Dri / Suzannah Johannes
Huckleberry’ s Pizza; Rock Island, IL
The other night, four of us from Mission Creek in Iowa City piled into my Subaru Outback and made the brief trip down Interstate 80 across the mighty Mississippi. We landed in Rock Island for a Daytrotter-sponsored show featuring Dri, a.k.a. ADrianne Verhoeven, a longtime staple of the Lawrence, Kansas and, more recently, Omaha indie scenes. As a member of the Anniversary, she toured extensively throughout the early 2000s, making the connections that would lead to her seemingly playing some sort of role in just about every Lawrence and Omaha band in the last few years. And all that’s fine, except that it kept her from finally getting her own proper debut CD finished up, which she finally did late last year. Supported by the very community-based Range Life Records (also home to White Flight and Fourth of July), Smoke Rings came out in November. Patience was rewarded.
And so we barreled down I-80 to Huckleberry’s Pizza in downtown Rock Island, a decidedly un-concertlike venue that happens to sit below the Daytrotter studio and has been hosting shows along with Daytrotter recently. Suzannah Johannes opened, also of Lawrence and supporting her own forthcoming Range Life debut. She serenaded us with low-key music vaguely evocative of early Rilo Kiley at times, beautiful in its own right, but possibly overpowered by the overstuffed calzones that were plopped in front of us mid-performance. This was not your typical show.
Dri followed with a full-band performance, somewhat surprising considering that last time we saw her play, in Iowa City in December, she was using a drummer and an iPod as her backing band. And despite having thrown the band together at the last minute for this performance (and accompanying Daytrotter session), things coalesced in near-perfect harmony. The album is largely about beats and samples and programming, but the band gave new life to songs that seem almost unimaginable live after being heard exclusively through headphones.
But she tore through a short set of material from the album, her natural performance ability balancing with her relative inexperience as a band leader. “You Know I Tried” bounced jubilantly while the slinking groove of “Meet Me Out” captivated us. The set closed with the pop romance of “Don’t Wait,” but it was “Two Are One” that made the set. Her bandmates at ease, she summoned up the richest sound her synth could give her for a heartbreaking song about love and lust: “Who’s in your heart’s not always who’s in your bed/ You came looking for love and found your lover there instead/ So you hold them like you hold the one you love/ Until it starts to feel like the two of them are one.” The pizza parlor, which had been a place for both music and conversation (not everyone was there for more than just dinner), fell into rapt attention during these ethereal three minutes. And then, just as quick as it came, it went, and we were launched back into summery pop mode.
As if to parallel that, just as quickly as the show began, it ended. We glanced at our phones: 8:22. We had stepped into a brief void of time -- indulging in delicious food, we saw just over an hour of music, and in the blink of an eye, it was over. It was as much a chance to see a great show but proved that it’s extremely important to keep your friends close; folks from three states came together for just a short burst of music and spent the rest of the time catching up on life. More than anything, that’s what this whole music business thing is supposed to be about. At least, that’s what I’m able to keep convincing myself is right.
Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin / Bald Eagle /Witch's Hat
Mojo’ s; Columbia, MO
Generally speaking, I’m big on bar shows. I can dig the darkness, the oppressive fumes churned by rickety fans, the ancient bottles behind the bar, the subdued chattering of regulars on their molded stools. So, imagine my surprise when I walked into Mojo’s and was greeted not by the fumes of clove cigarettes or the wafting odor of stale beer soaked into the floorboard – but a room with lights blazing and the smell of Jamaican-style jerk chicken. Though the tropical atmosphere was only short-lived and the lights dimmed soon after I arrived, it was clear that this was to be an evening of (please indulge me on this – I need it) truly delicious proportions.
Before I embark on an attempt to capture the performance of Witch’s Hat, I should explain the nature of the Columbia band’s music. Rather than jumping upon any musical bandwagon – i.e. lame ones – the band has opted for subject matter and musical styling scantly touched upon in the music world: songs of great medieval battles, chivalrous knights, and precarious adventures on the high seas with a sound strangely reminiscent of old NES cartridges.
After they had tuned, the lead singers squatted before the drum, and with the first notes played by the band, his fist shot up into the air, following the same line as his ass crack that smiled from the seat of his pants like a great hairy beacon. From there, he catapulted himself about the stage, eyes popped and leering, arms stretched up and out like some manic composer. He galloped across the stage, the likeness of Eddie Van Halen trembling on his great gut, and he stretched out his arm as if he meant to tear the listeners from the confines of time and space and cast them into a medieval realm.
Really, if you take away nothing else, just keep this in mind: after a guitar string was broken, rather than just chatting with the audience, Witch's Hat launched into a rousing rendition of the theme song from Duck Tales.
As much as I tried, I simply couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm for the following band, Bald Eagle, another Columbia local. Perhaps it was the pair of obese people who may or may not have been having sex behind me (the sounds the woman made certainly lead me to believe it to be true), my newfound and unwanted proximity to the tower of speakers that loomed before me, or the inexplicable smell of burning hair whose source I continue to be puzzled by. Either way, my experience during the band’s set was less than extraordinary. In fact, as the set progressed, I began to compose a mental list of places I would rather be.
In spite of the fact that I wasn’t having anything to do with the music – and wanted them to get off the stage with every fiber of my being – those who had come to see them certainly had a splendid evening of entertainment, as evidenced by the mosh pit formed immediately in front of me. It occurred to me following the show that they were simply in the wrong environment. For listeners of both Witch’s Hat and Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, their semi-hardcore sound was harsh and relentless, striking a stark contrast with the music I must assume that most people had come for.
Unfortunately, because of the fact that my ears were ringing terribly following the second act (and continue to ring, two days following the show), by the time SSLYBY took the stage, some of my enthusiasm for them had been abated. The fact that the band had a number of technical issues for the first three songs or so certainly did not help the issue. (It occurred to me that there was substantial and irresistible irony in the lyrics of “Pangea” – one of the first songs played – “It’s always something...”)
However, as the ringing in my ears slightly subsided and the issues were cleared, the show became far more delightful. As the band began to really get their bearings, there was an instrument rotation: drummer Philip Dickey moved up to guitar, bassist Tom Hembree to drums, and singer/guitar John Robert Cardwell to bass. It was at this point that the show reached another level of excitement, most notably on “Oregon Girl” and “I Am Warm & Powerful.” It was also at that point that the band seemed to enjoy themselves far more, as evidenced by Dickey’s two running leaps across the stage, which were admirable since the stage is not actually large enough for leaps across the stage.
After Cardwell’s claim that “we can seriously play any riff Kurt Cobain ever played” and after the heat began to dissipate the energy present in the room, the band played their final song, “Anne Elephant” (which they had previously announced to be their very last song). While there were certainly a number of surprises, both pleasant and not, to be found in the night as a whole, it was certainly a night not to be missed.
Six Organs of Admittance with Elisa Ambrogio / Grand Banks
University of Virginia Chapel; Charlottesville, VA
Let’s start from the middle. Ben Chasney takes a sip out of the
Styrofoam cup that’s sitting on his amp, leans into the mic, and says,
“Okay, I’ll play a couple more quiet ones.”
He picks out a gentle, melodic narrative on his acoustic guitar. After a
few measures, Elisa Ambrogio of The Magik Markers appears on stage, picks up her red Stratocaster, and joins Chasney. She sings and reinforces his folky repetitions with a tightly-wound, single-string drone. Looping his part, Chasney abandons his guitar and frees the mic from its stand, facing toward Ambrogio as their voices pool together in a mesmerizing chant. Suddenly, his microphone cuts out, so Chasney joins Ambrogio at hers. They finish the song singing nose to nose.
The night started out with a more subdued and pristine vibe. Souls
wandered into the century-old chapel and perched themselves on the hard wooden pews. The opening band, Grand Banks, tweaked their array of noisemakers, amps, and keys, prefacing things with a long drone that saturated the spacious corridors and arched ceilings. Their set played out like a rattlesnake swallowing its prey. Serpentine noises swelled and gradually propelled themselves toward digestion. Eerie chimes and scaly synth blips slithered over sparse, rattling percussion.
Chasney, wearing a button up western shirt, came on next and began his set as the audience perched attentively on their pews. He echoed the laid back quality of his acoustic meanderings by joking about being in church on a Friday night and asking the audience what they were doing after the show.
When Ambrogio stepped up, though, the mood quickly shifted. Chasney still held up the mellower end of the sound (even after switching to electric), while Ambrogio, her face obscured beneath a red hood and her dangling hair, did what she does so well with The Magik Markers: she wrenched noisy bursts and distorted curls out of the guts of her instrument.
Tension became tantamount. Rather than propelling toward a cathartic avalanche of noise or satiating, repetitive grooves, both Chasney and Ambrogio seemed to be digging in their heels and keeping their sound taut and restrained. This made the night both powerful and
somewhat frustrating. Ambrogio offered glimpses into a world of more
engulfing noise, and Chasney flirted with riffs that could have employed a heavier hammer but only tapped lightly. The result was an intricate, shallow sculpture rather than a deep and cavernous landspace.
But maybe that was the point: Keeping more overwhelming forces at bay, this Six Organs duo etched out their own sonic path, cloaking the raw inspiration for their sounds in mystery and offering a sense of
reverence and discipline that seemed appropriate amid the chapel’s
wooden alters, looming stained-glass windows, and dimly lit archways.
[Photos: Lincoln Doolittle]
Fiery Furnaces / KI: Theory / The Tapeworms
Satellite Ballroom; Charlottesville, VA
Local punk-influenced collective the Tapeworms opened with an energetic set that recalled a less eccentric variation on the Dismemberment Plan. The band played well to their friends in the crowd, and the set was pretty good, but I found myself distracted by a desire to blast “The Ice of Boston” and shout the words alone in a starlit room. Then again, I’ve lately found myself wanting to do this a little too often.
Richmond outfit KI: Theory followed with an electronica-dominated set that actually rocked pretty hard, as the drummer hammered his kit and a bearded bassist churned out complementary rhythm, with the familiar glow of an Apple notebook there to hold the whole scene together. The band was tight and the stage show effective, with a nice introduction of darkness and digital loops running down to an ocean of wailing vocals and crisp, crunching beats.
But most everyone in the Ballroom was there to dance with the Furnaces, and the Friedbergers quickly broke into material from last year’s Widow City, starting things off with “Navy Nurse.” Eleanor was beautiful if mostly stationary, sporting a fantastic haircut that seemed a perfect extension of early hippie style. She sang with a controlled passion that she contained within the top half of her body, using hands and head to augment her vocals and mirror the frenetic quality of the music as the band fired through the set.
It was refreshing to see a group that actually encouraged crowd participation; the Furnaces asked that song requests be recorded and tossed onstage, as the second part of the set would be determined by popular vote. Fans quickly took the cue and assaulted the band with their favorite songs in paper form. We can only guess how many took this as an opportunity to make a “Freebird” joke that no one really needed. First place ended in a tie, with “Tropical Iceland” garnering the same support as “Chief Inspector Blancheflower”; the latter was one of the night’s high points. It provided a vehicle for the Friedbergers to play off one another, thus giving Matt a chance to capture some well-earned attention. Other highlights included “Blueberry Boat,” “The Philadelphia Grand Jury,” and the lovely “Evergreen.”
In all, the Furnaces put on a fantastic show, effectively showcasing the diversity of their music through both the technical aspects of performance and a song selection that spanned the length of their oeuvre. Two of the group’s best qualities are the quirkiness of the music and the ways they succeed at crafting innovative song structures that always come off as fresh and coherent. They did a much better job of communicating these qualities than they did a couple years back when I watched them try to convert electronic numbers into early New York punk jams. On this night, the electronic element was on full display, and the band showed why they’re one of the most dynamic bands in music today.
Dan Deacon and Jimmy Roche's Ultimate Reality
The Lakeshore Theater; Chicago, IL
I wasn't really in the mood for the crazy free-for-all that a Girl Talk/Dan Deacon show entails, but when I found out Dan Deacon was taking his Ultimate Reality DVD on the road with a live solo set at the Lakeshore Theater the night before the Girl Talk show, I was very intrigued. What would this DVD entail, exactly? How would a Dan Deacon show work in a theater with seats? Would he still manage to perform his trademark set on the floor instead of the stage?
After Jason Ajemian made the kids antsy and chatty with a somewhat out-of-place opening performance involving doing strange things to an upright bass (like whack the strings with a mallet), a couple of drum sets were set up in front of a large screen. The lights went down, recorded music by Dan came on over the loudspeakers, and some old-school Arnold Schwarzenegger footage from Conan the Barbarian kicked things off. In fact, the entire DVD was a psychedelic homage to all things Arnold, with footage from Predator, Terminator, Junior, Twins, Kindergarten Cop, etc. etc. etc., all colored in neon and mashed together by Jimmy Roche into one ridiculous and hilarious assault of the senses (a pregnant Arnold is funny on its own; a pregnant Arnold in slow motion is downright hysterical). After a few minutes, drummers Kevin O'Meare of Video Hippos and Jeremy Hyman of Ponytail, two fellow Baltimore bands, provided some intense synchronized drumming. The audience seemed virtually paralyzed throughout the entire performance until one audience member finally ran up to the stage to try to dance, instigating a mass rush from the audience to the stage. Comically, this happened just in time for the DVD to end, which I appreciated, as a bunch of moshing hipsters would have been a little distracting.
Now that the seal had been broken, however, the 20 minutes before Dan began his solo set involved watching kids jump over seats trying to squeeze into the 15 feet of open space between the stage and the front row--which is exactly where Dan Deacon decided to set up. Later telling us this was his first performance in a seated theater, he proved that regardless of the venue, never shall his table rest on a stage. As usual, this meant only people right up front could see him, but he threw us a bone by having a video camera pointing down at him from the stage so everyone who chose to remain in the seats (see: me) could check out the action and see his "trippy green skull" glow. Having seen him twice before (though always outdoors sans light show), a Dan Deacon show certainly has a specific formula which changes minorly depending on the venue:
1) Begin stretching with crowd to random song (Run DMC in this case, previously "Under the Sea")
2) Provide inane story that involves audience participation, including staring at a stranger, kneeling down and pointing in various directions
3) Turn story into some strange countdown that is spoken using various emotions as the numbers go down, possibly involving Ethan Hawke's career
4) Play some music, jump/jiggle up and down; kids go crazy, lose cell phones and cameras on floor
5) Commence dance contest
6) Have audience do the gauntlet around the room
7) Sing "Silence Like the Wind Overtakes Me" with the audience
Overall Dan provided us with a good time as usual, though I'm definitely too old to get down and dirty with the crazy moshpits and gauntlets these days. But I sure did appreciate that seat.
[Photo: NicoleMC99]
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings / Ivan Milev Band
Satellite Ballroom; Charlottesville, VA
Tonight: Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings with the Ivan Milev Band. Sold Out! said the slate signboard outside Charlottesville, Virginia’s Satellite Ballroom. As I leaned against a brick wall and waited for a friend, people were milling about on the sidewalk, some talking on their cell phones (“Dude, the show’s sold out and James didn’t buy tickets beforehand”) while others looked expectantly at fellow loiterers, hoping that someone would step up and say “Need an extra ticket?”
Sharon and the boys aren’t doing too badly. In fact, they’re batting a thousand so far on this latest East Coast jaunt, having sold out D.C.’s Black Cat the previous night and heading toward a third straight maxed-out crowd at Atlanta’s Variety Playhouse the night after. The combination of tireless touring, knock-out performances, the top-notch 100 Days, 100 Nights and a little umph of exposure from the Dap-Kings’ work with Amy Winehouse has clearly coalesced into a successful formula.
When the venue’s doors opened, the room quickly filled with a varied crowd that included a few scrappy teenagers, your typical twenty-somethings, middle-aged record collector types, and a good amount of older folks who probably experienced the original soul and funk heyday.
Grooving had to wait, though, as the Ivan Milev Band took the stage first. Comprised of Milev, an astoundingly dexterous accordion player, and Entcho Todorov, an equally skilled violinist, the duo tore through a Balkan-hopping set of Eastern European tunes, juggling notes, tempos and time signatures as in a game of hot potato. Their songs varied from tense, raga-like pulses to frenzied, dueling solos that came off like Arthur Russell played at tape-melting speed. Letting Todorov do the talking in between tunes, Milev curled his increasingly sweaty brow and channeled all of his manic energy through his keys and buttons.
Milev and Todorov proved themselves the real deal of Eastern European virtuosity, just as Sharon Jones and her band have filled that role for modern soul and funk. The Dap-Kings emerged to plentiful cheers and warmed up the audience with a few instrumentals before guitarist Binky Griptite introduced the band and eventually Jones herself, who skipped to center stage in a black dress.
The soul queen wrapped the audience around her finger from the start, confidently leading them with her faultless inflections and occasionally pulling a lucky fan on stage to serve as a lyrical object during numbers such as “How Do I Let A Good Man Down” and “Be Easy.” Screams and more gyrations accompanied the opening measures of 100 Days, 100 Nights’ title track, and though some of the slower songs tapped the breaks on the evening’s momentum, even the timid vinyl geeks were starting to move their hips by the end of the night.
A by-the-book encore was already in the bag, given the group’s classic showmanship and the audience’s enthusiasm. After returning to bestow a few more nuggets on their loyal subjects, the Kings and Queen thanked the audience and sent them toward the door and the merch table, where one could pick up an album or a 45, one of the retro staples of the band’s Daptone imprint.
Going the “traditional” route can easily evoke a yawn and a “been there, seen that” response, especially with the cult following of vintage soul, but Jones and the Dap-Kings blew that notion out of the water from the horn section’s first brassy pop to the last wail of the front woman’s dazzling voice. Dig through the record bins for as many ’60s rarities as you want; you still won’t come close to the experience of seeing Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings conquer a stage.
[Photo: Laura O’Neill]
