Uncle Monsterface
Otto's Shrunken Head; New York, NY
On a cool November Friday night, Otto's Shrunken Head became host to one of the geekiest things I've ever seen short of a Con of some sort. Surrounded by fruity drinks, bamboo, and ancient Land of the Lost episodes on a television, "sock puppet rock band" Uncle Monsterface take the stage.
Glancing around the room, I notice both a Dr. Horrible and a Homestarrunner shirt and know exactly what type of show this would be. The nerd -- once shunned upon, this genus is now generally accepted in society. If Revenge of the Nerds taught us anything, it's that nerds can win a rap battle using synthesizers and computer keyboards.
Blow up pool toys float over the crowd, knocking over drinks and hitting people in the head. Behind the band stands a six-foot tall blanket fort with windows and a projector showing music videos accompanying the songs. Each is a three-minute opus to Gary Gygax or video games. Mixing a hodgepodge of rock guitar riffs over synthesizer, it reminds me a lot of Atom and His Package.
Throughout the show, Uncle Monsterface would take breaks from using the sock puppets and appear from behind the fort as life-sized creatures dancing on stage. During "I'm Sorry (But Your Princess is in Another Castle)," an audience member blasted through World 1-1 of Super Mario Brothers, while the set was capped off with the most interesting rendition of Madonna's "Like a Prayer" I've ever witnessed. Life hasn't been the same since seeing a huge paper mache sock puppet writhe around on stage.
If you read Scott Pilgrim, play NES, or know the differences between the book and movie versions of Lord of the Rings, Uncle Monsterface is a band you won't want to miss.
Lykke Li / Friendly Fires
The Doug Fir; Portland, OR
I didn’t have particularly high expectations for Lykke Li and Friendly Fires’ show at Portland, Oregon’s The Doug Fir. Li’s debut Youth Novel has some great tracks, but I wasn’t bowled over by it as a whole, and while Friendly Fires’ self-titled debut had potential to translate to a live setting, I wasn't overly excited to see them. Little did I know that this would be, without a doubt, one of the best shows I’ve attended in the past year.
Friendly Fires' feisty electro-funk came to life on stage. Dressed in a smartly fitted white-collared shirt with black pants, singer Ed Macfarlane wasted no time in displaying his unrefined, ineffable dance moves. Suffice to say, the pelvic thrusts began immediately, propelling him off the stage and into the crowd. At first, the audience stared in shock, “Who does this guy think he is?” people thought. “Does he have a single ounce of self-consciousness?” Turns out he doesn’t, and it was badass. Soon, a squadron of dancing and screaming females congregated at the front of the stage.
The musical chops were there to backup the dance moves. With its catchy nod to Stevie Wonder, drummer Jack Savidge’s arms flying like a one-man drum circle, and bassist Rob Lee’s indefatigable cowbell worship, “In The Hospital” got the crowd moving. Meanwhile, “Strobe” allowed FF to halt the funk for a moment and indulge in a ballad rounded out by Joshua Tree-esque atmospheric guitar and a bubbling synth sample. The veins in Macfarlane’s neck bulged as he lifted a fist to the ceiling, threw back his head, and shouted the chorus. It was a little much, but this band is nothing if not excessive, and such heavy-handed strokes fit the bill.
Soon after Friendly Fires' set, the club filled to maximum capacity. A musician walked on stage, picked up an acoustic guitar, and began to play the two notes that make up Lykke Li’s “Dance Dance Dance.” Next, a drummer and keyboardist joined and commenced to pound along and lay down a groove. Finally, Lykke Li, wearing a billowing black dress, walked to the mic and began singing as the packed crowd erupted into cheers. I’d never particularly liked that song until that very moment. Pared down to its live essentials, even barer than Björn Yttling and Lasse Mârtén’s minimalist production, her songs gained a robustness that's lacking on Youth Novel.
“Hanging High” took on a doo-wop timelessness, as Li’s pained vocals filled every corner of The Doug Fir. Soon after, Li and her band launched into a cover of Wendy Rene’s soul classic “After Laughter (Come Tears).” Hearing her expressive soprano rise above the harmonies of the band was haunting and impressive. “Little Bit” was predictably crowd-pleasing, while an adorable and skillfully executed cover of A Tribe Called Quest’s “Can I Kick It” came out of nowhere near the end of the set and brought the audience to a zenith of excitement.
Throughout the performance, Li expressed the melancholy themes of her album while simultaneously maintaining a buoyant, even playful bearing, shaking her hips and fueling the audience to dance and move passionately to the music. Not sure how she balanced it all, but the performance left me with a smile that I couldn’t force off my face if I tried.
Herman Dune / Jolie Holland
Lakeshore Theater; Chicago, IL
In the interest of full disclosure, I wasn't supposed to write this review. A friend of mine wanted to write for TMT, so I flexed my (near-negligible) muscle and got us on the list for the October 27 Jolie Holland show at Lakeshore Theater. He was supposed to write it up, and I would send it to my editor, and we could all swing up into the saddle and ride off into the sunset. As of this date, however, he has not written up the show, so I have decided to soldier on and write something.
The Lakeshore Theater is most often a comedy club, and initially the advantages of such a venue were obvious: the sound was good, booze was easily accessible, and everyone could comfortably see the musicians without having to touch each other. After awhile, though, it just seemed kind of detached. There was no energy moving between the audience and performers. People felt free to chat a little.
This was especially a problem during Herman Dune's set. The band is touring as a duo, with David-Ivar handling guitar and lead vocals and Néman doing drums/bongos and backing vocals. They looked and sounded excellent up there, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were a little intimidated by the silent, seated audience. David told a little story about being confused as to why Chicago music stores do not have special sections set aside for Chuck Berry, and between the adorable accents and the goofy dancing, the audience livened up considerably. Almost all of the songs played were from their latest release, Next Year In Zion, but the older songs held up remarkably well considering the stripped-down arrangement. For a treat of a last song, they invited Rachel Blumberg up to play bongos. A++++ would ogle Frenchmen with excellent facial hair again.
Admittedly, I am almost totally unfamiliar with most of Jolie Holland's music, including her latest record, Living & the Dead. (My failure of a friend was supposed to keep a setlist. He did not.) Holland's records have always lulled me into a sort of alt-jazz-folk stupor, and while the addition of a bassist, guitarist, and drummer kept things varied in tempo and dynamics, I still had trouble staying engaged. She has a wonderful quality to her voice; it's just not my thing. I was busy all day. It was a 10 o'clock show that didn't start till 10:30, so she didn't go on till almost midnight. I can give you any number of excuses, but no real solid information about Jolie Holland & Co's performance. It was acceptable. The audience seemed into it. If you like her records, you should probably catch a show.
Crystal Castles
Neumo's; Seattle, WA
If there's still a distinction between electronic dance music and rock ‘n’ roll, it’s fading fast. As synths mingle with, or replace, guitars and the traditional four-piece gets pared down to the two-piece or one-piece, an unfortunate side-effect has emerged: an epidemic of poor showmanship. Luckily, Crystal Castles seemed determined to buck this trend.
Opening act David Wolf, however, epitomized these boring performances. The Tacoma, WA-based solo act slowly rocked back and forth behind his computer, staring at the monitor. Every couple of minutes he took a sip of water, then gently placed the bottle back down on the table next to his computer. Afterward, Tempe, Arizona’s Lymbyc System crafted a mesmerizing mix of drums and echo-laden clavinet that was by turns tranquil and hugely magnificent. The clavinet’s keyboard/electric guitar hybrid tone sounded incredible as Jared Bell allowed the volume to ebb and swell alongside his brother Mike Bell’s superb drumming.
Crystal Castles soon took the stage with a burst of verve that didn’t let up for an instant of their 45-minute set. The moment their waves of 8-bit melody flowed through the speakers, the audience convulsed in a mass of movement closer to a riot than a rave. There were no guitarists in sight, no punk rock beats, yet the area in front of the stage transformed into a mass of hip teenagers jumping and pushing each other. Unrelenting strobe lights provided the only illumination of the stage and transformed Alice Glass into a blur of motion with jet-black hair, a black t-shirt, and raccoon-like eye shadow.
Ethan Kath didn’t add much to the performance; he stood stationary behind his electronics in his signature black hoodie. He kept the instrumental tracks faithful to the recordings and didn’t interact with the crowd. No problem though, Glass was the star of the show, as she writhed and shrieked demonically in front of a large banner of their infamous mangled Madonna image, her frenetic antics feeding the enthusiasm of the crowd-surfing audience in front of her. The stage didn’t seem to have enough space to contain her, as she kept hurling herself into the arms of the crowd. At one point, she wrapped the microphone around her neck and stared forlornly at the audience. (I think it was supposed to be edgy.)
Still, the performance was a refreshing injection of energy and engagement. While I would have preferred a crowd of dancers rather than the quasi-mosh pit, maybe I’m just getting old. In any case, it was a captivating, frenzied spectacle -- can't argue with that.
Baltimore Round Robin: Eyes Night
(Le) Poisson Rouge; New York, NY
Baltimore has invaded NYC. Its musicians are hovering on the sidewalk of Bleecker Street, looking haggard after two weeks on the road. What do they need? Food? Sleep? Vitamins? Vegetable oil as alternative fuel? All of the above, it seems, to assure that they can make it back to Charm City. But they can’t hit the road just quite yet. They’ve got to deliver not one, two, or three more shows, but a whopping four shows over the course of two nights. Daunting, maybe, but they are in it together -- all 60 of them.
In the depths of (Le) Poisson Rouge, projectors are already casting rainbow patterns onto eager faces and the surrounding arsenal of instruments. This is the Round Robin's Eyes Night showcase (Feet Night follows the next day), and, appropriately, the setup looks more like a collective warehouse space than a Greenwich Village nightclub.
After the Baltimoreans join hands to surround the crowd and lead a collective hum, they take turns hopping on the many makeshift stages to showcase their sounds: Teeth Mountain brings droning strings and tribal beats; Lexie Mountain Boys sway and chant out their one-of-a-kind, elaborately costumed performance pieces; Nautical Almanac, visible only as silhouettes behind a backlit sheet, emits a variety of esoteric noise; Jana Hunter and Lesser Gonzalez Alvarez carry the pensive, but not cliché, singer-songwriter banner; and, finally, Beach House places an emphatic period on each Round Robin rotation with their dramatic and encompassing sound.
While the more recognizable names meet expectations, it’s the lesser-exposed “side show” acts that make the night unique and engaging. The Creepers and Santa Dads' quirky tunes and mannerisms inspire smiles in the crowd, while Blue Leader, decked out in a Cyclops superhero costume, gives video-accompanied philosophical monologues on first-person shooters and other games. After “preparing” the audience with a mantra of “Homer Simpson, Bart Simpson, Lisa Simpson, Marge Simpson, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,” the comical Showbeast presents a video that comes across like a tripped-out Jim Henson skit.
As the Round Robin's night one ends, ringleader Dan Deacon teeters on stage, slightly sloshed, to introduce the participants of Eyes Night and to remind the crowd to come back the following day, when he and more of his traveling troupe will present the more fuel-injected Feet Night. As the lights come on, security rushes people up the venue’s stairs, making way for the night’s next show and bringing this Exploding Plastic Inevitable-esque road show one step closer to home.
Deerhoof / Fertile Crescent / Experimental Dental School
40 Watt Club; Athens, GA
Walking into the 40 Watt on Halloween amid throngs of blood-plastered faces and ingeniously-engineered DIY costumes, I immediately recognized that, whether I liked it or not, I would be judging Deerhoof’s performance largely on their collective Halloween spirit and attention to costume. So when the band strolled out in mammoth, teetering carnivorous cat masks, excepting drummer Greg Saunier as the lone rodent in a mouse costume that was quickly drenched in sweat, the night’s success was effectively ensured.
Though to be fair, I should admit that I am the hugest of Deerhoof nerds, and given that this was to be my very first ‘Hoof show, I was sufficiently geeked-out. The band could do no wrong in my adoring eyes. This unadulterated enthusiasm extended even to their energetic opener “Basketball Get Your Groove Back” -- a song that I consider the weakest on the otherwise untouchable Offend Maggie. A large part of the band’s success this night in translating their recordings into powerful performances can be attributed to their new guitarist, Ed Rodriguez, whose zeal was shown with his enormous, continual grin, peeking out from under his ridiculously-oversized plush white tiger mask.
Only a few songs into the set, the excitement broke into fever pitch -- “Holy Night Fever” pitch I should say, heh heh, an obvious crowd favorite -- when Satomi broke out the silly string. Pretty wild Halloween show, right? By all accounts, Deerhoof is a pretty weird band, and given the artsy, almost abstruse experimental nature of their albums, it’s easy to forget how downright funky and straight-ahead rockin’ ol Deerhoof can be. Once again, the added guitar-power of Ed Rodriguez, not to mention the sheer insanity of Greg Saunier’s drum skills, brought out the rock, as the band stuck to songs that seemed best suited to live performance, like “Twin Killers,” “Wrong Time Capsule,” and “Spirit Ditties of No Tone” off The Runners Four.
“Milk Man” closed the show, and by this time, a sizable contingent of drunken, costumed assholes were trying their best to ruin the almost perfect show by creating an egregiously rowdy mosh pit directly to my left. Is it just me or is a Deerhoof show not the kind of place you expect to get elbowed in the face? However, John Dieterich, with a lion’s head slung behind his own like a fuzzy turtle shell hat, revived the night’s overwhelming sense of pure Deerhoof delight, when he stopped to take pictures of everyone’s costumes. Earlier, Greg had stopped the show to mention how excited he was by everyone’s costumes, and John’s aftershow photos only reinforced the feeling that Deerhoof's awesome performance is directly related to how much they care about what they do.
