly percussive in nature. At the same time, he just as convincingly brought the rawk, as anyone who's heard the crash of his cymbals can attest. Glenn also took more time to explain some of his inspirations, and he dedicated the João Gilbert cover to LeRoy Bach.

Nels and Glenn came together to conclude the show with a collaborative medley: a cover of Sonic Youth's "Karen Coltrane" from A Thousand Leaves (which Nels called no less than "one of the greatest recordings in the history of Western music"), dovetailing into Nels's own "Caved In Heart Blues." Neither held back on this sprawling duet. Nels wasn't shy with the Mega Mouth, and at one point, Glenn played what looked like a small metal bowl filled with beans--and I couldn't help but think about the possibilities of adding a certain improv-minded multi-instrumentalist (perhaps on piano?) to the mix. Sigh.

Nels Cline and Glenn Kotche, Echo Lounge, February 27, 2007: Overheard at the show: "That's the biggest zildo I've ever seen!"

It was night two for me, but it was the last evening of the tour for Nels and Glenn, and they both mentioned it several times during the set. But of course, with a new Wilco album looming, it's far from the end of the line for the pair.

Nels kicked it off once more, declaring from the outset that he had no idea what he was going to do. And as you might expect from someone as dedicated to improv as Nels, he really did unleash something new. The Mega Mouth re-emerged, but this time, it was accompanied by a lap steel and a couple of other unfamiliar guitars. To begin, Nels ventured out on a slightly more accessible note, but the spell didn't last for long. Before you knew it, we were encompassed in the combined beauty and chaos of a Nels Cline track.

Though he noted that the floor drum was feeding back, Glenn forged ahead with his customary set. Tonight, we were positioned right next to Glenn's kit, so we could see his full range of actions and their effects. I loved the two sets of handheld percussive devices he used on the last segment; one looked like a child's paddleball toy, only made of tin and without the ball! Glenn tossed it away during one of the song's transitions, only to have Nels throw it back at him later in the evening. We saw it fly around like a hot potato at least a couple more times before the show's conclusion.

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that this was my second show in Los Angeles in five days and that I came home to San Francisco in between. This shouldn't be surprising to anyone who knows me, especially if you're aware of one of my many tenets of rock tourism: See the last show(s) of the tour if you can, even if it means you're in Los Angeles for less than 12 hours and back on a plane to get to work in the morning--hypothetically speaking. I firmly stand by that rule, especially when either Nels Cline or Glenn Kotche are involved.

See also:
» i don't want to leave this walking dream
» pumpkin
» and when you touch down
» i hear you sing a golden hymn
» just keep counting the stars

have you tasted the finest of trout

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nothing left to bring me back today

Big thanks to Maudie (the award-winning photog), Trish, Denise, and the compound for helping me commemorate my emancipation. It's a good thing cupcakes are accepted as legal tender in their fiefdom.

The Plimsouls, Cafe du Nord, July 7, 2006: I truly love the '80s, but I sometimes question my own recollections of the decade. Sequestered in a little corner of the 'burbs--way before the Internet existed--I can't swear if my take on popular or, conversely, obscure pop culture jibes with others'.

But I'm pretty sure that in the early '80s, we were a ways off from the full commoditization of "alternative" music. For some of us, the jangly guitar opened the door to a whole different world of music, away from the oversize production values and the synthesizers more prevalent in the songs of the time. REM, of course, was one of the most noted purveyors of this sound, but there were other awesome bands in that vein, including the Plimsouls.

It was many years later that I learned the Plimsouls were part of a groundswell of LA bands, but even now (for better or for worse), they'll forever be associated with that pivotal scene in Valley Girl. For all our reminiscing, however, the crowd turned out to be a lot more male dominated than we expected. Then again, Peter Case has established a decent solo career over the years and has earned his following the old-fashioned way, regardless of demographics.

I can't tell you much about the songs, except that, of course, they did The Hit, which they wisely rolled into a medley to sustain that energy. They even did a couple of new songs off their upcoming album. I was more familiar with the covers, three of which I recognized. A couple were not surprising: the Creation's "Making Time," and "Dizzy Miss Lizzie," which revealed their proto power-pop influences. But when they hit up Television's "Glory," I was taken by surprise. Television's meandering rhythms and, especially, Tom Verlaine's crooked vocals would seem diametrically opposed to the Plimsouls' straightforward rock, but it was a nice touch.

The openers were called Magic Christian, a four-piece out of San Francisco, comprising Cyril Jordan (the original guitarist from the Flaming Groovies) and other San Francisco-area veterans, though Prairie Prince wasn't present tonight. They looked like they had taken a page out of the Rodney Bingenheimer school of aging (disgracefully) and wouldn't have been out of place playing the Whiskey A-Go-Go 30 years ago. Nonetheless, they churned out perfect little, errrr, nuggets of pop music.

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

it's been a while

Holy crap--so much for the idea that this would make it easier for me to remember shows and stuff. Ha! Maybe I was better off writing things in my little notebook. Well, one of these days, I'll catch up with the tons of shows I attended between September 2004 and January 2005, but here are summaries of at least a couple of them I saw in January.

***********************
Arcade Fire
Jan. 13 and 14, 2005
Great American Music Hall
San Francisco

I can't think of another time when a new band on an indie label managed to sell out three nights at the Great American Music Hall in no time flat. The ticket saga on craigslist was a soap opera in itself. That hype, combined with my friend's warning that Win's voice was really awful at their show here in December, made me a little wary, but I knew it was something I had to see for myself. I couldn't justify seeing all three shows, but maybe that was right decision, as Win was reportedly strying to shake off a bug on that first night. However, I did miss Will ramming the wall and taking out a nice chunk of the plaster with him. His scuff marks were all over the wall as well--alongside the big cut-outs of the Victorian ladies and other artwork.

There weren't many changes to the setlist, but what was merely intense on Thursday went apeshit on Friday, including Richard and Will's tussle on "Laika" (after they had borrowed another helmet to replace the one that was stolen/lost after the first night) and a version of "Crown of Love" that could not be more moving. The second night, "Tunnels" was also mindblowing. Their epic sound filled the Great American beautifully, and I could see people standing up in their seats, all the way in the back balcony. They managed to hurt themselves both nights; Will and Win were bleeding from, respectively, a percussion-related injury and running into the mic stand. The second night, Richard split his pants when he tripped over Will's collapsed form. (I'm not sure how Richard did this, as he has the patented Indie Ass--that is, none at all.) His attempts at surreptitiously pinning the seat of his trousers back together were comedically useless, but he was eventually outed by Win. And the handful of shared Win-Regine vocals were wonderful to hear, especially on "My Heart Is an Apple." They did one new song each night, the second of which seemed to have a jauntier, poppier air. The second night, they seemed to go all out, buying a truckload of flashlights for the audience to wave around when the lights when down for the encore of "Un Annee Sans Lumiere" and "Power Out."

If there's anything I'll take away from this show, it's the way the band seems to enjoy every moment. I love that they all sing along to the songs, adding to the choir effect when needed but belting it out even if there's no microphone near them. Right now, I can't stop thinking of the little details that jumped out at me that weren't so obvious from listening to the record, such as that wonderful guitar lick from "Une Annee" and the overall percussive domination to their sound.

And for the starspotters out there, the indie rockers were in full force, as John Vanderslice as well as various members of Beulah and Sleater-Kinney were taking in the tunes on Thursday.

After the show, the band was just kinda hanging out around the floor and fielding questions, conversations, requests with everyone who asked. Hype or no, they couldn't have been more down to earth and unaffected. Regine even told us the tragic story about how they forgot her beloved boots in the taxi that day. I've decided that the next time they come to town, I'm going to every single show, even if it kills me. Yes, they're that good and that fun to watch.
***********************
Nels Cline Singers
1-21-05
Bruno's
San Francisco

What a difference three months makes. This Nels Cline Singers appearance saw a bigger, livelier crowd, but everyone listened raptly to the actual performance. The group itself concentrated on songs from The Giant Pin but threw in a few older and newer tracks as well. I think it was during "Fly Fly" that Devin Hoff turned in an intense bass solo, only to be answered by Nels's equally emphatic guitar-and-whisk work. One very cool and very artful new song, "Mr. Real," was dedicated to a 71-year-old jazz guitarist living in Florida whose name escapes me, but the tune is not to be missed (whenever it's properly recorded, anyway).

We said hi to Nels after the show, and he seemed surprised to see us there. I guess that after seeing us all over the country at Wilco shows, he had no idea where we were from. He gave us a couple of posters and we left for home before we fell asleep on our feet.

***********************
Colin Meloy
1-16-05
Cafe du Nord
San Francisco

I'm still not a huge Decemberists fan the way that a lot of people are, but I recognize their charms, and deciding to see this show was a no-brainer. I kinda have that rule about seeing the main singer/songwriter from bands I dig doing the solo thing, w/o the others. Sometimes, you get blown away by the power of the stripped-down tunes. Other times, you end up wishing the whole band was present.

Colin came out all by himself, except for a couple of guitars. I can't tell you the set list, but he did a numbers of tunes from the new album, all the while goodnaturedly cursing those of us who've downloaded the album as pirates. I find this incredibly ironic, considering half of the band's songs are about pirates. Go figure. Of course, he did a bunch of songs from the catalog, including the divine "Grace Cathedral Hill," perhaps my fave of their songs--the San Francisco angle doesn't hurt, either. He also did a song that didn't make it to the new album, and I think they chose wisely, as it was the narrative of the nine-fingered bandit queen. I dig their narratives, but that's a bit precious for me.

I ended up picking up four copies of the EP they were selling at the show, of Colin doing Morrissey covers. I find this so delightful for a number of reasons. First of all, the Decemberists seem to be one of the few bands who have any right to cover Smiths and/or Morrissey songs, now that the original band seems to be such a staple. I'm not really sure why I think that, but maybe Colin's lyrics at least have the same spark of creativity and uniqueness that Morrissey's did way back when. Also, I love that Colin did Morrissey covers, and not Smiths tunes. It's just so easy to proclaim the Smiths as gods these days; I love that Colin chose fairly obscure tunes from the Moz catalog instead. I had Colin sign them for the various peeps, and he couldn't have been more gracious.

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Jeff Tweedy
1-29-05
Sooz's basement
Chicago

...and then the day arrived. I got into Chicago on Friday evening, where Sooz and the gang picked me up from the El stop. Obviously, I had been looking forward to this day for a number of weeks at that point, but I guess the full import hadn't hit me. I knew I was gonna see a show and that I was gonna hang out with my buddies. Otherwise, it didn't feel that weird. And overall, it never felt weird over the whole weekend, except for maybe at the very moment Mark announced that the Tweedys were trying to find a parking space in front of Sooz's house. I made sure Heidi didn't slink away and instead stood her ground in the kitchen.

It took a little while to load in and set up Jeff's gear. He may have done a soundcheck too, but I was upstairs, gorging on the yummy stuff that everyone had brought. I can't remember the exact time the show started, but it was definitely an auspicious beginning with intros and intros for the intros. Thax Douglas and Tim Tutten were present, so we had the full Chi-Town rock treatment. Finally, Jeff took the "stage" and kicked off with "Laminated Cat."

I could go on for a very long time about how wonderful that night was, but I don't think I'd do it justice. The music was a delight, even when we marred the otherwise lovely tunes. The Tweedys were as sweet as can be, and the friends--they weren't just the icing on the cake, they infused every morsel of joy that evening. I try to explain it all the time, but it's impossible these days. It's like everyone who tries to differentiate between the heart and the head and realizes how futile it is. It's not just the music anymore, it's the friends as well, and neither would be as strong w/o the other. When I think back on it years from now, perhaps I will remember finally hearing "Lost Love" (my unsubtle hint in the voting obviously worked) or, more likely, I will think of me and Heidi squealing for the Split Enz songs. Regardless, it was one of the greatest nights in my life, and the following week of "real life" was the biggest drag ever. But now that I've had some distance from it, I'm appreciating it more for the awesome experience it was. You know what they say about it's better to have loved and lost? Well, maybe this isn't completely analogous, but I try to tell myself that just the experience is enough.

The full history
» i wish that i knew what I know now
» people say i'm crazy doing what i'm doing
» the message
» all the ladies and gentlemen
» that year
» springtime comes
» turn our prayers to outrageous dares
» every day is dreamlike

catching up

I've barely started yet have already fallen behind. I actually have a handful of show reports now, so I'd better get on them. Let's go!

M83 (Mezzanine, Sept. 17): This was sort of a last-minute thing, as the gang wanted to see them, though I barely flinched when Tom asked about them earlier. Darcy wanted to check out another guy on the bill--Ulrick Schnauss or someone? I probably spelled that incorrectly, but I'm not going to look it up now. I vaguely knew of M83, but no one in our group was particularly excited about them. After we paid and got in, we discovered that Mr. S wasn't on the bill because of an alleged auto accident. We didn't have much choice but to stay for M83.

Mezzanine is a pretty cool club. It's big, but it's not out of control, like some other places. Also, the crowd seems pretty decent, and the place doesn't seem to be overrun by ecstasy refugees (yet). But it's still a club, and as much as the press or whoever is trying to push M83 for their dance music, they struck us as still being a more rock-oriented band. It seemed kind of silly to stand around in a dance club and stare at the stage, especially when we all had plans to dance. M83 was OK. There were certainly some very beautiful moments, but they didn't have the hooks that I prefer. I think it's safe to say that as a whole, we were disappointed, though they seemed to have a good amount of fans in the audience. As we were leaving, the real dance music started, and it sounded really good. But by then, some of us were pretty tired, so we headed home.

Divine Comedy (Cafe du Nord, Sept. 22): Unlike a lot of people, it seems, I see a lot of bands but don't necessarily buy their music. I definitely prefer the visceral experience of hearing a band for myself instead of buying a CD that I may or may not like. Divine Comedy is one of those bands--I haven't bought anything new by them in years, but I'm glad to see their shows, as long as it's in a cool venue. Though I wasn't exactly dying to see the band, I was looking forward to the show. Fortunately, my expectations were well met. They did a bunch of the "classics," such as "National Express" and "Becoming More Like Alfie," as well as some newer songs. Perhaps my only disappointment of the night is that no drunken fool requested "My Lovely Horse," though I threatened to do so repeatedly. The crowd itself was a good size and enthusiastic, so that helped too. But the biggest surprise of the night probably had to do with their covers streak, starting with the song "No One Knows" by Queens of the Stone Age and culminating in the encore, where they took requests from the audience. They did Supergrass, Supertramp, and attempted "MacArthur Park," but that last one didn't quite work out. It was great! Julie mentioned that there was definitely a touch of Largo in their show, which reminded me that the band has done a number of dates at Largo. I assumed it was the Irish connection, but I can see how appropriate that club would be for them. Maybe the Jon Brion touch as rubbed off, as well.

Hope of the States/Delays (Popscene, Sept. 23): It is always with a heavy heart that I drag myself back to Popscene. I think I used to think of it ironically, but now, it just pains me to be there and to listen to the same, tired soundtrack week after week. Ugh. But here we were. I wanted to catch Hope of the States and was willing to put up with the Delays again for the occasion. The Delays were pretty much the same as before, though maybe slightly better dressed this time. I do like that song "Nearer Than Heaven," but their heavier songs are so unconvincing. Even worse, I was stuck in front of the keyboard guy, the one who poses all the time. I tried to look away as often as possible.

Julie had given me a copy of the HOTS CD a little while ago, and I definitely liked it, though I had pretty much a blank slate coming into the show. Lila mentioned that there were, like, 9 of them in the band, which got my hopes up. Instead, there were 6 members, but that's OK too. In a nutshell, I was WOWED. I dug 'em and everything about them. I loved the wall of sound, I loved the violin, I loved the slide show, I just dug the tunes! They reminded me a little of the Delgados, a little of My Bloody Valentine, but overall, it was refreshing to hear a band that wasn't stealing directly from the post-Radiohead mold or, at the other extreme, the post-White Stripes sound. Even now, going back and listening to the CD, I don't necessarily love the album, but I'm going to check them out again whenever they return.