Category: Music

After the New Pornographers show, I made my way around to the stadium where I had seen Sonic Youth at the 2002 Bumbershoot festival. This time the line was loose and moving at a brisk trot, so it wasn’t more than five minutes before I was inside and finding my way to the front. The security was pretty hard core at this show, much more than for any festival I’ve been to so far. Several times in the hour before the show they came around and made everyone in the front sit down, and removed everyone who had pressed to the front without a seat so that the stage front would stay clear.

A few minutes after I got in, about 6:10, Jeff Tweedy was on stage tuning some of his guitars. After that brief glimpse, we had to wait until 7 (and an intro from the roundly booed corp-rock station sponsoring the act) for Jeff and his bandmates to return to the stage. Wearing a green checked jacket and jeans, Jeff was pretty uncommunicative—at least, between songs—only stopping every now and then to say things like “This is an old one.” He started with a number from A.M. (confession: I’m still not all that familiar with that album, so I can’t give track title), then moved directly into “A Shot in the Arm” from Summer Teeth. The song was driving, the repeated chords building in a crescendo into the chorus, which was if possible even more spine tingling than on the album. That was the only song in the set from Summer Teeth, but if the show had ended there I wouldn’t have felt cheated.

After blowing everyone’s mind, Jeff moved into further uncharted territory with a set from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, starting with “I’m the Man Who Loves You,” moving on into an epic version of “Poor Places,” which Jeff performed as the poem it is (albeit set to acoustic guitar, lots of feedback and industrial noise, and the familiar “yankee, hotel, foxtrot” spoken loop), continuing directly into an achingly delicate reading of “Reservations,” and wrapping the mini-set with the junkyard singsong of “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart.” All the while, Jeff was articulating clearly into the mike, staring wide eyed at the audience, and grinning this wild shit-eating grin—clearly having the time of his life, and just as clearly delighting in confounding all the R.E.M. fans who were there. I don’t think he saw the two young girls ahead of me, just about five feet back from the crowd barrier, who were pogoing and singing along enthusiastically to the whole set.

After that he moved into some stuff largely drawn from Being There: “Say You Miss Me,” “Far, Far Away,” “Misunderstood” (which he introduced by saying, “This next one sounds much better if you sing it. So go ahead. You have my permission; you don’t need it”), a brief YHF interjection with “War on War,” “Kingpin,” “California Stars” (from the Billy Bragg collaboration of unrecorded Woody Guthrie Lyrics, Mermaid Avenue), and wrapping up with “Outta Site (Outta Mind).” The guy behind me who had been sarcastic about Wilco before the show started was yelling for more and we were all yelling “encore,” but the show had to go on and Jeff left, blown and satisfied minds in his wake.

I got back at 3:45, enough time to get in another enormous line for the New Pornographers. It was a difficult choice between this Vancouver indie supergroup, Daniel Lanois (who was playing the venue next door), or the Long Winters (who started a half hour later). But one thing made my decision easier: none of the other acts had Neko Case (in addition to her stellar voice, Neko was voted indie rock star Playboy readers would most like to see naked) sharing lead vocal duties.

I got into the hall and experienced my first misgiving: a big underground exhibition hall with no windows, cinderblock walls, and pillars obstructing the view throughout. I made my way to the front and found a spot near a pillar, cursing myself for forgetting my earplugs. Twenty minutes later the band came on, and the sound problems started.

Possibly because of my proximity to the left speaker stack, or maybe the cinderblocks, the sound was muddy and the vocals were buried. It didn’t seem like the vocalists could hear each other either—individually they sounded fine (especially Neko, who even when she’s a “robot” in someone else’s band does amazing vocals), but together it added up to cacophony (and not a pleasant one, either). The only songs that really came together for me were the ones with Neko on lead—“The Laws Have Changed,” “All For Swinging You Around”—and “Testament to Youth in Verse,” whose “the bells ring ‘no no no’” chorus is one of the most audacious pop moments of the ’00s so far. But all in all I’m not 100% sure that I was better off missing Daniel Lanois.

I arrived at Bumbershoot yesterday about twenty minutes before the gates opened. The line for the gate stretched over a city block. I picked up my ticket (quietly ruing the purchase of a four day pass, since I was only able to attend the last day of the festival) and joined the back of the line. It was brisk and I was feeling underdressed (and too old) in my shorts and t-shirt, watching the “Impeach Bush” booth across the street. I was also feeling rushed. I had to pick up my wristband for the evening’s headliner act, turn around, and head back home to run some errands with Lisa before I returned in the afternoon. (She flew this morning to New Jersey for a few days work.) Once I got inside, I waited in two longer, slower lines (shades of Soviet food shortages? reflections of the tragedy of the commons? or just poor organization?) before I got my wristband. At one point I changed lines only to find myself worse off than when I started. People were queuing up without knowing what was at the other end: potatoes? Toilet paper? Maybe a wristband for the evening’s show? All things considered it wasn’t too bad: 45 minutes start to finish. But I hated turning around and leaving, even if I was coming back in four hours.

I’m swimming in so much music these days, between the iTunes Music Store and eMusic, that I occasionally have to remember to stop and think about what I’ve heard recently that I liked. Quick notes on two recent finds:

Lounge and Dance: There are three collections available from Miami DJ Ursula 1000 (eMusic carries two of them), including Kinda Kinky (which features what must be the most nakedly ironic reading of the line, “Now that is kinky”), the remix album All Systems are Go-Go (with a phenomenal lead track remix of ECD’s “Direct Drive”), and my new favorite,
The Now Sound of Ursula 1000, which has such surreal moments as an aerobics instructor’s direction to “Breathe in” dissolving to a lounge organ mix and a call and response chant of “I am not a pleasure unit.”

Alternative: This week’s iTunes Just Added listing included a new “single” from Jeff Buckley: a live cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Night Flight.” Sadly, like much live Jeff that I’ve heard, the truly astonishing vocal moments (like one sustained full-voice high note right at the end of the song) are matched by an equal number of off-pitch melismatic moments. But it’s still good stuff—and, according to the official web site, is going to be on the reissued double-cd release of Live at Sin-é in the fall, featuring the full sessions from which emerged that staggering early live recording of “Mojo Pin.”

Krist Novoselic, nee Chris Novoselic (but Nevermind), has laid down his bass for the last time, according to Rolling Stone and a news post on the Eyes Adrift website. After a disappointing start for his band Eyes Adrift (with Curt Kirkwood from the Meat Puppets), he’s decided to get out of music entirely, citing his unhappiness with the business side of the business.

And he wants to get into politics. Hey, Krist, Gary Locke is stepping down. Wanna start close to home? If Minnesota can have a pro wrestler, the least Washington can do is one-up with a kick-ass bassist.

(Incidentally, Eyes Adrift’s album is available on eMusic. And with that note, I really need to go grocery shopping before I fall over.)

BBC: Elvis producer Phillips dies. One of those headlines you really wish you could rewrite. How about, “Sam Phillips, secret father of rock and roll, dies”? Because surely Phillips’ role in encouraging Elvis’ recording sessions away from bad ballads and towards “That’s All Right’ is among the founding moments in the creation of the music, as is his role in starting the careers of Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Johnny Cash.

When I toured Sun Studio back in 1997, on our pre-honeymoon in Memphis, I felt Sam’s presence around every corner of this unremarkable little building in a gravelly parking lot. The old recording equipment, shockingly primitive compared even to the tiny studios I’ve been in, and the unadorned plainness of the space told a different story than the pictures in the entranceway (also reproduced on the home page for Sun), showing Elvis at the piano and Jerry Lee, Johnny, and Carl Perkins (composer of “Blue Suede Shoes”) leaning over and singing along. The picture has the feeling of iconography, but the studio was set up for hard work and inspiration, the piece that Sam brought to the mix.

Sleep well, Sam.

George Clinton turns 62 today. And he’s still funkier than almost anybody else alive. I saw the P-Funk All-Stars in DC a few years back with Craig and it was a mind-blowing show. If you’ve never heard it, it’s definitely worth your time to check out “Mothership Connection,” and “Funkentelechy vs. the Placebo Syndrome.” And remember, if you fake the funk your nose will grow…

It’s much, much easier to look cool on your blog than it is in real life.

By which I mean: look at my past listening page (lots of images, but don’t worry, I’ll wait until you come back). Now, if I had actually been hip to each of those albums when they came out, I’d be so hip that I’d have difficulty seeing over my own pelvis. In reality, most of those albums have been, for years, either “I’ve been meaning to get around to listening to that, but…” or “Sounds fun, but I can’t possibly right now…”

What’s changed all that is legal downloaded music. I can pay $0.99 a song at the Apple store and pick up all the songs I’ve ever wanted to listen to from college, high school and before, including the Sugarcubes, some Mazzy Star, Sinéad O’Connor, some Bauhaus, 10,000 Maniacs, American Music Club, etc. Or find all the stuff that I’ve discovered over the last few months listening to KEXP, including the Pernice Brothers, My Morning Jacket, Yo La Tengo, the New Pornographers, Loose Fur, Cat Power, the Reindeer Section…

And then there are all the guilty pleasures that can’t be gotten out of my head. Evidence point # only for tonight: the Ready for the World/Jets double album, Back to Back, inexplicably available from the Apple Music Store. Including “Oh Sheila,” “Crush on You,” “You Got It All (Over Him),” and of course “Digital Display.” You remember “Digital Display,” right? “Excuse me if I start to play… with your digital display…”

But I can choose not to put Ready for the World and the Jets on my blog. Except, of course, that I just did. So much for being hip.

That’s “I’m old” in Latin, for those of you playing along at home. Old enough to think that maybe I should have thought twice about going to the Pernice Brothers show last night, since it started at 9 and there were four bands on the bill. Rolling in at 2 am last night, with ringing ears, an aching back, and falling eyelids, my only thought was: totally worth it.

The Tractor is one of those real joys of a music venue: big square empty room with bare brick walls, split in two with the bigger rectangle for the stage and the floor. Intimate, in a “put your drink on the stage next to the set list and dance” kind of way. Even in the intimacy, the first act, Jose Ayerve of the Portland (Maine) band Spouse, looked small up on stage by himself, strumming his electric—until he started singing. Big voice this guy has. Some of the vocal licks on his English songs reminded me of a less arty Bono. Good songs too.

The second band, Sparrow, hailed from Canada by way of (apparently) Belle and Sebastian. With a nebbishy lead vocalist who sang barely audibly hunched over the keyboard, every song played in a mid-tempo 6/8, and a cellist who played five lines a song (you could only tell by watching her bow), I wasn’t too impressed. In fact, the best part of the evening was the bassist’s joke to the sound man: “Can we get a little more guitar in the monitors? And a lot more cello? … And can you give me a bigger penis, please? … And how about some more stage presence over there?” (this last directed at the vocalist). (Hmm: If Jessamyn is right, I’ll now find my site unreadable at libraries, particularly in Toppenish.)

Warren Zanes and his trio, on the other hand, had stage presence to spare. Ex of the Del Fuegos, most recently of a PhD program at Rochester, his trio was tight and rocking, with a bouncy backbeat to kill for, killer guitar, and tight three part vocal harmonies over these insanely catchy pop songs. Definitely worth seeking out the long-delayed album.

And speaking of insanely catchy pop songs… the Pernice Brothers. Where their music, great though it is, can occasionally sound thin and precious on disc (see the downloads at EMusic), in person Joe and the band rocked hard. With three guitars and a bass, the group pulled off beautiful precise sounds that you’d expect to take months of overtracking in the studio—and made it sound easy. And Joe Pernice, despite looking a little like a shorter Philip Greenspun, comes across more like Elvis Costello when he steps up to the mic, at least in terms of sheer intensity. What a killer set—and a great Pretenders cover in the encores, as well as a dusted off Scud Mountain Boys song with an unprintable name.

Now as I sit at our patio table with a cup of tea, hugging the dwindling shade and looking up at the sky-blue sky (yes, the satellites are out tonight), I think, maybe there’s no such thing as too old to stay out until two am at a great rock show. Just, too old to get up before 10 am the next day.

(Postscript: I had forgotten how good Nightwatch Dark Amber is. Worth a full tasting note if I can find some more.)

Jake at 8-Bit Joystick writes about used CDs, and the fact that you can buy them—quite legally—without the RIAA ever seeing a red cent. Right on.

I used to buy quite a few CDs used from Plan 9 in Charlottesville, but have had only spotty luck finding a good place to shop since then—with one notable exception, a store in Vienna, VA, whose name I can’t remember but which provided me with a copy of the CD single of Lamb’s “Gorécki.” I still think my favorite used cd story, though, is the time that I sold a stack of sad selections at the end of a semester to Plan 9—for gas money so I could go home to see my parents. Yes, this was well before business school, but even then I could see the irony of my having invested in an asset that depreciated by 66%.

So last night Lisa and I went to see Lou Reed at the Moore Theatre. Amazing theater, almost 100 years old and (except for some peeling paint, and chairs that remind me of middle school) a perfect performance space.

Lou came out about 7:50 leading his band: Mike Rathke on second guitar, the amazing Fernando Saunders on bass, synth drums, and vocals, Jane Scarpantoni on cello (!), and Anthony on backing and lead vocals. (Much has been made, at least in Lou’s web stuff, about Anthony, Lou’s countertenor discovery, and I have to admit that for much of the show I wasn’t impressed. Of course, that could have been because he was blocked by the tower speaker on our side, and I couldn’t see him.

The opening of the show: Lou played three chords: E A G. The crowd went nuts. He paused, then repeated the progression, then stopped. “You know how hard it is to keep playing the same three chords all these years? Well, the secret is it’s actually four chords…” and he played it again: E A G Bm A. Then he launched into “Sweet Jane.” He had to stop again in a second though, and said, “Could you please not take flash pictures? Now I can’t see.” A few more chords and—“Look, I’m not kidding. I tried the nice way, don’t make me try the hard way. If I can’t see, I can’t read the Teleprompter!” Fortunately there were no further interruptions.

After that a brilliant turn on “Small Town,” reimagined as a sort of driving funk tune during which Mike Rathke played a synthed up guitar that sounded like a piano, and which Lou stopped towards the end to ask, “So out of curiosity: Seattle? Small town?” Some cheers. “Big town?” More cheers. “I dunno…” (making an equivocal shrug before playing the final notes). Then “Tell It To Your Heart,” with Antony and Fernando taking vocal duties on some of the verses. I don’t remember the rest of the set list order, but he played “Dirty Blvd,” “How Do You Think It Feels?,” “Vanishing Act,” “The Day John Kennedy Died,” “Ecstasy,” “Call on Me,” “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” and “Venus in Furs,” featuring an extended cello solo from Scarpantoni during which it sounded, particularly in some overtone passages, as though she was chasing away John Cale’s viola with a handful of rocks.

“All Tomorrow’s Parties” and the set’s penultimate number, “The Raven,” were punctuated by Lou’s tai chi master, Master Ren, performing exercises in the corner of the stage in a shiny red gi, which was a bit distracting. Lou’s take on “The Raven” was pretty straight except for a few four letter words, nothing like what I reported some fans imagined during his last Seattle performance.

And I skipped a tune: “Street Hassle,” which with both Scarpartoni and Fernando playing bowed lines, moved along like a brand new song rather than the dusty 25-year-old junkie street poem that it was. The last part, during which a young Bruce Springsteen mumbles something in a fake Southern accent on the record, was redone with traded shouts of “sha la la la la” over a rising extended vamp.

And who would have figured two songs from Berlin? “Men of Good Fortune” early in the set, “The Bed” later, which was bloodchillingly stark.

Missteps were few: I thought Fernando’s song “Reviens Chérie” was okay but out of place, and some of Antony’s vocal turns were forced.

And then “Set the Twilight Reeling,” which comes across on record as a quiet apologia for being an aging rock and roller that tries to become a loud roar, but here struggled to get out of gear, especially during Antony’s verses. (It’s difficult to hear a countertenor warble the line “As the drums beats he finds himself growing hard” without giggling.) But the crescendo at the end, egged on by Jane’s cello, driven higher by both guitars playing like they were possessed, was the key—I suddenly understood everything. Now I’ve forgotten it, of course, but for a second the whole year made sense.

We had to go at this point, the end of the set, since Lisa had a 5 am call this morning. Which means I probably missed the only chance I’ll ever have to see Lou play “Heroin” live. But since I’m grateful Lisa went at all, I can’t complain too much.

I won’t be around tonight; I’ll be hanging with Lou Reed. Blog amongst yourselves.

Later… Ooops. I’ll be waiting for the Man another day; forgot the concert was Sunday, not Saturday.

The best Elvis box set around is now (mostly) online at the iTunes Music Store. That would be Elvis Presley: The King of Rock‘n’Roll: The Complete 1950s Masters. It’s only available by the song, but there are some great tunes on that set that are only available there, as far as I know, such as a full disc of a live performance from the 50s.

I also have to confess that I have in the past bought two albums by Dread Zeppelin, the short-lived reggae Led Zep cover band fronted by an Elvis impersonator, whose octave-lower version of Robert Plant sounds uncannily like the real thing. Dread Zeppelin’s first album, including their Elvis-meets-Zep “Heartbreaker (at the End of Lonely Street), is available at the iTunes store.

And, to rectify my embarrassing admission of lack of taste, let me point out that eMusic has lots of early Sonic Youth rarities, including b-sides and live performances.

If you’re not into discovering mind shattering classical recordings you may want to skip this post.

Okay, now that everyone but my family has stopped reading: A few weeks ago I did something unusual—I bought a few CDs. Since the advent of online music purchases the physical article has seemed unnecessary, but what the hey, I was waiting for the Sears across the street to replace Lisa’s tires and I had nothing better to do. I listened to the Big Star disc and liked it a lot, but forgot about one of the others until yesterday, when I played it—and got crazy excited.

On the surface the disc is nothing special: an unfamiliar label budget two-disc set called “Music of the Gothic Era.” When I looked at the liner notes, though, I started realizing I had hit gold. The conductor, David Munrow, had revolutionized early music in the late 60s and the 70s by hiring top notch musicians, particularly vocalists, who were able to bring top performance quality to these ancient (in some cases 800 year old) works and make them sound like music to modern ears. And the group? Well, I had never heard of the Early Music Consort of London, but I had heard of some of the vocalists, among whom were David James, Rogers Covey-Crump, Paul Elliott, and John Potter. These are guys who were also in a little group called the Hilliard Ensemble—still one of the superstar groups of early music for their vocal performances which are so astounding they’re almost superhuman. And this recording has them before the Hilliard Ensemble took off, covering some of the same material for which the Hilliard Ensemble later became famous, under a director who had very different ideas about performance.

Very different. If this were a Hilliard Ensemble disc, it would probably have been recorded only with voices in accordance with modern understanding of medieval performance practices. Instead, in the pieces attributed to Léonin (the legendary founder of the Notre Dame school of sacred music, in which for the first time in documented history chant was augmented with harmony), the voices are accompanied by bells. In some of the anonymous fourteenth century motets (including a recording of “Alle, psallite cum luya,” which I sang as a Christmas processional—and sometime drinking song—with the Virginia Glee Club), a shawm and tabor are added. Other pieces have lute, fiddle, portative organ, and slide trumpet. But regardless of the amount of extra baggage added, the sound of the voices is still thrilling, bringing this ancient music alive.

Music of the Gothic Era stays my “Current Listening” today as I work my way through Disc 2. It’s definitely recommended—a two-disc overview of some of the most unusual and rewarding vocal music around.

I was surprised to see traffic from Jenny the Shifted Librarian this morning. She follows up my thoughts about the iTunes Music Store and eMusic, noting,

I’m fascinated that this surge of supply to meet the pent-up demand for quality, online music downloads is resulting in lists of “finds.” By that, I mean posts by people who can’t believe they found a place to legally download their favorite bands’ music. We’re posting lists that express our disbelief, and those posts are what I’d like to aggregate.

This could be huge—a searchable list of artists that is annotated with the online stores that carry their music. I wonder whether such a project would cause the hoary cry of “no deep linking” to rear its ugly head. Probably not, I think, as long as the download sites still make money. But IANAL.

And in the spirit of Jenny’s post about stuff she’s found at Rhapsody, here are some of my other finds from eMusic and the iTunes Store:

• eMusic
  • Red House Painters
  • the Pixies – just about everything save the recent compilations of b-sides and live tracks
  • Nick Cave – Nocturama
  • Miles Davis with Sonny Rollins – Dig
  • Mono
  • Mull Historical Society
• iTunes Music Store
  • Gil Scott-Heron, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” and “Lady Day and John Coltrane”
  • Blur
  • Johnny Cash – Cash IV
  • Mark Eitzel – West
  • …and others I’ve already listed