Cut Copy
The Masquerade; Atlanta, GA
Australia, historically, hasn’t been known for producing a lot of music about which the rest of the world really gives a shit. Of course, there have been some notable exceptions over the years: Big Country, the band responsible for the song “Big Country,” off the album Big Country; Men at Work, who along with Big Country, can be filed under adult-contemporary radio filler; Australian soap opera star Kylie Minogue launched her singing career with a cover of rollerskating rink anthem “The Locomotion” in the late 1980s, perhaps leading fellow Aussie and TMT favorite Nick Cave to say of his home country’s musical output, "Australia still needed America or England to tell them what was good."
Then of course there’s AC/DC, Australia’s most popular musical export, and deservingly so. Anyone who can parlay the same three-to-five chords into numerous chart-topping anthems across the span of three decades deserves every bit of their success. And have you seen Live at Donington, bro? They lower a fuckin’ AC/DC BELL during “Hells Bells”!!!
That’s been about it for Australia though. Artists of game-changing influence have generally come to, not from, the land down under, as Mr. Cave asserted. That is, until recently.
If the past five years are any indication, the fans who would go on to form the following bands had secretly been taking great notes on what they were hearing from the rest of the world and how to perfect it. Midnight Juggernauts, Architecture in Helsinki, The Presets, and arguably most fervently, Cut Copy have in many ways shaped the current wave of electro-tinged dance-rock. Or maybe it’s rock-tinged electro. Either way, these bands seem to have figured out what so many of the electronic artists who inspired them couldn’t: no one wants to see a guy standing onstage in front of a laptop, or often turntables, for the whole night. Even international clubland seems to finally understand this. While a great DJ can still rock a crowd, their energy will never replace the interaction between an audience and people playing instruments. And if nothing else, this is a concept that Cut Copy has mastered.
Like most of the dates on this tour, Cut Copy’s Atlanta show at the Masquerade is sold out. The fact that the band can go from its first U.S. tour a mere three years ago to selling out practically every show it plays illustrates both how huge this scene has become and how well they have translated their exceptional studio albums to the stage. It doesn’t take more than a few listens to 2008’s In Ghost Colours to know and love these songs inside out; it’s like they’ve always existed. And in some ways, they have.
Cut Copy’s nod to Joy Divison/New Order, Depeche Mode, etc. is decidedly less than subtle. The guitars on “Hearts on Fire” could be straight from a New Order B-side, and the same could be said of many a Cut Copy synth bassline. Judging by the band’s remarkable ascent however, these sounds are obviously just as relevant now as they were 20 years ago. In effect, you feel immediately comfortable with these songs, kind of like meeting a good friend of a good friend.
This fact only becomes more evident as, only a few songs into the band’s set at the Masq, much of the seemingly shy, fringe-clinging populace has now pushed their way to the front, arms extended in obeisance. When Cut Copy launch into a particularly energetic rendition of “Far Away,” I swear I catch even the metal-head bouncer attempting to mouth along to the irresistible chorus.
With any popular trend comes an audience who wouldn’t normally be interested if it weren’t for the fact that everyone else is. Most people find this contingent rather annoying, but I can’t help my fascination with them. To say that they’re in full effect at this show would be an understatement: the look-at-me scene brats, their cream cable-knit sweaters tied around their shoulders as they skip in their Gucci loafers over puddles of piss water pooled around the men’s room; the clueless, mouth-breathing fratboys standing sentient around the dancefloor, a beer in each hand as they ogle the dancing girls. This place is crawling with them, which can less-cynically be attributed to Cut Copy’s wide-ranging appeal.
In fact, there are quite a variety of people in attendance. From the aging hipsters who experienced the Madchester sound the first time around to the kids who probably weren’t even born yet, everyone appears genuinely excited by the band’s ability to “jam-out” on their songs, changing them just enough from the album versions without sacrificing the best parts. The thick flanged-out section of “Strangers in the Wind” builds and finally comes swirling out of the normally subtle chorus, effectively taking the song well beyond the record. The place goes nuts.
A few words about the Masquerade: this club is straight grimy... but in the best possible sense of the word. Upon entering the multi-roomed venue, the appropriately titled clubs Hell and Purgatory flank either side of the ornery, wooden stairs that lead you to the main room (yep, “Heaven”), screaming FIRE HAZARD all the way up. Entering the main room, the disappointed throng of ticketless-persons outside is explained by the absolutely enormous throng of people inside, all shuffling about as the stage crew transitions from openers The Presets to Cut Copy (missed The Presets. Bad directions to the club. Sorry guys). Though I later notice during the “everybody jump” portion of Cut Copy’s perfect opener “Nobody Lost, Nobody Found” that the entire floor of the room is in fact moving more than any floor holding several hundred people should be, The Masquerade has got a vibe to it that is becoming increasingly rare in music venues these days (the shaking floor probably adds to it).
Maybe it’s the fact that you can still smoke inside; maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to stretch your imagination too far to picture all the crazy shit that’s gone down here over the years. Whatever it is -- pardon me if this sounds completely ridiculous -- the Masq definitely has that rock ‘n’ roll Never-Neverland vibe that is largely responsible for making me, and I’m sure many others in attendance, forgo all rational options in lieu of dedicating my life to music and spectacles like this. And Cut Copy soak it up. The already-raucous “So Haunted” turns into an ear-splitting wall of dissonant punk guitars, while lead singer Dan Whitford’s voice sounds noticeably pained as he questions all “these satellites orbiting you and me.” The crowd loves it too, mimicking Whitford’s ever gesture: the pointing, the hands-in-the-air and even a few spin moves.
Despite the constant energy they bring to each song, the band does a good job of pacing themselves and the audience by throwing in more subdued tunes, like the hip-sway of “That Was Just a Dream” off their 2004 album Bright Like Neon Love. While not as intense as other numbers in their repertoire, the song illustrates how good Cut Copy are at pulling off a variety of textures in a live context. Thankfully, the laptop used for triggering loops and effects is kept off to the side, barely noticeable compared to the band themselves and the ever-changing light matrix, which also helps pace the show. By the time they get to “Lights and Music,” there isn’t a still foot in the place, with the super-hyped synths launching everyone, including the band, into near hysterics. The jumping returns, much to the floor’s dismay.
At this point, several songs from the end of the set, you might think the crowd would start to thin. It was, in fact, quite the contrary. The audience, still a throng, remained engaged and attentive until the very end, showering the band with applause and appreciative cheers long after they’d left the stage. As we headed back down the front stairs, a quick peek in Purgatory and Hell found the soon-to-be packed after parties quickly filling up, as electro-house of varying intensities blared from both rooms. Someone is doing this thing right, and Cut Copy are definitely at the helm.
CMJ 2008: Day 2
10-22-2008;
{Zune @ Bowery Ballroom}
I think I attended one of the Zune showcases on Wednesday at the Bowery Ballroom. At least it seemed that way from the rampant cries of "Yeah, Sony BMG!" (douche chills, anyone?). Zune signs adorned the venue, and many concertgoers could be found in the downstairs bar playing Guitar Hero on the dozen or so Xboxes scattered around the room.
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- {Corey Chisel and The Wandering Sons}
Rock ‘n’ roll? Well, sort of. "We're here to acoustic rock!" announced Cory Chisel of Cory Chisel and The Wandering Sons. "I know what this week is really for," he teased, waggling his finger at the already half-sloshed audience. I myself was merely riding the coffee wave, but it seemed to be that kind of Wednesday night for most. This band formed in Appleton, Wisconsin, featuring Chisel as the frontman and five other members, including twin team Noah and Adriel Harris. Employing clarinet, banjo, acoustic guitars, and an upright piano, The Wandering Sons certainly lived up to their "Americana" billing, with Carter/Cash harmonies and boot-stomping beats that remind me of The Felice Brothers, though I'm partial to the latter.
My favorite moment of the set came when Chisel asked, "Do we have time for a sing-a-long?" and proceeded to lead a damn excellent cover of Loudon Wainwright's "One-Man Guy." The crowd enjoyed it, no doubt, but it also highlighted the fact that Corey Chisel and The Wandering Sons are riding a very well-populated surge of "good old-fashioned country/folk music" vogue, and I'm not quite convinced that they'll be able to set themselves apart as time goes on. Still, love that Gibson guitar. Corey Chisel and The Wandering Sons currently have an EP out on RCA Records entitled Cabin Ghosts.
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- {Shugo Tokumaru}
After relegating myself to the balcony like the old working stiff I am, I settled in to enjoy 28-year-old Shugo Tokumaru, a Japanese singer-songwriter who plays guitar like a motherfucking riot, so to speak. This was only his second U.S. show, having made his debut at The Mercury Lounge on Tuesday night. Remaining barefoot for his entire set, Tokumaru sang in gentle vibrato, breaking into ridiculously impressive fingerpicking guitar solos that drew awed applause. The muted trumpet, along with accordion, made his backing band sound somewhat like a silent film soundtrack at first, but later added a wood flute, child's piano, and banjo... because really, what self-respecting independent artist doesn't make use of banjo these days? A tiny ukulele snuck its way in there by way of the most burly band member, which was kind of endearing. There are plenty of chops to go around in this band, and Tokumaru remained shy throughout, responding with a quiet, smiling "thank you" after an audience member loudly declares her (his?) love, and ended his set with a deep, gracious bow. Tokumaru's third album, Exit, was released this year on Almost Gold.
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{Tee Pee Records Showcase @ Europa}
It may be New York, but I've found that it's not out of the question to go to a random venue and find yourself watching a band of dudes who grew up about half an hour away from you.
- {Hopewell}
Founder Jason Russo of Hopewell was already doing crazy shit like touring with Mercury Rev at the age of 19 before he started up a band named after his hometown: Hopewell Junction, New York. I walked in mid-set and got slammed with a balls-deep, primal wave of electric guitar assault, coupled with the distinct scent of patchouli incense. I spotted a gold chain and a v-neck white t-shirt, but fought my skepticism, which proved to be a good choice. The sound was... dare I say it? Psychedelic. I mean, given Russo's ties to the spacey Mercury Rev and the fact that it's a term I don't like throwing around, I think I can get behind that classification. Of course, it's also very easy to make "psychedelic" music that totally fucking blows, and Hopewell deserve congratulations for successfully using a spooky synthesizer in a manner that didn't make me burst out laughing. Remember the band that never got off the ground in Freaks and Geeks because Ken thought that all of the names Lindsay suggested to Nick were stupid? Oh, and because Daniel hated practicing? If they'd ever gotten their shit together, they'd probably sound something like this, right down to Nick Andopolis' taste for theatrics and denim. Vast, soaring, note-perfect vocal ranges don't hurt, neither. The latest from Hopewell is Beautiful Targets, recorded in upstate New York during 2006 and released in 2007 on Tee Pee.
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- {The Weight}
I found myself talking to a charmingly sloshed, long-haired guy as Hopewell broke down, and gradually realized it was Will Noland, bassist of The Weight who came on next. He told me a bit about their label, affectionately named The Colonel, and made a few jokingly disparaging remarks about lead singer Joseph Plunket, his nephew(!). I decided then and there that I would be very disappointed if their sound bore no resemblance to The Band song for which they were named. I was not disappointed. Plunket got sick of a rotating cast of characters for his band, and the group I saw on Wednesday was the result of what he rounded up upon a move to Brooklyn from Atlanta, Georgia. Guess he was picky, because The Weight are continuing my winning streak insofar as seeing bands that are just really, really damn good at what they do. Which, in this case, is rehab in a musical form for kids burned out on punk rock and looking for something earnest. The camaraderie and ragged discipline of The Band was definitely present here, right down to the Marshall Tucker cover towards the end of the set. Three-part, howling harmonies spurred on by their (very) enthusiastic friends and labelmates in the audience topped off a bang-up show. Don't be surprised if these guys end up at one of Levon Helm's Midnight Rambles someday soon. The Weight Are Men is out now on The Colonel Records.
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CMJ 2008: Day 1
10-21-2008;
Having been forewarned of the difficulty I might have gaining entry to the Brooklynvegan showcase at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on the first day of CMJ, I craftily secured a press ticket from a publicist (thanks Brooke!). The Hall wasn't packed when I arrived around 7 PM, but coming early proved to be a wise choice as the room steadily filled over the course of the evening.
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- {Emmy the Great}
First, we were greeted by Emmy the Great, the stage name of Emma-Lee Moss, who hails from London and was originally born in Hong Kong. Her backing band, which consisted of acoustic guitars, a xylophone-playing bassist, keys, and a drum kit, could very well have been high school kids, or at least the high school dance band. Violinist Margaret White also lent her skills, as she would many more times throughout the week, appearing with about a dozen other bands performing at CMJ. Moss' voice is sweet and clear, with a slight lilt catching the end of her notes, and doo-wop melodies peppered her upbeat set.
Her songs touched on tongue-in-cheek religious themes as well as travel, specifically to Berlin, which she called "a place to renew" -- not sure Lou Reed would agree with that, but this was Emmy the Great's show, dammit! As she finished her last song, an audience member demanded "18 more songs!" Moss laughed and said, "Okay, just let me go upstairs and write for a while." Emmy the Great might need to work a bit harder on her live show to live up to her name, especially if she's going to continue to support people like Tilly and the Wall and Kimya Dawson. Still, girl's first full-length album isn't coming out till 2009, so I think she's got some time to work on it. Info on the album is scant, but her latest single, "We Almost Had a Baby," is available on Rough Trade.
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- {The Sammies}
The next band began to set up, and I spotted cowboy boots and a guitarist noodling a blues riff during the quick soundcheck. This could be good or bad. The Sammies are from Charlotte, North Carolina, with their drummer explaining, "That's why I sound like this" (referring to his Southern twang). Some middle-aged men waved wildly to my left and I realized that this band of boys had some dads in the house. Aww. The Sammies launched into a set reminiscent of The Black Lips' chaos and The Drive-By Truckers' exuberance, and I'm not surprised when I find these two bands on their MySpace Top 8 later that evening. The bassist owned this band, driving them along at a boot-stomping clip, and the drummer screamed to his heart's content when he managed to get near his mic. The Sammies urged the crowd to "do a social," and they obliged, but the house largely did the standing-still for the set. Too jaded on rock ‘n’ roll bravado? It's possible. The Sammies aren't exactly doing anything new, but for a pack of guys who look like they should still be in a basement somewhere, their chops are disproportionately polished. Sandwich, their second album, is out now on Morisen Records.
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- {Shearwater}
Next came Austin, Texas-based Shearwater, the low-key side project of Okkervil River's Jonathan Meiburg and, originally, Will Sheff. (Sheff was at the show, but sadly, did not play.) Meiburg's voice was operatic and tribal in a live setting, and there was no shortage of interesting instruments cluttering the stage. I stared at what appeared to be a very large viola de gamba turned on its end for quite awhile before realizing that Kim Burke was simply playing an upright bass with a twist. Thor Harris sported a fuzzy drum kit and drew growing appreciation from the crowd when he slung a dulcimer around his neck -- in fact, "I LOVE YOU, THOR!!!" became a rallying cry as the set progressed. Shit, if I was dressed like a caveman with one huge braid in my long mane of hair AND capable of switching my drum kit for the clarinet mid-song, I'd expect people to love me too.
The dramatic, theatrical set was a sound guy's nightmare, insofar as the myriad of instruments needed to create the dense, brooding sound of Shearwater. Meiburg's voice resembled a theremin at one point... I guess there were already too many weird things on stage. During sound check, Meiburg asked, "Hey, can you guys hear the dulcimer up there?" I'd say that pretty much sums up the mood of Shearwater's music. Languid, complicated, and sophisticated, but some of it just weird. I'd take Okkervil River if forced to choose, but that night, I enjoyed every moment. Their latest album, Rook, came out in June on Matador.
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- {Ponytail}
Our very own Judy Berman has sung the praises of Ponytail time and again, so I was pumped to see these kids from Baltimore come on next. Lead singer/noisemaker Molly Siegel sported a combed-down 'hawk, as she yipped into the mic for sound check -- a sign of things to come. As soon as the band kicked off the first song, Siegel was a woman possessed by her own voice, writhing with unspeakable joy and emitting sounds I've never heard from a human being. Her facial express vacillated wildly between a cheek-splitting grin and a grimace, and I could swear she did a bat dance at one point.
Their music is ecstatic, much like Siegel's stage stylings, with frenzied drumming and sugary melodies running up and down scales so quickly you feel like you're hanging on for dear life. "Oh no! I'm late for schooooool!!!" are the first English words I heard after about 20 minutes, and when guitarist Dustin Wong joined Siegel on vocals, the effect was hair-raising in the best way. You know how sometimes you come home from a really bad day at school/work and the only thing that makes you feel better is screaming along to your favorite song and thrashing your limbs around? That's Ponytail. Go get their second album, Ice Cream Spiritual, from We are Free. Even the Brooklynvegan crowd managed to look mildly amused:
Dr. Dog / Delta Spirit
Tractor Tavern; Seattle, WA
Dr. Dog and Delta Spirit derive their musical selves from a time when indie was nigh existent and rock was king. There’s no hint of modern necessity in their melodies, ideas, or aesthetics that tie them down to today’s prototypical banal. Delta Spirit are a brand of straight forward, no frills rock and roll that keeps small town bars alive, whether through jukebox revenue or by hosting the best bar bands to blow in from parts unknown -- the sort of rock that is faceless, replacing image with substance.
Dr. Dog are the inverse of that straight-up coin -- while they're just as detached from the modern scene in sound, they aren’t necessarily from Delta Spirit's bar band mold. Rather, Dr. Dog seem like five affable guys who dug through the used bins every day after school, discovering the best soul, pop, and rock LPs that the jocks and bubblegum gals left untouched. When they stuffed themselves full, the only way left was out. The hybrid they spew forth is one of surprise (can a modern band really sound this much like a classic rock station?) and comfort (no matter how immersed one is in the indie scene, they likely grew up with classic rock staples such as The Beatles, Neil Young, and Fleetwood Mac).
What Delta Spirit and Dr. Dog gave a sold out crowd in the tiny Seattle burrow of Ballard was a rock show devoid of any pretense -- one heavy on the old practice of engaging and entertaining a crowd. This was more than just the music, it was about the environment. The Tractor Tavern is usually reserved for the remnants of alt-country and grass roots folk. Rarely does it play host to anything outside those confines, that is, unless the bands involved can pry away hard earned money and have it deposited into bartender jars and tills. It just so happens that the PBR and whiskey sours were flowing freely thanks to the ramped rock of Delta Spirit.
The five-piece took the stage and proceeded to demonstrate why, despite their youth and relative obscurity, they command attention. It’s a lofty task to ask an up and coming act to play opener to a Dr. Dog crowd, more concerned with rehashing recent events with friends than paying attention to the unknown quotient onstage. It’s a nasty audience habit -- why pay good money to inhabit an overcrowded club and listen to a band you could care less about just to catch up on the latest gossip? Delta Spirit would have none of it. Brandishing their blend of blues rock, they quickly defeated the swells of inane conversation, warming up the crowd for the 60’s soul pop explosion of Dr. Dog.
When the Philly natives took the stage, the crowd was still in frenzy over Delta Spirit. The talk turned from yesterday’s news to friends asking each other “Can Dr. Dog top that?” The clusters of fans would be assured from song one (“The Old Days”) that Dr. Dog -- no matter how loud and powerful or quiet and understated Delta Spirit were -- were the kings of the night. Continuing to entertain the mesmerized and exuberant audience with selections from the group’s latest, Fate, everyone was soon caught up in the spectacle of it all. Sunglasses and brimmed hats could not hide the fact that the band truly loved playing to enthralled listeners who hung on every note as they seamlessly transitioned from song to song. The night ended with a few old favorites, including the sentimental dancer “My Old Ways,” before the crowd slowly crawled to the exit, tired from the warm, cramped club with loud voices speaking to ringing ears about how awesome both bands were. And for once, no one was exaggerating.
Calexico
Crystal Ballroom; Portland, OR
I had a decision to make. Either see My Morning Jacket, “the world’s greatest live band,” or saddle up and catch Calexico. It really is a quandary when two bands you like play on the same night, but I’d seen Jim James’ heroics this past summer at Bonnaroo while never catching a proper Calexico tour (I saw them tour with Iron and Wine). I decided that spending the evening with Joey Burns and John Convertino was the way to go. Upon arrival at the Crystal Ballroom, I realized that I probably wasn’t the only one who had to make that decision; the venue was woefully empty and I easily made my way up to the front. Though more people arrived as the evening wore on, there would be no heavy crush, no hot breathing down the back of my neck. Space is good; I can deal with space.
Burns and Convertino took the stage alone and Burns said, “You guys look beautiful! Must be all that sunshine you got today.” The duo then launched into the instrumental “Scout” from the band’s debut Spoke, which bolsters their famous Southwestern sound -- like Duane Eddy meets Vicente Fernandez. The five other members of the band then took the stage to play “Roka” from Garden Ruin. It's only human to make comparisons, and something in the back of my mind made me wonder if I had made the correct choice passing on My Morning Jacket. Sure, Calexico’s songs are good, but Burns doesn't have the equal stage presence of James. Besides, whoever did the sound check mixed Volker Zander’s upright bass so high that it drowned out the rest of the band.
Calexico is on tour in support of their newest album, the solid Carried to Dust. While the 22 song set mixed music from all periods, the band was here to show off its newest material. They first played “Bend To the Road,” an understated tune featuring Burns' whispered vocals that sounded devoid of intricacies thanks to the poor bass mix. Luckily, levels can be changed; soon enough the bass had been fixed and I was able to enjoy the concert.
Calexico live and Calexico recorded are two different animals. The group can almost be compared to a jazz band, containing one of the tightest rhythm sections in indie rock. Though sometimes the particulars can be separated better on tape, one can really appreciate all that goes into a Calexico tune while seeing them live. This tautness couldn't have been displayed better than on “El Gatillo,” an instrumental that sounds right from a Sergio Leone movie. According to Burns, this was the first time the track had been performed live and multi-instrumentalist Martin Wenk carried its melody with a haunting whistle. In fact, Wenk went further, showing off his accordion skills with a pair of Feast of Wire tracks: “Black Heart” and “Sunken Waltz.” So appreciative was the audience of Wenk’s performance on “Heart” that Burns said the band would “venture off the setlist” to accommodate another accordion song. Wenk wasn’t the only stand-out musician in the group. Jacob Valenzuela’s trumpet helped define that signature Calexico sound and he even did lead vocals on “Inspiracion.”
Despite music that comes from the American Southwest and Mexico traditions, it's surprising just how international the members of Calexico are. Besides Burns, Convetino, and Valenzuela (all Tucson natives), there are two Germans and a Spaniard in the band. Even though Calexico's music is geographically fixed, influences of fado, jazz, and heavy rock sneak in. One of the most popular tunes of the evening was the cover of Love’s “Alone Again Or,” a gem of sunny 1960s California rock.
But Calexico saved its most cinematic music for the end. They finished the first set with “Crystal Frontier” and returned with “Minas de Cobre,” both great workouts for the Mariachi horns and chugging rhythm section. When they finished the first encore with “Guero Canelo,” inserting lyrics from Manu Chao’s “Desaparecido,” I felt satisfied with my decision to go to the Crystal Ballroom. The band returned once more to play the icy “Red Blooms,” and as the chilly soundscapes drifted over the nearly empty room, something magical occurred. The few who stayed witnessed a band that cared nothing for on-stage theatrics and let the music speak for itself. Sometimes that is all one needs.
01. Scout
02. Roka
03. Bend To The Road
04. Across The Wire
05. Jesus & Tequila
06. The News About William
07. Writer’s Minor Holiday
08. Dub Latina
09. Two Silver Trees
10. El Gatillo
11. Inspiracion
12. Black Heart
13. Slowness
14. House Of Valparaiso
15. Man Made Lake
16. Alone Again Or
17. Fractured Air
18. Crystal Frontier
19. Minas de Cobre
20. Victor Jara’s Hands
21. Guero Canelo
22. Red Blooms
Elephant Six Holiday Surprise Tour
Bottom Lounge; Chicago, IL
Before we begin, let it be stated that Jeff Mangum did perform at the Chicago show. But that will be discussed later. Let us discuss the rest of the show first before we get there.
Clearly, one purpose of the Elephant 6 Holiday Surprise Tour (appropriately named after an Olivia Tremor Control song) is to show off the Elephant 6 film, Major Organ and the Adding Machine. The film was shown first, with a small portion of the crowd taking a vast section of the floorspace seated. I won't go into detail about the short film -- not only to avoid spoiling it for the rest of you, but also because I didn’t have a complete grasp of what was going on in the film -- but it was quite entertaining. It was particularly satisfying to see prodigal son Kevin Barnes getting attacked by a gorilla, which was further emphasized by the “renouncement” from the Holiday Surprise group that denied them any involvement concerning a sponsored after-party, saying they hadn’t “sold out.”
After the film concluded, the show truly began. And let's be clear: the “Holiday Surprise Tour” is not just made up of The Music Tapes' Julian Koster plus a few others and the occasional Mangum appearance. The bulk of the Holiday Surprise featured more well-known members of Elephant 6 coming out in full glory: most of The Olivia Tremor Control (Will Cullum Hart, Pete Erchick, Bill Doss, and John Fernandes), Apples in Stereo’s Robert Schneider, Elf Power’s Andrew Rieger, and Scott Spillane of The Gerbils, among others. Even Static, the ’50s television that served as a vocalist on The Music Tapes' first album, joined in with a Santa hat, as well as the 7-Foot-Tall Metronome.
Multi-instrumentalism was the rule of the night, with every E6er jumping from instrument to instrument, from guitars to two drum sets to two different synths to even a set of brass instruments, complete with Spillane’s tuba. The only exception was Fernandes, who rarely (if ever) strayed from his clarinet. The band’s constant shifting allowed for some interesting banter, which was set to a 45 of birds chirping to a waltz between songs, including a bit on the effects of the year 2001 on people. Another interesting moment was when Bill Doss did a seemingly random military salute.
Of course, one wonders about the purpose of the actual show. There was rarely a focus to it, and the structure was even confirmed by the Holiday Surprise crew to be loose. Koster called the show “sides” at one point, due to another film (a filmstrip slideshow), but there wasn't a distinct difference between the two “sides.” Which is not to say it was a bad thing: Every significant band in the collective had a song in, from Olivia Tremor Control’s “I Have Been Floated” and “The Opera House,” to Elf Power’s “The Arrow Flies Close,” to The Music Tapes “Songs of Oceans Falling.” Side-projects were also represented, with Pipes You See, Pipes You Don’t’s “Karaoke Free.” Even Schneider managed to eke in an Apples in Stereo song or two. In a bit of a surprise, they closed out the main set the same way as the film: Major Organ and the Adding Machine’s beautifully haunting “Life Form (Transmission Received).” The night could have ended here, and it would have been an acceptable show, despite only a Mangum cameo at that point.
Then came the aftershow, or “side 3” as Koster called it. And things got weird.
They realized the extra time they had would allow room for requests, which included the aforementioned “The Opera House,” The Gerbils’ “Glue,” and a few others. A guitar was forced upon Robert Schneider, so he played “Skyway” with a small degree of trouble. The audience, however, was okay with it. Throughout this part of the show, there were several false endings, which sometimes even confused the house engineers. A sense of drag was felt at this point.
Which leads us to Jeff Mangum. No matter how little you cared for the reclusive man of mythos, you could sense from the crowd that some of them only came to see even the slightest bit of him. Not just a reassurance that he was still around and playing, but that he was still Jeff Mangum, as the man they envisioned. And they were very kind and polite about it: While there were a few calls for Mangum to come out, there was not a single Neutral Milk Hotel song request. Even without him, Koster and crew held out to create a great, memorable show. Yet, the crowd would no doubt be disappointed, if not angry about the lack of the romanticized hero.
But he did make his presence felt throughout the night. At first, Mangum only briefly appeared at the end of an Olivia Tremor Control song, belting out the closing lines with the rest of the Holiday Surprise crew (similar to his first recent appearance in “The Arrow Flies Close” in New York). The crowd weren't particularly responsive, but they did start singing with more conviction. The rest of the main set seemed to hint and nag at Mangum’s return to the stage, from a poet commenting on “liking that Jeff Mangum” before reciting a piece on Elephant 6, to a false start by Koster after introducing Static the Television as someone “who hasn’t been in Chicago in 8 million or 9 years.” Even Spillane and Koster’s rendition of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “The Fool” in the middle of the audience seemed to be a call-out. Yet he still did not surface like he did before.
Finally, in the aftershow, after Koster concluded an unnerving rendition of The Music Tapes’ “Manifest Destiny,” he went towards the side of the stage and called out for some people. Several came back, including Mangum, all doing the haunting closer to Circulatory System’s debut, “Forever.” During this rendition, which Koster suggested as a sing-along, Mangum did something incredible: he raised his arm to the crowd, gesturing them to sing louder. While previous shows suggested some acknowledgment of the audience's presence, this is the first time the man -- who many say was a victim of his fans -- interacted with the crowd. This is surely one of the defining moment of this entire tour.
In fact, not only did the crowd respond by signing louder, but they kept singing on as the group finished. Meanwhile, Mangum grabbed a guitar and followed Koster into the middle of the crowd to close the night with the Neutral Milk Hotel B-side “Engine.” He performed “Engine” at another show recently, but it felt like, this time, he was truly addressing the crowd. Something struck deep into many people. The audience was the loudest it had ever been. Here's a video from YouTube:
Afterward, the audience maintained their poise, letting Mangum through to backstage when he finished. He waved to the crowd before leaving. And as Spillane walked back out to thank the crowd, everyone felt at ease; the crowd was clearly full of gratitude.
