The Notwist
Webster Hall; New York, NY
As irrelevant as the remaining Beatles members seem these days, Paul and Ringo can take consolation in the fact that the ideal rock ‘n’ roll career is still based on the mold they created: release some great disposable pop records, then move closer and closer towards more serious “mature” music with each successive record. This idea of artistic development is becoming increasingly less feasible by the day, but when a band manages to follow this path successfully, it still usually works. The Notwist are the prime German indie world example of a band that has followed this career arc, moving from throwaway quasi grunge metal beginnings, to sort of 90s indie rock, to sort of dance pop, to full-on electro acoustic pop rock maturity over the course of a decade plus.
Taking this arc as a model, and 2002’s Neon Golden as the consensus choice for their artistic peak, this year’s follow up, The Devil, You + Me, should either be the record where The Notwist test the limits of experimentation and produce an incomprehensible dud, the record where they get sentimental and show their age, or the record where they try to sound like they did on their previous record and lose their creative momentum. Happily, The Notwist avoid falling into the trap of the first category, but for good or ill, The Devil, You + Me can’t avoid sounding like a safer, gentler version of Neon Golden.
In terms of a live show, it’s much more difficult to say how a band like The Notwist “should” age. The Beatles were done with live performance by the time they got serious, so there’s no model here. Good thing. The Notwist are an uncommonly great live band -- this show proved that, even when their “mature” recordings sound slightly muted or conservative, they bring out serious fire from them in a live setting. On record, their best songs get by on subtlety, lyrical delicacy, and intricate production. Live, their least subtle songs are their best, and the band’s best efforts lose the details of a song in order to benefit the performance as a whole. Every boring indie rock band out there (and The Notwist, with The Devil, You + Me are hanging on the precipice here) should take note of this approach.
Here’s an example of how this works: as many outstanding songs as Neon Golden contains, and as wonderfully as the band performs them live, it’s always “This Room” that tears the roof off a show. The recorded version of the song thrives on its verses that build tension through electronic cacophony played over the fatalistic message, “We will never, will never leave this room,” and give way to instrumental sections that are somehow just as tense and brooding. At Webster Hall, the instrumental sections became hugely cathartic passages, with singer/guitarist Markus Acher alternating between primal strumming of a single chord and utilizing his signature maneuver of guitar violence: smashing the strings into the pickups with his hand to produce a percussive, mechanical, and disquieting punctuation. And just when you thought they’d reached their peak of intensity, the band effortlessly pushed the dynamic from kill to obliterate, only to gracefully come back down and deliver another verse. It’s a simple variation on the classic Pixies “soft-loud-soft” trick, but one that was masterfully played.
Thankfully, the band is able to pull similar tricks with much of its new material. Besides “Boneless,” which lacked any real sense of purpose, all of the Devil, You + Me tracks in the set sounded perfectly at home alongside the more time-tested Neon Golden favorites. “Where In This World” and “Gravity,” in particular, reached levels of noisy grace equaling “This Room” and “Pick Up the Phone.”
As surprisingly good as the newer tracks were, the Neon Golden tracks were still the highlights. “Neon Golden” had a beautifully meditative quality to it, even when tech wiz Martin Gretschmann and drummer Andi Haberl took the opportunity offered by a freeform middle section to turn it into something akin to a Depeche Mode song. On “Pilot,” the band delved into the dub tendencies that are only hinted at on the recorded version of the track and did so while somehow avoiding coming off as over-reaching central European dilettantes.
Age has certainly not slowed down The Notwist at all. Even though they concentrated on their more downbeat tracks as the set wore on, they should still be commended for indulging a very appreciative crowd with two encores, bringing the set time close to the two-hour mark. The appearance of quieter material was by no means a bad thing, and the softer ending to the show was arguably even more affecting than the show’s louder, more frantic episodes. “Consequence,” with which they opened their final encore, received possibly the warmest welcome from the crowd of any song in the set, underscoring the fact that, as good as The Notwist are at staging musical and lyrical tension, they are most appreciated when they can alleviate tension rather than create it. “Gone, Gone, Gone,” “The Devil, You + Me,” and “Sleep” were also as welcome in the set as anything else, and along with the Wii controllers Gretschmann used throughout the show to control the band’s signature fuzzed-out loops, they lent a sense of levity to a night which could easily have become too dour or too serious.
CMJ 2008: Day 3
10-23-2008;
{Big Shot Showcase @ The Mercury Lounge}
The Mercury Lounge is one of my favorite venues in New York: cozy, great acoustics, and conveniently located right down the block from Katz's Deli. I sat on one of the vinyl benches towards the side on Thursday night and gazed at the sequin-covered mic on stage. Uh oh.
- {The Vettes}
The Vettes are from New Orleans, where the blonde bombshell lead singer/boys with fauxhawks/overabundance of cheesy synth riffs thing must be something new, because I was assaulted with all three MTV must-haves when this band took the stage. I stared at the lead singer's onesie (jumpsuit? I don't know) and mused that I hadn't even seen my own asscheeks that much in a week. She seemed confused that the skeptical crowd of 20 wasn't going along with her Madison Square Garden-style stage theatrics, which included running her hands up and down the chest of the bassist and getting cozy with her (sequined!!!) microphone stand, remarking, "Wow, what's up, New York? Don't get all crazy now..." A peeved audience member yelled back "WELCOME TO NEW YORK!" She kept the smile pasted on and said, "This next song's called ‘Murder at the Disco.’" I realized I had entered my own personal version of hell and walked out. Sorry, Pela (who were on at 12 AM). I'll get you next time.
This is what my Hades looks and sounds like:
----
{The Organic Entertainment Showcase @ Club Midway}
- {A BIG YES... and a small no}
After that, I obviously needed to go to Rehab. The Organic Entertainment showcase was in full swing by the time I showed up, and Brooklyn-based A BIG YES... and a small no were playing. Fast-talking lead singer Kevin Kendrick squeezed lyrics in between nice ‘n’ easy pop melodies, aided by a Gibson guitar and a vibraphone. Cocking his head knowingly, he sang, "I think Kool & the Gang was right." About what, I never found out. What seemed to be a charming set unfortunately segued into reggae beats and began to border on lounge, and the band's seams began to show as the drummer dropped a beat here and there; live weaknesses became apparent. It's not atrocious, but it's enough so's I noticed. Also, backup vocalist Moira Meltzer-Cohen, who left the stage mid-set, could have been well-employed to shake things up as Kendrick's voice started to grow monotonous. Still, I gave their MySpace a quick peek that night, and they hold up quite well on record... just don't expect your mind to be blown. Jesus That Looks Terrible On You is out on Thorough Left.
----
{Friendly Fire Showcase @ Pianos}
- {Faunts}
I knew something better had to be going on somewhere else, so I quickly scanned my CMJ program guide and headed over to Pianos for the Friendly Fire showcase. I arrived just as Canadians Faunts were setting up. From the looks of their gear, it seems as though I've stumbled upon a more machine-friendly group of artists, with a laptop, several synthesizers, and some drum add-ons littering the stage. Faunts initially reminded me of a sleepier New Order, though the "sleepy" part began to melt away as the set went on. The more electricity they injected into their music, the more detailed its beauty became. When the drummer abandoned his kit and joined the rest in a line, each using both hands on different instruments to coax more sound out of them, a veritable wave of shoegaze washed over us and echoed in the small room for a good 30 seconds. Took me by surprise, they did. Faunt are currently mixing a new album, due to come out January 2009 on Friendly Fire and will feature guests like Shout Out Out Out, Cadence Weapon, and Mark Templeton, according to their website.
----
- {Bell}
Brooklyn-based Bell (or Olga Bell) took the stage with her drummer, and I marveled at the sheer volume of equipment being lugged on stage, wondering who was going to play it all. A classically trained pianist, Bell whipped out a keytar and fired up the samples and synths, egged on by drummer Jason Nazary, who had a few interesting apparatuses tacked onto his kit as well. Sending her voice through effects pedals almost wasn't necessary, as it is magnificently full and soul-shattering all on its own. Not that I minded the sensation of sitting in a long, marble hallway as her voice bounced around the room, only to harmonize with itself and fade into the distance. It's rare to find an artist who can put one on sensory overload, but Bell succeeded admirably.
I wanted to feel like the set was lighthearted, but her voice cuts to the bone. I was reminded of the one and only Björk and had a laugh when I discovered a cover of "It's Oh So Quiet" on Bell's MySpace later in the evening. Simply gorgeous, and any other time, I would have been content to end my night there. Bell's self-released, self-titled EP is available on iTunes.
----
- {The Assholes of CMJ 2008}
I would like to take a moment to give out my one and only superlative award of the week: The Assholes of CMJ 2008! Said assholes would be an incumbent band that shall remain nameless, who felt it was necessary to boot audience members from their comfortable stool perches, use the stools to set up their DJ equipment, and generally cause a commotion in the FRONT of the crowd. The crowd that was WATCHING BELL, because her SET WAS GOING ON THE WHOLE TIME. Common courtesy aside, if your gear doesn't fit on the stage, you officially have too much shit. Jesus H.
Congratulations! You win a pony.
----
{Big Fat Cat Showcase @ Banjo Jim's}
- {Skidmore Fountain}
I headed deep into Alphabet City to Banjo Jim's for the Big Fat Cat showcase to catch Skidmore Fountain. Based in Brooklyn, not only did they look incredibly dapper and keep their set wound tighter than a tick, their brand of pop, which runs the gamut from classical to funk-inspired, was highlighted by the absence of a bassist. Why? Well, when you've got a crack cellist like Topu Lyo, who needs one? Lyu also used his instrument for its intended melodic purpose, driving along the theme of "Asylum," the single that lead singer Randy Bergida demanded everyone take home for free in CD form.
Bergida has one of the cleanest, most earnest voices I've ever heard, one that neatly skirts generic pop vocals by harmonizing with guitarist Steven Cohen. Dylan Wissing is what happens when you harness a freight train to a drum kit, and the band never had the chance to step out of line once during the set. Their full-length album, Break, is available in iTunes, Rhapsody, and CD Baby from Triple R Records.
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.
----
- {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.
----
- {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.
----
{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.
----
- {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.
----
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.
----
- {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.
----
- {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.
----
- {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.
----
- {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.
