Sir Richard Bishop, Ben Chasny, and Chris Corsano / Wally Shoup and Chris Corsano
The Sunset Tavern; Seattle, WA
The tiny bar known as The Sunset Tavern has always played host to the misfits of the underground; musicians and artists so tired of being shoved into the small niche of genre and style that they continually push back despite the fact they’ll never be able to shake the labels we give as place-holding descriptors. Thankfully the four individuals who graced the stage at The Sunset on Sept. 12 don’t give two shits about how their albums are categorized by journos and record stores; they just want to make great music.
And make great music they did. I entered the venue just in time to catch the beginning caterwauls of Wally Shoup’s saxophone being flanked by Chris Corsano’s machine-gun rounds of snare and toms. Corsano has a reputation for being good accoutrement to any skilled saxophonist, honing his skills with legends the globe over (Paul Flaherty, Akira Sakata, et. al). The dynamic between the grayed Shoup and the baby-faced Corsano was far more explosive than that of past Corsano jazz duos, though it was Shoup who was allowed to take centerstage with a blend of jerky bellows and drawn-out blows. Shoup’s execution changes from minute to minute like a mood ring, frequently changing colors to reflect internal shifts. Corsano’s ability to gauge those rapid shifts and follow suit is a gift few rhythm musicians have. The set was short (barely 30 minutes), but it drew the interest of a scattered crowd, cowering in every nook of the small but somehow roomy club.
After a lengthy break, the crowd was treated to the main event: the unveiling of a new supergroup consisting of friends Sir Richard Bishop (Sun City Girls), Ben Chasny (Six Organs of Admittance, Comets on Fire), and Chris Corsano. The online marquee promised a night of free-form jazz. Shoup and Corsano delivered it in spades, but the trio of Bishop/Chasny/Corsano weren’t about to remotely hit a jazz note, launching into a skronk-filled seizure of psychedelia and classic rock. Bishop’s Middle Eastern influences were absent, Chasny’s folk tendencies replaced by angry spasms of punchy guitar, and Corsano’s earlier restraint tossed aside as his arms became the envy of Stretch Armstrong.
Over the course of 40 minutes and 5 songs, the newly minted group switched between early '80s no-wave spurred by the likes of Teenage Jesus and Sonic Youth, and more melodic psychedelia. Each and every note, chord, and drum smack was pure rock and roll ooze. Bishop and Chasny played with an old abandon once familiar to '70s arena rock, though the glossy production and slick stage show was replaced by the blood and guts of a genre that has been quartermained in every direction the past 30 years.
The crowd was immediately sucked in, with bearded and bespectacled masses bobbing heads and thrashing arms in unison — some wallflowers of course stuck to hands-in-pocket and eyes-on-shoes, but that’s to be expected in a world where dancing and movement have been relegated to signs of pop dominance, not physical displays of appreciation. Perhaps when the trio’s album arrives in the near future (they are currently in a Seattle studio working on an album with Scott Colburn), everyone will let their guard down and cut loose like Bishop, Chasny, and Corsano did at the Sunset.
Mountains / Chris Forsyth / Moral Crayfish
The First Unitarian Church; Philadelphia, PA
The First Unitarian Church Chapel is a cozy room attached to a larger church that seats only 50 people and provides a profound space for live music, standing in direct contrast to the idle chatter and beer sweat that fills most other venues. The dark walls are brightened by the flourishes of gold-leaf stenciling that wind around the grooves of the intricate woodwork, creating a soothing glow when the lights dim. Given the mood emanating from the space and the robust sounds that Mountains captured on their excellent 2009 album, Choral (TMT Review), I was expecting nothing less than a religious experience.
Moral Crayfish, first in the lineup, is the recording project of Philadelphia’s Dan Cohoon, whose haunted guitar-drones were, on this night, accompanied by the free-percussion of Scott Verrastro, with whom he had never previously played. Cohoon built up a colossal wall of doom but allowed wraithlike shimmers to sneak through and softly cry. Verrastro’s bow-to-cymbal technique, gong-hits and bell-clangs provided a Silvester Anfang-esque, funeral-procession vibe that pushed the screeching guitar spirits out through the cracks around the edges of the windows and ceilings of the chapel.
Recent Philadelphia transplant Chris Forsyth stepped out from the secret door that connects to the altar and performed two pieces on electric guitar. The first piece exploited a repetitive phrase to induce a hypnotic effect, luring the audience into a labyrinth where high-notes rung out like seductive bells. For the second piece Forsyth built up a spiraling loop of dissonant notes that carefully taunted its own edge, always just a slip away from falling further into itself. Once the trance was established, long and calm string bends began to float above the swirl, instantly bringing to mind Peter Green’s guitar-line on Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross.” Eventually, though, Forsyth began ripping more furiously, unleashing interstellar runs up and down the neck, bringing his set to an intense conclusion.
If Koen Holtkamp and Brendon Anderegg of Mountains continue their collection of pedals and effects-gear, which is already a small city unto itself, then in the next few years they may be able to give Kevin Shields a run for his money. They began their long piece with effects-enhanced acoustic guitar loops to secure the foundation for their atmospheric wanderings. Once a warm layer of tones pulsed refreshingly through the room, they added various percussive loops to the soundscape. One of the most interesting aspects of Mountains’ music is their childlike playfulness and curiosity in regards to the possibilities of sound. This adventuresome spirit was exemplified by Holtkamp when he used an ordinary kitchen utensil, a whisk, for its percussive potentiality, thus challenging its established mode. Meanwhile, Anderegg played a Monkey Drum, the instrument that entered the Western mind from its appearance in Karate Kid II, providing a further element of play to the ever-expanding layers of sound.
Despite the addition of more and more instruments to the loop, a great openness remained, and when the dueling EBows were introduced they floated delicately within this space. The synth-fuzz-waves create sun-shimmers reminiscent of those that might happily awake one from a summer siesta, but the mood intensifies when the bass produces a more brooding, existential mood, calling to mind the heavy-sounds of a Michael Mann film. As the music gradually faded away, a humming was left lingering in the chapel that was either peaceful waves breaking against a shore or a terrifying wind blowing through nighttime trees. Mountains generously left this ambiguity intact for the audience to linger within.
[Photo: Jenna Wilbur]
Sharon Van Etten / Meg Baird
Joe’ s Pub, New York, NY
Two ladies. Two crystalline, pure voices. One acoustic guitar, one electric. The quiet, candlelit confines of Joe’s Pub rumbling every few minutes as subway trains pass beneath the venue. This was the setting for Meg Baird and Sharon Van Etten’s Friday night engagement. While the subway claimed the low end and the venue offered a dim, lounge-y vibe, Baird and Van Etten dominated the high registers and offered up bright, moving sounds.
Baird, a member of Philadelphia folk rockers Espers when not performing on her own, was the first to perch on the stage’s stool and display her talents. Talking very little between songs, she offered a mix of traditional and original folk songs, deftly plucking her acoustic strings and singing in a smooth, timeless tenor. She steered away from tunes from 2007’s terrific Dear Companion, but treated the crowd to equally satisfying material. Baird’s approach to folk is somewhere between Appalachian traditions and the roaming English folk of Anne Briggs and Sandy Denny. This leaves her hovering somewhere over the Atlantic, and such territory seems appropriate for the expansive, blue-sky aura of her music. Steady and composed throughout her set, she seemed to channel the deep knowledge and well-worn comfort of the musical traditions that she has assumed.
Sharon Van Etten followed and brought a different but equally impressive approach. While Baird had lightly plucked her acoustic strings, Van Etten passionately strummed her electric guitar. Where Baird sang with a reserved, effortless beauty, Van Etten channeled heaps of emotion into her soaring voice. Her songs are simple in theory, but full of spirit and spunk when performed. Stopping a few times to tune and retune, she bantered and joked with the audience, displaying a humble but charismatic stage presence. Van Etten’s set included numerous songs from her recent debut, Because I Was In Love, but closed with the stellar “Damn Right,” which can be found on her self-released demo.
The thoroughly Manhattan vibe of Joe’s Pub was a strange place to witness this pair. Meg Baird’s songs would make more sense sitting on a log in a grassy mountain pasture. Sharon Van Etten’s music feels more at home in a no-frills Brooklyn bar, the type of place where one could often find her over the last few years. But both women are gaining momentum, and they excelled in the well-deserved spotlight of the city.
[Photo: Cat Stevens]
Party At The Pines! Big Sur Festival
Henry Miller Memorial Library; Big Sur, CA
The Henry Miller Memorial Library, about 50 miles south of Monterey in the middle of Big Sur, right on the Pacific Coast Highway, is a rather odd place. Formerly a fan’s house, it is intended to serve as a dedication, a testament to a 20th century writer whose work has slowly been forgotten in recent decades. Surrounded by redwoods and a mountain, the space is marked by an open area that is only slightly larger than a backyard, with a stage built off to one side. According to its website, it has hosted many acts over a variety of genres, including Neil Young and Animal Collective. Yet it feels like the place is more suited for the former than the latter: A grassy area, a wooden stage, a large deck. Any show at this place would resemble a backyard party.
And that was the problem with Party at the Pines, a Kemado Records/Mexican Summer showcase. Despite several quality acts performing at the stage, none of them fit well with the venue or the crowd. Which is not to say any of the acts performed badly, only that they struggled to connect with an audience more attuned to the redwoods than the stage. The majority of the time, the crowd just sat on the grass and listened with lazy intent. Rousing them was a perplex challenge, since it was not entirely certain the music was even reaching them. Songs from the likes of Woods and the much-hyped Kurt Vile became less enjoyable simply because the crowd and venue prevented activity. It did not help matters much that the crowd was incredibly small for the venue: never exceeding 300 people, in an area that could easily fill to about 500. Given that advance tickets were sold out, it makes one wonder if the crowds were intentionally small.
For the most part the bands played as well as they could. Wooden Shjips’ psych-rock was pleasing and solid. VietNam’s bluesy jams catered to the audience’s relaxed attitude, though of course not without feeling disparate at times due to crowd inactivity. Farmer Dave Scher put up a respectable act, and Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti actually did quite well, given their back history of poor showings. Gang Gang Dance (pictured) deserve props particularly for rousing at least some of the crowd within 3 minutes of starting, with Lizzi Bougatsos having a pronounced effect on the audience through her front-drumming and chanting. Dungen’s psych-pop was effective in the evening, and gave a nice allure to the whole setting. Saviours stuck out as the closer, their metal almost needing to have come sooner rather than later.
If all these bands played in a more confined setting, their performances would probably have been at least decent, if not fantastic. Many of them would do just that the next day in San Francisco, though in separate venues. Chalk up this experience as not a band issue, but a venue issue.
[Photo: Ze Pequeno]
Elvis Costello and The Sugarcanes
Ravinia Festival; Highland Park, IL
Chicago’s Ravinia is the perfect concert venue for people who don’t like to go to concerts. With its capacious outdoor lawn seating and BYOB policy, it leaves plenty of room for you to sprawl out on the grass and crack a few beers with some friends. Unfortunately, if you actually enjoy seeing something while you’re at a show… well, you may just have to learn to live with disappointment. Ravinia is the only place I’ve ever attended where the stage under the pavilion is actually below ground level. Even the LCD screens are too low to see over the crowd.
Fortunately, the band still sounded excellent. British singer/songwriter Elvis Costello buckled down for an evening of rambling Americana. Although backed by his latest studio ensemble, The Sugarcanes, Costello’s two-hours-and-change performance was surprisingly light on material from 2009’s Secret, Profane and Sugarcane. The bulk of his set consisted of re-workings of classic Costello songs, as well as a bevy of covers, such as Elvis Presley’s “Mystery Train,” a Rockabilly'd-out rendition of Chuck Berry’s “Don’t You Lie to Me” and The Velvet Underground’s “Femme Fatale,” re-imagined as a soothing country Waltz.
For the most part, Costello’s concert standards played well in the hands of his new outfit. My favorite moment of the evening came early on with “The Delivery Man.” The song sounded sharper and more ominous than the recorded version, and Costello’s voice approached a snarl as he spat out the final refrain and the whole thing combusted into a searing jam. Aside from that magnesium-flash of intensity, however, the rest of the concert unfolded much as one would expect: a seasoned performer, backed by a cadre of consummate professionals, giving an expert rendering (or in most cases, re-rendering) of several well-written songs. Staunch Costello-ites in the audience were doubtless thrilled to watch such a skilled craftsman re-interpreting some of his best material. For a more casual fan such as myself, it made for an enjoyable, if not especially memorable, performance, one suited to the casual atmosphere of the venue.
1. Mystery Train
2. All Time Doll
3. The Bottle Let Me Down
4. Down Among the Wine and Spirits
5. Blame It on Cain
6. Femme Fatale
7. Delivery Man
8. The Butcher’s Boy
9. Indoor Fireworks
10. Hidden Shame
11. Condemned Man
12. Friend of the Devil
13. Poisoned Rose
14. Mystery Dance
15. Don’t You Lie to Me
16. Every Day I Write the Book
17. Complicated Shadows
19. Brilliant Mistake
20. Sulphur to Sugarcane
24. (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes
25. The Race Is On
Underwater Peoples Late Summer Showcase (Real Estate, Ducktails, Julian Lynch, etc.)
Market Hotel; Brooklyn, NY
Underwater Peoples is a summertime label. Its circle of bands have soaked up the East Coast’s rampant humidity and used that liquid to fill up their own aquarium of saturated pop sounds. From the label’s name to the pool scene album cover of its Summer Showcase compilation, the aquatic theme pervades. And, at this 13-band show at Brooklyn’s Market Hotel, loads of sweat, reverb and enthusiastic youngsters turned an average August Saturday into Underwater Peoples’ own vibrant sea of musical celebration.
Thirteen bands (14 if you count Julian Lynch performing live via the internet from Wisconsin) is a daunting lineup. The event was definitely in danger of melting into one massive sonic mess, but the bands fought through the stifling heat and self-imposed layers of reverb to deliver many moments of pop goodness.
Ex-Titus Andronicus guitarist Andrew Cedermark (pictured below) and his buds ran through a set that mixed thoughtful, unhurried twang with noisy climaxes and spaced-out strums. Beach Fossils pulled together rickety, effects-ridden sonic layers to form a paradoxically satisfying pop blend. Ducktails, the solo project of Real Estate’s Matthew Mondanile, displayed dexterity by steering from initial swirling ambient soundscapes to a more straight-up guitar-and-vocals approach. Fluffy Lumbers harnessed a full-band lineup to turn its catchy bedroom tunes into full-force blasts of rockin’ pop. Air Waves helped keep the night from being a completely male-dominated affair, with frontwoman Nicole Schneit delivering numbers that sparkled with both lyrical and sonic simplicity. The other acts didn’t stand out quite as much, but no one dropped the torch, and even the mediocre moments helped augment the evening’s good vibes.
Real Estate finished out the night, offering up its own amalgamation of Underwater Peoples’ common themes. The band has a simple but effective approach, creating music that intertwines with itself to become more than the sum of its parts. They, too, are in line with Underwater Peoples’ aquatic tendencies, but in way that’s based less on liquefied reverb and more on melodies that ebb and flow like Jersey Shore tides. Following their set, after a little prodding from the crowd, the band members picked their instruments back up and jammed through a sloppy but jovial encore of Weezer’s “Undone – The Sweater Song.” It was an apt finale for a night that rode a constant crest of positive, effortless fun. The crowd shouted along and things seemed just as they should be in the world of Underwater Peoples: a deep summer night with a plenty of tunes, drinks and friends.