Hem / Ben Weaver
Workplay; Birmingham, AL
Hem makes it through Birmingham
about once a year, drawing slightly more of a crowd each year and charging
slightly more for tickets each year. Although I feel sympathy for the folks
who skip the annual Workplay Hem-fest, I can't help but feel like part of a
small, elite group of fans clued in to the fact that Hem is one of the best
folk/Americana bands making music right now.
For this tour, fans got to see a stripped down version of Hem featuring
songwriter Dan Messé on piano and accordian; Steve Curtis on guitar, mandolin,
and backing vocals; Gary Maurer on guitar and mandolin; and the lovely Sally
Ellyson on lead vocals. The harmony of these instruments blends so perfectly
live that listeners become malleable clay responding with shivers and warm
approval to each crescendo and fall of the songs. It's a reaction fans can
count on, and that's probably why Hem gets a healthier crowd every time they
visit the city.
Claiming Workplay as one of their favorite places to play, Ellyson confided
that they had chosen Birmingham as the place to debut four new songs off of
their upcoming release, tentatively titled Funnel Cloud. Despite the
band's confession that the songs had never before been played live, each new
song sounded as effortless as their live staples such as "When I was
Drinking," "Sailor," and cover songs "Jackson" and "The Tennessee Waltz." Gary
Maurer's mandolin solos were a complex yet flawless intermission to Ellyson
and Curtis's unique vocal harmonies. A friend commented on Messé's preference
for playing below "middle C" on the Yamaha baby grand piano, and once my
attention was called to it I began to notice the full-bodied warmth these
octaves gave to Hem's overall sound.
Dressed plainly in girl-next-door sexy jeans and a ruffled, low-cut, pink
blouse, the auburn-haired Ellyson wriggled and stamped lightly with one boot
as she gently embraced the microphone with both hands. As the frontwoman she
reinforces the laid-back, unassuming nature of a band gaining success the
old-fashioned way: through talented musicianship and clearly superior
songwriting skills.
It almost seems in poor taste to mention opening artist Ben Weaver, who might
very well have joined the tour by a serendipitous (for him) accident.
Strumming alternately on guitar and banjo and accompanied by a bassist,
Weaver's act was reliant on his vocals and lyrics. Unfortunately for him,
neither his hoarse vocals nor his terrible lyrics ("your piano fingers
dog-eared my heart," "the tattoo beneath your left breast," "there's rain in
your heart; I can smell it") were enough to make his songs interesting. His
songs, most of which had very similar melodies, contained no choruses or
hooks; I just hope members of the audience didn't leave early, thinking the
headliner might not be much better. Realistically, there is no
comparison.
Photo: Joe Dilworth
The Weird Weeds
Berbati's Pan; Portland, Oregon
This
write-up was going to be about a Sleater-Kinney show. Instead, on a whim, I
went and saw the Weird Weeds a day before I left to go back to college, and
sometime during a set punctuated by the nervous, half-yelled conversation
between act and audience that always seems to accompany the genuine thrill of
seeing a new band, they charmed me completely.
Strolling through what I am sure was most of their recorded output, from songs
that sounded like the earliest experiments of a newly formed band to the
polished and quiet weirdness of the material on their downloadable EP Hold
Me, the Weird Weeds played songs whose subtle charms took hold of you like
a vice and then departed swiftly before you could think about them too long.
Like Deerhoof (one of the highest compliments I can think of), the Weird Weeds
write songs that lurch in directions that seem at first inexplicable and then
slowly obvious, mixing left turn time changes and song lengths that, stopping
just short of being too short, leave you both satisfied and enticed.
With all of fifteen people there (afterwards I learned that it had been the
best attended show of their tour), the whole thing had the air of a secret
meeting, a feeling that was only underscored by the initial wariness of a band
placed in a venue much bigger than they were used to. Unsigned, with only an
EP to their name, the only mention that I had ever heard of them before this
had been from an article of praise written by Xiu Xiu's Jamie Stewart, a
notoriously picky critic. Armed with only two guitarists and a drummer, they
managed to continually surprise the jaded audience with the terrific insight
and humor of their playing. It helps that the two guitars had such different
personalities: If Aaron Russell (on the right) seemed the more accomplished,
picking and strumming his way through the material with ease, it was only
because the more experimental/unusual slide guitar of Sandy Ewan was giving
him such a warm backdrop through which to move.
Especially in the case of Ewan, seeing such unusual instrumentation used in
such a genuine way is a real treat. The bows, bells, and drums littered about
the stage were gradually employed to their various effects, yet at no point
did anything feel unnecessary. Instead it felt like the joy of experimentation
tempered by the hard-headed realism of musical invention. A friend I ran into
there who swore he saw her employ an E-bow found out after the show that it
was actually a piece of chalk used as a slide; Nick Hennies (the drummer)
rarely kept a regular beat, instead punctuating the songs with staccato bursts
of his snare.
Droning through the fits and starts of their strange songs, the Weird Weeds
proved themselves. Sitting in the audience, it was hard not to feel as if you
were there at the beginning of something truly rewarding. The Weird Weeds were
fantastic and won me over completely. If you get the chance, see them and
decide for yourself. Sleater- Kinney doesn't really need any more publicity
anyway. -Notwal
Lolita Bras / Wilderness / The Internet
Pianos; New York, NY
I'm not going to lie. I did not
know who Lolita Bras was when I bought tickets to this show. I went solely to
see Wilderness, a band that has crept up my spine and rendered me paralyzed
for weeks with their self-titled album on repeat. I was shocked that a band
that was on so many top 25 lists for 2005 was playing a tiny venue like
Pianos.
I arrived at Pianos to a fairly empty yet enthusiastic back room. I utilized
my promotional Lolita Bras Lemon Drop shot tickets and, due to an unsuspecting
bartender, quickly took the tickets back and slid them in my pocket for later
reuse. The Internet was on stage playing the last few songs of their short
set. A duo consisting of Nat Rabb and Michaelann Zimmerman: they sound a bit
like The Rapture with less punk, more house, and more humor. The crowd seemed
responsive to their pseudo-homegrown industrial dance music complete with Nat
Rabb's jagged guitar and Richard Hell-esque computer warble. I can't say my
foot wasn't tapping, although I'd like to.
After a short break between sets I turned around to realize that the place was
packed and electric with anticipation. Wilderness took the stage and started
in a seemingly unorganized and droning manner. A few things became immediately
apparent:
1. It was fucking loud. I was standing right in the front in the direct target
line of the overhead PA and felt like my ears were going to bleed.
2. This band was not from New York, nor did they give a shit about New York,
which was immediately endearing.
3. Guitarist Colin McCann was convulsing like a Mexican jumping bean at a
Black Dice concert, all while finger picking and smiling broadly. When was the
last time you saw that?
They launched into their sinuous sound while frontman James Johnson matched
the waves with rave/robot-like arm curling. Johnson is an interesting and
ultimately intimidating character, a peaceful yet aggressively messianic
leader. If I were to attempt to pin him down in some way I would call him a
drill sergeant preacher reminiscent of John Lydon circa P.I.L. mixed with a
bit of Henry Rollins, David Byrne, and Anthony Kiedis. Absolutely captivating
on stage.
I sensed that some of the Lolita Bras crowd was put off by Johnson's powerful
groan, but on many occasions, as I glanced about the small venue, it became
clear that Wilderness put a smile on many patrons' faces. I'm sure every
reader would agree that it always enhances a concert when the band members
seem to be enjoying what they are doing. I can safely say that Wilderness
wants nothing more than to play music and apparently get off to themselves
regularly in front of the crowd.
After Wilderness's brilliant set and an ample set break, Lolita Bras took to
the stage. Despite my immediate skepticism, I stayed and listened to a couple
songs only to confirm my predisposition. All dolled up on stage like every
other next "it" band, their music lacked any inventiveness: simple songwriting
with little or no luster to catch an eye. One might compare their sound to
Interpol's first record with insulting nods to My Bloody Valentine and U2.
They do have some clever hooks but forget that in order to make a good song
great you must push some envelopes around. Not awful, but not anything
special.
Wilderness, unlike Lolita Bras, is a band that pushes things forward, a
perfect example of a group that synthesizes a number of notable influences
into something completely new and brilliant. Incorporation without
regurgitation. They more than confirmed that they are the real deal, and I
can't wait to see where they go next.
Photo: Justin Lin
