Just a quick note to say that the new Super Mash Bros. album appeared for download this evening and I love it. I can't explain why at all; I feel pretty neutral about other mashup acts like Girl Talk and Ludachrist but SMB makes me want to go outside and run like 15 miles then kickbox or something. Maybe it's the fact that their sampling is so incredibly mainstream, undistorted, and clever. Girl Talk overwhelms me and Ludachrist is too remix/techno, but SMB keeps it recognizable and brings back some entertaining memories of the 90's (Crazy Town's "Butterfly"? Bet you forgot that one existed. Now it's back, crushed into "Technologic" and "Jack and Diane.") Anyway, I might come back to this later but I had to say something about my favorite workout music.
As a side note, my particular favorite from the new album is the terrific splice of Television Rules the Nation/I Kissed a Girl on "Still Bleeding." Their love for The Lonely Island also garners my approval. Check out the albums here, downloadable for free since their content is less than legal:
http://bit.ly/iN9jO (new album)
http://www.lazerwolf.com/ (Their 2008 debut)
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
O, Valencia!
The Decemberists
Tower Theater, Philadelphia, June 6
When I ventured to Philadelphia's Tower Theater to see The Decemberists, I thought it would be a low-key affair; Tower's shows are all seated and The Decemberists' music tends to be gentle. So I was in for quite the surprise when it turned into one of the most exciting gigs I've seen this year. Opener Robyn Hitchcock was a pleasant if slightly innocuous beginning to the evening, playing a set that shifted between soft, folk-tinged guitar and songs that edged toward a harder sound. The standout of his performance was 'Up to our Nex,' a track that appeared in last year's Rachel Getting Married.
After a brief break, The Decemberists appeared in silhouette against a background that shifted colors moodily throughout the gig. The Portland-based band is normally a five piece, but they've number expanded to an Arcade Fire-rivaling seven with the addition of guest vocalists Shara Worden and Becky Stark. Frontman Colin Meloy got the most cheers when he finally took the stage, kicking off the set with the first track from their latest album, The Hazards of Love.
Hazards consists of 17 songs telling the story of a young woman named Margaret, her rakish lover, a forest queen, and the troubles that inevitably ensue when you combine those characters. It's a beautiful and unusual piece that showcases Meloy's penchant for storytelling, and it demands a unique live presentation. So, during this tour The Decemberists have been playing Hazards in its entirety, a experience that highlights its careful composition and the band's technical prowess.
Hazards is a varied album and a departure for The Decemberists, straying from the gentle, folky sound that characterizes their previous releases in favor of chunkier guitars and a darker overall aesthetic. That's not to say that their love of unusual instrumentation has diminished-- everything from steel guitar to accordion to double bass makes an appearance. Seeing the album as a cohesive whole is transfixing; the way reprises and melodies shift and fold in on each other is magical, and the deliberately symbolic staging and costuming of Stark and Worden underscores the theatrical elements. It's a testament to the band that they reproduce a complex piece live with stunning success, and a gift to fans who get such a singular experience.
Standouts from the first half of the evening included vindictive single "The Rake's Song," which saw five Decemberists drumming at once, and the contrasting delicate harmonies of "An Interlude." The appearance of My Brightest Diamond's Worden, looking like Karen O. and shaking things up with some dance moves and gold leggings during "The Queen's Rebuke/The Crossing," was another highlight, as were Meloy and Stark's duets. "The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid" showcased one of the catchiest hooks The Decemberists have produced, twisting guitar that's miles away from Picaresque. They retired for intermission after eerie "Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)," then reappeared for a set of older songs that had the audience on its feet for the rest of the night.
The energetic second half of the show brought some classic, mandolin-accented, folktale-laden Decemberists, opening with "Crane Wife 3," flagging a bit through slower tracks "Shiny" and "Sleepless," then breaking out crowd favorite "July July." Unlike the pristine first half, the second set suffered from some sound problems, with Meloy's vocals occasionally getting drowned out by the rest of the band. This did little to diminish the crowd's excitement when he introduced "Dracula's Daughter" as "the worst song I've ever written," pointing out its "douchey" chords before moving on to a gorgeous rendition of "O Valencia!" The showpiece was "Chimbley Sweep," which saw Meloy and guitarist Chris Funk passing their instruments off to some front row fans for an extended interlude. Stark and Worden then returned for an unexpected cover of Heart's "Crazy on You." The encore brought delicate, country-tinged "Bandit Queen," followed by fabulous closer "Sons and Daughters," with Meloy leading an audience singalong of final line "We are the bombs that fade away."
The verdict? The Decemberists should do anything but fade away if they get the appreciation they deserve for this tour with Hazards. Their musical skill and sense for dramatic arrangement shines in both the sprawling new album and their older work (although the first half of the set overshadowed the second), and Meloy is a charismatic and frequently funny leader for the talented group of musicians. If you can experience Hazards as a whole, do so; it's a sparkling and thoughtful piece that stays with you long after the performance ends.
Tower Theater, Philadelphia, June 6
When I ventured to Philadelphia's Tower Theater to see The Decemberists, I thought it would be a low-key affair; Tower's shows are all seated and The Decemberists' music tends to be gentle. So I was in for quite the surprise when it turned into one of the most exciting gigs I've seen this year. Opener Robyn Hitchcock was a pleasant if slightly innocuous beginning to the evening, playing a set that shifted between soft, folk-tinged guitar and songs that edged toward a harder sound. The standout of his performance was 'Up to our Nex,' a track that appeared in last year's Rachel Getting Married.
After a brief break, The Decemberists appeared in silhouette against a background that shifted colors moodily throughout the gig. The Portland-based band is normally a five piece, but they've number expanded to an Arcade Fire-rivaling seven with the addition of guest vocalists Shara Worden and Becky Stark. Frontman Colin Meloy got the most cheers when he finally took the stage, kicking off the set with the first track from their latest album, The Hazards of Love.
Hazards consists of 17 songs telling the story of a young woman named Margaret, her rakish lover, a forest queen, and the troubles that inevitably ensue when you combine those characters. It's a beautiful and unusual piece that showcases Meloy's penchant for storytelling, and it demands a unique live presentation. So, during this tour The Decemberists have been playing Hazards in its entirety, a experience that highlights its careful composition and the band's technical prowess.
Hazards is a varied album and a departure for The Decemberists, straying from the gentle, folky sound that characterizes their previous releases in favor of chunkier guitars and a darker overall aesthetic. That's not to say that their love of unusual instrumentation has diminished-- everything from steel guitar to accordion to double bass makes an appearance. Seeing the album as a cohesive whole is transfixing; the way reprises and melodies shift and fold in on each other is magical, and the deliberately symbolic staging and costuming of Stark and Worden underscores the theatrical elements. It's a testament to the band that they reproduce a complex piece live with stunning success, and a gift to fans who get such a singular experience.
Standouts from the first half of the evening included vindictive single "The Rake's Song," which saw five Decemberists drumming at once, and the contrasting delicate harmonies of "An Interlude." The appearance of My Brightest Diamond's Worden, looking like Karen O. and shaking things up with some dance moves and gold leggings during "The Queen's Rebuke/The Crossing," was another highlight, as were Meloy and Stark's duets. "The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid" showcased one of the catchiest hooks The Decemberists have produced, twisting guitar that's miles away from Picaresque. They retired for intermission after eerie "Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)," then reappeared for a set of older songs that had the audience on its feet for the rest of the night.
The energetic second half of the show brought some classic, mandolin-accented, folktale-laden Decemberists, opening with "Crane Wife 3," flagging a bit through slower tracks "Shiny" and "Sleepless," then breaking out crowd favorite "July July." Unlike the pristine first half, the second set suffered from some sound problems, with Meloy's vocals occasionally getting drowned out by the rest of the band. This did little to diminish the crowd's excitement when he introduced "Dracula's Daughter" as "the worst song I've ever written," pointing out its "douchey" chords before moving on to a gorgeous rendition of "O Valencia!" The showpiece was "Chimbley Sweep," which saw Meloy and guitarist Chris Funk passing their instruments off to some front row fans for an extended interlude. Stark and Worden then returned for an unexpected cover of Heart's "Crazy on You." The encore brought delicate, country-tinged "Bandit Queen," followed by fabulous closer "Sons and Daughters," with Meloy leading an audience singalong of final line "We are the bombs that fade away."
The verdict? The Decemberists should do anything but fade away if they get the appreciation they deserve for this tour with Hazards. Their musical skill and sense for dramatic arrangement shines in both the sprawling new album and their older work (although the first half of the set overshadowed the second), and Meloy is a charismatic and frequently funny leader for the talented group of musicians. If you can experience Hazards as a whole, do so; it's a sparkling and thoughtful piece that stays with you long after the performance ends.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Toto, We're Not in Camden Anymore...
I was giddy this January when I stepped off the plane at Heathrow, tickets in hand to see some bands that I love who rarely come to the U.S. I spent five months in London earlier this year, and got spoiled by its amazing music scene. There was always an awesome gig to go to! Everyone knew about Crystal Castles! 7” singles were available in stores, not just on ebay for five times their normal price! London felt like a musical wonderland, particularly in its abundance of great gigs.
Don’t get me wrong; there are a lot of things I love about America. We have Coachella and SXSW (and lower sales tax and better Mexican food). But our live music scene is quite different from the bounty that London’s high density of gigs offers.
A major hindrance for American concert addicts like me is the sheer size of the country, which prevents the kind of centralized, dedicated concertgoing that London offers. I live on the East Coast about two hours south of New York, an area dotted with urban, musically inclined enclaves. But my Last.fm events list often yields only a few results for each day, and driving two hours or more to a gig is a regular part of life. While a friend of mine in England has to choose which Muse gig he wants to attend near his hometown, I find myself just hoping they’ll add a date somewhere within a two hundred mile radius. I imagine it would be many times worse if I lived in the vast stretches of the Midwest. Distance also makes it harder for up and coming bands to promote their music by touring; it’s one thing to drive from London to Liverpool in a shoddy van, another to make the trek from New York to Austin without a label backing you. The constraints of space make fans of local scenes in America more devoted, but also prevents a lot of small bands from contributing to scenes in more than a few cities.
However, I’m not trying to say that I haven’t seen amazing gigs here. In fact, the U.S. is a great place to see international artists who haven’t quite broken the American market, particularly at SXSW. One of my favorite gigs of the past year was a fabulous Wombats show in the tiny, sweaty basement of First Unitarian Church, arguably Philadelphia’s most unique venue. And I have to give credit to East Coast cities, especially Baltimore, where the local music scene is expanding exponentially. But Americans also favor gigs in the giant, nondescript arenas that populate the country. I’ll desperately miss bigger shows in London’s singular venues, particularly Camden’s theater-style Koko and the vast, glass-ceilinged Olympia.
But the venue doesn’t make the gig, and there’s another fundamental rift between the scenes in England and America.
English fans are intense. When they go to gigs, it’s because they either adore the band, or love music enough to see anyone with a guitar. A large number of people in most crowds know the words to every song, even those that have only been heard as Youtube leaks. A Maccabees show at Matter this February was a cathartically violent experience. The crowd was pressed so tightly, desperate to get closer to the band, that my feet didn’t touch the ground for most of the set. It was fantastic; the collective excitement about the music was stunning. I had a different but equally terrific experience at Camden Crawl, when The Whip won over a diverse crowd that knew relatively little of their music. England’s desire to discover new music sets it apart; Americans tend to be surly toward unknowns, especially openers, but crowds in the U.K. are really listening, even to bands who are just starting out in pub gigs.
American fans, though, seem to be having more fun. Gigs sometimes have a casual, party atmosphere that makes them more a social occasion than a strictly musical experience. I took a friend who knows very little about music to a Rakes gig in London and he noted that “nobody was dancing.” This wasn’t strictly true, but they weren’t dancing with the kind of abandon that you see at American shows. American fans have a great time at concerts, and they love a singalong. I was stunned by the anticipation for the “do-do-do” refrain of Chelsea Dagger at a Fratellis show in Philly this summer. But fans tend to be more casual and less generally interested in music. They’re less likely to know every word to every song, and they’re unsatisfied if bands don’t play hit singles. At the same Fratellis gig, the crowd wouldn’t shut up about Chelsea Dagger until it was played. And they glared at the openers like they were watching puppies get kicked. They enjoyed the music, but only the music they already knew.
If I had to chose the most fundamental difference between gigs in America and Britain it would be this: there’s much more devotion to the culture of live music in the U.K. The proliferation of gigs, the enthusiasm for all live music, and the fervor of fans make the concert atmosphere electric. Sure, you might end up with a few bruises when a rabid Maccabees fan shoves you into the amp, but it’s worth it.
Don’t get me wrong; there are a lot of things I love about America. We have Coachella and SXSW (and lower sales tax and better Mexican food). But our live music scene is quite different from the bounty that London’s high density of gigs offers.
A major hindrance for American concert addicts like me is the sheer size of the country, which prevents the kind of centralized, dedicated concertgoing that London offers. I live on the East Coast about two hours south of New York, an area dotted with urban, musically inclined enclaves. But my Last.fm events list often yields only a few results for each day, and driving two hours or more to a gig is a regular part of life. While a friend of mine in England has to choose which Muse gig he wants to attend near his hometown, I find myself just hoping they’ll add a date somewhere within a two hundred mile radius. I imagine it would be many times worse if I lived in the vast stretches of the Midwest. Distance also makes it harder for up and coming bands to promote their music by touring; it’s one thing to drive from London to Liverpool in a shoddy van, another to make the trek from New York to Austin without a label backing you. The constraints of space make fans of local scenes in America more devoted, but also prevents a lot of small bands from contributing to scenes in more than a few cities.
However, I’m not trying to say that I haven’t seen amazing gigs here. In fact, the U.S. is a great place to see international artists who haven’t quite broken the American market, particularly at SXSW. One of my favorite gigs of the past year was a fabulous Wombats show in the tiny, sweaty basement of First Unitarian Church, arguably Philadelphia’s most unique venue. And I have to give credit to East Coast cities, especially Baltimore, where the local music scene is expanding exponentially. But Americans also favor gigs in the giant, nondescript arenas that populate the country. I’ll desperately miss bigger shows in London’s singular venues, particularly Camden’s theater-style Koko and the vast, glass-ceilinged Olympia.
But the venue doesn’t make the gig, and there’s another fundamental rift between the scenes in England and America.
English fans are intense. When they go to gigs, it’s because they either adore the band, or love music enough to see anyone with a guitar. A large number of people in most crowds know the words to every song, even those that have only been heard as Youtube leaks. A Maccabees show at Matter this February was a cathartically violent experience. The crowd was pressed so tightly, desperate to get closer to the band, that my feet didn’t touch the ground for most of the set. It was fantastic; the collective excitement about the music was stunning. I had a different but equally terrific experience at Camden Crawl, when The Whip won over a diverse crowd that knew relatively little of their music. England’s desire to discover new music sets it apart; Americans tend to be surly toward unknowns, especially openers, but crowds in the U.K. are really listening, even to bands who are just starting out in pub gigs.
American fans, though, seem to be having more fun. Gigs sometimes have a casual, party atmosphere that makes them more a social occasion than a strictly musical experience. I took a friend who knows very little about music to a Rakes gig in London and he noted that “nobody was dancing.” This wasn’t strictly true, but they weren’t dancing with the kind of abandon that you see at American shows. American fans have a great time at concerts, and they love a singalong. I was stunned by the anticipation for the “do-do-do” refrain of Chelsea Dagger at a Fratellis show in Philly this summer. But fans tend to be more casual and less generally interested in music. They’re less likely to know every word to every song, and they’re unsatisfied if bands don’t play hit singles. At the same Fratellis gig, the crowd wouldn’t shut up about Chelsea Dagger until it was played. And they glared at the openers like they were watching puppies get kicked. They enjoyed the music, but only the music they already knew.
If I had to chose the most fundamental difference between gigs in America and Britain it would be this: there’s much more devotion to the culture of live music in the U.K. The proliferation of gigs, the enthusiasm for all live music, and the fervor of fans make the concert atmosphere electric. Sure, you might end up with a few bruises when a rabid Maccabees fan shoves you into the amp, but it’s worth it.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
What A Waster?
So, since the gigs will be tapering off slightly now that I'm not in London I'll be adding some new things to my blog. Some about my research, some about my struggles to be a fan of British music in the States, and some of my random ramblings on various topics. This entry is one of the latter...
What a Waster?
Pete Doherty in America
I’m in a minority in America-- I’m a Pete Doherty fan. The thing that surprises most Americans about Pete isn’t the shocking number of drug charges he’s racked up in the past few years. Or his bimonthly Youtube escapades with a brigade of kittens. It’s that he’s relatively famous in Britain. Besides the rare mention on E! as Kate Moss’ former erstwhile boyfriend and a lone Spin cover last year, Pete is largely under the radar in the United States. It’s a strange situation; he’s been selling tabloids for years in England, but Americans would be hard pressed to pick him out of a lineup of weedy, trilby-bedecked pale guys.
Why? Well, it certainly doesn’t help that his criminal record makes it virtually impossible for him to tour the U.S, leaving his work with Babyshambles and his stunning new solo effort, Grace/Wastelands, unpromoted. This would be a major problem for any artist, but it’s especially bad news for Pete because a lot of his shambolic charm is lost if you don’t get the live experience. I saw him twice in London this spring, with Babyshambles and then solo, and his performances profoundly changed the way I listen to his music. The emotion he brings to his lyrics in a live show lingers when you hear his albums again. Doherty can be infuriating-- he showed up at 2 a.m. for the Shambles gig I saw-- but he’s also incredibly compelling on stage. It might be his saving grace in the UK; no matter what he’s doing in the tabloids, he’s an undeniable talent.
The upside to Doherty’s complete lack of publicity in America is a lack of bad publicity. After years of exposure to Pete painting with his own blood, canceling strings of gigs, and cavorting online with Amy Winehouse and a litter of mice, English audiences have every right to be skeptical about the quality of his music. His reputation here is much more innocuous; “Isn’t that the guy who used to date Kate Moss? He does music?” He has an opportunity, especially in his new incarnation as the more serious, professional ‘Peter’ Doherty, to win over the US market. He doesn’t have to win over an alienated or critical audience, just win fans for the first time. Which should be easy if he can keep up the new persona; when he’s sober, it becomes apparent that he’s witty, likable, and an incredibly gifted performer.
So why not just push Grace/Wastelands without a tour? The album is terrific-- easily Pete’s most put-together, relaxed, accessible work. But is it accessible enough for an uninitiated audience? Half the joy of Pete’s work for UK fans is in the complex mythology of his musical past, the autobiographical nature of his work and legendarily volatile partnership with Carl Barat. Most of his fans have been listening since The Libertines (and listening hard; the crowd knew every word during his gig at Camden’s Proud in April, even when he broke out Libs b-side The Ha-ha Wall). It’s questionable whether he could make it without that kind of intensely dedicated fanbase, as well as the fawning support of the NME and the irrefutable evidence of his talent in the form of Up the Bracket. Plus there’s no real niche for him in America, no easy way to explain him to prospective listeners. At home he’s got an entire battalion of bands like The View and The Courteeners who desperately want to be The Libertines, bringing his music into at least a tributary of the mainstream. Here he’d be competing with the likes of Rihanna and Coldplay for radio time and end up falsely classified with acoustic, shoegazing American indie that populates our college radio stations.
Another huge hurdle might be the inherent Englishness of Pete’s music. In truth, it’s one of the things I find most compelling about his work. His vision of England as a Blakeian Albion is elegant and unique, but there’s no guarantee it will make any sense to a listener in San Diego. And even if it does, will it strike the same nerve of bittersweet nationalism? Lyrics have always been Pete’s strong point; Carl was the one who shaped The Lib’s punk sound. But understanding the myriad references, from Wilde to Stoppard, takes some investment and repeat spins, and will mean nothing to a casual listener. American audiences might wonder why they should bother dealing with “gin in teacups and leaves on the lawn” when they can just have “sex on fire.”
Like his notoriously unstable gigs, Pete Doherty’s image in America goes in a thousand directions. His image might be better without the constant parade of Sun covers, but he also might need that extra push of publicity--even the negative kind that spins him as a tragic genius/junkie-- to overcome the challenges that his nuanced, deeply British music presents for an international audience.
What a Waster?
Pete Doherty in America
I’m in a minority in America-- I’m a Pete Doherty fan. The thing that surprises most Americans about Pete isn’t the shocking number of drug charges he’s racked up in the past few years. Or his bimonthly Youtube escapades with a brigade of kittens. It’s that he’s relatively famous in Britain. Besides the rare mention on E! as Kate Moss’ former erstwhile boyfriend and a lone Spin cover last year, Pete is largely under the radar in the United States. It’s a strange situation; he’s been selling tabloids for years in England, but Americans would be hard pressed to pick him out of a lineup of weedy, trilby-bedecked pale guys.
Why? Well, it certainly doesn’t help that his criminal record makes it virtually impossible for him to tour the U.S, leaving his work with Babyshambles and his stunning new solo effort, Grace/Wastelands, unpromoted. This would be a major problem for any artist, but it’s especially bad news for Pete because a lot of his shambolic charm is lost if you don’t get the live experience. I saw him twice in London this spring, with Babyshambles and then solo, and his performances profoundly changed the way I listen to his music. The emotion he brings to his lyrics in a live show lingers when you hear his albums again. Doherty can be infuriating-- he showed up at 2 a.m. for the Shambles gig I saw-- but he’s also incredibly compelling on stage. It might be his saving grace in the UK; no matter what he’s doing in the tabloids, he’s an undeniable talent.
The upside to Doherty’s complete lack of publicity in America is a lack of bad publicity. After years of exposure to Pete painting with his own blood, canceling strings of gigs, and cavorting online with Amy Winehouse and a litter of mice, English audiences have every right to be skeptical about the quality of his music. His reputation here is much more innocuous; “Isn’t that the guy who used to date Kate Moss? He does music?” He has an opportunity, especially in his new incarnation as the more serious, professional ‘Peter’ Doherty, to win over the US market. He doesn’t have to win over an alienated or critical audience, just win fans for the first time. Which should be easy if he can keep up the new persona; when he’s sober, it becomes apparent that he’s witty, likable, and an incredibly gifted performer.
So why not just push Grace/Wastelands without a tour? The album is terrific-- easily Pete’s most put-together, relaxed, accessible work. But is it accessible enough for an uninitiated audience? Half the joy of Pete’s work for UK fans is in the complex mythology of his musical past, the autobiographical nature of his work and legendarily volatile partnership with Carl Barat. Most of his fans have been listening since The Libertines (and listening hard; the crowd knew every word during his gig at Camden’s Proud in April, even when he broke out Libs b-side The Ha-ha Wall). It’s questionable whether he could make it without that kind of intensely dedicated fanbase, as well as the fawning support of the NME and the irrefutable evidence of his talent in the form of Up the Bracket. Plus there’s no real niche for him in America, no easy way to explain him to prospective listeners. At home he’s got an entire battalion of bands like The View and The Courteeners who desperately want to be The Libertines, bringing his music into at least a tributary of the mainstream. Here he’d be competing with the likes of Rihanna and Coldplay for radio time and end up falsely classified with acoustic, shoegazing American indie that populates our college radio stations.
Another huge hurdle might be the inherent Englishness of Pete’s music. In truth, it’s one of the things I find most compelling about his work. His vision of England as a Blakeian Albion is elegant and unique, but there’s no guarantee it will make any sense to a listener in San Diego. And even if it does, will it strike the same nerve of bittersweet nationalism? Lyrics have always been Pete’s strong point; Carl was the one who shaped The Lib’s punk sound. But understanding the myriad references, from Wilde to Stoppard, takes some investment and repeat spins, and will mean nothing to a casual listener. American audiences might wonder why they should bother dealing with “gin in teacups and leaves on the lawn” when they can just have “sex on fire.”
Like his notoriously unstable gigs, Pete Doherty’s image in America goes in a thousand directions. His image might be better without the constant parade of Sun covers, but he also might need that extra push of publicity--even the negative kind that spins him as a tragic genius/junkie-- to overcome the challenges that his nuanced, deeply British music presents for an international audience.
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