if i can't change your mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

scraping paper to document

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

sentimental heart

Two Noise Pop shows in one day? No problem! I've done it before, and odds are I'll do it again (as long as my concert legs don't give out).

She & Him, Great American Music Hall, March 2, 2008: The Tilly and the Wall show ended just in time for us to walk up Van Ness to the Great American Music Hall and squeeze into the debut She & Him show without having to watch even more questionable opening acts. We did sacrifice proximity to the stage, but hey, they're no awesome British dudes.

I never tire of talking about Largo in general, but some episodes, more than others, are worth repeating and harping on and lording over my less fortunate peers. One such show is Jon Brion's end-of-year gig in 2006 featuring, among others, Zooey Deschanel. I don't think I had much of an opinion of her one way or the other before the gig, but I was entirely smitten by last call. Zooey held her ground with the best of them crowded onto that tiny stage, even at their most chaotic. She passed the audition.

On the strength of that show alone, I was pretty much prepared to love her musical project She & Him, realized with the help of M. Ward, who's not really my cup of tea, but I can fully appreciate the significance of his contributions.

When she emerged onstage, Zooey didn't exactly look like your average Noise Pop indie recording artist; rather, in her floor-length black halter dress, her slightly up 'do, and well, her gorgeous looks, she wasn't slumming it. On the other hand, she complemented the Great American Music Hall's ornate decor beautifully. And as the band played on, it soon became apparent that she was the star attraction.

Just to recap, at Largo, she performed a number of Mary Ford/Les Paul classics, but She & Him covered a wider range of styles, from the more countrified numbers to unvarnished singer-songwriter fare to a little bit of girl group action. Through it all, there was something about Zooey's voice and delivery that burnished the songs with just a patina of antiquity, placing it just outside the banalities of the contemporary scene. I don't know the titles, but my favorite song of the night spotlighted just Zooey's voice, boosted with a dollop of reverb and accompanied by M. Ward's emotive, minimal notes. It almost made you forget what passes for country music these days.

The gig capped off another great Noise Pop year, one in which I wanted to see more shows than I managed to attend. Here's hoping for more musical goodness in 2009!

See also:
» i'm offering this simple phrase

let us be free

Though the highlight of my Noise Pop schedule had come and gone, I still had some shows to see on the last day of the festival. Off to the Rickshaw Stop, then, for Tilly and the Wall.

Tilly and the Wall, Rickshaw Stop, March 2, 2008: I stay home a lot more than I used to, but given the right coaxing, venue, and timing, I can be easily convinced to check out a band I haven't seen. Such was the case with Tilly and the Wall, whom Paul counts among his favorite touring bands. Alas, I've repeatedly missed their shows in the Bay Area, so this gig was a long time coming.

For all of Paul's talk of them, I didn't know much about Tilly and the Wall except that they had a tap dancer in the band. But I was willing to keep an open mind--and was rewarded by a really fun, youthful show with the kind of wholehearted, carefree energy that often goes missing from the somber singer-songwriter affairs I favor or the self-consciously cool, aloof bands whose gigs sometimes litter my schedule as well.



It started before the show even began, as they set up the stage with a homemade neon backdrop and handed out balloons to the audience. The fans took their cue to inflate the balloons and bat them around the room while a hip-hop soundtrack supplied by the band's soundman played over the speakers.



From there, the band soon took the stage and simply blew the roof off the place. There were hands in the air, warnings/encouragement to shake our bodies, and calls for help with the shout-along choruses.



I wouldn't know where to begin in trying to describe their sound. Certainly, they have the two main vocalists sharing harmonies and backed by a couple of guitarists, a keyboardist, a drummer, and their extra percussionist (the tap dancer), but that in no way limits them to a specific genre. They'd be the perfect accompaniment for your Saturday night pre-going-out ritual, as well as for the actual going out itself. I can't imagine leaving the show without a smile on your face; they were that infectiously and effortlessly fun.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the openers. We missed Little Teeth, the first band on the bill, but heard their shrieks and noise movements from outside the club. Tally Hall, the second band, weren't bad, but they were gimmicky in a way that reminded me of OK GO, for example. Capgun Coup kept me interested for about half their set, with very lo-fi, unpretentious songs, but by the second half, the singer's voice started to grate on me. I'm going to have to call it another overall miss for the Noise Pop crew, though the headliners once again delighted.

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

you're never coming back here again

I wasn't sad about missing Spoon on their last swing through San Francisco, but I was glad to see that Britt Daniel was returning for Noise Pop.

Britt Daniel, Swedish American Hall, March 29, 2006: Spoon's normal setup is undeniably spare, but Britt's solo rig is almost comically minimal. As far as I could tell, he had one boombox, one amp, one guitar (a gorgeous brown Gibson hollow body), and maybe a few pedals. At least the boombox looked snazzy.

Britt carried along an informal setlist, but he said early on that he would play what the audience wanted to hear and, in fact, picked up many requests. To start, he launched into the awesome "Advance Cassette," and over the course of the night, he played a mix of Spoon's five albums. To my delight, he hit more older songs than I expected, though as you might've guessed, Gimme Fiction tracks had the edge. We got a great cover of John Lennon's "Isolation," and I'll never tire of hearing "Metal Detektor" or "The Agony of Laffitte." Finally, any night where you hear a song from the Soft Effects EP is a good gig.

Britt was surprisingly modest, apologizing and warning us about songs that he didn't think would work. Before "Me and the Bean," he commented that he wished he had written it, and he claimed that he couldn't carry off "Fitted Shirt" without the harmonies and the drums. As far as I'm concerned, I didn't hear a bad song in the bunch. I can't comment on the new songs just yet; they sounded fine, though I didn't love either one the way that, say, "Delicate Place" hit me as soon as I heard it.

At one point, Britt mentioned that he's played more solo shows in San Francisco than anywhere else other than Austin. It didn't sound like he had planned it that way, but I'm glad to have been able to enjoy the bounty in my own backyard.

The openers were all singer-songwriters, though with different styles. The first one was named Meric Long, and he wore his heart rather visibly on his sleeve. I liked his use of loops, and for one song, his friend played the chair (rhythm). The second was named Martyn Leaper, from the Minders. We noted that his songs were about 2 minutes each, and Annie and I nudged each other during his rendition of "Waterloo Sunset." The last was Laura Viers, who had opened for Colin Meloy back in January. She played a longer set this time, and I loved the part when she went completely unplugged and played her song while walking around the hall, like a true troubador.

See also:
» i'll be out on the town
» turn to crystal form

in fact, you're fanatical

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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