The Drones
Pianos; New York, NY
Even if you write off their more somber numbers as too subtle, The Drones have great songs to draw on when planning a set. The high point of this evening, though, is not a spirited rendition of "The Minotaur" or a crowd-pleasing trip through "Shark Fin Blues"; it's "Six Ways To Sunday," a mainstay of The Drones' live oeuvre that dates back to their first independent release in 2001. It's a little more rough around the edges than the stuff they're releasing in 2009, but that's all the better in a live setting. The backbone of the song is guitar noise over a simple bass groove, which the band periodically cuts out, leaving two beats of plain old silent space that will actually make you stop breathing for a second if you're not expecting it.
The silence is so stunning primarily because, by this point in the set, you're so used to the roar of The Drones' guitars. Gareth Liddiard and Dan Luscomb have brought noise guitar to a certain level of perfection. Liddiard, in particular, employs both skilled fingerpicking and skilled footwork -- this is the first time I've ever seen someone successfully manipulate the tiny knobs on their footpedals with their feet while playing. It's a sight to see.
And while the guitars alone are reason enough to justify such statements as "The Drones should be much bigger than they are," my guess is that this feeling is stoked as much by the fact that their records come off as deadly serious in an age that's increasingly attuned to real talk about death, war, poverty, and the like. But if you're gonna remain human while you play a song like "She Had an Abortion She Made Me Pay For," you're gonna have to adopt a "fuck it" attitude. When they introduce "Oh My" as a song about the world's imminent demise, it doesn't come off dreary or pseudo-prophetic -- just a fact.
Towards the end of the night, there is some worry that the band will need to cut the set short in order keep their van from getting towed (thanks NYC parking statutes). They say "fuck it" (of course) and plow ahead into "I Don't Ever Want to Change." Luscomb's amp starts acting up. He could easily panic, slump off stage, or pout, but he instead has fun with it, playfully getting in the way by throwing his guitars onto the drum kit.
Since fiddling while Rome is burning implies a social irresponsibility that I don't think is warranted in this case, call this fiddling about Rome burning.
Paul McCartney, Ringo Star @ David Lynch's Benefit Concert
Radio City Music Hall; New York, NY
As strange as David Lynch’s mind is, at least it’s at peace. Holding a benefit concert for his foundation that promotes Transcendental Mediation to at-risk youths, Lynch brought together a lineup of “what the fuck,” a touchstone of his for over 30 years, for his Change Begins Within Benefit Concert. With an audience of people who, from the looks of things, have never uttered an ‘Om’ in their lives, it’s safe to say that the majority was attending to see the all-star lineup of Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Eddie Vedder, Donovan, Moby, Jim James, Bettye Lavette, um, Sheryl Crow, and others.
The first set showcased artists who subscribe to the Transcendental Meditation method, while the second half brought out the artists who famously traveled to India four decades ago to practice with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and made this meditation a household name.
With a majority of acts joining each other onstage, the night began with Moby and legendary soul singer Bettye Lavette. Taking the place of Vera Hall, who Moby sampled on “Natural Blues” from 1999's Play, Lavette showcased her range, while Moby proved he could still rock a shaved head while, for some reason, wearing a Black Flag shirt. Fashion blunders aside, the two stuck mostly to songs in line with the spiritual theme of the evening, while also playing “We Are All Made of Stars” and “Close As I’ll Get To Heaven.” The two songs were highlights of the evening's first half.
Surprisingly, a solo Eddie Vedder did little to showcase any of his talent, besides using vocal delays to make an annoying chant that should have been, well, meditated on before stepping onstage. Adding to Vedder’s night of mistakes was a duet with Ben Harper on the Queen/David Bowie track “Under Pressure.” The only thing that performance proved was that no one should ever try to cover that song. Ever.
With sporadic speeches from David Lynch and his muse Laura Dern about the wonders of meditation, the night dragged until the originators took the stage for the second half.
Donovan, both a casualty of the ’60s if I’ve ever seen one and the head of the organization’s musical wing, was joined by My Morning Jacket’s Jim James on the songs “Hurdy Gurdy Man” and “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” A little dated, Donovan’s songs are definitely of the time when he traveled to India, yet they're still a pleasure to ears and a helpful reminder of the wonders of drugs. Donovan was followed by jazz flutist Paul Horn, who introduced a piece of music he’d written for the evening called “Meditation,” which was dedicated to George Harrison and John Lennon. It was a reminder of the two legends waiting in the wings.
Coming out first was Ringo, and for all that’s said about his lack of talent, he really knows how to get the good feelings in the audience going. He played “It Don’t Come Easy,” “Yellow Submarine,” and surprisingly “Boys,” a track that had been part of The Beatles’ repertoire before he was a even a member and was once played by former drummer Pete Best [ouch].
Finally, the night concluded with Sir Paul himself. McCartney’s set was not only the longest of the evening, but also the most energetic of the night, consisting of songs from The Beatles, Wings, and his solo catalogue. Performing classics like “Got To Get You Into My Life” and “Let It Be,” McCartney knows that people want to hear the songs they and their children and their children’s children have grown up on. Surprisingly, he played “Here Today” from his 1983 album Tug of War, a song he described as a one-way conversation with his ex-bandmate John Lennon after his murder in 1980. If anyone denies the emotional impact of anything McCartney has done post-Beatles, tell that to the woman weeping next to me throughout the whole song, face in hands.
There was no guarantee that Ringo and Paul would be performing together but with a triumphant introduction of Ringo as Billy Shears, Starr’s personality on Sgt. Pepper, the two shared a microphone on “With A Little Help From My Friends,” marking the first time the two have shared a stage since 2002 when they performed at “A Concert For George.” The moment was perhaps more legendary for the people in the audience, and from the looks of things between McCartney and Starr, it was just two friends reconnecting in front of 6,000 people.
Ceremoniously, the evening concluded with the night’s lineup onstage performing “Cosmically Conscious,” a song McCartney wrote on the 1968 trip to Rishikesh, India that appeared as a hidden track on his 1993 album Off the Ground. They all then launched into “I Saw Her Standing There,” with Ringo on drum and McCartney still hitting those high notes -- it was the most inspirational moment of the night.
If this is what Transcendental Meditation gets you, I’m pretty confident that more than a few people might check it out.
Brittain Ashford / Letters & Numbers
Northeast Kingdom; Brooklyn, NY
Brooklyn's Northeast Kingdom is a restaurant that manages to look like a proper bistro while surrounded by decaying industrial architecture. On the ground level, people babble loudly through their arugula. Downstairs, in stark contrast, hides a quiet-looking room reminiscent of every musty suburban basement of the day, save for the smell, which is actually quite pleasant. Faux-wood trim creeps halfway up the wall, meeting the wallpaper that is adorned with mirrors and lamps everywhere. It is an intimate venue, its only notable flaw being that the soft light lining the room fails to illuminate the standing performer.
It's raining outside, and everything is far away from Manhattan, but the room is still as full as it can comfortably handle. Normally consisting of a wider lineup, the two that make up the group Numbers & Letters tonight -- Joe Lops and Katie Hasty -- are seated in the performance area, near lamps, holding guitars. They play a sort of folk tune that sounds familiar, but probably isn't. Lops plays his guitar carefully, including some great slide guitar in his last song, while Hasty's curiously small voice yelps in the lower register and bolsters more control and delicacy in the upper. The overall sensation is inviting, reminiscent of Alela Diane. Katie is clearly the dominant focus of the group, and perhaps she should be. They play five songs, give out free CDs, and are friendly throughout the evening.
Brittain Ashford occasionally plays with a band, but she too performs tonight as a duo. Caitlin Steitzer begins the set with a dedicated tone of melodica and later contributes tambourine, xylophone, and sweetly sparse vocal harmonies, as Brittain alternates between auto-harp and a dulcimer lain flat on a high platform. She sings in a beautiful, trembling voice that sounds closely mic'ed, with a passion that is as visible as it is audible. Limning the perimeter of the crowd, she jumps up and tears about, face constricted with emotion, as if overwhelmed by the gravity of her own words. The crowd is silently focused throughout the set, save for warm laughter when Brittain jokes about buying a Subaru between songs.
Themselves
Empty Bottle; Chicago, IL
I’ve been eager to see Themselves play live since I first heard their track “It’s Them” on the anticon. compilation Music for the Advancement of Hip-Hop. While I've never seen Doesone and Jel perform together as Themselves before, I have seen them perform both solo and with Subtle and cLOUDDEAD -- so I was waiting with much anticipation when Doseone hit the stage to set up a cardboard backdrop of gray, drab office buildings. He already seemed filled with energy.
Finally, Themselves took the stage wearing dapper, slate-gray, three-piece suits that offset the similar, dreary tones of the set. It turned out to be a very entertaining blend of music, lyricism, machine-gun bursts of wordplay, stand-up comedy, music reviewing, and a joke about the “retarded” things that come out of Sarah Palin. Doseone and Jel were like tiny hyperactive children eager to share with us what they had created, and the cardboard cutouts of the DIY set decoration soon gave way to a dance party. To say that this was an energetic show is like calling water wet.
While the bad sound unfortunately made The Dosester’s words semi-unintelligible, I was still highly entertained. The boys played a rollicking set of jamz that passed through the entirety of Themselves’ catalog. From classic tunes to brand new material, every song was played with an enticing degree of earnestness and honesty, and every head in the place was bobbing. One dude danced a herky-jerky robot-like shuffle all night, stomping the floor with each boom of the bass drum. I couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm.
At one point, Dose had an interesting exchange with the crowd:
Doseone: Would you burn my friend, Jeffrey Logan, Jel, with a cigarette?Crowd: No!
Doseone: Then why would you burn him with a CD-R?
The crowd responded with a muted sense of agreement, with some members of the audience obviously questioning their allegiance to an “artist” who seems interested in making money from his or her creations (shocking). Doseone began to soothe the crowd's anguish and win back the cheers by then imploring us to steal everything else we need, but to leave art, especially his, alone and pay for it.
The final impression I was left with was a growing eagerness to dive headfirst into Themselves’ next full-length album. I might even purchase it.
[Photo: Mathew Scott]
Zazen Boys
Pianos; New York, NY
The biggest question in the wake of Zazen Boys’ astonishing set at Pianos a few weeks ago was still, evermore, infuriating: Why does this band still lack U.S. distribution? If not a permanent opening slot for Battles (perhaps their closest sonic analogues)? After three albums of jazz-inflected, increasingly heavy math-funk splitting the difference between late Don Caballero and Q And Not U, last year they dropped one of the best fusions of live-band rock aesthetics and electro/dance music to date this decade: the taut, tantalizing Zazen Boys 4, freshly drenched in lush Neptunes synth tones and Cut Copy sheen. And like Battles again, the live show careened manically and joyously from minimal to maximal, a masterfully proved theorem of arithmetical groove.
Drummer Matsushita Atsushi placidly loomed behind his kit like a sun bear, pounding the skins with a godlike blend of force and precision, thunderbolt beats skidding from 4/4 to 5/4 to 6/4, beyond and back again. In keeping with the band’s distinctly Japanese sense of humor, he had even modified the Gretsch logo on his bass drum to read “GREEEEN” to match the set’s acid-bright paint job. Paging Dr. Zeus! Yoshida Ichiro thunked away dutifully on the bass, at his best when free to drop in Prince-ly robot funk pull-offs and accents, while prime Zazen Boy Mukai Shutoku slouched around the front of the stage between mic, keyboard, and guitar with equally nerdy effacement and enthusiasm. But the most captivating by far was lead axe-murderer Yoshikane Sou: contorting his limbs as much as his strings as he rushed through breathless chromatic runs, skipping between scales and modes as quickly as Atsushi switched up time signatures, battering no-waves of single-coil skree from his Strat like a Mach 6 express warp back to the bygone days of a Lower East Side where Pianos actually sold pianos.
The set opened with “Himitsu Girl’s Top Secret” and blew through 4 highlights “Weekend,” “Asobi,” “Honnoj” and “I Don’t Wanna Be With You,” plus an R(Kelly)&B-flavored encore of “Kimochi” from way back on the original Zazen Boys. Each song was stretched out like a dance mix, and the crowd treated them that way. At least, they did as much as it’s possible for four-on-the-floor-programmed asses to get free in the club with mutant five- or six-beat measures to bump with. But who’s counting?
SXSW (Saturday): Daniel Johnston, Grupo Fantasma
Emo's; Austin, TX
After a two-and-a-half-hour wait in line, my feet hurt, I’m sober, uncomfortable, and a little sticky from the balmy evening. I feel like I’ve just been on a long car ride with my parents. But this time, I don’t get out of the hot station wagon to find Yellowstone Park, but to find tequila and Pabst (thank god). I am awakened by the smell of the lime, my temperature lowered by the icy tall can; I am cleansed by the salt of the rim and soaked in the tequila -- at last, I am cured.
My line buddy and old friend Aaron talks about local internet God Harry Knowles, and I’m inspired to write an experiential review for you, dear reader, about how I’ve waited in this line of lines to see our hero, Daniel Johnston, famous for making the horrifying reality of mental illness seem cool and hopeful.
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- {Grupo Fantasma}
But first, it’s Grupo Fantasma, who sizzle spicily away. Grupo Fantasma is a talented group of guys who play some sorta Latin party dance fun Rio-hotel-bar music. They’re very good at whackin’ the congas and steels drums, but I can’t help but find them a little annoying.
Aaron tells me that Grupo Fantasma publishes huge signs on the sides of Austin city buses with messages like “Saving Money on Gas is Fantasma –Grupo Fantasma.” Ugh. Now, I’m even more annoyed by these pan-Latin yet still somewhat ethnically androgynous Carlos Santana enthusiasts.
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- {Daniel Johnston}
And now the moment we’ve all been waiting for, an Austin institution, fan-tested, documentary-approved... Daniel Johnston opens his set with “Speeding Motorcycle.”
One wonders if these songs come from a place of holy genius or childish madness. At the end of “Speeding Motorcycle,” the crowd erupts and I wonder if I detect insincerity in their cheers and applause. Is it a true love of Johnston’s strange irony and radiant vulnerability that fuels this audience’s love? Or is it pity? Do we love Daniel Johnston with the same self-serving pity coupled with laughing disdain that we lauded upon Wesley Willis? It’s a hard question, but an important one. But, because this is Austin, and because I stood outside with a bunch of nice people who also waited two-and-a-half hours for this, I’m willing to believe that everyone here truly loves Daniel Johnston, who was crucified in mental institutions for our sins.
“Here’s a song from the Songs of Pain,” he says and sings, “Hold me like a mother would. Like I always knew somebody should. Though I know tomorrow don’t look so good.” Wow. I want to cry.
On another song, Johnston sings, “We’re living our lives in vain, and where are we going to?” He is well worth the wait. He is the real deal: a strange, slightly toothless old man who begs a loving audience to put aside their images and their made-up faces and really feel the beauty and magic of being.
Known for demanding that The Beatles reunite and be his backup band, Johnston covers one Lennon and one McCartney song — “I’m So Tired” and “Live and Let Die” — back to back. I’m glad that he represents both Lennon and McCartney individually.
He finishes the set with “True Love Will Find You in the End,” and it’s delicate, awkward, warbling, and divine. As a reviewer, I’m struck dumb. The most important thing for me to convey to you, readers, isn’t my self-indulgent experiential blather, but quotes and picture (my one crappy picture) of this man who I can’t really judge or describe because he knows things that I do not and may never know. He has stood on the edge of the abyss, looked deep into the mouth of madness, and brought back a message of hope. He wishes only that true love WILL find us in the end. For he knows, as we all should, that this is the only thing that will cure us of the unbearable pain of being.
Seemingly ironically, the DJ chooses to follow up Johnston’s set with “Hells Bells” by AC/DC.
