i was a new york doll

Boy, I've been seeing a lot of veterans lately, haven't I? But maybe I'm a veteran at this point too. If celebrating the occasion of Robyn Hitchcock's 60th birthday at the Fillmore puts me in the oldster category, so be it. I wasn't about to miss this show for anything.

Viva Hitchcock! A 60th Birthday Celebration for Robyn Hitchcock, the Fillmore, May 2, 2013: I confess my expectations of special guests and one-off events at concerts have grown unreasonably. I kind of want them to happen all the time, in no small part due to decade-plus of star-studded (?) spectacles in Southern California. I try to tamp down the anticipation, but it helps when all the cards on the table and the guest list is known, long before the show is scheduled. At that point, all you have to do is sit back and enjoy, as a cavalcade of guests feted Robyn Hitchcock, on the occasion of his 60th birthday (albeit six months on).

Before a single musician played a note, Daniel Handler set the stage with an intro for the show. As it happened, he wouldn't be the only writer we'd see tonight; Neil Gaiman briefly joined him at the mic to introduce Amanda Palmer's portion of the show. Also, I could swear I saw Michael Chabon up in guest box, but then again, there were a lot of bespectacled, bookish-looking, middle-aged men all over the premises, so I could be wrong.

But back to Daniel Handler, aka Lemony Snicket -- I believe he was the one who noted that most of the artists we'd see tonight were from the Pacific Northwest. By no coincidence, Colin Meloy was the main mover behind the scenes, so of course there'd be a regional bias. Lucky for us, that part of the world is pretty good for, well, almost everything these days. I'm just thankful they decided to do it at the Fillmore instead of another part of the world. Then again, why would you want to do this anywhere else, given the choice?

Among the first musicians to plug in were John Moen (Decemberists), Dave Depper, Andy Cabic (Vetiver) -- and Peter Buck (er, REM, though I think Daniel Handler reminded us that he's currently unemployed). As you might guess, Peter Buck got a lot of attention, but his contributions and presence were fairly subtle, if you can call gorgeous, rippling chords from those big, beautiful Gibsons and Rickenbackers "subtle." Overall, he stayed in the background, even as the crowd cheered on his every appearance.

Peter, Dave, and John would act as the house band for much of the night, backing each new ensemble for their portion of the show and their selections from Robyn's catalog -- in most cases, going into deep album cuts. Sean Nelson (ex-Harvey Danger) had joined this first assemblage, but he returned with his wife for the second segment of his show. Sean got in one of the better lines of the night, as he called out our likely common affliction: Anglophilia. Nailed it!

Eric Johnson of the Fruit Bats was the first musician of the evening that I count among my favorites, and it was probably my familiarity with his music that it hit me: These artists were really personalizing Robyn's tunes.



This also brings up a confession: I'm not particularly up on Robyn's songs, despite having seen him in concert at least a couple of dozen times by now and even being a cognizant music fan when he hit the scene. Back then, his tunes weren't particularly pop-friendly to my teenage ears. I'm gonna say it -- he was probably a little too weird and not as photogenic as I preferred. Also, as I later discovered, he had that whole Dylan thing going on, which I still haven't really warmed to, truth be told. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen Robyn as a strictly solo act; more often than not, I've caught him as part of a Largo conclave, where it seems like everything but an artist's original tracks are on the menu.

Over to Eric: He covered "Trams of Old London," which I actually recognized! But just as identifiable was the jangly, acoustic spin he put on the tune. His typically rich vocals didn't hurt either. It's worth repeating: He has one of my favorite voices among musicians today. In Eric's hands, the songs sounded like Fruit Bats tunes.

The Young Fresh Fellows were on next, turning the volume all the way up to 11 and kicking up the tempo. You have to wonder if it's ever smart to name your act "Young," because these guys were not. Then again, what 20-something thinks they'll ever get old? Or that their band will persist long enough for the name to matter. And that aforementioned point about the Fruit Bats putting their stamp on Robyn's titles? It went double for the Young Fresh Fellows.

I'm a little more familiar with Rhett Miller's association with Robyn Hitchcock, so it came as little surprise that he'd share his fandom so giddily or that he'd go with "Cynthia Mask," which the Old 97s recorded a while back. But who knew he'd get "Balloon Man," perhaps Robyn's only certified U.S. (alternative?) radio hit? And yup, you guessed it -- Rhett put a little bit of Texas in the quintessentially British works.



This was the point when Neil Gaiman joined the performers, though he didn't say a word as Daniel Handler directed our attention to one of the upstairs boxes. A barbershop quintet, known as the Hitchcockblockers, had assembled for an a cappella rendition of "Uncorrected Personality Traits."



One of the Hitchcockblockers, Amanda Palmer, came downstairs for the next segment, accompanied by the birthday boy himself. In fact, this was the first time we'd seen him all night, but thankfully, it wouldn't be the last. I'm not entirely up on the Amanda Palmer saga, but I guess her fellow musicians haven't shut her out. Free speech? Solidarity? Your guess is as good as mine (that is: not good at all).

The instigator Colin Meloy came up next, after an awesome intro by Daniel Handler that I wish I could repeat verbatim because it was so good. All I can recall is that he mentioned Irish folk songs and Civil War reenactments. Like the rest of the crew, Colin took his allotted portion of three songs -- but dammit, if the titles alone couldn't have been ripped out of a Decemberists setlist. Colin sounded like Colin, but he may have shared the most direct connection to Robyn, with their taste in subject matter, wordplay, and folksiness. In case you had been wondering why Colin of all people had assembled this show, he put those question to rest with his performance.



I've skimmed over Daniel Handler's input because it's impossible to repeat his words without mangling them in my own illiteracy. But he created another highlight when he donned an accordion and sang "Gene Hackman" for us. Do I agree with the song's sentiment? No, but I highly approve of Mr. Lemony Snicket putting a sorrowful, Old World slant on it.

Finally, it was time for Robyn himself, partly solo, partly with the Venus 3, and partly in a mob, but first he shared the stage with Sean Nelson for a couple of tunes, including the always charming "I Feel Beautiful," even if I missed you-know-who's marxophone solo. According to Robyn, the Venus 3 was more like the Venus 4.5, but he may have been the only one counting. I'm way into this phase of Robyn's career and was happy to hear the tunes from the last couple of records. They brought back Colin for "Madonna of the Wasps," though he looked a little unsure of his role. I, for one, was happy to see him there.



The encore turned out to be a big party, as everyone returned for an a cappella "Furry Green Atom Bowl" and the musician's urging us to join in with handclaps. Many of the musicians themselves were working from lyrics sheets; I guess you can't really rehearse that kind of thing. The penultimate song, "Listen to the Higsons," moved Peter Buck and Colin Meloy to the drum sets, which is the kind of musical chairs I love.



The audience coaxed Robyn out for a final song, but it only worked once. Though we were still buzzing for more from the all-stars, Daniel Handler capped the evening as he began, with the final send-off. We managed to squeeze in one final round of "Happy Birthday" for the man himself. It was the least we could do.

Setlist

See also:
» i'm happy, hope you're happy too
» she couldn't dance but she wanted to
» my starter won't start
» it took almost seven hours to sing
» i've written pages upon pages
» time is round and space is curved

there's a band playing on the radio

I'm getting better at not freaking out over show times, but this gig--the last evening of Robyn Hitchcock's three-night stand in the Little Room at Largo--required more precision than your average club date, as it involved three flights (one of which was changed specifically to accommodate this show), two Los Angeles-area airports, the freaking 405, dozens of text messages, and far too many red lights on La Cienega. Still, we made it to the Little Room with minutes to spare and prime seats for what turned out to be a grand kickoff to a fantastic weekend.

Robyn Hitchock, the Little Room at Largo, March 31, 2011: Robyn opened the gig in troubador style, strumming on the guitar and walking toward the stage while playing "Queen Elvis." Soon after, Bill Rieflin and Sean Nelson joined him on percussion (actually, a Harp beer case) and backing vocals, respectively. Robyn made one more trip to the back bar to recruit his final player: Jon Brion on piano. This casual intimacy carried over for the rest of the show; Robyn didn't even sing into the microphone for most of the performance.

For the full setlist, check out my friend's new blog, but even without the official rundown, I won't forget the highlights very soon. As the guy sitting next to me--miles more conversant with Robyn's catalog and history than myself--remarked, it was practically a greatest hits set, as Robyn and the gang hit such classics as "Balloon Man" and "My Wife and My Dead Wife," as well as some of Robyn's more current material and rarities.

On the covers front, they went for Simon & Garfunkel ("The Only Living Boy in New York") and David Bowie ("Soul Love"), but c'mon, the Roxy Music tunes made the night for me. I was somewhat prepared for "The Main Thing," which I'd first heard back in September, but "Oh Yeah" seguing into "Dear Prudence"--break out the smelling salts! The fanboy next to me reported reading of Robyn's admiration of Bryan Ferry, but the songs were all the evidence I needed.

In between, we got lots of stream-of-consciousness Robyn banter, including a long meditation on the Queen of England, glue, and marmite; a lengthy retelling of the Dirty Harry movies; and a couple of spontaneous, free-form compositions. One of the last works, something about Lorenzo, involved Robyn helming the tune by himself onstage, while his collaborators lined the bar. They were hardly off the hook, however; instead, they were conscripted to add backing vocals/call and response. They started out echoing the last words of each line, but eventually branched off with their own impromptu word association. Wow, that may be the most boring description of an incredibly entertaining exchange I've ever written, but it just goes to show you--you really need to be there.

Robyn was in fine form all night, but his band met him step for step. Sean's harmonies were smooth and sweet, and despite his initial reticence, Jon delivered as always, even when Robyn requested a mandolin or saxophone solo--on the piano--of him. Believe it or not, the mandolin solo came close to re-creating the sounds of the stringed instrument. However, the MVP of the night was Bill Rieflin; not only did he coax a whole range of sounds from his decidedly lo-fi beer case, he added charming harmonies too. It's hard to imagine a better supporting cast.

See also:
» simple twist of fate
» Night 2: i'm happy, hope you're happy too

amidst all the to and fro

I'm pretty useless at predicting, well, anything, so I sure as hell can't foresee how many people might turn up at any given Jon Brion show. However, I'm happy to play the ex post facto reporter who notes that Jon's June gig (singular, after the Saturday date disappeared from the online calendar) at Largo at the Coronet posted good numbers. Sorry, stat nerds--that's as close to "Mad Money" as I get. Then again, you should know that irrational exuberance has guided my concert choices for a long time now.

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, June 25, 2010: Following Flanny's intro and shout-out to some visitors from the 50th state, Jon picked up a guitar and ran with the reference, performing the most famous Hawaiian song of all time--no, not "Tiny Bubbles." Rather, it was "Aloha Oe," the name of which escaped me until the usual round of fervent Googling and YouTubing that follows every Jon Brion show. Trust me--you know it when you hear it, even with the touch of Les Paul and the gorgeous slide techniques that Jon threw in.

From blissful to brooding, the next song on the docket was "'Round Midnight," with a generous helping of fuzzbox, then another about-face beckoned: Jon's own "Piece of You" with the full looped treatment. I tend to zero in on the power pop guitar chords in this song, but the piano, so warm and soulful, made the difference tonight. It's a winner, no matter how you slice it.

Jon stayed on the piano for more originals, including a classic take on "Here We Go." Not so long ago, I never thought I'd describe the song thusly, but after the take-no-prisoners renditions he's unleashed over the past several months, I can't assume we'll hear one or the other. I detected some variances in the bridge and the phrasing, but I can safely say it was very much in the style we've come to know and love over the years.

At this point, Jon casually mentioned that he felt like playing tunes he hadn't done in a while, and he delivered on his word, with songs I either haven't heard in a while or not in the styles he chose. Thus, the 12-string came out for "Love of My Life So Far," while "So I Fell in Love With You" got one of its relatively rare airings. My records show he's done "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" on vibes before, but let it be known that no lyrics sheets were required this time.

The video portion kicked off with clips of a ballerina dancing "The Nutcracker," soon paired with a Cajun fiddler named Dennis McGee and later, a woman playing the theremin. The final result was "You Don't Know What Love Is," but that's only part of the story. It's not always apparent what each performer brings to the tune, though the fiddle came close to the guitar solos Jon often teases out for this song. However, the most striking portion of this video treatment was the dialogue between the fiddler and the dancer that Jon crafted from the footage. With Mr. McGee singing about a "pretty little girl" and a note to "thank her for the dance," you could easily create your own story of these two separate narratives. At least, that's what I did.

Now Jon asked for requests, and right out of the gate, one especially well-rehearsed audience member managed to make himself heard first and most prominently. From his lips to our ears--that's how we ended up with "I Kissed a Girl" in the style of Tom Waits. I have no qualms in giving him credit for a great suggestion because Jon tore it up.

It was clear from the outset that the audience was either full of newbies and/or drunk; you can always tell by the way they giggle at Jon humming "How Much Is That Doggie in the Window" or when he first engages the Chamberlin. But as I've said before, I hardly mind the rookies, especially when they truly want to be a part of the show (as opposed to being the show, which is a topic for another time).

The requests that followed were incomprehensible, simply because of volume--both in terms of quantity and amplification. I could barely hear them from my seat; it's anyone's guess what sounds eventually reached Jon onstage. But in a wise move, Jon cut through the din and simply asked for a song; the style had already been decided (I think). Though Jon conceded the final section was "almost too easy," he went for it: "Just What I Needed" in the style of Les Paul. Degree of difficulty aside, it was a great fit, and more than a few of us in the audience tried to sing along, per the custom at Largo.

Jon returned for an encore, and once again, the requests were simply too numerous to pick out. I didn't actually hear it from the audience, but Jon settled on a title. He supplied the piano, we contributed our voices, and it all came together in the best version of "God Only Knows" I've ever heard at Largo, complete with four-, maybe five-part harmonies. My only slight criticism is that we were a bit slow in starting, and I think the Canal Room show (see the video below) remains the champion as far as this song is concerned. Still, we came through with flying colors.



Jon closed out the set with "Tomorrow Never Knows" before heading to the Little Room, where the second set kicked off in the stunningly intimate style that's marked many of Jon's shows in recent months. He ran through a number of standards and favorite covers, from the Buzzcocks to Cole Porter, as well as the classic writers I can never identify. Speaking of, don't take my word on "He's Funny That Way." I can't vouch for it, but that's how it sounded to me.

The Cole Porter segment turned into a small tutorial and testimonial about the writer himself and how he cleverly crafted songs for non-singers, such as Fred Astaire. This, my friends, is the true definition of continuing education. Sign me up for more!

This may sounds like a no-brainer, but I really like to hear Jon play his own songs, especially when he casts them in a new light--and just about everything you hear in the Little Room is a reinvention. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've heard "No Excuse to Cry" on anything other than solo guitar, much less the piano. Without its Western twang, it still sounded gorgeous and rich. "Same Thing" on acoustic guitar was another ear-turner, as was "Girl I Knew" without the loops.

Picking up on the sing-along surge from earlier in the evening, Jon enlisted us for "Tainted Love," and once more, we kicked ass, if I do say so myself. This theme carried over with the arrival of Sean Nelson, whom I last saw at Largo a couple of years ago, a while before the Little Room opened up for business. We joined in with Sean's nod to the '80s (never a bad thing, in my book) for his first two choices. Then a slight detour ensued.

In the front right corner of the room, an audience member--a greenhorn, by all indications--interjected with a bet that Jon and Sean couldn't carry out eight bars of "Under Pressure." Sean quickly demurred, admitting that he knew no part of the song that didn't include the words "under," "pressure," "give," or "love." In fact, he confessed a deeper knowledge of "Ice Ice Baby" than the song that inspired it.

Jon, meanwhile, was busy working out the details of this wager with the gambler. Jon talked shop about bars and beats and notes, as well as the rewards ($20 for the musicians if they nail it) and consequences ($1 for the bettor if he prevails). There was a discussion of David Bowie's incomprehensible addition to the song. Finally, there was the performance itself.

A while ago, I recall reading an article about Jon and his response to a dare from Paul Thomas Anderson (maybe) to work out "Flight of the Bumblebee" in some manner I can't recall but was undoubtedly jaw-dropping and improbable. I'm guessing that the wagerer is not familiar with this story; then again, I don't think testing Jon's musical knowledge was the point of this ego exercise.

If you've seen Jon in concert, you can probably guess how that first challenge turned out, and you can probably take a stab at the denouement from tonight. Jon did, in fact, churn out more than eight bars, though not in consecutive segments; at the least, it was definitely more than anyone should be expected to know of the song. At the end, Jon told the patron to keep his money and, to cap off the exploit, flipped the guy the bird. We applauded wildly. By the way, I'd normally give the guy the benefit of the doubt, but there was more than a hint of smugness in his voice. It was hard to get behind him, despite the legendary results.

The momentum swung back to Jon and Sean, who chose a couple of relatively obscure Bowie tracks for their closers. They threatened/promised even deeper album cuts, but it was time to call it a night. Here's hoping we'll get to delve into Bowie's Berlin period next time they come together.

Before I wrap up this blog, I want to mention that I skipped a show in the Bay Area to hit up Largo tonight. The gig in question: Pavement, on its reunion tour. The title of this blog, as you may or may not know, comes from my favorite Pavement song. I can't really tell you why I can't partake of this reunion tour; the explanations sounds pretty ridiculous, even by my standards of what constitutes fandom. I'll say, though, I have no regrets. Largo is almost always the right place to be.

Set 1
--Aloha Oe
--Round Midnight
--Piece of You
--Please Stay Away from Me
--Punch-Drunk Theme/Here We Go
--Love of My Life So Far
--Shine On, You Crazy Diamond
--So I Fell in Love with You
--You Don't Know What Love Is
--I Kissed a Girl
--Just What I Needed

encore
--God Only Knows
--Tomorrow Never Knows

Set 2
--He's Funny That Way
--Me Myself and I
--You Say You Don't Love Me
--Everytime We Say Goodbye
--Night and Day demo
--Excuse to Cry
--Knock Yourself Out
--Same Thing
--Trouble
--Girl I Knew
--instrumental
--Tainted Love

with Sean Nelson
--Always Something There to Remind Me
--Antmusic
--Under Pressure
--Fantastic Voyage
--Oh You Pretty Things

See also:
» lost inside adorable illusion
» they were blowing like a hurricane
» bang bang shoot shoot

they were blowing like a hurricane

Believe it or not, this visit to Largo coincided perfectly with the timetable I've worked out to balance ("balance") my need to see Jon Brion's shows with my need to stay in my own area code--though it's subject to change in case of emergencies, of course (all rights reserved).

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, August 1, 2008: Tonight, the crowd was the sparsest I've yet seen come out for Jon at Largo at the Coronet, but it was probably a little more than the old place would've accommodated. Perhaps in acknowledgement, Flanny commented in his intro that he likes it when the place isn't packed and not to worry because they are making money. Whew!

Jon opened with a "peppy little number called 'For Fuck's Sake'"--in other words, a somber, scattered improvisational piano piece. The piano remained the centerpiece as Jon pressed through five of his own tunes, all of which he tweaked, either in their arrangement or phrasing, some more radically than others. For example, "Here We Go" kicked off with an entirely different vocal take, the normally well-mannered song transformed into a dark, desperate entreaty. Even the piano playing shifted, and the tune's beautifully straightforward underpinnings could barely contain the complex derivations that Jon hinted at as the song unfolded. I wondered if one of those emotional, scary shows awaited us; as it turned out, we wouldn't have a definitive answer for a little while.

I don't think we heard a traditional take for any of the remaining selections in this string of originals, but none as extensively reimagined as "Here We Go." However, that's no disrespect to the imploring "Knock Yourself Out"; "Happy with You," more nuanced than usual, with the cadence charmingly provided by Jon's tapping feet; or the revised "Roll with You" or "Trouble" that rounded out this segment.

The next song, a smoky ballad built from the drums up, may be another original, but I can't confirm it. After that, we got a bit of solo electric guitar appreciation, first with the standard "I Really Don't Want to Know," then an extended freestyle exercise that the audience had trouble following. We weren't sure exactly when it ended, leaving the room in silence for a few moments until Jon conspicuously quoted several concluding motifs we were sure to know.

The requests portion of the night kicked off with "Amateur," my suggestion--actually, the only suggestion offered at that point, but the rest of the peanut gallery soon took up the slack. It was no surprise to hear a call for the Commodores' "Easy" from the audience, but more surprisingly, Jon vowed to learn the lyrics, as he "loves" the song. Instead, we got a sweet instrumental nod.

I'm not sure how this led to a couple more of his own works, but I'm not complaining, as they paved the way for the extravaganza to follow. It started off with "Here Come the Warm Jets," which inspired a full-body performance from Jon, seen hopping and grinning all over the stage, as well as playing the shit out of the drums.

That alone might've been pretty cool, but there was more to come. Back at the piano, Jon added layers of vocoder, chamberlin, celeste, and analog synth, then took the tune in the direction of the Buzzcocks. Less predictable, however, was the turn toward "Ruin My Day," which kept the familiar melody but set it against a bleeping, blipping background; it was almost like watching a remix in real time. Then he brought it back to Eno, and thus, concluded the set.

In the drum solo that started the second set, I heard a bit of "The End," but a ton more references likely snuck in as well. More recognizable was Jon's own "You Made the Girl," but I don't really want to talk about the song. Instead, I'll mention Jon ran through several covers and requests, interspersed with a chaotic keyboard cacophony.

The first guest of the night was Sebastian Steinberg, who, as natural as can be, emerged with the metal stand-up bass we first saw a few weeks ago. On Jon's urging, Sebastian unleashed a bass solo, but what I really dug was their ensuing duet, an effortlessly cool, jazzy number.

They attempted a couple of Who songs but couldn't quite get the lyrics down--foreshadowing later developments in the show. They recruited Sean Nelson, perhaps for some help in the lyrics department, and he fell right in with the co-conspirators. Sean's confession of having performed Tommy in its entirety inspired a similar admission from Jon (heck, I saw at least one of these occurrences just last summer). Their braggadocio was soon exposed when their collective knowledge failed them two songs later.

But rather than call the whole thing off, they came clean and took requests for song fragments--thus taking the show in a new and entirely inspired direction. In fact, they eventually worked up a complete band manifesto wherein they rejected the tyranny of full performances for their 21st-century approach.

Some notable asides: Jon calling Colin Blunstone "107" years old, though he and Sean had nothing but admiration for Colin's voice; Jon flipping off the audience after pulling off a fragment of "Solsbury Hill" (Sean: "All song requests are secretly dares." Jon: "Secretly?"); and a hilarious, drawn-out discussion of Donovan, covering the merits of "Atlantis"--which also, incidentally, drew Benmont Tench out of the shadows--a laughable gig Jon and Flanny attended about 15 years ago, and finally, the perfect punch line delivered by Benmont himself. It was so beautifully timed, delivered, and true, in fact, that it sent Jon hopping once again across the stage and proclaiming his love for the music biz. Also, "This is bullshit" rang out repeatedly.

Benmont, I believe, provided the brilliant suggestion for Sean Watkins's first song, a Weezer cover that Sean claimed shared a lineage with the bluegrass he's better known for. The Fats Waller tune simultaneously took them back to more familiar territory and served as the inspiration for the second Buzzcocks song of the night (there was some mention of similar chords).

David Garza perked up the proceedings with the anthemic "Rock and Roll Music," which inspired Benmont's suggestion of "I'll Follow the Sun." Flanny helped navigate their lull, yelling "Gypsy" from the back, which David obliged.

Finally, it was sing-along time, though in not quite the same spirit as I've seen before. Instead, Sean Nelson and Jon stepped up to the front of the stage and yelled requests at us. Jon also commanded the crew to kill the stage lights and turn up the house lights, and ordered us to sing the Turtles. Apropos of the night's show, we really only knew the chorus; clearly, we were in lockstep with the musicians themselves.

After such hijinks, is it any surprise that we closed the night with a "Wild Thing/Louie Louie" medley? Of course not. And it sure beats "Freebird" any day.

Set 1
--piano noodling
--Here We Go
--Knock Yourself Out
--Happy with You
--I'm on a Roll with You
--Trouble
--Before You Broke My Heart
--I Really Don't Want to Know
--guitar noodling
--Amateur
--Easy
--Please Stay Away from Me
--So I Fell in Love with You
--Here Come the Warm Jets/You Say You Don't Love Me/Ruin My Day/Here Come the Warm Jets

Set 2
--The End/drum solo/You Made the Girl
--Fooling Myself
--Pulling Mussels from the Shell [Les Paul style]
--Somebody Made for Me
--noodling
--Tangled Mind

w/Sebastian Steinberg
--bass solo
--jazz duet
--I Can't Reach You
--So Sad About Us

w/Sean Nelson and Sebastian Steinberg
--The Kids Are Alright [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Tommy Can You Hear Me [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Tattoo [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Instant Karma
--I've Just Seen a Face
--Life's a Gas
--Alone Again Naturally
--Care of Cell 44 [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Strawberry Fields [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Spider-Man theme
--Solsbury Hill
--Last Train to Clarksville
--Angie
--Peace Train [vox = Sean Nelson]
--Season of the Witch

w/Benmont Tench, Sean Nelson, and Sebastian Steinberg
--Atlantis [vox = Benmont]
--Changes
--Mellow Yellow
--Aaron Copland jam

w/Sean Watkins, Benmont Tench, Sean Nelson, and Sebastian Steinberg
--Pink Triangle [vox = Sean Watkins]
--It's a Sin to Tell a Lie [vox = Sean Watkins]
--Ever Fallen in Love with Someone [vox = Sean Nelson]

w/David Garza, Sean Watkins, Benmont Tench, Sean Nelson, and Sebastian Steinberg
--Rock and Roll Music [vox = David Garza]
--I'll Follow the Sun
--Gypsy [vox = David Garza]
--Happy Together
--Wild Thing/Louie Louie

See also:
» you don't know the meaning of the blues
» bang bang shoot shoot
» i can come to my senses

bang bang shoot shoot

I wasn't planning to catch two Jon Brion shows in a row. If nothing else, I'm putting off the inevitable: those dark spells where I'll have to wait weeks or--heaven forbid--months between visits to Largo. But until diminishing reserves of denial or fossil fuels take their toll, you know where to find me.

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, July 11, 2008: My brother likes to quip that I'd be a cinch to assassinate, thanks to my well-worn habits. I'm not sure if these weekly Jon Brion shows at Largo help or hinder the case, but hey, there are worse ways to go.

After Flanny's intro (in which he referred to Largo's other favorite sons and daughters as "peasants"), Jon ambled onstage with Red Bull in hand, bade us good morning, and touched down on the piano keys, tickling out his usual improvisational preamble. He followed with a hint of the 2001 theme, then a meatier portion of "Tomorrow Never Knows," though without vocals.

The call for requests rang out instantly, and first out of the gate was "Mayor of Simpleton," a song I not only love but have discussed with Evonne for months on end. Evonne has even requested it, though to no avail, so it was doubly regretful that she couldn't attend tonight. Confirming my suspicions, Jon warned us there was no way he'd remember all the lyrics, and even working out the melody and chords took a little while longer than usual. But he carried it off, delivering it as an instrumental, then singing a bit of the chorus a cappella at the very end.

The hint of Abba may have been triggered by an audience request, and Jon added his own comments on the upcoming Mamma Mia movie, but "Play the Game" was the real thing, free of the effects he often piles upon the song.

Following this sequence, he reprimanded himself for being stuck in a "G-hole" for six months, playing nothing in any other key. To break the spell, he spun 180 degrees on the bench, hid his eyes, and reached behind his back to blindly pick a random key. The winner: D, but I'm not sure how much he stuck to this, as he offered that the next song had some D in it. Oh well, it was his own "Girl I Knew"--not a bad consolation prize.

Jon wanted more requests, and we tried to supply them. He entertained "Sentimental Lady" for a couple of lines, then admitted that was the most Bob Welch ever played at Largo. "Paranoid Android" got a fuller treatment, with the chamberlin/mellotron/whatever (I gotta find out one of these days) beautifully supplying a chorus-like effect on the song's bridge. I think Jon slipped another tune, something more rocking and not typically paired with Radiohead, into the mix, but I couldn't guess at a title, so that hunch remains unsubstantiated.

After one more selection on the piano (a Dylan title), Jon picked up the guitar for the first time that night for his own "Further Along," trimmed with nothing else but harmonica. He went even more minimal on the Evan Dando collaboration "It Looks Like You," which required only the bass.

"Sleepwalk" eased in, as is its languid, seductive wont. We got no more than 30 seconds of the Dick Dale song, but "Hey Joe" elicited the first song build of the night. Jon faced some guitar difficulties along the way, forcing him to switch up in the middle of the song and almost--almost--making him miss a vocal cue. The guitar troubles led him to the Rickenbacker and the ensuing request for "She Said She Said," which shifted seamlessly to "Within You, Without You" toward the end.

Ultimately, though, the technical glitches drove Jon back to the piano, where he dispatched a roster of his personal favorites, his own songs, some improv, and a bunch of requests. I got in a suggestion for the Smiths, and Jon worked up a gorgeous reading of "Famous Blue Raincoat" for another audience member. He had to beg off "Let's Misbehave," as he didn't remember the words, but "All in the Family" played out in the end, morphing into one of those crowd-pleasing ragtime takes he often manages to wring out of unlikely titles.

The vocoder featured prominently in the next string of requests, obfuscating songs Jon doesn't necessarily like. But it also offered an avenue into "More Than This," which reminded me how fortunate I am to have abandoned all logic at the same time that Jon decided to make the tune a mainstay of his shows.

I'm not sure if we've seen any traditions yet establish themselves at the still new Largo at the Coronet, but if the closing sing-along becomes a reliable part of the venue's fabric, you won't hear me protesting. The audience, to no one's surprise, settled on the Beatles--and a mercifully short selection, at that. I think we did pretty well, especially that one guy a few rows back who nailed every intonation and wasn't shy about sharing it. OK, so as Jon indicated, we sang over the guitar solo, but I chalk it up to bright-eyed enthusiasm and not mere incompetence.

The second set commenced with something resembling a plan, as Jon knocked out a couple of welcome favorites, including the relatively rare and always heartfelt "Happiness" by Elliott Smith. Maybe they'll figure out the guitar issues at the Coronet one of these days, but if that means we'll instead get Jon primarily at the piano, that's cool too.

Jon left the bench to welcome Sebastian Steinberg onstage, carrying a metal stand-up bass. Jon proceeded to tell us how the bass came into his possession (apparently, the military used to make them, and Jon found it at a used instrument store in Seattle), then jumped on it in tandem with Sebastian. While Sebastian plucked the strings, Jon pounded on the instrument, first with a brush and a mallet, then only his hands. The initial bossa nova-like sway folded into a more rocking attack until the two of them found a way to conclude this unlikely diversion.

Jon returned to the piano, where their musical meandering led to the Star Trek theme, complete with lyrics--not the first time Jon has revealed this knowledge to a Largo audience. This was no mere joke, either; Jon's propulsive body language showed that he was fully invested in this work. Even Sebastian had to marvel at this glimpse into Jon's thought processes.

The Coronet arguably holds one major advantage over the old room: It lends itself beautifully to group performances, especially of the impromptu variety that Largo is known for. Sure, it was a lot of fun--and a bit sadistic--seeing how many people could squeeze onto the old Largo's tiny stage, but it seems to me that the lack of physical constraints at the Coronet has freed the performers further. And thanks to that one amazing microphone, they sound better than ever.

Jon and Sebastian took advantage of this setup to channel Django Reinhardt for a couple of Who tunes and, with the help of Sean Watkins, the Sex Pistols as well. From there, they circled back to more traditional selections, then changed up a bit to carry off the Dylan request, carting the magical microphone to the piano instead of leaving it at the center of the stage. Helping out was Sean on harmonies and acoustic guitar, adding up to an evocative, emotional version of "It's All Over Now Baby Blue." It's a song we don't hear enough at Largo, but then again, perhaps that's why each performance of it feels so remarkable.

Jon tried to close out the second set with another sing-along, but our ideas refused to take hold. He vamped through a couple of them, such as "Young Turks," which he guaranteed was not being replicated anywhere in Los Angeles that night. With the audience's collective brain trust exhausted, Jon went with his own instincts, first easing out a jazzy instrumental I should know but can't quite name, then with the Billie Holiday classic.

The Coronet experience continues to evolve, and we saw a new facet tonight: an encore. We clapped, we cheered, the lights remained low, and Jon returned, then brought Sebastian, Sean, and another Sean: Nelson, of Harvey Danger. Jon and Sean Nelson soon emerged as the main players, with Sean Watkins leaving first, then Sebastian retreating soon after. Neil Young provided the impetus, but the rest of their set comprised Ray Davies songs. Sean started out strong, but by the end, Jon was in the driver's seat, helping Sean when he couldn't remember the lyrics.

When Sean exhausted his repertoire, Jon finished up as he started: by himself. He sent us off with a favorite Hank Snow song, ostensibly for Sean's ears, but enveloping us all.

See you in August.

Set 1
--noodling/Thus Spake Zarathustra/Tomorrow Never Knows
--Mayor of Simpleton
--Fernando
--Play the Game
--Girl I Knew
--Sentimental Lady
--Paranoid Android
--Just Like a Woman
--Further Along
--It Looks Like You
--Sleepwalk
--Misirlou
--Hey Joe
--She Said/Within You, Without You
--I Don't Hurt Anymore
--The Way It Went
--noodling
--Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
--Famous Blue Raincoat
--Let's Misbehave
--All in the Family theme
--Cheers theme
--You Shook Me All Night Long/Cheers theme/L.A. Woman/Controversy/Light My Fire
--More Than This
--Happiness Is a Warm Gun

Set 2
--Life on Mars
--Happiness
--Please Stay Away from Me
--piano
--piano
--Ugly
--Thelonius Monk piece

w/Sebastian Steinberg
--two-man, one-bass improv
--Star Trek theme
--Pinball Wizard
--?

w/Sebastian Steinberg and Sean Watkins
--Anarchy in the UK
--My Baby Left Me
--The Last Word in Lonesome Is Me [Sean Watkins]
--It's All Over Now Baby Blue
--instrumental
--I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)

Set 3
w/Sean Nelson
--Cinnamon Girl
--This Is Where I Belong
--Get Back in Line
--Tired of Waiting for You
--Do You Remember Walter
--Starstruck
--Mr. Pleasant

--Tangled Mind

See also:
» a change might be a thing to try
» we can be us

time is round and space is curved

I shouldn't be so surprised that I've seen Robyn Hitchcock (in one form or another) as often as I have. It's really a function of the longevity of his career, his wonderful taste in collaborators and cohorts, and my venue snobbery that keeps me coming back. But I have to admit that Robyn is an acquired taste I've yet to fully embrace. Regardless, odds are I'll keep trying for a while to come, especially when he's accompanied by any of his stable of musically inclined friends.

Robyn Hitchcock and the Venus 3, Slim's, April 10, 2007: Last year, a very similar configuration of this "if there were any justice in the world, they would be a supergroup" group came to Slim's and put on a fun, goofy show. That much, I could've predicted. What surprised me, however, was the extent to which I loved the album, Olé! Tarantula, that some of these same players put out later in 2006.

And therein lies the difference. I don't think I was alone in wondering why the band chose to call themselves the Venus 3 on this outing--you don't have to squint too hard to see that the Venus 3 looks suspiciously similar to the Minus 5 sans one or two members. But that shouldn't even be an issue, considering the revolving-door membership policy at the very foundation of the Minus 5's existence.

About halfway through the show, however, I realized that, indeed, this was a different band backing Robyn. In fact, "backing" might not even be the right word. Granted, it was clear who played the role of front man, and any Robyn Hitchcock tour means that his songs--from any point in his career--will take center stage.

But this time out, it sounded to me that the band (Scott McCaughey, Peter Buck, Bill Rieflin) were more than overgrown fanboys supporting one of their idols and even more than buddies out for a good time. Though the friendships and collaborations between them stretches back for many years now, Olé! Tarantula is actually their first official release in which they share writing credits. This heightened participation really came through in the show--most notably on Robyn's older material, which they pumped up to refreshingly poptastic levels. In essence, they sort of Venus-3-ified Robyn's back catalog. And maybe I'm biased, as someone who's mostly seen Robyn going solo acoustic over the years, but it turned out to be one of the best times I've had seeing the man.

"City of Shame" was so great that they did it twice. Well, they claimed that they were too slow on the first run-through, but I loved seeing Robyn and Peter standing shoulder to shoulder for the roaring double-guitar intro on both takes. And speaking of guitars, it was lovely to hear Peter favoring the 12-string Epiphone as much as he did, but I was surprised by Robyn's distinctive chops on the electric guitar and the accompanying effects pedal.

In other band news, I found it hard to believe that Bill Rieflin had played with Ministry all those years ago 'cos he sure knows his way around a pop backbeat. Scott McCaughey (in addition to his bass guitar duties) and Sean Nelson, meanwhile, lended their sweet harmonies to the mix. My favorites in the vocals department: "Brenda's Iron Sledge" and "Jewels for Sophia." But my absolute highlight of the night was easily "Queen Elvis," just because.

Amid this harmonic convergence, Robyn interspersed his typically convoluted yet effortless yarns. Tonight, he held court on matters regarding the cosmic relation between ourselves and our pets, fielding late-night calls from Karl Rove while watching Clint Eastwood movies, and crossing the river Charon for the price of 55 cents (U.S.) plus 11 cents (Canadian), among other topics.

If pushed, I might lodge two complaints about the show. First, the band seemed oddly professional tonight (multiple takes, notwithstanding). As recently as last year, we got a hell of a send-off, wherein each band member took up an instrument they don't usually man (Peter Buck on the drums, dammit!). Tonight, even Scott McCaughey stayed in line. Then again, this wasn't, strictly speaking, a Minus 5 gig, so maybe the same mischief doesn't apply.

Second, the band didn't do very many songs off the new album, but then again, I realize Robyn has quite the war chest of titles. Maybe another 10 years from now (by which point, I'll probably have seen the band another dozen times), with a slightly different band lineup, they'll devote whole shows to Olé! Tarantula. I'll just have to stick around and find out for myself.

Opening tonight was Sean Nelson and His Mortal Enemies. I didn't realize it was the singer of Harvey Danger, which many of you may recall from their '90s-era hit "Flagpole Sitta." I should know better than to hold a musician's chart-topping singles against them, but I hated that song when it was all over the radio. Regardless, Sean was pretty funny, especially on a song about forming a supergroup, wherein he namechecked Velvet Revolver and the Power Station (!).

See also:
» you won't have an atom left
» top 5 albums of 2006
» twilight's all right