Spectre Folk / Kurt Vile / MV & EE / Pink Reason / Christian DeRoeck
Monster Island; Brooklyn, NY
“Do you want to hear it mellow or do you want a chunky version like Lil Wayne does?” Matt Valentine asked the crowd gathered in Monster Island’s basement, just a few steps from the East River. “Chunky!” someone shouted from the corner of the room.
Of course, drawing a link between the New Orleans rhymester and the "free folk" of MV & EE might seem a little absurd at first, but since Valentine brought it up, let’s roll with it: both are quite prolific, releasing a spectrum of releases that range from DIY to major label-linked affairs, and both have a morphing sonic territory that includes that very realm of chunkiness.
Valentine and Erica Elder were joined by two percussionists for their set, but the chunkiness really came from Valentine’s guitar stylings, which, whether acoustic or electric, have a thick, deliberate, but also natural sound. The duo focused on their latest release, Drone Trailer, kicking off with its opening track “Anyway” and finishing up with a swirling take on the title number, which progressed from a blanket of banjo noise to a soaring electric guitar outro.
MV & EE were by no means the only notable act of the night, though. Christian DeRoeck, formerly of Meneguar and Woods, kicked off the night, and Pink Reason followed, amping things up with dual guitars and drums. After Valentine and Elder did their thing, Kurt Vile did his: effortless but intricate folk held together with grit and simple honesty.
Spectre Folk (Pete Nolan of Magik Markers) brought things to a close with tinny percussion loops, noodling guitar wanderings, and occasional vocal spurts. The crowd had thinned by this point, but Nolan meandered on as chatter floated from the back of the room and Valentine and Elder lounged and listened nearby. He was a spectre to some, but not all. And that seemed perfectly fine with him.
Max Tundra
(Le) Poisson Rouge; New York, NY
I always thought Max Tundra was a hermit, taking forever to make new records and playing live only sporadically. But since he released Parallax Error Beheads You last year, it's clear that the weirdo from the secluded lair is out -- at least he certainly doesn't perform like someone who's been locked in a cabin with an 808 for six years. Actually, his stage presence is more like that of a grizzled road warrior than a guy who I expected to see play a DJ set rather than attempt a real live show.
Can I talk for a minute about his stage moves? He's got two, which is usually one more than you need if the music is good enough. First, he's got the arms up-and-out, testifying stance. This stance instantly turns a song about delivering pizzas into a sermon about delivering pizzas. Second, he's got the manic jumping-up-and-down, shaking-his-head-back-and-forth dance, which he executes with characteristic precision, often punctuating it with a controlled yet violent lateral snap of the head.
Wait, remember a few sentences back when I said "if the music is good enough?" Thankfully it is. Max Tundra's real secret isn't that he's been wood-shedding his dance moves, but that he can flat-out sing. I always thought the best tracks from Mastered By Guy at The Exchange were those with his sister's vocals -- his own voice sounded overly processed, a little cold and thin to me. I won't go so far as to recant that opinion, but I will say that cold and thin were two things Mr. Tundra's voice certainly were not in a live setting. Between playing two melodicas, guitar, piano, synthesizer, and xylophone, he sang like he meant it. He even managed to make "Merman" and "Lights" -- two songs whose recorded versions can give you the feeling that he's developed a brand new kind of computerized voice -- sound real, present, and adamantly human.
John Doe and Exene from X / Justin Townes Earle
Music Hall of Willamsburg; Brooklyn, NY
“Live fast, die young” used to be punk rock's de facto mantra. But, as it turns out, there are innumerable options for punks to grow older, as long as you didn't check out early like Sid Vicious or Darby Crash. You can stay brutal like Lydia Lunch and Mark E. Smith or become an increasingly racist and irrelevant curmudgeon like Johnny Rotten. Bands such as Buzzcocks and Mission of Burma keep themselves youthful by releasing forgettable new albums and touring on the strength of older material. And then there's X-Ray Spex's Poly Styrene, who became a Hare Krishna in 1980 and finds time to release the occasional solo album between visits to the ashram.
Or, like John Doe and Exene Cervenka of the quintessential LA punk band X, you could continue to evolve, generating an ever-growing catalog of side projects, solo ventures, and one-off experiments. Doe and Cervenka divorced in 1985, after five years of marriage, and went on to publish books of poetry and pursue acting careers (fun fact: between 1986 and 1997, Cervenka was married to Viggo Mortensen). But neither abandoned music. They perform together and apart, by themselves and with new bands, with guitarist Billy Zoom as a reunited X and, now, as a minimalist, country-flavored duo.
To set the mood for a cold, snowy evening of Americana, opener Justin Townes Earle — Steve Earle's son — brought the sounds of Tennessee to New York. He had recently moved to the somewhat rough Brooklyn neighborhood of Crown Heights and proclaimed it “very nice,” adding, “I like the people.” As Earle strummed a guitar and sang songs for his father (sample lyric: “I am my father's son/ I've never known when to shut up”) and for Woody Guthrie, a fellow mustachioed southerner, clad in head-to-toe denim, accompanied him on mandolin and banjo. Boasting the kind of voice most often found on dust-covered 78s, Earle is undeniably the real thing. His music feels old-fashioned, but in a timeless, not anachronistic, way.
When, at the end of his set, Earle announced that he would perform a song by his favorite Minneapolis band, I was afraid he would ruin the night with something by fellow Brooklyn transplants The Hold Steady. I heaved a massive sigh of relief when I heard the opening chords of the song he'd chosen: a flawless, stripped-down take on The Replacements' “Can't Hardly Wait,” which drove the audience wild.
It was a fitting segue to John and Exene, who took the stage in simple, black-and-white outfits, looking a little bit like the Appalachian folkies who inspire their music. Although their romance ended nearly 25 years ago, the pair retains a certain chemistry and tenderness that comes through in their patient, funny onstage banter. And, before we get into the music, there's something else you should know about John and Exene: Their fans — from 20-somethings to 50-year-old punks — adore them. Not a moment of silence could pass without someone yelling, “We love you, Exene!” or good-naturedly joking with John.
As someone who's devoted a lot of time to thinking about X -- I just submitted a 33 1/3 proposal on Los Angeles -- the performance was a chance to reflect on the way their music has evolved over the years. Although the road from punk to Americana seems long, the movements are tied together by the raucousness of rockabilly. And the space between the sex, drugs, and death that fueled LA punk and the sex-booze-death triumvirate that has driven American roots music for a century has never been that great. As it turns out, the California noir and Southern gothic aesthetics may just be kissin' cousins.
For much of the set, John's acoustic guitar was the only instrument accompanying their voices, as they paged through a selection of each musician's own compositions, a handful of covers, and a sprinkling of X classics. Throughout, John and Exene kept the audience engaged. John joked about his excitement to contribute a track (“The Losing Kind”) to a Samuel L. Jackson movie and the disappointment of discovering just how bad Black Snake Moan turned out to be. As Doe put it, “Even Christina Ricci running around in her underpants couldn't save it.” And before performing the Carter Family standard “Poor Old Heartsick Me,” they told the story of their chance meeting with June Carter, who apparently told them, “If I never sing that song again, it'll be too soon.”
Of course, for an old X fan, the highlight of the evening was hearing two of my favorite old-school tunes, “I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts” and “In This House That I Call Home.” During the second encore (that's right, kids — both about to turn 53 and still gracing audiences with multiple encores), a few people shouted out, “Los Angeles!”
“On an acoustic guitar? Really?” John shot back, without missing a beat. I knew he was right, but I couldn't fault them for the request. Even on an acoustic guitar, I would've liked to hear it, too.
Yo La Tengo / Oneida / Paul F. Tompkins
Maxwell's; Hoboken, NJ
Yo La Tengo's Hanukkah shows are what you move to the East Coast for. Hundreds of miles from any centers of cultural importance, the very thought that you can show up at a nondescript club and be greeted with, as past celebrations have shown, comedian David Cross, a surprise set from The Clean, David Byrne singing songs from the Jewish canon, and some inspired guest playing with Yo La Tengo could make you combust
So, there's obviously a great deal besides Yo La Tengo themselves to chat about here, but I'd be a heel if I didn't first try to set right their unjustified reputation as a boring live band.
Even in the Hanukkah format, where the band is loose and engaging in varying levels of musical horseplay, they can still kick ass. Janet Weiss (Quasi, Sleater-Kinney, The Jicks) sat in for the entire set, creating a duo of female indie rock percussionists the likes of which the world may perhaps never witness again. The performance didn't hit full-throttle until they played "Sudden Organ," and damn -- Ira sure knows how to destroy a keyboard. They even managed to find a higher gear with main set closer/Beach Boys cover "Little Honda," where the whole band donned guitars for a few minutes in the middle, creating a holiday feedback wall for the ages.
Besides Yo La Tengo, though, Oneida played -- and they may have earned themselves a grudging fan in the process (see attached lyric sheet for evidence) -- followed by the comedy of Mr. Show's Paul F. Tompkins, whose stand up was completely overshadowed by his turn as Johnny Cash. Joining Yo La Tengo after their set, Tompkins hilariously managed to use the tune of "Ring of Fire" to give a gravelly and very detailed recounting of the Hanukkah story.
Oh, and Britt Daniel was there, too. Despite the magic of Hanukkah, it turns out it is still entirely possible to be blasé about Britt Daniel.
{Setlist} (via BrooklynVegan):
{Oneida lyric sheet:}
Butthole Surfers / Black Dice
Warsaw; Brooklyn, NY
More than any other group that spawned in the ’80s and has made it this far, the Butthole Surfers have the right to laugh in everyone’s face. And, in a sense, that’s what they did at Brooklyn’s Warsaw on a cold December night.
They weren’t ungrateful (though, given their history, that would not surprise), but the Gibby Haynes and Co. were clearly basking in the delight of having weathered anything and everything that’s come their way. Much of that was self-inflicted chaos (gulping acid tabs, violently provoking audiences and countless other instances of not giving a fuck), but that only makes their current success that much more of a death-defying “HA!”
Following a lengthy wait in line under an ominous full moon, Black Dice kicked things off with a potent set of booming and shifting rhythms and noise — a nice warm-up for what followed: “What up, y’all!” Haynes said as the Buttholes took the stage. “Man there’s a bunch of old ass motherfuckers out there.” The band then launched into “22 Going On 23,” a tune that embodies the group’s best exploits — bizarre snapshots of American weirdness, skull-draining guitar psychedelia and Haynes’ unearthly screams.
The rest of the 24-song set shifted mostly between songs from the band’s late-’80s heyday, but also occasionally reached back to their debut 1983 EP and forward to 1993’s Independent Worm Saloon. Yes, forward to 1993. Because a Butthole Surfers show seems to blast from an alternate reality in which the last 20-odd years never existed. Those “old ass motherfuckers” moshed like they were 15 again, and a few even got dragged out by security, likely evoking flashbacks to once being tossed from some 21+ dive. On stage, Haynes, who was on track to be a well-paid accountant when the Buttholes first formed, just seemed to grin at how many wrong decisions led to this triumphant moment.
Butthole Surfers setlist:
[Photo: Kirk R. Tuck]
A.C. Newman / The Oranges Band
The Bell House; New York, NY
It was a night of firsts for both the Oranges Band and A.C. Newman, with new bands and albums waiting in the wings. The Baltimore-based Oranges showed off a steely fresh sound with the addition of ex-Guided By Voices/Cobra Verde guitarist Doug Gillard, while ex-Spoon bassist and frontman Roman Kuebler exercised a perfect amount of control with dense, classic vocals and spastic high kicks. The senior Mr. Kuebler (Roman's pa) made a brief appearance to plug the Oranges Band's new record, simply titled Are Invisible. A band this hard-working onstage and on record deserve to be quite visible, in fact. The Oranges treated us with the jangly new track "Artstar," as well as standout tunes "My Street" from 2003's All Around and "The World and Everything in It" from 2005's album of the same title. Post-show, Kuebler assured me that the Oranges are going on tour in February for Are Invisible's official release.
New Pornographers frontman A.C. (Carl) Newman took the stage for his first solo show in years, backed by a specially assembled band, including Nicole Atkins on vocals/percussion and whole gang of bells & whistles. We were treated to equal parts The Slow Wonder (2004) and Get Guilty (out January 20), transforming the Bell House into an ornate holding cell of starved, ecstatic A.C. Newman fans. Opening with new single "There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve," Newman quickly proved that a complicated, ambitious song on record can indeed translate to a gorgeous live mélange of sound. We also heard more upbeat, typical Newman fare like "Miracle Drug" and "Seven Ways to Stockholm," interspersed with brand new songs. Unified whistling and drum-tight vocal harmonies abounded -- a set catchy as all get-out. Newman's first encore consisted of The Go-Betweens' "Loves Goes On," reportedly rejected by Starbucks for their Valentine's Day compilation. Wild applause inspired him to wrap it up with The New Pornographers' "The Fake Headlines" -- no other solo songs were prepared. Bonus!
A.C. Newman setlist:
