What is there to say about a Dan Deacon concert that hasn’t already been said? He’s probably one of the most photographed and documented live acts in recent years — and especially considering his studio albums are decent at best, covering the Baltimore native is no small task. How do I spin something that’s so well-known? Yet upon experiencing it myself, it was exactly what I expected.
Branx – Portland, OR – 3 December 2011
Purple & Green
As the night began, Portland electro-funk revivalists Purple & Green took the stage at the near-max capacity Branx. I’ve always been fascinated with all-ages shows in Portland, as it seems to draw the most overpowered, immature people I’ve ever seen at concerts. Halfway through Purple & Green’s set it became apparent that this show was going to be no different. As enigmatic lead singer Justin Johnson’s glitter-painted body began to move about the stage, interacting with the crowd and belting out some of the most impressive male vocals I’ve ever heard on a disco track, you could tell that the fans were here to move. And move they would. Three tracks into the band’s nearly hour-long set, one, ten, then about thirty raving crowd members jumped onto the stage to join the band. The dynamic between the stage and the rest of the crowd was now rather interesting, as all of people who were dancing left the floor for the elevated platform, and Johnson used the extra real estate to his advantage. With producer Adam Forkner buried behind a dozen different tween couple making out, Johnson roamed the crowd, leading the audience in various chants and dances. It was fun, and Purple & Green still teeter on the brink of absolute stardom, especially with singles like “Right Here,” but my patience with the questionably young crowd members began to grow thin.
Dan Deacon
So when Dan Deacon began to forge his path into the front of the crowd, setting up his modest collection of pedals and keyboards, I was interested to see how well it would hold up as the show carried on. Also with Deacon was his signature light pole, outrigged with a glowing green skull and various patterned strobes and colored lights. So there’s your tangible analysis of Dan Deacon at Branx on a brisk December night. But seeing Deacon is more of an experience than it is a performance. It’s one of those things that you are either going to love if you put yourself out there, or you’re going to hate if you have no interest in spastic electronic music and sweaty bodies. It’s all been documented before: the interpretive dance circles, the crowd participation, Deacon’s monologues. Whether you’ve heard a lick of Deacon on record or not, you’re probably well-versed in what his live shows entail. So sure, it was predictable. But that doesn’t mean the charm and energy has left his concerts; in fact, nearly three years after the release of his last record, Deacon is still touring as strong as ever. And even though I was a fan of Spiderman of the Rings and Bromst, I couldn’t name a single track he played that night. A few bars seemed recognizable, but either way, the music itself is hardly the point of the show. At various points during the night, Deacon had to stop the show and tell the crowd to calm down and back off his table of gadgets and lights, as multiple crowd surfers and bodies came within inches of derailing the entire performance. There was even an incident where Deacon shut everything off and screamed at a patron to leave the venue, calling him a creep and chastising the member for invading his personal space. It was all surreal, frantic, and powerful. I fear the opinion of somebody who was new to Deacon’s work, but for myself, it was everything I expected. Which is to say, it was a Dan Deacon concert.
“This new Russian Circles album is their best one yet,” I said last month for the fourth time in my life to the clerk at Sonic Boom Records. She stared back at me blankly as I gleefully clutched my new copy of Empros and ran home for its first spin. The album is awesome, of course. So when Russian Circles hit the road, I had to come home early from a long Thanksgiving weekend just to see them.
2011 November 26 – Seattle, WA – Neumos
Deafheaven
New San Francisco black-metallers Deafheaven took the stage, and after a harmonious intro that left me thinking I was going to fly into the post-rock clouds, the double bass started, and the nasally vocals commenced. The newly signed Deathwish Inc. band was one of the best first opening act surprises I’ve had in a long while as they brutally dragged the crowd for three sludge metal songs in the vein of Wolves In The Throne Room. The band was relentless, intense, and face-melting faces — all requirements of solid metal acts.
Crypts
Up next was new electro-bizarreness band Crypts. The three-piece features the wild antics of Steve Snere (vocalist of These Arms Are Snakes and Kill Sadie) and then a couple of other guys huddled behind laptops and various electronic equipment. Considering the overtly heavy edge of the bands before and after Crypts, it was a tough sell to try and get into their music. The bass rattled heavily, so much you could feel it in your organs, and the beats were hard, with odd synth melodies thrown in. Snere was what he always was — an absolute whirlwind of limbs, endlessly gyrating the air, flung every which way across the stage. It was, like all of his performances, an impressive display of energy. But it was hard to pique the interest of the mostly metal-minded crowd. Crypts don’t createt head-banging music. And despite the band’s best efforts, heavy distorted beats didn’t create the same reaction as heavy guitar riffs.
Russian Circles
Russian Circles keep getting better and better with every release. Despite touring in support for Empros, the band played a varied set, taking songs from each of their four releases. The most impressive thing about the band is live; they are a ven diagram of total noise. Guitarist Mike Sullivan mans his loop pedals like a master, effortlessly re-creating his sprawling riffs. Drummer Dave Turncrantz could be one of the more underrated drummers in the metal world. His knack for jazz-influenced drum fills and command of wailing on the crash cymbals really plow the band through. Bassist Brian Cook could be the lynchpin of the whole thing, though. The ex-These Arms Are Snakes/Botch bassist commands the low end of the spectrum with an unmatched authority. On stage, he is a bass-driven demon devouring the souls of treble clefs. The thing is, though, no one of the three really shines above and beyond the rest. So as the band slayed its way through an hour-plus long set, the final goal of destroying at least one eardrum of everyone in attendance was easily done. Russian Circles are on a clear route to ending up as one of the premiere instrumental acts in the world.
It’s been a fascinating and, from a fan’s perspective, incredibly fun year for Brooklyn disco-rock revivalists Holy Ghost! The band finally released their anticipated debut album on DFA Records, the label that has essentially raised the band from its infancy to their now tour headlining billing. For the most part, Holy Ghost! is criminally underrated, an album that bridges popular music with New York’s more underground disco scene. But you couldn’t tell from the crowd at the Holocene on Wednesday night that Holy Ghost! are flying under the radar, as the packed venue was rather raucous all night.
Remix Artist Collective & Eli Escobar
The show’s bill was actually quiet impressive. RAC (Remix Artist Collective) and Eli Escobar DJ’d in between sets from Holy Ghost! and Jessica 6, another band who impressed an eager crowd. Both mixmasters have been staples of the electronic pop and turntable scene for quite some time, so even though their sets played second fiddle to the two live acts, it was great having them there. And if nothing else, they got people dancing.
Jessica 6
Sandwiched between both DJs and before Holy Ghost!, Jessica 6 took their ferocious brand of Donna Summer-esque dance music to the stage. I use the Summer comparison in the sense that transgender lead singer Nomi Ruiz is a commanding sexual force on stage, upstaged only by her own vocals. Much like Holy Ghost!, Jessica 6, represented on stage as Nomie, a keyboardist, bassist, and drummer, also released their first album this year. As the crowd began to pour in from the street, all eyes descended upon Jessica 6 as they played an extended and satisfying set, touching on all of the high points from the album along with some brief but awesome freestyle work. Part of what makes Jessica 6 so successful live, and the same reason why Holy Ghost! thrive, is their ability to translate a mostly electronic sound on album to a beautiful and massive sound with live instruments. Sure, all eyes are on Nomi, but bassist Andrew Raposo deserves more credit for his unrelenting work. Same goes for the band’s touring drummer. When Nomi belted out the intro to their single “Fun Girl,” there were definitely some surprised faces in the audience, but it’s safe to say every person was pleasantly surprised with the opening act.
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Holy Ghost!
There is just something about a live electronic performance that has always blown me away. It’s the same reason why people say seeing Soulwax live is a life-changing experience; when an electronic album comes to life, there’s a sense of astonishment and excitement that remains unmatched. And this sentiment reigns especially true for Holy Ghost! on their current tour, as they’ve taken to the road as a six-piece band for the first time. Complete with two massive analog synthesizer racks, keyboards, arpeggiators, a full drum kit, bass and electric guitars, the band’s setup took up most of the stage at the Holocene. The main room was at capacity before the set began, the crowd bursting into cheers as Holy Ghost!’s members, Nick Millhiser and Alex Frankel, walked up the stage, surrounded by their beyond talented touring members. Outfitted with a ten foot wide panel of lights that were synced to the keyboards, the overhead lights were dim, only revealing the band at certain bursts. Frankel’s enthusiastic presence behind the mic had the crowd waving their hands in the air and singing along all night, capped off by his entrance into the crowd toward the end of the set.
Millhiser was the more reluctant member of the two, taking to a keyboard and mic tucked into the back corner of the stage. The biggest testament to the success of the band’s current tour is their ability to take some of the more lackluster tracks on the album and completely reinvigorate them on stage. Of course fans loved “Static on the Wire” or “Wait and See,” but Holy Ghost! gave life to rather stale tracks like “It’s Not Over” and “Slow Motion.” In their hour or so on stage, the band essentially played every track they recorded for the album, and in each case, they did it masterfully.
This probably won’t be the most “professional” review ever — but in my shaky defense, I dare say that previous revisions were even more visceral and less sophisticated than this one… so there’s that.
Now onto the concert-going frustrations of a La Dispute fan over the age of 21…
I first heard La Dispute over three years ago, and it was instant love. Somewhere at the Bottom of the River Between Vega and Altair became a favorite of that year and has remained on regular rotation ever since. Even then, at 24, I was a loner in my fandom; few of my peers could appreciate why I adored La Dispute, and I learned not to care. I made peace with the fact that people think it’s alright to like emo/hardcore/whatever when they’re younger but shun it when they’re older. I learned to accept that if people were unwilling to look past genre tags, they would never discover vocalist Jordan Dreyer’s compelling lyrical narratives. But it’s fine. To each their own, I say! — or did say, anyway. That was before I went to La Dispute shows, though — before “their own” ever encroached on “my own” and affected my concert-going experiences. Now I just want them to see the light.
Wonder Ballroom – Portland, OR – 5 November 2011
In 2009, La Dispute were on tour with Thursday, and I caught them in Detroit, not far from their hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was then that I learned that La Dispute shows seem to be comprised of the following human components: real dismal jerk-offs, extremely stoked kids, and completely apathetic individuals. I’d somehow had the great fortune of surrounding myself with “real dismal jerk-offs” that evening. These misers were next-level, though; they not only hated on La Dispute, but spouted racist epithets, too. In their initial ramblings, they implied that all Arabs are terrorists. Later, when I pulled out my camera to take photos, one commented that I had a camera, and another smugly responded, “Of course.” Wait, of course why exactly? Because I’m Asian? Yes, he was alluding to that, indeed. I held my tongue and fumed, only to fume more as they abusively and loudly judged La Dispute, making fun of Dreyer for his “emo” voice and sarcastically calling for encores throughout their set.
Tonight, two years later, I’ve managed to catch La Dispute again. They’re on tour with Thrice, and I am hundreds of miles from Detroit, in Portland, Oregon — but the same misers are here. Just like before, they make fun of Dreyer’s “emo” voice and sarcastically call for encores. Just like before, they don’t realize that all across the country, there are clones of themselves, saying and thinking the exact same brainless negative things. Just like before, I’ve somehow managed to surround myself with these horribly, horribly unoriginal whiners…
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An unsavory crowd has put a damper on my experience both times I’ve seen La Dispute. I chalk this up to the fact that their nation-wide tours have been with large bands like Thursday and Thrice — both of whom have long-running, established fanbases that are comfortable and don’t necessarily seek change. Unlike Thursday, though, Thrice has come a long way stylistically in the past decade. (Editor’s Note: Okay, fine, you win; I am incorrect in this statement and Thursday have changed, too. Apologies.) Their recent outputs are more instrumentally-complex and textural than their early hardcore albums, and they’ve grown up for all to see. For those who are just absorbing Thrice’s music now, La Dispute may seem like a most ridiculous opener. You can bet that the dismal jerk-offs love this dichotomy.
In the same breath that they’re calling for songs from Thrice’s latest, Major/Minor, they’re making fun of Dreyer for playing a tambourine or looking emaciated from pushing his body to the limit — and one can hypothesize that what they’re really miserable about is how painfully ignorant they are. Telling your friends you dislike a band is one thing; heckling loudly at a band that is playing to a sold-out crowd just makes you look like an idiot. It might help you to stop for a moment and consider why bands like Thursday and Thrice are bringing La Dispute on tour to begin with. Bands with followings as devoted as Thrice’s or Thursday’s don’t need to bring a No Sleep Records band on tour with them. Consider, then, you curmudgeons, that perhaps these bands that you absolutely idolize might find worth in the band you’re shitting on. Maybe you could show just the least bit of respect, too!?
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This mean-spiritedness is particularly despicable when directed towards La Dispute because of the joy the band exudes as well as fosters in the all-ages community. As I stood in the 21-and-over section of Wonder Ballroom, I realized that I was, as usual, the lone fan in a sea of skeptics — though some warmed up as their set went on. All of La Dispute’s existing fans — the “extremely stoked kids” — were front-and-center in the all-ages section. Their enthusiasm kicked to the curb my previous assumption that kids only sang along with La Dispute at the Detroit show because of Detroit’s proximity to the band’s hometown. Not so. The extremely stoked kids in Portland love La Dispute just as much as the extremely stoked kids in Detroit; they know all the lyrics and all the breakdowns — and it’s not just a few of them. It’s dozens of them, roaring back like lions. The music speaks to them on a level that’s much, much deeper than just surface, and that should mean something to even the most jaded of hearts.
But as the kids were enjoying themselves this evening at Wonder Ballroom, the bitter individuals behind me threw up their hands in bemusement, “holier-than-thou”-ness radiating from their every scoff. I’ve learned that their confidence is a pretense for cowardice. When I confronted the racists in Detroit, I gave a general statement defending the Arab community and explained quite plainly that I had a camera because I run a music magazine. The main culprit backpedaled immediately. He claimed that none of what he said was what he meant, and his less ostentatious friend called him an asshole, attempting to diffuse the situation with a weak “good cop” act. His dishonesty was obviously not convincing.
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This evening, too, had one particularly outspoken master of heckles who was surrounded by less intense followers. After one follower played mock air guitar and vapidly complained about La Dispute being too “dramatic,” I turned to him and calmly asked, “I’m just curious; are you familiar with Thrice’s old material? Because it very much resides in the same world as this.”
“Oh no,” he responded immediately. “I have just never seen them before, that’s all.”
“But you’re hating on them so hard,” I replied — and he had nothing more to say. Suddenly, he too had no ill will and was just misunderstood.
Later, the outspoken master of heckles was running through his latest cycle of snide “One more song!”‘s and fake cheers when Dreyer began to reflect upon the positive aspects of the evening’s show. He gave a heartfelt monologue about how La Dispute felt at ease in Portland due to the crowd’s warm reception and concluded by saying of the venue, “This kind of place is important because it not only gives us a home, but gives everyone here a home… so, thank you.”
It was clear that the thanks came from a place of honesty. And with such an immediate juxtaposition between unwarranted bitterness and blinding gratitude, I’m sure the heckler felt ridiculous for being so negative. He remained silent for the remainder of the set.
I’d like to think that such tales are examples of disarmament through gentle logic and of enlightenment warming cold souls by proxy. Maybe it’s a stretch. Maybe it’s overly optimistic. I don’t care. I’m going to stick to that ideal, and to end this review — if you can even call this that — I’m going to incorporate the band’s spirit to back me up. Here’s “The Castle Builders” from Somewhere at the Bottom of the River Between Vega and Altair. Love it or leave it.
—
Now speak of anger,
Forget all the fears you’ve kept about love and sex and death and faith,
Erased, or swinging sweet from around her neck and between her breasts.
Let every lonely body finally break its fear of flesh and say,
“How strange it must’ve been back when we shook at the sight of sweat.”
Let our worries wander out of like water streaming from a spring,
And sing of all the things our heads have failed to ruin yet.
There’s so much they have failed to ruin yet.
Bright as lightning, loud as thunder,
We’ll move all the hurt aside to let love sustain our passions,
And move up and onward.
We are not our losses, we are only the extent to which we love.
So build a home for your family, and build a castle for your friends.
Now set their beds with sheets and blankets, keep them safe until the end.
I’ve felt the damage and burn from the fallout.
My love failed but theirs prevailed.
My friends, I’m only flesh and bone,
But I won’t let you die alone.
So leave our hearts at the foot of the mountain.
Let our burdens be locked in the stone.
If you will help me roll it upward,
I won’t let you die alone.
I see a beauty springing upward from the earth and from out our hearts.
For all the bad that seems to plague us, I swear to you there’s good.
They say that death is not a problem, it’s a promise,
I can only say for sure that when it makes your bed I’ll kiss your head “Goodnight.”
So speak of all the love we lost, and what it cost us,
Left us beg our breath to stop but we kept on and
We were strong. We stayed bright as lightning,
We sang loud as thunder, we moved ever forward.
We are not our failures. We are love.
The crowd at The Casbah seemed to lovingly embrace fem-fueled rock and three-pieces at the tour stop for Shonen Knife and Oakland’s Shannon And The Clams. Between all three acts, all with strong female leads, and the customary guitar, bass, and drums set ups, the night wasn’t without fast three-chord ditties all nicely honed to a woman’s touch.
Jungle Fever
SD locals Jungle Fever were up first, a trio with all the pop-power of a band like Shonen Knife, but with enough bad girl edge to set them apart from being a cross-cultural equivalent. Songs like “I Won’t Tell Your Wife” and “Cryin Blood” are every bit street-tough as they are catchy Go-Go’s-inspired fun. The pouty lips of guitarist Kelly Alvarez delivered blazing teases and backhanded dismissals in a set of spunky garage rock. In hearing their buzzy punk guitars, it didn’t seem surprising that these ladies’ next gig will be in a motorcycle shop.
Shannon And The Clams
Shannon And The Clams’ seemed to be an even more distant throwback to ’60s rockabilly and baritone guitar with twangy country soloing. Bassist Shannon Shaw’s blasts of gritty caterwauling have a raw yet romantic chemistry with guitarist Cody Blanchard’s squawky vocal melodies. The single “Sleep Walk” was a raucous flexing of Shaw’s alto while she simultaneously kept dexterous rhythm on bass. The band’s interplay of kooky live energy and turn-back-the-clock style effortlessly made their songs of young love and regret feel happily danceable as well as bittersweet. Do catch them live if you get the chance.
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Shonen Knife
With over 30 years of history backing the band, chances are that Shonen Knife were rocking before you were in kindergarten. The band has never slowed in their career of dedication to fun sprightly punk, making their live show a vast timeline of their work. The band continuously passes vocal duties when playing their catalog; even drummer Emi Morimoto led many of the songs in playful chants over her drum kit. Taking the stage with matching patterned dresses and plenty of enthusiastic smiles, these ladies from Japan prove that underground music transcends time and space. Songs like “Rock Society” feature more technical guitar leads while classics like 1991′s “Red Kross” get a nice live update. They may loose a bassist or drummer here and there, but Shonen Knife have enough “hey-ho”‘s and power chords to avoid thinking of retirement.
I’ve never been the biggest fan of magazine-sponsored package tours. A lot of times, the package just doesn’t seem to work out that well for anyone, except for that one weird guy who is the only person in the world that is the biggest fan of all the bands playing that night. Going in, the AP Tour featuring Four Year Strong, Gallows, Title Fight, The Swellers, and Sharks seemed exactly like it would be one of those tours.
From the beginning, just due to headliners Four Year Strong (and the fact the tour is sponsored by AP), I knew it was going to be a young crowd. However, I didn’t anticipate it being such a young crowd that the show started at an absurdly early time for a weekday evening, and by the time I arrived The Swellers were already wholeheartedly thanking the crowd for showing up so early to watch them play.
El Corazon – Seattle, WA – 1 November 2011
Title Fight
But the real gem of the tour was up next, and the began the evening with an interesting tone. Title Fight made quite the wave in the punk community with their excellent release Shed, and the young upstarts have also managed to do what random bands tend to do every now and then — get completely embraced by the narrow horse blinders of the hardcore community. The four-piece stormed through their set, comprised mostly of material from Shed, but did it without the standard preaching and inspirational, individualistic statements that tend to interlude hardcore sets. Watching Title Fight, whose love for pop-punk soft spots Lifetime shine on their sleeves, made me wish I were 18 again — and not some jaded ex-punk with a balky hip. There is something to be said for that special kind of energy. A lot of bands from one’s youth can make even the oldest of old punks want to dive headfirst into that pit, but it takes a special kind of sound for a new band to inspire such nostalgia. Title Fight is the soundtrack to your youth even if you’ve never been there.
Gallows
The popular hardcore act from across the pond, Gallows, were up next. But the band is no longer the popular hardcore act from across the pond; as newly minted frontman Wade MacNeil (ex-Alexisonfire) said, “We are Gallows, a band from the UK by means of Canada.” Gallows were the odd pick for this tour, as the excessively young crowdgoers weren’t quite aware of what they were viewing (which was an English powerhouse that have received praise for how they’ve worked the music industry in ways reserved for the Sex Pistols). Gallows are harsh, abrasive, evil, and very English. The band snarled and spit their way through a very short, but very energetic, thirty-minute set, with both MacNeil and guitarist Steph Carter hopping into the crowd during “London is the Reason.” This US tour is a big moment for Gallows since their original vocalist Frank Carter left the band due to creative differences. As the band launched into “Orchestra of Wolves” to close out the set, it became apparent that MacNeil, while doing a great job of howling into the microphone, just doesn’t fill the void that Carter left. He isn’t abrasive enough. He doesn’t have the maniacal eyes shooting “fuck you” daggers into everyone he looks at (seriously: read the lyrics to “Orchestra of Wolves” and ask yourself if the singer of Alexisonfire would ever dream of writing such things). It’s an unfortunate thing, as Gallows have the potential to set the world on fire and watch it burn. They already did that to Warner Brothers after releasing Grey Britain… but MacNeil seems to lack the fire to do such things.
Four Year Strong
Which then leads into Four Year Strong, and the overall oddity of this package tour. With Four Year Strong shirts abounding, most in the crowd were visibly there to see them. But where Title Fight take their hardcore past seriously by means of their influences, and Gallows take their hardcore seriously by means of their absurd amounts of anger, Four Year Strong do not take their hardcore seriously — because they are not a hardcore band. They are a pop-punk band, who some people fail to argue as having hardcore tendencies. The odd make-up of the crowd was shattered, and the less-than-stuffed El Corazon (I’ll blame the Tuesday night and the sort of high ticket prices) gained a few more patrons. It was unfortunate, because the 90% of the crowd that was there to see Four Year Strong had a 0% participation rate for Title Fight and Gallows — two bands that definitely deserve the appreciation, at least musically, for taking chances that the headlining band doesn’t take.
But considering what is popular in today’s youthful ears, I guess that is why Four Year Strong are the headliners.
Keeping score of Battles’ musical configuration from album to album can be perplexing, but the effort is more than worth the confusion. They began as an instrumental band (EP C), to add vocals (Mirrored), then lose vocalist Tyondai Braxton. For their latest, Gloss Drop, they’ve featured a whole host of guest vocalists. As Battles is now a trio featuring founding members Ian William (Don Caballero), John Stainer (Helmet), and Dave Konopka (Lynx); they must answer the question, “How do we recreate an album of guest vocalists live?” And more importantly, will Gary Numan come along and let us use his jet?
The Mayan – Los Angeles, CA – 17 October 2011
Tokyo-based Nisennenmondai opened the show. Like Battles, they are a trio of experimental sound — composed of dainty Japanese women. These ladies played a set of repetitively driving, sometimes spacey, sometimes danceable loops and builds that agreeably held their own as support for Battles. The real spectacle of their set was the diverse rhythms of Sayaka Himeno, as her delicate butterfly taps would give way to nimble yet speedy lashings of the high-hat, so potent that her drumming almost overshadowed the rest of the group. Taking place in a venue that looks more like a life-size He-Man action figure play set than downtown LA club, the night’s weirdness reached its peak when Battles took the stage.
Battles
When you see Battles live, remember that song structure and timing are malleable concepts for the band, similar to the way their line-up can be amended. With two video screens backing them and plenty of staggering lighting cues from the illuminated terraces of the stage, the band’s songs became reactions of lush color and fog machines in the air.
The first guest to join the band on stage for an offering off of Gloss Drop? Why, it was Blonde Redhead’s Kazo Makino for “Sweetie & Shag” via video screen, her facial visage pre-recorded for the band’s slippery warping of her vocals after the track’s initial choruses.
John Stainer, from ATP Festival 2011, Asbury Park, by Vivian Hua
The band followed with other versions of hits like “Tonto” and “Atlas” off of Mirrored, all while multi-instrumentalist Ian Williams swayed and clowned over the dual keyboards flanking him. Looking like a mustached conductor, Williams’ amusing guitar manipulations were only broken by launches of Stainer’s tight frenetic rhythms. Other digital guests on the screens included Matias Aguayo for “Ice Cream,” and Gary Numan for “My Machines,” Numan being the more ghastly of the two.
The band’s encore of “Sundome” was without the face of Yamantaka Eye to accompany it, but showed the band’s continuous uncomplicated reformulation of their songs live. In solving the problem of how to bring their guest vocalists on tour, Battles has declared not only that there is no set formula for a song, but that there is also no set rule for who gets to take part in it.
When EMA and her backing band took the stage at the Doug Fir lounge Sunday night, the first thing I noticed was the word “TRUE” emblazoned across the front of the eponymous singer/guitarist’s shirt. Her outfit–black nylon leggings, black jacket (didn’t last long), white t-shirt—wasn’t any different from something that you might see any given girl wearing on any given day in any given city in the first world.
That word, “TRUE,” wouldn’t have been all that interesting to me if it weren’t for the reactions that this particular girl’s music had elicited. Going through the Metacritic page for her debuum, Past Life Martyred Saints, adjectives like “raw” and “painful” are commonplace. Some critics go so far as to deem it difficult to listen to, lest it draw you into its aural abyss. I won’t go that far, but it certainly is a soul-baring album with some painful things to say — ao I was a little taken aback when she came strolling out in an outfit that could maybe be one layer shy of a North Face jacket, and generally looking altogether much sunnier than most of the folks inhabiting the basement of Doug Fir that night (though maybe not smiling, Nike-clad me), “TRUE” across her chest like a mocking reminder of what had been made of her craft in the past.
It turned out to be pleasingly apropos, though, as the band tore into “Marked,” an anthemic little number that compares the “bloodless, skinless” not-particularly-fleshy flesh to plastic and glass and features EMA promising not to hurt “a pretty thing” and wishing that “every time he touched me he left a mark.” Her songs emphasize the disparity between experience and appearance, but, that said, she seems aware that as troubling as it can be when people can’t tell what you’ve been through, the alternative can be so much worse. “I wish that every time he touched me, he left a mark” seems super-romantic for about a microsecond before conjuring horrific images of abuse. As she sings, EMA seems to use her hair as a sort of visual bellwether of the state of mind she wants to inhabit, out of her face at moments of relative clarity, completely obscuring her eyes at less tranquil times. It’s simple but effective, and adds a vulnerability to an act that is otherwise extremely energetic and sexually aggressive.
A set otherwise comprised of songs from Past Life Martyred Saints was broken up by a raucous, awesomely theatrical cover of the Violent Femmes’ “Add It Up.” She commanded the crowd to, “Fuckin’ sing along, bitch,” at the song’s onset, and, once it had ended, informed us that, “Europe doesn’t know dick about Violent Femmes.” I do know dick about Violent Femmes, and I wish they had more songs like “Add It Up.” “Butterfly Knife” and “California” came towards the end of the set. “Butterfly Knife” tells of a high school goth who owns pet rabbits named after the leads in Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers (a movie that uses a variety of fun pop culture aesthetics to tell a morbid tale of murder and obsession), and who chooses to take out their frustration on their flesh, “twenty kisses from a butterfly knife.” The bass on “California” shook the venue, and though the aesthetic was a bit different from the other songs played, much remained the same; “Fuck California, you made me boring/ I bled all my blood out, but these red pants they don’t show that.” It was a vicious, emotionally charged set that brought to life a great album.
Wild Beasts
About halfway into the Wild Beasts set, lead singer Holden Thorpe shed some light on what might seem like an odd pairing of the Beasts and EMA. He said–and I’m paraphrasing from alcohol-encumbered memory here (in vino veritas, right?)–that the group was envious of some aspects of EMA’s music, and that when one found oneself in that position, it was better to have the object of envy as a friend than the alternative. Though it makes more sense than solidarity between artists who have their names explained in every article about them (until now), the sentiment didn’t really manifest itself in the performance; though the rhythm section acquitted itself well in driving home the funk aspect of Wild Beasts’ music, and the finished product was certainly propulsive and danceable, they just lacked the drive to rock out that EMA has. They didn’t strike me, seeing them one after the other on Sunday, as artists even remotely striving for the same thing. Where EMA seems to be constantly straining to push her songs to the next level in performance, the Wild Beasts seem pretty staid. However, there’s no doubt that these are solid, often very pretty songs; if you’re going to coast, these are good songs to coast on.
Their show was heavy on new material from their recent release, Smother (current single “Bed of Nails” showed up early on, and “End Come Soon” closed the set), but the other two albums were in rotation as well; Thorpe was sure to point out early on that debut LP Limbo, Panto was present in the set, since the band never got to tour on that album in North America.
Interestingly, given their tendency to change from album to album, their material seems very uniform when performed live. Nearly the entire set featured a driving, dance-rock beat, chiming guitars, and Thorpe’s almost ethereal voice floating over everything else. Thorpe’s voice has been compared to that of Antony Hegarty, but hearing it floating over the chiming, pleasant guitars in song after song, it brought to mind for me no one so much as Bono. Tom Fleming’s decidedly Edge-esque skullcap might be responsible for that perception.
In the end, it was a perfectly serviceable set, and I was entertained; it just lacked a certain immediacy. These songs’ best days are behind them, it seemed to say.
September 16th, 2011 – Pioneer Square Courthouse, Portland, OR MusicfestNW is a festival unlike most festivals, because most of it takes place indoors. Within the past few years, the good curators have added a stage in downtown Portland, or as it would be referred to by many people over and over, the backyard of Portland (and due to the mid-90s heat that day, one person called it the frying pan of Portland): the Pioneer Courthouse Square. For a fenced off area in the middle of the hustle and bustle of downtown, the sound was surprisingly fantastic and the setting rather serene and well… concert-like.
eluvium
First up was Matthew Cooper, aka Eluvium. The Portland ambient/minimalist instrumental artist was the first big test of the large and spacious venue. Eluvium’s beautiful guitar loops and gentle piano pieces worked wonders for the small crowd that had gathered so early to see him. The sirens that had been echoing throughout the buildings faded away to nothing as Eluvium gently pulled the crowd for a relaxing float along his musical river, speaking very little, except to play a song he claims to not normally play by himself live.
typhoon
If you’ve ever had the question how many Portlander’s it takes to make a band, on this day, the answer was 13. Apparently on other days, the answer is even more. Portland’s Typhoon are one of those bands made up of friends of friends of friends who appear to not be able to say no to anyone with an instrument in their hand, resulting in a largely muddled sound — one that would be The Decemberists-lite if The Decemberists weren’t doing it with one-third the amount of people. But three trumpeters playing the equivalent of one trumpet line are excessive and it detracted from the overall sound. The band was a big hodge-podge of mediocre-ness, but I – the foreigner from Seattle – appeared to be in the minority as the rest of the crowd absolutely gobbled up Typhoon’s orchestral jams.
the antlers
Brooklyn-based The Antlers were up next and provided a nice, relaxed, and more big time business-oriented sound. The quartet played their brand of indie rock with heavy MBV fuzz thrown in, and it was the time when the fuzz hit when the band really cranked it up a few notches, to the point where the band did what all bands quit doing (giving a shit about anything) and ran over their set time by a good 10 minutes. That is generally a big no-no in the festival round, but here in the Pacific Northwest we aren’t too good with confrontations and The Antlers trampled all over that. But when the sound is as good as what The Antlers put out, who the hell cares?
explosions in the sky
Austin instrumental heroes Explosions In The Sky came out to a barrage of loud cheers as sun finally fell on the Pioneer Square Courthouse. The band did what they do best: played their hearts, hands, feet, and souls out. Each guitar line, each riff, each note is played with emotion like it will potentially will be the time, as if they would’ve dropped dead the moment after. It is the sheer energy and passion of their live show that has carried the band’s sound so well, because no band is able to make the crescendo quite like EITS, and no band is quite prepared to handle the audio consequences of it quite like EITS either. They played a very balanced set — a few more than usual off of this year’s Take Care, Take Care, Take Care, but were also keen to fan’s desires to hear some of the older catalog.
After sleepwalking through a night and a half of slick, mismatched suburban rock of MusicfestNW, the scent G-funk spilled forth through the weathered slabs of inner SE’s Rotture was like blood in the water for those of us begging for a little grit. The Motherfucking Gaslamp Killer was serving up his hyperactive brand of futurepsychedubhiphop like Moses on the mount and we, the Children of Israel, lapped that shit up. The beats were puckered up and blown out, sown and sown and resown into stuttering brawlers (even sleepytime James Blake came out as a banger when forced through the GLK filter), and then the dude played fucking Black Sabbath. His willingness to throw a dance floor off balance with edited ’60s psych and soul and ability to bring it all back into one plants GLK firmly in the lineage of the adventurous Impulse jazzmen of yore. And I don’t think I’ve mentioned the man’s moves yet. If you’ve heard anything of Mr. Bensussen’s seizure-inducing sets, it’s that he dares you to get down as hard as he does on stage. Dude is like a lighting octopus tornado cat spinning beats with his many tendrils while flailing into the next life. After a disappointing set by Shabazz Palaces earlier that night, which really had more to do with the 15,000,000 14-year-olds who were there to see Macklemore than the Palaces, The Gaslamp Killer’s set was a fresh breath of filthy fun nitrous. Easily the most exciting set of MFNW.
