Television Television

Ok Go
Ram's Head Live, Baltimore, 9 May

More to come...

Kiss with a Fist

Florence + the Machine
TLA, Philadelphia, 5 April

Setlist:



More to come...

Lions

Manchester Orchestra, Biffy Clyro, The Features
Trocadero, Philadelphia, 3 April

More to come...

California English

Vampire Weekend
Electric Factory, Philadelphia, 2 April

Setlist:
White Sky
Holiday
Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa
I Stand Corrected
M79
Bryn
California English
Cousins
Taxi Cab
Run
A-Punk
One (Blake's Got a New Face)
Diplomat's Son
Giving Up the Gun
Campus
Oxford Comma

Horchata
Mansard Roof
Walcott

More to come...

Unnatural Selection

Muse, Silversun Pickups
Patriot Center, Fairfax, VA, 1 March

Setlist:

Uprising
Resistance
New Born
Map of the Problematique
Guiding Light
Supermassive Black Hole
Hysteria
United States of Eurasia
Feeling Good
Undisclosed Desires
Starlight
Plug in Baby
Unnatural Selection
___
Exogenesis Part 1
Stockholm Syndrome
Knights of Cydonia

More to come...

Review: The Features, Some Kind of Salvation

The Features first appeared on my radar several years ago, when their super-infectious single "Blow It Out" was offered as the iTunes free download of the week. Happily, the majority of their latest release, 'Some Kind of Salvation,' reflects the same propensity for a well-crafted pop song; in fact, the album contains so many great tracks that it's surprising the Tennessee natives haven't had wider success.

Proclaiming its overall style with the catchy, brief chorus of opener 'Whatever Gets You By,' the album maintains an energetic, slightly folky vibe that should make it great live as well as on your iPod at the gym. It’s carried by melodic verses and beats so infectious that you won't get them out of your head for a week.

The album is at its best when it showcases lead singer Matt Pelham's expressive, mobile voice with the help of bright, driving piano and well-placed horn sections. His vocals are offset with buoyant choruses bolstered by great guitar and drum lines. The strongest offering is 'Lions,' a straightforward, addictive pop gem with a pounding beat and a chorus that screams for live singalongs. 'The Drawing Board' has a similar appeal. In fact, most of the album hits the mark for bouncy, likable, instrumentally interesting song writing. Even its most expansive track, the slow-building ‘All I Ask,’ springs a sharp hook on listeners around its midpoint.

The Features falter most when they slow their sound down, but even less urgent tracks have something to offer. There's nothing really /wrong/ with down tempo pieces like 'The Gates of Hell' and 'Concrete,' but they lack the lighthearted urgency that will keep 'Lions' on your stereo. A few songs near the center of the album lag slightly, but the tempo picks up again with 'The Temporary Blues' and ambitiously grand 'All I Ask.' That said, repeat listens of quieter tracks like 'Baby's Hammer'-- which would make a beautiful acoustic number with its soft guitar and delicate vocals-- offer new complexities. Only the strangely electronic 'Concrete,' a chilly and 80s-esque deviation from the enlivening warmth of the rest of the album, seems like a true misstep.

The bottom line is, The Features deserve a lot more success than they've had thus far. Recently signed to King of Leon's new record label and on the cusp of a large US-European tour, hopefully they'll gain some recognition for the great, classic pop albums they're producing.

The Hardest Day's Night: Musical (Mis)Adventures in London

This is my submission for a creative writing contest on my college campus. It's a rewrite of one of my first posts ever here, about an ill-fated yet wonderful Pete Doherty gig.


It starts like all the best concerts do: watching an enraged man buy takeout chicken. My friend Andrew and I are nearly dying from excitement when we score tickets to a tiny, last-minute London gig with erstwhile British rocker Pete Doherty. By the end of the evening, we’re just dying.
Let’s talk about Pete for a second. The epitome of the junkie-musician stereotype, he was once a member of beloved and shambolic British punk band The Libertines. He now spends his time dating improbably attractive models, creating Youtube videos with Amy Winehouse, feeding pot to London Zoo penguins, and making a mockery of rehab facilities from Teignmouth to Thailand. With these factors in mind, Andrew and I know there might be some hitches (Pete might be late/not appear/have trouble remaining upright/throw things at us from the stage resulting in grievous head injuries). However, things go downhill with the speed of an Olympic skier from the moment we attempt to pick up our tickets before grabbing some pre-concert food. A dramatic rendition follows:

Andrew and Caroline enter the upstairs of indie mecca Rhythm Factory. It vaguely resembles a bar. Random employees and patrons mill around. Some of them appear to be rearranging the furniture. We spot a man with creatively large hair and an officious-looking clipboard.
Caroline: Hi, can we pick up tickets for the gig tonight?
Man: In a tone suggesting that Caroline and Andrew are egregious simpletons and possibly criminals No! There will be a list at the door. He turns away, glaring at his clipboard.
Caroline and Andrew retreat in confusion, dodging two men who are inexplicably shuffling all the chairs in the room to one side.

Thus rebuffed, Andrew and I wander around Whitechapel and decide that our best option, considering the temperature (just above “Arctic tundra” but significantly below “locked in a walk-in freezer”), is hot corporate beverages. We repair to the Starbucks across the street from Rhythm Factory, where we can watch the queue and decide when to brave the frozen wastelands to secure a good place at the gig. As we sip our mochas, we see the furious man burst outside. After a short and heated interaction with an ATM, he stops at one of Whitechapel’s myriad and inexplicable fried chicken stands then storms back in, tub of chicken in hand. Confusion ensues. Why does this unusually coifed man want chicken? Why is he so unhappy about it? (Warning: these questions will never be answered.)

Time passes. Frigid queuing occurs and we cram into the basement venue space, which is not significantly warmer than outside and has the distinct disadvantage of ceiling pipes that drip icy water over the crowd. Fortuitously, we manage to get front and center spots. Less fortuitously, the barrier before the stage is made of splintery old boards and comes up to my neck. My nearest neighbor is a middle-aged woman in a leopard print headband, holding a massive handbag and a glass of wine. I realize she is going to slap me in the face with her stupid handbag whenever she takes a sip from her stupid wineglass. It is the first but not the last time during the evening that I feel the urge to punch someone in the head.

Onward to the pinnacle of our saga: the opening bands. Andrew and I expect two, maybe three. There. Are. Eight. One less than the circles of hell, but close enough.

One: Nondescript. The crowd, lulled into a false sense of security by the timely start of the gig, applauds politely for them. Birds sing, the sun shines. It’s a more innocent age.

Two: Their logo is a creepy Masonic eye symbol. They’re called “Mad Staring Eyes.” At least they’re straightforward.

Three: This band could be good; they have an array of catchy three minute songs. Unfortunately they’re buried inside six minute songs. I start to waver toward a coma near the end of their set, but Andrew and I console ourselves because this must be the last opener. Pete will appear soon in all his crack-addled splendor. Everyone else seems to agree; they have been steadily pressing toward the stage between sets. The barrier and I have some close, personal bonding time.

Four: A woman in a tunic adorned with a bedazzled tiger appears. She’s holding a guitar made of at least 75% duct tape. A drummer and a man with a trumpet follow. She shrieks something incomprehensible about how the trumpeter's name is Foxy Horns then announces the band’s name: DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS. Words that will haunt my dreams eternally. Tiger Tunic makes sounds with her guitar, perhaps impersonating the slow, painful death of a water buffalo, then starts “singing.” By “singing,” I mean “shrieking in the worst way at the highest volume imaginable, like a fighter jet taking off inside a closet.” The words of the “song” are: “deliver me to Christ, please forgive me.” I refuse to believe that there’s a deity benevolent enough to forgive this. Mercifully, the “singing” stops as she tunes her guitar. I am tempted to point out that it’s poorly tuned because it’s made of 0% guitar and 100% materials available at Home Depot. Eventually the “music” resumes. I text Andrew because we can’t speak over the din:
Caroline: Kill me.
Andrew: ME FIRST.
After several centuries, DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS depart, having broken the spirits of everyone in the audience. Near the end of their set, the furious man, who we’ve determined is the venue manager, appears at the edge of the stage. Furious Manager’s eyes expand to the size of the Milky Way Galaxy, then he disappears at a speed rarely seen outside documentaries about cheetahs.

Five: I barely listen to this band because I’m busy suppressing the homicidal urge to find DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS and bludgeon them with the duct tape guitar. Band five is a duo dressed like gypsies. One has a guitar. I don’t think they’re aware that all band members usually play the same song, because they aren’t. At some point a tambourine appears, coinciding with the disappearance of my will to live.

Six: They’re like The Libertines, except Swedish. The woman next to me has somehow procured another glass of wine. She drinks it and elbows me in the neck with gleeful abandon. I wonder exactly how much force it would take to snap off someone’s arm.

Seven: By this point the crowd is all but piled in front of the barrier. It’s 12:30. Furious Manager is stage-side, gripping his clipboard with one white-knuckled hand and his phone with the other. He’s screaming into it. Andrew and I determine that he’s calling last-minute filler bands because Pete is late. In spite of everything, the current band thinks we actually want to see them. Their singer flails grandly like Ian Curtis/Jesus and taunts the woman next to me by reaching out his hand to her then pulling it back. She retaliates by grabbing his mic stand. The resulting struggle snaps it, a dangerously pointy end arcing millimeters from my face. I consider wresting it from her, skewering her giant handbag, then flinging it into the increasingly manic crowd. Lucky for her, I’m distracted when the audience starts throwing bottles so furiously that the drum kit is destroyed and the band retreats.

Eight: They distinguish themselves when the lead singer cuts his hand as the set begins, then bleeds profusely onto his guitar for its remainder. This occurs inches from my face, to my horror/disgust/fear of bloodborne illness. Mid-set, Pete finally appears. He shuffles around the edge of the stage before being corralled by furious manager and dragged off. Andrew and I notice that Pete’s wearing a barrette underneath his trilby. His outfit is also charmingly accessorized with white, lens-less women’s sunglasses. The crowd goes ballistic, shoving me further into the barrier’s splintery embrace. Band eight departs, leaving the stage like a leftover Dexter set.

Pete staggers forth around two, egging on the already violent crowd with his incendiary anthem “Fuck Forever.” He accepts a copy of his album and a Sharpie offered by a kid a few feet from me, throws the CD back, then draws all over the stage with the Sharpie, cackling delightedly. Halfway through the set, my wino neighbor decides she’ll climb the barrier to attract Pete’s attention, slapping me with her bag once more. Seeing my golden opportunity, I return one of her many elbows and she topples over. I cackle like Pete stealing from a fan, but display remarkable restraint and don’t stomp her handbag.

...I see you judging me there. I stopped caring around the time I learned that DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS exist.

Given a new foot of space, Andrew and I do a celebratory dance. Pete plays on. His guitarist mysteriously procures the bloody guitar from band eight. I would be concerned for his health, but he seems to have blood poisoning already. Or he’s a zombie. The set concludes with the lovely song “Albion” and we burst forth into the icy Whitechapel night, coated in sweat and sticky beer from endless thrown drinks. Our last sight of the evening is Furious Manager slumped against a wall, hair significantly deflated, clipboard gone.

Months later, we Google DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS. The Rhythm Factory gig is one of only two times they’ve ever played. Were they a joke? A mass hallucination? Our prevailing theory is that the crowd at their next gig mutinied and exiled them to Antarctica. It’s a comforting thought.

Interview: The Drums

It’s been an exceptionally frigid winter here in the US, but I chatted this week with the singer behind some of the warmest, sunniest pop of the year, The Drums’ Jonathan Pierce. After a stratospheric rise through the blogs on the strength of single “Let’s Go Surfing” and the infectious Summertime! EP, The Drums have landed a spot on the NME Awards tour that kicks off in February. Pierce gave me the rundown on the band’s album plans, upcoming UK gigs, and surprising lack of surfing experience.

Caroline: It’s been a crazy year for you guys with all the blog buzz and now a new tour. What was the biggest moment for you?
Jonathan: We started this whole thing in Florida almost as a studio project or some sort of selfish endeavor, just Jacob [Drums cofounder and guitarist Graham] and I. A year and a month ago, we were in Florida writing songs. We seemed to be getting excited about it; we would post them online and we started getting contacted by managers and agents and all this stuff. And we realized we already had some fans. That was really a weird thing and we were taken by surprise. So six months went by, we wrote about 25 songs, and we decided we should probably move to New York. We did our first show [at] the end of May. It’s been incredibly fast, and I was really worried for a while because it seemed to be moving faster than we were. We’ve always had a strong vision of who we are and the type of music we want to write, but we’re trying to catch up with ourselves in a way.

C: So the band is headed off to England soon. Are you looking forward to touring Europe for the first time on a major scale?
J: Oh yeah, yes. We were over there a couple of months ago but we only played a few shows. We’re really flattered and excited to be part of the NME tour. We’re in disbelief that all of this is actually happening. Last time we were there we played a couple of places in London, Manchester, and that was it, but those were really special shows to us because other than me, none of the guys had ever been out of the United States. So to not only leave the country but to go to the places where all the bands that changed our lives are from--you know, going to Manchester, walking the same streets that Joy Division did and all that... And we’re really excited to go back over.

C: How was the crowd response last time you were there?
J: Crowd response was really overwhelming. We played Iceland just before [going to England]. Iceland, and then England, were the first times we realized the scope of the whole thing. It was the first time we saw a bunch of kids singing the lyrics to our songs. It was really exciting because we had never played anywhere except New York at that point. We had no idea what was in store, or if anyone cared at all. It happens a lot where critics can be excited about something but people don't really care, and it can be the other way as well.

C: Do you think it will be different now that you’ve done the NME cover and you’re touring with bands like The Maccabees who have a pretty established UK fanbase?
J: I have to be honest, we’re so cut off from that whole thing, kind of on purpose. We try to not listen to any kind of modern music. We try to stay out of any sort of scene, so I haven’t heard-- I think I’ve heard a song, but I don’t really know if I have [by] any of the bands we’re touring with. I know they’re kind of popular and cool, and we’re really excited to go on tour with them, and it’ll be nice to make some new friends on the road.

C: If you could go on tour with anyone, who would be your ideal tour mates?
J: Well, if they were still going, I think my favorite band to tour with would be Orange Juice. [pauses] Morrissey, but he might be a little dramatic to be on the road with.

C: I was surprised when I got Summertime! and found out that it was only seven songs. Are you planning another short album or a longer one next time? Will you keep writing and recording while you’re on the road?
J: Well, Summertime! is technically an EP. In the States they called it an EP, in England they were calling it a mini-album. The full length is actually completed. We wrote most of the songs at the same time we wrote songs for the EP. Without sounding dramatic, it’s a little more personal and a little more brooding; it’s not all handclaps and whistles. We wrote a big batch of songs in Florida, and we noticed that we had a lot of summery-sounding, feel-good songs. The subject matter was still sad, but they had this sort of summery, 1960’s thing about them, so we decided to put them all together and call the EP Summertime! and be as blatant as we could. It kind of stays in form with our biggest obsession, which is pop music. I think every great pop song has to be simple and straightforward. Naturally, what was left was a little bit darker, more serious, more brooding. But Jacob still says this one song called ‘Book of Stories,’ which I think is pretty sad, could play at a 1950’s prom, so I don’t know.

C: Do you think the summery feel was influenced by living in Florida? Since you’ve moved to New York, will the songs have a more New York feel next time you write?
J: As much as I don’t want to admit it, I am very much a product of my surroundings. [slightly ironic] I’m a very sensitive soul, so when something changes around me I’m somewhat affected by it. When I moved to Florida with Jacob it was the dead of winter in New York. We drove down and it was the endless summer, sunny and warm every day, and I think without knowing it we started writing songs with a summery flavor. Everything I’d written before had been kind of dark. I imagine if I went to Russia and wrote an album, it would come back bony and dark and somewhat obscure and strange. For writing the next record I don’t know what I’ll do, if I’ll go back to Florida-- I don’t know if I can stomach that. [laughs] But definitely, where I am does play a part-- not in who I am as a person but in the songs that I put out.

C: What’s your favorite song to play live? Besides ‘Let’s Go Surfing,’ which I’m sure crowds are always excited about-- or maybe that’s not a favorite...
J: [laughs] ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ is actually one of my least favorite songs to play live. It’s just-- I don't know. I’d rather play any other song really. I think my favorite is a new song that we haven’t played live yet called ‘Book of Stories.’ It’s a really personal song and it really means something to me. I think when you believe in what you’re singing there’s something very powerful about that.
C: Do you think you’ll stop playing ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ someday?
J: Yeah, but probably not for a very long time. But we might just not be able to take it anymore. [laughs]
C: I sense some animosity.
J: No, I mean, we love the song. But I don’t know, of all the songs--we were still figuring everything out when we wrote ‘Let’s Go Surfing.’ But I think it’s really interesting and fun, you know? And it’s done so much for us. It’s funny; when we wrote ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ I was literally like, “Should we just use the word surfing?” and [Jacob] goes, “Why? We don’t surf.” I was like “I know, I don't even know why. It might really hold us back because I don't know anybody who surfs, do you?” and he was like, “No.” I said, “So no one is going to be able to relate to this song. No one’s gonna like it.” But we decided to just do it, because our number one rule is just do whatever we want. It’s just funny that it took off, and all these people who don't surf either want to dance to a song about surfing.
C: So none of you have ever surfed?
J: No, not that I know of. That song technically--we wrote in on inauguration day, when Obama was coming into office, and it’s more a song about being carefree and being let out of prison and just running wild. Unabashed freedom, you know? It felt like all of America was being let out of jail on that day, so it was a spur of the moment thing. I think living in Florida, near the beach, surfing was in our minds subconsciously. It’s a strange thing how that song came together. If you listen to the second verse it’s all about Obama moving into the White House. We’re not a political band at all, and we’re not really political at all as people, but it was really hard to not be moved by what was happening at the time.

C: So my last question is kind of the traditional beginning of the year deal-- what are you looking forward to most for 2010?
J: I think the most exciting thing for us is to release this album-- that should be like early spring. We put a lot into it, we’re really proud. Being on the road is going to be interesting. We looked at our schedule the other day for this year. We leave in a couple of weeks and we’re not back until around September or October. And I think I’m going to try to find time to write more songs, I want to constantly be writing. I think the most exciting thing is the unknown. I was so bored with my life before this. A lot of people start a band up being really inspired, for me it was kind of the opposite, everything seemed so dull and boring and I was kind of depressed. So I’m excited for a year of being busy and excited. There are so many unknowns right now; everything is so new, and it’s exciting to ride the wave-- [laughs] no pun intended.

Radio America

The 5 British Albums That Should Have Made It in the US This Year

Most of the time I don't mind that the music I like is never on the radio, and usually I understand why. ‘Crystallized’ is an amazing track, but it will never make it into the American Top 40. But there are a few albums every year that surprise me by not making the leap from Britain to major play in the US. They're not the most innovative albums of the year, or even necessarily my favorites (though I did enjoy them), but they should have been more popular in America. Here are my top 5 for 2009:

1.Little Boots-- Hands
The Lady Gaga comparisons-- sparkly outfits, bleach blonde hair, propensity for infectious dance beats-- are easy to make, so I'm shocked that Little Boots didn't find success in America this year. Though synth-heavy ‘Tune into My Heart’ might not have made it stateside, tracks like ‘Remedy’ and ‘Meddle’ are incredibly radio and club friendly. And Little Boots (at least in my opinion) seems much less cloyingly image focused than Lady Gaga and her rubbish tea cup.

2.White Lies-- To Lose My Life
They might be a little doom-and-gloom side with tracks entitled ‘Death’ and ‘Nothing to Give,’ but White Lies sound like The Killers locked themselves in a room with only Joy Division albums for six months and recorded the results, which should be a recipe for rock and college radio success. Combined with their number one debut in January and gig blitz across Europe this year, they're my pick for most likely to succeed among across the pond in 2010 if ‘Farewell to the Fairground’ or ‘To Lose My Life’ breaks through.

3.Florence + the Machine-- Lungs
The brilliantly minimalist punch of ‘Kiss with a Fist’ alone should have been enough to jump-start Florence Welch's US career, but despite her stratospheric rise to fame in England she's still under the radar here. Excuse the obvious comparison, but she seems like a potential heir to the Amy Winehouse English songstress title stateside. The impossibly catchy hook of ‘Drumming Song’ seems like her best chance for American success in the coming year.

4.Arctic Monkeys-- Humbug
I debated this one because Arctic Monkeys haven't failed to make it in America so much as been willfully ignored by radio here. Despite their astronomical buzz and far greater name recognition than any of the other bands on this list, I've yet to hear an Arctics song outside the most obscure depths of college radio and the lonely indie show that plays very early on Saturday mornings on my local Baltimore station. Humbug is by far the band's least British album, altered by Josh Homme's desert rock production and Turner's least slang-ridden lyrics, so it might be their best chance to break the American market. But catchy ‘Crying Lighting’ and ‘Cornerstone,’ one of the best songs in the Arctics catalogue, have failed to crack the Top 40 like ‘Brianstorm’ and ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ before them.

5.The Maccabees-- Wall of Arms
This one might just be wishful thinking on my part, but I loved Wall of Arms and thought it had some pop gems that could have done well on the radio in a place that Jason Mraz usually fills (I meant that as a compliment.) ‘Kiss and Resolve’ and ‘Love You Better’ have sparkling choruses that make them radio ready, though I have my doubts that they can succeed if ‘Toothpaste Kisses’ couldn't.

Runners Up:
Pete Doherty-- Grace/Wastelands
This one is hugely unlikely, but I just had to include it because it was one of my favorite albums of the year. It's also Doherty's most radio-friendly production by far, especially considering American's stricter censorship laws. But that doesn't mean it's objectively radio-ready. ‘Arcady’ might be an okay single....a girl can dream, right?

Franz Ferdinand-- Tonight
A great redeeming album for Franz after the somewhat lackluster YCHISMB, but they already got some radio play for ‘Take Me Out’ a few years ago, so I couldn't really include them. That said, I think ‘Ulysses’ and ‘Twilight Omens’ should have had legs here.

Games for Days

Julian Plenti
First Unitarian Church, Philadelphia, 27 November


First Unitarian Church, arguably Philadelphia's most unusual venue, was the last stop on the American leg of the Julian Plenti tour. A small but enthusiastic crowd crammed into the tiny basement gig space for a set that included both the softly introspective and angularly uptempo tracks from debut album Julian Plenti Is...Skyscraper. The music, a product of Interpol frontman Paul Banks' side solo gig, diverges from Interpol enough to make it worth a separate listen, while maintaining enough familiar hints of the other band to keep fans happy.

With only one album to draw from, Banks and his band played most of the debut, beginning with some gentler tracks and working up to more dramatic numbers like Fun That We Have . Standouts included soft, dark On the Esplanade and Only If You Run and Interpol-channeling Girl on the Sporting News, along with an unexpected snippet of Let It Snow in honor of the beginning of America's post-Thanksgiving Christmas season. The encore included a well-executed cover of America's A Horse With No Name and closed with lead single Games for Days, one of the most dynamic tracks of the night.

First Unitarian is one of my favorite venues because it provides an opportunity to see great bands in a remarkably intimate space. Banks and his band are well-suited to smaller gigs; the Julian Plenti sound isn't as cavernous and cold as Interpol and Banks' voice changes and modulates slightly, becoming less monotone, to suit the musical differences. Though it's technically a solo project, the band is an integral part of the performance, particularly the standout guitarist. Everyone seemed to be having a great time on stage and in the audience; another facet of First Uni is that it tends to draw an enthusiastic, musically well-informed crowd. Banks seemed pleased and surprised by the warm welcome to his new music; this week they take their solid show off for a short tour of Europe that's well worth attending.

Tonight, in Jungleland

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
First Mariner Arena, Baltimore, 20 Nov

Set list:
Wrecking Ball
Prove It All Night
Hungry Heart
Working on a Dream

--Born to Run--
Thunder Road
Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out
Night
Backstreets
Born to Run
She's the One
Meeting Across the River
Jungleland

Waitin' on a Sunny Day
Spirit in the Night
Green Onions
Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town
E Street Shuffle
For You
Radio Nowhere
My Love Will Not Let You Down
Long Walk Home
The Rising
Badlands

Ramrod
Hard Times
Land of Hope and Dreams
American Land
Dancing in the Dark
Rosalita
Higher and Higher
Glory Days


More to come.

Cornerstone

Arctic Monkeys
30 September, Electric Factory

I was most excited for my second concert encounter with Arctic Monkeys because it wasn’t going to be outside in a field of mud. Having seen them pre-Humbug this summer at soggy All Points West festival in New York, I looked forward to a more informed experience of tracks from the new album and a longer set that could include more classics. While the first wish was granted, the lack of material from older albums was an obvious disappointment for American fans who get to see the band so rarely. The band made choices to accommodate the dramatically new sound of Humbug, and while the set was cohesive and polished, the frenetic energy that once defined the Arctic Monkeys’ sound felt diminished.

The show kicked off with ‘Dance Little Liar,’ an unusually slow-burning opener that set the tone for the night. The clash between old material and new became apparent in follow-up ‘Brianstorm,’ which psyched the crowd up and injected more energy into the set. ‘Brianstorm’ segued neatly into lead single ‘Crying Lightning,’ bolstered by a militaristic drum roll during the bridge. The showcase of new material continued with the brilliant cover of Nick Cave’s ‘Red Right Hand’ that has been justifiably raved about since its release. ‘Red Right Hand’ is, tonally, what all of Humbug should be. Its creeping vocals and staccato drums echo standout tracks from the album like ‘My Propeller’ and outshine less spectacular moments like ‘Secret Door.’ The track was paired perfectly with ‘Propeller,’ which got a dramatic crowd reaction for its bombastic start before boiling up slowly again with twisting, Bond-theme guitars.

A change in tone occurred with ‘This House Is a Circus,’ which galloped into ‘Still Take You Home’ and ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor.’ Crowd response to classic tracks was massive, particularly the call and response chorus of ‘Dancefloor’ that had the room shouting back “You’re dynamite!”

The worst moment of the night was cacophonous b-side ‘Sketchead,’ a track that has neither the nuanced structure of Humbug nor the bright energy of Whatever People Say I Am... I thought a live version might change my feelings, but my dislike lingered as the band thrashed through a graceless arrangement. Brilliantly structured ‘Cornerstone’ and bouncy ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ redeemed the set as great closers. ‘Cornerstone’ in particular proved itself as one of the best tracks from the new album; it retains the band’s clever, personal lyrical structure while introducing a subtler musical approach.

A very brief encore saw Turner looking slightly muddled, particularly as he appeared on stage with the greeting, “Philly. Philly. Filet mignon.” ‘505’ closed the set rather softly, and the band departed to mixed chatter as the crowd filtered out.

The influence of Josh Homme’s production is apparent not only on Humbug, but on how the band tours. The interest in musical showmanship during their shows has changed; focus on Turner’s hyper literate lyrics is diminishing, and the band seems to have honed their skills to accommodate more complicated instrumentals. Turner’s vocals have also become more nuanced; the subtle emotion of ‘Cornerstone’ and seductive drawl of ‘My Propeller’ are departures from old tracks like ‘Dancing Shoes.’ That said, they haven’t quite made the transition from Sheffield punks to desert prowling rockers. Their best moments are still found in the combination of Turner’s wordy verses and simple, catchy hooks. Tracks like ‘Secret Door’ lack the punch of ‘Dancefloor,’ though the winding guitar of Humbug can also be compelling. The best marriage of the two appears in tracks like ‘Lightning’ and stomping ‘Dangerous Animals,’ with chanting chorus that could develop into a live favorite if Turner and the band ever remedy the strange lag between music and vocals that I experienced during both APW and this gig.

While the band is relatively motionless, concentrating on solid playing rather than dramatic showmanship, Alex Turner exudes a rockstar confidence that makes him magnetically watchable. That said, there’s slightly too much arrogance in his style, particularly as the band introduces the new sound of Humbug. He barely spoke to the crowd or even looked up from behind his affected, grunge-rock long hair; the most interaction occurred when he drowned out the crowd’s chants for ‘Mardy Bum’ (which, criminally, wasn’t part of the set) with guitar feedback.

Overall, the show represented a turning point for the band as they move away from their teenage punk roots. While their musicianship and the nuance of the songs themselves has increased, the energy that made the Monkeys so compelling is fading. Their willful departure from their old sound is admirable as a musical evolution, yet there is also a sense that they’re spitting in the faces of fans. The pair next to me lamented the absence of clever ‘When the Sun Goes Down,’ but Turner and Co. seemed to feel that they can’t return to the sound that made them famous because it undermines the levity of their new work. Good bands evolve, but great bands do so while remembering their roots.

Four Winds

The Killers
Merriweather Post Pavilion, Columbia, MD
August 31

August 31’s show at Merriweather Post Pavilion marked my third excellent encounter with The Killers; the only problem that plagues them is abysmal support. In London they were prefaced by talent-bereft Louis XIV, while this show paired them with Wolfmother, who shared nothing stylistically with their headliner. Their sonic onslaught and self-indulgent solos did little to engage the crowd. Andrew Stockdale asked if anyone had been to Wolfmother’s previous Merriweather show; met with silence he remarked, ‘Well, we have nothing in common.’ Truer words...

After a short interlude The Killers appeared, Brandon Flowers bounding onstage in feathered epaulettes. Opener ‘Joyride’ could have switched with Day & Age standout ‘Spaceman,’ which came later in the set. Despite its strange subject matter, ‘Spaceman’ is one of the most impressive songs in the band’s live repertoire, surging forward and pulling the crowd along in its grandiose wake. Follow ups like ‘Somebody Told Me’ paled in comparison, although crowd response to tracks from Hot Fuss was consistently massive.

The best surprise of the night was rarely-played ‘Believe Me, Natalie,’ a bright burst of synth that thrilled loyal fans like me. Though a technical keyboard issue had Flowers scowling, the song itself was dead-on, a perfect reminder of the slick, chilly sound that made the band famous.

Tracks from Sam’s Town were some of the biggest of the night, including the lovely and poignant ‘Read My Mind,’ ‘Bling’ with an added singalong verse, and ‘Bones,’ which saw Flowers at his most hand-shakingly enthusiastic. Joy Division cover ‘Shadowplay’ was solid, although I would have loved to hear their stunning cover of Conor Oberst’s ‘Four Winds’ (if you haven’t heard it yet, get it now). Flowers also threw in a brief interlude of ‘Love Me Tender.’ Set closer ‘All These Things That I’ve Done’ ended in a frenzied singalong under a rain of confetti, with Flowers conducting the crowd and brandishing his mic into thousands of singing voices.

An abbreviated encore of excellently dark ‘Jenny Was a Friend of Mine’ (with switched lyrics ‘she kicked and screamed while I held her throat’) and ‘When You Were Young’ kept up the energy at the end of the show, but my absolute favorite song of the night was ‘A Dustland Fairytale.’ Practically made for arena shows, the slow build from piano and vocals to a grandiose finale was stirring. The drama of the last verse had a girl behind me in the crowd crying, something I’ve never seen at a gig before.

The Killers put on a consistently energetic and diverse live show, and Flowers seems truly passionate, practically bursting with nervous energy as he sprints across the stage. The best thing about repeat viewings of their gigs is seeing how he’s changed. Once nervously stiff and tethered to his keyboard, Flowers now spends the show in motion, leaping onto speakers, twirling the mic stand, and gesturing wildly. At Merriweather he also seemed to be having a great time, cracking a smile in the midst of songs, shoving guitarist Dave Keuning forward playfully during a solo, and reaching out to grab the hands of a few lucky fans, something I would never have expected on the Hot Fuss tour. Perhaps his shining new stage presence reflects the expansion of The Killers’ music from their dark Vegas roots and the dusty desert to the brighter, more diverse sound of this Day & Age.

Island in the Sun

Virgin Mobile Freefest
Merriweather Post Pavilion, Columbia, MD
August 30

I packed my rainboots for Virgin Mobile Freefest but was surprised by beautiful sun, while the grounds of Merriweather Post Pavilion (made famous by Animal Collective) provided shady space for listening to the diverse acts. The Pavilion Stage lineup focused on the mainstream, while the West Stage was a mix of indie and...Public Enemy. Still trying to figure that out.

The first band I caught was Taking Back Sunday, who were the day’s biggest disappointment. Plagued by fuzzy sound that was further marred by sludgy dance tent echo, their songs seemed largely the same, a mix of unclear guitars and middling vocals. Even the afternoon sun was against them; the pavilion’s shadow was so deep that the band was completely obscured for lawn viewers, eliminating the chance for a redeeming stage presence.

Next up were Jet, who topped Taking Back Sunday but didn’t thrill. Their sound quality was far better, but it couldn’t negate the fact that the majority of their songs sounded similar. Crowd pleasers like ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl’ and ‘Cold Hard Bitch’ delivered, but new tracks fell flat.

Jet were followed by The Bravery. Their new songs sounded similar to the old, so favorites like ‘An Honest Mistake’ carried the set. The Bravery are technically solid but I found that they lacked a crucial energy live. Moments like the sharp opening bass line of ‘Believe’ drew me in, but others, like a loping version of “Time Won’t Let Me Go,’ didn’t hold my attention. One interesting moment-- Sam Endicott introduced new track ‘Jack o’ Lantern Man’ as ‘a song about a guy I fucking hate.’ Still curious who that is.

Awaiting Weezer, the crowd was treated to the spectacle of two parachutists jumping from a helicopter onto the roof of the pavilion, where they shared champagne with unexpected guest Richard Branson. The parachutists and Weezer were the biggest surprises of the night; Weezer nailed their set with upbeat energy and technical prowess. Opening with a snippet of ‘War Pigs,’ they moved to ‘Hash Pipe’ and ‘Undone (The Sweater Song),’ perfect tracks to engage the expanding crowd. New single ‘(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To’ was enjoyably uptempo and followed by classics like ‘Buddy Holly’ and ‘Say It Ain’t So.’

Memories of middle school prompted me to stay for Blink-182 instead of catching Girl Talk (a terrible mistake). My notes read, in full, ‘Damn annoying.’ Blink’s musical skill was mediocre at best and Tom DeLonge reveled in childish stage banter that revolved around how many obscenities he could fit into an intro. (The songs were not as ‘fucking awesome’ as he thought, and they certainly didn’t ‘blow [my] dick off.’) After enduring a few tracks including ‘Rock Show,’ I cut my losses and left for Franz Ferdinand.

The criminally underpopulated West Stage hosted Franz’s set, which could be faulted only for excessive smoke machine use, obscuring louchely energetic frontman Alex Kapranos and guitarist Nick McCarthy as sharp opener ‘This Fire’ got the crowd moving. Standouts included the terrific ‘No You Girls,’ a stomp through ‘Take Me Out,’ and ‘Outsiders,’ which saw the entire band attacking the drum kit for an extended outro. ‘Turn It On’ and ‘Tell Her Tonight’ lagged, but the encore solidified the band’s place as my favorite of the day. Energetic ‘Michael’ and ‘Darts of Pleasure’ preceded a stunning version of ‘Lucid Dreams.’ While the sprawling keyboard solo that concluded the track might have challenged casual listeners, it was a joy for fans. Kapranos and McCarthy created extended waves of sound on multiple keyboards, layering beats carefully for nearly fifteen minutes before letting the track fade to drums as waves of residual smoke roiled across the stage.

Bang Bang Rock and Roll

Art Brut sagely advises, “Stop buying your albums from the supermarket,” and people have taken heed. In light of constantly dwindling album sales, I like reading the somewhat quaintly outdated US Neilson Soundscan chart. The thing about the chart that interests me most is what’s not selling - it reflects little about the music (predominantly rock and indie) that most people I know enjoy .

In fairness, my friends and I spend a lot of time on independent music websites; we’re not exactly the Lady Gaga fan club. But I assumed that Lady Gaga and her Top 40 contemporaries would dominate sales, so the country and rap albums that populate the top 20 surprise me, as does the lack of rock besides Nickelback and their abysmal sound-alikes. The sole entry that could even remotely (at this point, incredibly remotely) be termed indie in last week’s chart was Kings of Leon. Where is the music that my friends listen to? Hell, where is the music that my parents listen to?

Country is easy to understand; its audience skews older, making their conversion to digital music slower. And country fans are fiercely loyal to their favourite artists; purchasing an album is a sure way to support Carrie Underwood or George Strait (whose albums are certified 68x platinum - talk about loyalty).

Rap is harder to explain. Its fans are young, and considering the number of new rappers charting, it’s safe to say they don’t have much “brand loyalty”. My best guess is that music blogs just aren’t hosting the latest rap leak, so listeners access their music the old fashioned (or just legal) way. In an unscientific test, I searched high-charting rapper Fabolous and indie newcomers The XX on blog aggregator elbo.ws. The results? 236 hits for Fabolous, and 1256 for The XX, who released their debut in America just last week. Fans might want to get their music online, but the option just isn’t there to the same extent.

The obvious opposing question is: Why aren’t rock fans buying albums? I polled some friends and the feedback was universal: none of them buy CDs because the blog culture that ignores rap is a bounty of indie and rock. One said she hadn’t bought a physical album in “about five years” because access to music online is instant and expansive. These genres also aren’t charting because many albums are impossible to find for fans who are loyal enough to buy. A friend in northern California told me she’d been conducting a futile search for the new Maccabees CD. Online sales solve some of these problems, but I still find delayed release dates for international artists a frustrating issue. What about older fans? Some have gone really old school; I recently saw a friend’s father firing up a turntable for vintage rock records instead of CDs or an iPod. Others, like my parents, have become downloaders by proxy, snagging new music that I recommend.

Final question: why do more diverse albums chart in the UK? As I write, Arctic Monkey’s 'Humbug' is on track for number one. Part of the difference is attributable to the music culture; mainstream media focuses more on rock and indie, getting bands like Muse, White Lies, and Kings of Leon out from under the radar quickly and attracting fans who aren’t online specifically to sample new music. Another difference lies in record stores. Independents like Rough Trade stock albums that are hard to get in America, and even HMV has a selection that puts most US shops to shame. Fans like my Maccabees-seeking friend are more likely to support their favourite bands through album sales if albums are available.

So how can the American chart change? Honestly, I’m not sure. Better distribution, online and in stores, seems to be step one, but indie bands also have to win back ravenous music lovers who download for maximum exposure to new music. The silver lining? Rampant downloading creates hordes of new fans who come out to gigs. In fact, I’d love to see a gig chart. Maybe Nickelback wouldn’t be on it.

When your feet get wet at a Coldplay show/What could be worse?

All Points West
Aug 1-2, Liberty State Park, NJ

I thought I could escape the murky conditions that plague U.K. festivals by attending All Points West, but rain and mud made a transatlantic trip, turning the weekend into a damp experience. Skipping stormy Friday, I trekked from Manhattan to New Jersey and kicked off Saturday with Arctic Monkeys. Against the backdrop of the Statue of Liberty, Turner and Co. started their set with ‘Pretty Visitors,’ which has a guitar-crunching chorus tailor-made for live performances. They sprinted through ‘Brianstorm,’ then introduced ‘Potion Approaching,’ another new addition that sadly lacked ‘Visitors’ punch. ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ got the crowd going and was followed by ‘Cornerstone,’ possibly my favorite track from Humbug. Other standouts were slinky ‘My Propeller’ and perennial favorite ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor.’ Strangely, the song tempo sometimes lagged, so the sense of witty urgency that characterizes the Monkeys didn’t always translate.

A wander across the park brought me to Chairlift, closing with ‘Bruises,’ the single made famous on U.S. iPod ads. The rest of their set was unremarkable, stronger for its instrumentals than for Caroline Polacheck’s occasionally shrill vocals. Tokyo Police Club woke the post-Chairlift crowd with energetic performance, which my friends and I voted a pleasant surprise.

Tool was Saturday’s headliner, but I opted for Crystal Castles along with the rest of the attendees not wearing Tool t-shirts (apparently a prerequisite for their gigs). Alice Glass appeared waving a spotlight above her head to compliment the stark lights that synced with their chilly electro. Highlights included ‘Crimewave,’ cleverly echoed in stuttering samples throughout the set, and crowd favorite ‘Courtship Dating.’ Glass, despite her frenetic, equipment-climbing energy, was entirely drowned out by Ethan Kath’s compelling layers of fuzzy sound and shrill keyboard. In spite of this, the crowd was one of the most hyped of the weekend and the set made a great end to day one.

Sunday morning downpours churned the ground into an inexplicably foul-smelling sea of mud that worsened as the day went on. My long-suffering friends and I caught the end of Silversun Pickups, who were unexpectedly high-energy given their laid back album vibe. Underwhelmed, I left after ‘Lazy Eye’ and sloshed off to We Are Scientists, whose older tracks got the most crowd response. ‘Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt’ was by far the favorite, although I was disappointed that a late start abbreviated them to six tracks.

Mud rising steadily, I trekked to the main stage. With the rain over, the crowd sprawled on ponchos and raincoats to see Elbow, Echo and the Bunnymen, and headliner Coldplay. I arrived to find Guy Garvey introducing ‘Grounds for Divorce,’ a perfect song for large festival crowds. ‘Divorce’ combined with sweeping, violin-tinged closer ‘On a Day Like This’ put Elbow in competition for the technically strongest band of the weekend.

Brooding Echo and the Bunnymen seemed subdued in comparison. Opener ‘Lips Like Sugar’ was my favorite track, although the pair in front of me enthusiastically doing yoga (yes, seriously, not a euphemism, actually doing yoga) preferred a sparkling version of ‘Bring on the Dancing Horses.’ They closed with what Ian McCulloch called a ‘holy trinity’ including ‘The Killing Moon’ and wonderfully dark ‘The Cutter.’

The sun set before Coldplay, who opened with booming ‘Violet Hill,’ followed by the angular lasers of ‘Clocks’ against Manhattan’s skyline. Chris Martin proclaimed APW “the strangest smelling festival,” altering the lyrics of ‘Fix You’ to “When your feet get wet at a Coldplay show/ What could be worse?” They included a gorgeous take on ‘Lovers in Japan’ and a cluster of acoustic songs played in the crowd, including a decent but unremarkable cover of ‘Billie Jean’ ‘The Scientist’ was an ideal encore, with the crowd singing along as the festival concluded.

I skipped the middle of Coldplay to see MGMT. Ankles submerged in disconcertingly warm mud and surrounded by bandanas and paisley, I caught the second half of ‘Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters’ splendidly psychedelic guitars, the terrific crescendos of ‘Weekend Wars,’ and new track ‘It’s Working.’ ‘Kids’ was sharp and catchy, and ‘Electric Feel’ was enjoyable, although it suffered from nasal vocals. I rejoined my friends and we made our way out through the mix of bog and murky, oceanic puddles. As we crossed the central swamp my sandal was ripped apart by the sticky mud and became my final apparel casualty. I headed back to Manhattan soggy and shoeless but satisfied.

"Like Girl Talk's hot cousin"

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)

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.

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.

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.