Gravity Rides Everything

A Conversation with Cymbals Eat Guitars' Joseph D'Agostino

2009-06-29T12:07:00.000-07:00

Let’s get one thing out of the way first — yes, New York buzz band Cymbals Eat Guitars does sound a lot like classic indie heavyweights Pavement, Built to Spill and Modest Mouse. But here’s the kicker: when those bands were releasing their best work, Cymbals front man Joseph D’Agostino was still in elementary school. Fast-forward a decade and the now 20-year-old has released one of the year’s most hyped debut albums. Why There Are Mountains is a beautiful mess of scrappy punk, epic guitar jams and sing-alongs that’ll make you feel 1995 all over again.

Your song “Indiana” hints that you’ve been driving through the state. But have you ever spent much time here?

Joe D’Agostino: My girlfriend of 2 and a half years — we recently broke up — went to school at Notre Dame. I went to school in NY. I was out there a few times to visit her for clips of four or five days — as many days as I could cut class.

The band is often compared to classic indie bands of the 90s. Is that a great complement or tired reference?

It’s the best thing in the world to be compared to Built to Spill or Modest Mouse or any of these bands. I don’t want to sound like a complete jackass; I’m serious about this. I listened to (Modest Mouse song “Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine”) one day, got all the way through and just said “Oh….Oh, my.”

When you write, do you hear the whole thing or do you start with a simple piece of the song?

Writing music and writing lyrics are independent processes for me. Sometimes I mix and match — I don’t know which song will go with which lyrics. But I’m no Brian Wilson — some genius who can hear it all in my head then go ahead and produce it.

Neil (Berenholz, bassist) is 12 years older than you. How has the broad range of life experiences shaped the band?

Neil brings a different generation of music to the table. His CD book is always available, and its filled with 80s college rock. He’s called himself a ‘Band Dad.’ At first I thought that was embarrassing, but it’s true.

Has that gap led to any awkwardness, being underage with a bunch of older guys?

In places where they’re lenient, it’s not a problem. Most of the time I walk around clubs with big, black X’s on my hand.

For the Indiana area - the band'll be here Thursday. Check em out here:

Thursday, 8 p.m.

Vollrath Tavern, 118 E. Palmer St.

317-632-5199

Want to hear the new Sufjan Stevens track? Good luck

2009-06-15T06:03:00.000-07:00

The Wall Street Journal reported Friday that Brooklyn native Alec Duffy owns the sole rights to the latest song by folk rock wunderkind Sufjan Stevens.

And the only way for far less lucky saps like you and I to hear the track is to listen to it in Duffy's living room.

So, here's the bottom line.

If you want to hear the only Sufjan Stevens song not available on the internet (called "The Lonely Man of Winter," and, according to the WSJ, is "a soulful number, at once jazzy and melancholy") you have to travel approximately 11 hours and 43 minutes, seek out Alec Duffy and sit in on one of his in-house listening parties.

Sure, that's great for Sufjan fanatics on the east coast. But for us in Indy, well, we're out of luck.

The backstory to last night's Grizzly Bear show...

2009-06-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

It's all here - the unfiltered story, complete with unexpected Portugal the Man sightings and a dude about the have sex with the wrong girl. Sweet!

Click the post title and check it out - -

Grizzly Bear's roar will knock you right over

2009-06-10T08:18:00.000-07:00

Though only the four members of psychedelic rock group Grizzly Bear took the stage June 9 in Bloomington’s Buskirk-Chumley Theater, they sounded like an army.

The Brooklyn band’s buzz has severely snowballed since its latest album, Veckatimest, was released last month, and its set proved the hype worthwhile.

To a sold-out college crowd, Grizzly Bear unleashed over an hour of its haunting, obsessively orchestrated chamber pop. Band founder and vocalist Edward Droste’s ethereal melodies, harmonized with guitarist Daniel Rossen, gave each song a deeply personal touch — one couple even began to slow dance during “Cheerleader” — but Rossen’s guitar bursts were thunderous.

That mixture (Christopher Bear’s drumming amplifying Rossen’s massive, forceful sound; bassist Chris Taylor’s flute and oboe reinforcing Droste’s quiet subtlety) captured the crowd while allowing fans to get lost inside their heads.

That’s not an easy task, and as the band swept through the piano-led bounce of “Two Weeks” and the crawling swell of “Knife,” it became obvious why Grizzly Bear’s been compared to other mind-melters like Radiohead and Animal Collective.

But while there’s an almost overwhelming seriousness to Grizzly Bear’s music, the band members were anything but austere.

“It’s been four years since we’ve played Bloomington,” said Droste. “And I’m sure some of the eight people that were here last time came tonight.”

Tunes like “While You Wait For the Others,” with its churning guitars, plodding bass and delicate chorus, seemed constantly on the edge of imploding. That’s how Grizzly Bear, a band featuring a harp and a clarinet at times, manages to hit harder than any heavy metal act out there.

By building walls of intensity from a foundation of whispers - only to let it crumble, song after song, on top of the audience - the band has cultivated one of the most exciting and emotionally draining shows in the indie scene.

While so many bands are busy finding beauty in chaos, Grizzly Bear is searching for chaos in beauty. And in Bloomington last night, they certainly found it.

Third Eye Blind pictures from Greensburg show

2009-05-26T11:17:00.000-07:00

Jenkins is still a hunk all these years later.

A Conversation With Ketch Secor: Old Crow Medicine Show are the Truth

2009-05-21T18:31:00.000-07:00

‘Modern Rock’ isn’t a term included in Ketch Secor’s impressive lexicon. In fact, while Secor’s band, Old Crow Medicine Show, is a part of an underground music scene only growing in size today, his music is far from modern.

And yet as the string quintet hits Homestead tonight, the immediacy and power of Old Crow’s take on classic American folk and bluegrass speaks to modern times perfectly.

The band, which released the record Tennessee Pusher last fall, has been purveying traditional tunes and like-minded original songs for almost a dozen years. Secor, Old Crow’s fiddler, banjoist and harmonica player, called from Nashville to talk shop about keeping America’s musical traditions fresh.

Gravity Rides Everything: So the new record came out last fall. How have fans reacted?

Ketch Secor: It’s been a really positive feeling out there in all the towns we’re playing. We got people singing along to all the new material. Just got back from Texas. It’s been going great — we did a lot of growing with the record.

GRE: How do you feel the band’s style has evolved over the years?

KS: We’ve sharpened that feel we had all along. It’s been refined. We’ve been playing together for 11 years. At that point, you don’t really get a new sound, you just get better at the sound you’ve always had.

GRE: What was different about Tennessee Pusher than previous records?

KS: Well, we included a full drum kit and an organ on this record. But the biggest difference is that this album is all original material. In years past, we’ve always had a majority of traditional music on the album.

GRE: Looking at the album half a year later, is there anything you would’ve done differently?

KS: No, it really felt like it was the best it could’ve been. I must say I feel that way about all our records. Generally, in live shows you have the regret. ‘Oh, I should’ve said this. I forgot to say we were in Steubenville.’ But when it comes to making a record, you get the chance to make it right. You don’t get a second take onstage.

GRE: Do you feel the same kind of personal connection to the traditional songs as your originals?

KS: Yea, definitely. When you make your mark on a song, or that song on you, you can form a bond with a song. It’s like if you found out your brother was adopted — but you never treated him like he was. You loved him all along. I mean, we’re in a string band. The music I love is rooted in those traditions. The feeling you get playing traditional music, it’s not like a cover tune.

GRE: What’s a record in your collection that might surprise me?

KS: I have a lot of music from Mexico and the folk music of South Texas. But then I also really like Cyndi Lauper.

GRE: Do you feel the band is playing an important role by exposing traditional American songs to a new audience?

KS: To turn on young people to American music traditions is no small feat, considering how removed today’s young people are from the oral traditions and cultural events that lead to the passing on of this knowledge. If your parents aren’t telling you about singing and dancing, then who is? The radio and television media, of course, is just homogenous and disconnected from that source too.

I mean the radio is so homogenous and we’re all guilty of falling into it, myself included. But it’s hard to get through to people who’ve been exposed to that much bad music.

Some people out there, they hear us play and they know that it’s right. They feel that whatever they heard before is somehow not pleasing enough. We’re fairly lovable — we get all your senses. We have a musical force that’s so much more than ourselves. We’re carrying on the torch of a genre that is the root of so much of what people like about pop music.

If you like Chuck Berry, you’ll like us. If you like Little Richard, you’ll like us. But also if you like Kurt Cobain, you’ll like us.

GRE: How would you describe the atmosphere at an Old Crow show?

KS: It’s pretty fired up. There’s a lot of excitement. But it depends where you are. We just played a lot of Texas venues that were dancehalls, so they had their belt buckles properly postured and they were swingin’ their gals around. There are hearts being broken and some promises being made.

-Fin-

Please, if you will. Enjoy this music. It's the truth.

Blast from the Past: Third Eye Blind come to town

2009-05-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

When a band that had its heyday about 10 years ago rolls into town, sells out a decent sized club and draws booming applause for nearly every song, there’s one question that should shoot into any discerning fan’s mind — are we actually enjoying the music or just bathing in soothing nostalgia?

Well, judging from Third Eye Blind’s set in Greensburg’s Palace Theater last night, the answer is a complicated one.

Sure, the crowd of mostly drunk late-twenties bros (many of whom refused to stop screaming for the band to play “Jumper” even after the song was played) seemed genuinely wet-their-pants excited when the San Francisco band busted out late 90s hits like “Graduate,” “Never Let You Go” and, of course, “Semi-Charmed Life,” but the tracks from the upcoming Ursa Major album only saw lukewarm responses.

Is that because the crowd really came just for the hits and not to hear something new? Probably, as could be expected, but only time and the records’ release will tell. My guess is that, as has been Third Eye Blind’s album trend, Ursa Major will go largely unnoticed, forcing the band to continue touring behind decade-old hits for at least another half a decade.

And yet, while all this sounds like Blind bashing, the truth is the band busted out a seriously rousing set — post-grunge rock god pandering of front man Stephen Jenkins aside — of familiar, comfortable radio rock staples and the requisite non-single crowd favorites. Nostalgia or not, the sold-out crowd, this reviewer included, belted out every note.

After a reverb-drowned walk-on, Third Eye Blind launched “Wounded,” one of the band’s better, bigger choruses from its second album and the kicking “Graduate,” one of the five hit singles off the band’s eponymous debut. So far so good.

But when Jenkins led the band in a string of unreleased tracks from the new album, the sing-along, ‘I remember this song!’ sentiment of the crowd was lost — especially among the dudes who could barely stand, let alone get into the groove of an unfamiliar jam.

Jenkins didn’t seem to notice.

“This place is filled with bats and ghosts. I feel like a vampire ready for fresh blood,” he said of both the gothic Palace Theater and the crowd’s energy — both of which were impressive, and matched, in earnest, by the band’s performance.

Third Eye Blind were always one of the more serious late 90s alt-rock bands (and so much better than, say, The Verve Pipe) and, a decade later, the group is still chugging along like it wants to save the world. Or at least wax poetic about doing so. And for the most part, Jenkins and crew pull it off. Quotable tunes like the haunting “God of Wine” and “Motorcycle Drive-By” were played as the mini-epics that they are; the slinky, mostly-acoustic “I Want You” was even sexier than on record.

But barefoot with painted toenails and prone to outstretched-arms crowd-embracing, Jenkins remains in the Ed Kowalczyk (Live) school of spiritual-via-lyrics-about-sex-and-drugs front men. And somehow, his stage character is passable. But it’s when the band’s music tries to match Jenkins’ sprawl that things suffer.

Was a three-minute drum solo in the middle of “Jumper” necessary? Definitely not.

We dig Third Eye Blind for tight, four or five minute packages of sincere (and sincerely affecting) rock gems with glistening choruses, not faux psychedelic guitar and drum meandering. When the band stuck to its core of emotional pop rock, it hit all the right spots — especially for the college bros who know every word of “Semi-Charmed Life” and have no idea it’s about drug addiction.

And when those bros all joined in a group hug during “Slow Motion,” nostalgia or not, Third Eye Blind was doing exactly what it came to do.

St. Vincent's beautiful storm

2009-05-16T18:07:00.000-07:00

I'd read a whole lot about this St. Vincent/Annie Clark character, but as I've been stuck on a constant feeding tube of Stevie Wonder and Animal Collective (No, I can't explain why) lately, I let the actual act of listening to her music fall way to the sidelines — it was one of those records that I'd been meaning to listen to, but just never got around to it.

But holy hell, I'm glad I decided to stop being so passive.

I just got through the new record, Actor, and I'm extraordinarily smitten.

From what I'd heard (little lady, big voice, lush soundscapes), I expected a more atmospheric Regina Spektor, minus much of the, ahem, kitch factor.

What I got, however, is a lot closer to the latest Portishead album — a beautiful voice singing catchy, affecting melodies with worth-a-closer-reading lyrics caught in a storm of truly engaging, darkly mysterious (almost) trip-hoppy beats. But, truly, that is an overly simplified description of music that is endlessly layered in both sound texture and meaning.

Take "Laughing With a Mouth of Blood," for example. We've got Clark's delicate, lilting voice singing about her old friends and televangelists over a spritely, back and forth bouncing beat. Sounds positively pleasant, right? It could be, but there's a weight to Clark's music. No matter what she's singing about, the way her voice and music combine forms this heavy wall of indescribable emotion, this feeling that she means it, that she's felt pain you've only dreamt of.

Pop music, my friends, this is not.

"All of my old friends, aren't so friendly" would hurt sung by anyone, but it stings here.

Then there's "Marrow." The beat could be an outtake from the latest Bloc Party record — all chunky, breaking synths and pulsing drums and angry guitars piling up on each other like aggravated rugby players — but Clark's voice, quieter here than usual, gives the song an unnerving feel. Whereas the last Bloc Party just sounded awkward and forced, this tune might as well be the soundtrack to your night in a haunted house. And you're not coming out anywhere near sane in the morning.

Clark's first single off the record, "Actor Out of Work," is similarly arresting. With different music behind her, Clark's vocals could be a lullaby. But the song's driving, steady guitar and percussion keep things moving fast, hard, strong.

Check it out:

So what's the bottom line?

Don't slack on checking out the new good stuff, even when you're in the middle of a Stevie Wonder phase.

The Mae Shi unleash "The Lamb and the Lion"

2009-05-10T14:58:00.000-07:00

Creative animation and music videos don't come together nearly enough, and the new clip for The Mae Shi's "The Lamb and the Lion" is solid proof. Combining some of my favorite things (knights, elephants, silly violence and great music), the video is downright dazzling. The final scene, with a dude flying through the air, sword raised and ready to kill, is, for lack of something more eloquent to say, freakin' awesome.

Oh, and did I mention the song? More fun than a summer barbecue, one of which I'm going to right now. Check out the video now:

Animal Collective on Letterman. Beautiful.

2009-05-08T11:15:00.000-07:00

In the late night wars, it's fairly obvious (unless you are, in fact, my parents) that Dave Letterman is entirely funnier than Jay Leno. But one way in which Dave also breezes past Jay (and nearly any other late night host) is in the sheer musical talent that shows up on the show.

That said, check out last night's Animal Collective performance on Letterman. I love the dancers in the background, the lights and, of course, the song. Here we go...

A Conversation with Cursive's Matt Maginn

2009-05-05T00:12:00.000-07:00

Omaha band Cursive has been called many things in its decade-plus career — from deeply personal to whiny and from indie and post-hardcore to emo. But one thing the band’s never been called is selfish.

Cursive offered its recent sixth record, the evocatively titled Mama, I’m Swollen, online 10 days before its release for only a dollar, with the price increasing everyday leading up to March 10, when it hit shelves.

The record continues in Cursive’s style of wild, ragged, torn-up-heart-on-sleeve rock’n’roll with far more variety than fans have ever seen from the band. Dynamics range from whispers to all-out aural assaults, horn sections pop in and front man Tim Kasher’s lyrics have never been so dark, mysterious and downright poetic (check out “We’re Going to Hell,” prepare to get chills).

Gravity Rides Everything called founding bassist Matt Maginn at his home in Missouri to talk Kasher, dance clubs and why Cursive will never play MTV Spring Break.

Gravity Rides Everything: What is your favorite thing about the new record?

Matt Maginn: I like that it’s different than stuff we’ve done recently. It’s a little dark and melancholy — it reminds me of our first record in some ways. That brooding sense with a cathartic element. It’s almost hopeful.

GRE: You started selling the new record for a dollar on the website. What went into that decision?

MM: It was an idea from (Cursive’s label) Saddle Creek. That the supporters or fans could get an email hearing about the deal — that was really attractive to us. So we thought, ‘Well, we’re ok not making any money, so let’s do this.’ But you walk a fine line — it’s better to look like a special or a gift than like you’re giving away your music. This system also helped the label beat the leaks of the record. The sale went up Saturday at midnight, and the first leaks we heard about went up at 5 p.m.

GRE: In my experience, Cursive is best enjoyed in a tiny, packed club. What do you love most about a small, intense club audience?

MM: We went through this phase where we wanted everyone who wanted to see the show to be there, but then you end up purposely playing rooms you can’t fill. Then you learn that the energy just isn’t there. It doesn’t work in a big room. We’ve been trying to do smaller clubs. If you sell out a show too early, you don’t want to exclude anyone by that situation. But I think we’ve traded that fear for just loving playing smaller rooms instead.

GRE: Well in Pittsburgh you’ll be playing Diesel, which is also a dance club. So after the show, everyone’ll be kicked out to make room for people coming to dance.

MM: I feel like we’ve been playing more and more shows like that, where we’ll be kicked out so the club can have some little dance party. It’s really weird — those scantily clad men and women that come to the clubs we play…what the hell? It’s like a swimsuit contest. I don’t like that world.

GRE: Cursive’s long had a core faithful audience. Is there an attempt to expand the fan base at this point?

MM: Never in the writing. We never think about who to reach when we write music. But there’s never been a time where we didn’t want to reach new people in a normal, fun way, without doing anything cheesy or strange.

GRE: Well what would be cheesy or strange for Cursive?

MM: I don’t know — like you’re playing the beach house for MTV Spring Break. That’s where it gets to the cheesy element. But you should attempt to reach new people simply to be inclusive, not exclusive.

GRE: There’s a line in “Sink to the Beat” about (former drummer) Clint. Is it awkward to play that now?

MM: At first it was. But the more I thought about it, well, it’s a record of a period in time. To change it or not say it would be even weirder in some ways. Clint is who it was written and recorded with. His existence is in that song now. But at first, it did catch my ear. We were playing (sans Clint) in early 2006, and onstage I thought ‘Oh weird, I guess Tim can’t change that.’ And then ‘Why am I thinking about this?’

GRE: How has the style of the band changed with each record?

MM: It’s really weird for us to think about. Some people dislike that we’ll be so eclectic to the point of having a whole record that they just can’t get into. When we were writing The Ugly Organ and the song “Art is Hard,” we realized we didn’t have to have this angular, dissonant, bizarre time signature stuff to be Cursive. We decided to stop worrying about the style we were playing — if we don’t sound like who we are by now, then who are we? That mindset pushed us towards our later records.

GRE: Do you feel personal ties to Tim’s lyrics?

MM: Part of being in a band with Tim this long…it’s very hard to be complementary towards members of your own band. But as a songwriter, he’s probably my favorite. Since they’re not my lyrics, I have a connection with his lyrics like I would another band I enjoy lyrically. I can’t say that I love Cursive, that’s weird to say. But I do like his writing, his lyrics. Whether we make it good or not, who knows. So my connection with his lyrics is as a spectator.

GRE: You were a big part of the original Saddle Creek community. Do those close ties still exist among the musicians who were there at the beginning?

MM: That’s a good question. I think it’s there, but it pales in comparison to what it was. That’s hard for me to say, because I feel like I’m being disrespectful to our past, but it would be untrue to say that there was remotely the cohesive community that we had. It’s just not true. It’s much different now. And that’s inevitable time and space. I miss those times, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing that people have broadened their lives. It’s funny — it was the success of some of the bands that caused the community to break down.

GRE: In what ways is rock’n’roll struggling right now, and in what ways is it succeeding?

MM: First, I like that you used the word rock’n’roll — instead of ‘music.’ I don’t know if there’s anything that’s really kicking my ass right now. I mean, there are plenty of great records, but nothing monumental in the last five years. And I feel like we’re due. These things ebb and flow, and maybe we’re in ebb right now. Some of the shit I’ve seen on MTV remind me of that glam stuff from the end of the 80’s, before Nirvana — there’s not a whole lot of difference between them and hair metal. Do hairspray and eyeliner always precede the new messiah?

GRE: When you’re onstage playing, what’s going through your head?

MM: ‘Oh, I hope I don’t fuck up.’ That’s mostly it.

Welcome back to the mic, Mos

2009-05-02T11:11:00.000-07:00

I'm a big believer that, as I've written before, a lot of music fits best in a certain season. The National, for example, have for years been a fall band to me. Something about falling leaves and heartbreaking piano ballads just go together marvelously. Similarly, Sigur Ros has always been a band for snowy winter days.

But, folks, now it's summer. And, hot damn, I found a perfect summer jam.

It's Mos Def's new track with the Japanese DJ Deckstream.

Yup, I'm as surprised as you.

It's been a little while since we've heard Mos Def sound as smooth, laid back and stress free as he does on this wonderfully floating and bobbing track, appropriately titled "Life is Good." HIs last full, official record, The New Danger, was full of half-baked ideas, most of them angry — so a breezy summer track like "Life is Good" is a pretty staunch change in direction.

But it couldn't have come at a better time — I mean, shit, it's summer!

Deckstream's jazz-piano over splash-crash percussion sounds like walking down a Manhattan street in the middle of August without a care in the world — the chaos is all there, but you're blissfully floating above it.

While I'm sure there'll be many more perfect summer songs to come, this one's got me in the mood. Thanks Mos Def. I needed this.

Review: Manchester Orchestra's Mean Everything to Nothing

2009-05-01T04:52:00.000-07:00

When Manchester Orchestra’s I’m Like a Virgin Losing a Child came out in 2006, both fans and critics weren’t exactly sure what to make of it.

The record was certainly ambitious — hell, just look at the title — but the songs weren’t quite so epic to back up front man (then teenage boy) Andy Hull’s philosophical meanderings. Let alone that I once played the record for a friend who subsequently asked if it was the new Saves the Day.

But fast forward three years, thousands of tour miles and a generous helping of musical development, and Manchester Orchestra have returned with Mean Everything to Nothing, a record that feels fully cooked on all fronts. And it tastes, or rather, sounds, stunning.

The band’s centerpiece has always been Hull’s emotive (read: vast understatement) vocals, varying from a near-whisper to some serious throat-shredding, all tied together by the notion that the dude really, truly means it.

And that doesn’t change on Mean Everything to Nothing — if anything, Hull is even further out front to the benefit of the band. The 22-year-old bearded Southerner is a hell of a front man from both the performance and lyrical standpoint.

His voice has a distinct Isaac Brock-ian quality in both its variance and its almost mysterious beauty. But where Brock seems to know his own over-the-top-ness, Hull’s bleeding-heart and often bleeding-palm (religious imagery abound) sincerity makes the music that much more affecting.

The songs on Nothing rock like more complex and layered Pinkerton-era Weezer tunes with significantly more emphasis on faith and love than sex and paranoia. But that comparison alone would rob the record of much of its aural depth — throw in some early My Morning Jacket and fellow Southern gloom-rockers Dead Confederate and the record starts to take shape.

After the twee-pop with meaty guitar opener “The Only One,” “Shake It Out” seems like the real beginning to the album — opening with frantic guitar stabs and Hull singing so frenetically I can picture him looking nervously around the room and pulling his own hair out as lines like “I am the living ghost of what you need / I am everything eternally / God, just speak!” shoot out like stray bullets.

Then the levy bursts and Hull screams the song’s title like a man possessed while his band somehow manages to furiously keep up the pace with huge percussion and muscular walls of guitars.

“In My Teeth” is Manchester’s take on In Utero-style Nirvana, and, believe it or not, it works. Marvelously. The song’s intro even sounds like the type of riff Cobain would’ve loved to write, not to mention the dun-dun (pause) dun-dun guitar drops during the verses were lifted from “Lithium.” Still, the similarity isn’t grating — if anything it’s refreshing, a return to form for angry-at-God guitar rock.

Nothing isn’t all Hull’s flailing around like a rag doll, though. “I Can Feel a Hot One” is a gorgeous, slowly-plodding ballad in which Hull builds and deconstructs his melody in each verse, never gaining too much intensity but steadily pushing his thoughts forward. When he sings “To pray for what I thought were angels / Ended up being ambulances / And the Lord showed me dreams of my daughter / She was crying inside your stomach,” whether you believe him or not, think it’s trite or beautiful, it’s near impossible to feel nothing.

And when Hull sings, “I’m gonna leave you the first chance I get” on the sprawling, 11-minute “The River,” you’d be a fool not to believe him. The scary part is figuring out if he’s singing to God, to his audience or to his own oft-tortured, scared and brilliant mind.

I'll Drink to Drink Up Buttercup. Maybe Some Absinthe.

2009-04-30T14:13:00.001-07:00

So the Dr. Dog show last night was predictably fantastic. Be it in a tiny club or a 600-hundred seater, the Philly boys of Dr. Dog could stir up a room of the tightest Republican senators to break into a groove and get down. I'd refrain from saying the show was perfect — but that's mainly because they didn't play "My Old Ways."

Aside from that, all was wonderful — overwhelmingly positive vibes bouncing from wall to wall in the club, kept afloat by the band's sublimely flowing rock and roll. A Dr. Dog show has the same effect on me that I imagine Oprah does over most of the middle aged women in America — that feeling that everything is alright, everything is lovely.

But the surprise of the night was openers Drink Up Buttercup. Just like Dr. Dog often hit like Beach Boys at that band's most happy and magical, Drink Up Buttercup take the same band's creepier, psychedelic side and twist it into a wild swirl of pounding trashcan percussion, maddening harmonies and dinosaur stomp bass.

This music is following Alice down the rabbit hole. It's being inside an Edgar Allan Poe story. The band's live experience is that crazy.

The studio recorded stuff (check MySpace) successfully sounds like it was recorded in the lowest level of a submarine mid-deep sea dive, but live the band explodes off the stage with enough energy to take down said submarine.

These videos don't nearly do the band justice, but I hope it's a decent primer. You owe it to yourself to check out Drink Up Buttercup. Just don't go too crazy.

Dr. Dog's Operation: Gettin' You to Feel It

2009-04-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

If you've read much of this blog, you know that I love the music that really makes me feel something — whether it's happy or sad, dirty or sexy, in love or totally full of intense dislike.

Dr. Dog do that to me. The band's music is so full of motion, of emotion and of the richest imagery in rock right now.

Forget about the haters that say Dr. Dog sounds like the Beach Boys or the Beatles. Because, well, they do — but that's not a bad thing. The band takes the restless, swaying positivity of classic sunshine bands like the Boys or Beatles and puts a distinctly modern twist on it.

It's impossible, at least for bleeding hearts like me, not to be moved by tunes like "We All Belong." Call me a sap or not, but singing a phrase like that, with such a lilting and catchy melody, makes me nod and say, "Yeah, man. We sure do."

The Dog's singer and bassist Toby Leaman took some time while cruising around Seattle's fish market on his day off to talk. Here's what the doc had to say:

Gravity Rides Everything: What was the first record to blow you away?

Toby Leaman: I was a kid. It woulda had to be Out of Time by REM. I liked music before that but it was the kind of music you like before you decide that you like music. I was really into DJ Jazzy Jeff and Fresh Prince — the one with “Parents Just Don’t Understand” – but as far as that having any musical affect on me…maybe not.

GRE: What about (Dr. Dog hometown) Philly inspires you?

TL: The people. The more people you meet and all the interesting things people are into — because its not extremely expensive or at the cutting edge, it affords people to just do what they want to do without sacrificing too much. If they want to do something really weird that’ll never make them any money — you can do that in Philly. There are outlets for it — little house punk shows, art shows.

GRE: The band has said that FATE is the record that the you guys were destined to make. How do you interpret that?

TL: You could say that about any album we’ve made. They’ve all been a product of what we had available to us at that time. And certainly for FATE we had more available to us. Still, we don’t really feel limited whether we were recording on 4-track or reel-to-reel 8-track or even when we moved to 24-track.

GRE: Is Dr. Dog's best record still to come?

TL: Absolutely. The next one will be the best one to date. Without a doubt. We’ve been talking about it a lot. We wanted to release something this summer — it’ll be like a mini album. I'm trying to avoid calling it an EP. We’re going back to 8-track on that one just for the hell of it. But the next full album, we’re talking about not doing it ourselves — maybe in partnership with somebody else. We agree that for us to get to the next level artistically, as lofty as that sounds, we need to get out of our own studio. Mainly it’s an engineering issue. But also it might be fun to let another head in.

GRE: How would you describe your approach to songwriting. Does it come naturally or do you set aside time?

TL: Both. Sometimes you’re not trying to write anything and something just comes up and its easy as pie. I try to play at least a couple hours in my head when I’m at home. It’s my favorite thing to do, so it’s not a hassle. I would write all day every day if I could. Like 90 percent of what I write never becomes a song. It’s hard to say when you’re actually writing and when are you just dicking around, though.

GRE: My favorite Dr. Dog line is "What blows us hear today will blow us all away" from "The Breeze." How does that mentality factor into being a traveling band?

TL: I never thought about it in that light. Obviously the term "blow us all away" has multiple meanings. Essentially, I would imagine that what Scott (McMicken, guitar and vocals) was trying to say that the things that have brought you to a place are the same things that’ll get you beyond it. All your history and experience, up to whatever the present is, those are the things that’ll push you further. He might’ve meant it the other way — when you reflect upon your life, it’ll blow your mind. But you can take it anyway you want. Once the lyrics are out of our hands and recorded, they’re no longer ours.

GRE: I recently spent some time working with the poor in Guatemala. The only band I listened to was Dr. Dog because of the music's infectious positivity and hopefulness. What music makes you feel like I did in Guatemala?

TL: Oh, boy. It’s so hard listening to music to separate yourself from what you know about the band. I never like to read band biographies. Listening to the Beach Boys right before Pet Sounds, as cliché as it sounds, I listen to that and the innocence and things they’re singing about just make me feel good. And its different then just loving a song. M. Ward’s Post-War too, can put you in a mood that just makes you feel better. He’s not trying to bring you down to some deep dark place where you have to mire. It’s just beautiful.

GRE: When’s the last time you felt really lucky?

TL: In one sense, I feel glad to be doing what we love to be doing. I’m happily married, I have a dog and a house and shit. But as far as actual things that’ve made me feel lucky. Well, I play cards and it’s always beautiful when you get lucky. I haven’t found money recently, but whenever that happens… Honestly, we’re lucky to have a day off today.

Check out Dr. Dog's latest record, last year's FATE, on Park the Van and let the happiness in.

Get on yer hotpants, Peaches is back in town!

2009-04-27T09:07:00.000-07:00

I've long been hesitant to really dig Peaches.

Something about the so-in-your-face-sexuality made it, to me, totally unsexy. And aside from the ridiculously catchy "Fuck the Pain Away," which was itself so over the top it was hard to hate, Peaches just wasn't a train I was riding.

But hot damn, her newest record I Feel Cream, out just next week, has made me a believer. Gone are her over simplified, sparse beats — they've been replaced by some fine, thumping and pulsing electroclash (dare I say) soundscapes that toy with her better-than-ever plaintive moans.

This is 'late 80s, blowing lines in a sweaty club where there are girls dancing in cages'-type electronic fuzz, and finally - finally - Peaches' is heavier on the innuendo than the straight up sex. And, by the logic of music, that makes her latest sexier than ever. By far.

Don't get me wrong — I Feel Cream still has its flaws. Peaches' attempt at actual rapping on "Billionaire" is just goofy and forced.

Check out some of the better jams of the record below:

Granted, Peaches is half-naked in this clip, but the point still stands. Quivering beat that flares up at all the right times, catchy-sexy melody and allusions to fucking without waving the fucking in your face. Hot shit.

Rubber-band-bouncy beat and some grit in her voice, this is a hell of a jam.

So there it is. Peaches, a stranger no longer.

Check out I Feel Cream out May 5 on XL. Then get laid. Peaches wouldn't want it any other way.

Lloyd, I'm ready to hear the new Camera Obscura

2009-04-23T10:47:00.000-07:00

You probably wouldn't expect that an album called My Maudlin Career (read: foolishly emotional) would be the one that'll be played out of rolled down car windows across the country this summer. Or maybe you would, in which case I say way to go. You are a seer of the future.

That's the name of the new one just dropped by indie-pop-boppers Camera Obscura, and it's the bands best record to date. Which is saying a lot — 2006's Let's Get Out of this Country had more catchy-cute songs than a Jonas Brothers record that didn't suck.

Nonetheless, on My Maudlin Career, the Scottish band has sharpened everything about its sound. The harmonies are Beach Boys sunshine, the guitar lines are perfectly catchy and non-obtrusive, cutting in just as Tracyanne Campbell's gorgeously heartbreaking melodies step aside. Is it twee pop? Maybe, but in the least annoying way possible.

Take the first single, "French Navy." The percussion and bass parts are straight out of a 1960's chamber pop tune that was probably about holding hands and those strings are like a part Grizzly Bear wrote for a cartoon. Weird. Lovely. Really, really fantastic.

Here's the clip:

The happiest thing you heard all day, right? I know!

My Maudlin Career is full of gems like that one, and it just dropped this week. You're $9.99 couldn't be better spent.

Some music to help you through finals week. I know you'll need it.

2009-04-20T18:26:00.001-07:00

Studying can be a bitch.

No surprise there. And though study aids like booze, Facebook and reading my blog may seem to help pass the time, they won't help you land an A.

That said, I've assembled a study aid that does work — it's the playlist that I listen to whenever attempting to write a paper, study for a test or read something I don't care about. It's a tough life being a college student, I know.

Because the actual playlist is over 7 hours long, I've pulled a few samples for you to use as suggestions. Obtain music by these bands any way you can — I promise you'll make Dean's List.

Here we go:

Welcome to the wonderful world of Air. All smoothed-out, slowly unfolding grooves that'll soothe your brain into learning. I know that sounds stupid, just trust me. If I could only listen to one band during my four years of college studying, this would be it.

Ahh, American Analog Set. Beautiful, muted and subtle. Slow and simple enough not to distract you, but more than gorgeous enough to keep your spirits up. And the fact that almost all the vocals are sung in a hushed whisper is perfect to remind you that there's no talking in the library.

Explosions in the Sky are the perfect band for writing papers. You've got no words to distract you from pumping out your own. Write your thesis to this band, you won't regret it.

And finally, we come to the motherload. Above is one of Godspeed! You Black Emperor's shorter songs. Most edge in on 20 minutes, which is perfect to keep you focused. None of that checking to see which song is playing next — it'll be the same one until you finish reading this chapter!

Of course, the list goes on. Any study session that has any chance of being successful probably shouldn't be without Sigur Ros, Boards of Canada, Portishead's newest record, Chairlift and, of course, a healthy dose of non-swing and definitely non-smooth jazz. As in, real jazz. Davis and Coltrane will make you smarter. And probably sexier.

So there you have it. Good luck taking tests about subjects you despise, writing papers on topics that bore you and generally living in a library or at a coffee shop. As for me, come tomorrow afternoon, I'm officially done doing any school work. Yes.

New Clipse featuring Kanye: "Kind of Like a Big Deal"

2009-04-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

Having just watched last week's South Park that lambasted Kanye West's monumental ego six ways from Sunday AND heard his new track with Clipse, conveniently titled "Kind of Like a Big Deal," all within a few hours, I can't help but feel that there's a tinge of irony floating around.

Nonetheless, while no one's got a show stopping verse on the track, this beat if monstrous — a needling guitar line that sounds like its blasting from a garage in the 60s over pummeling drums. I give it a few days before there are remixes even hotter than the original.

So without further ado, here's "Kind of Like a Big Deal." You decide if the track will end up being just that.

Annnnnd in case you didn't catch it last week, here's Kanye's South Park episode. Do you like fish sticks?

Easily Bruised: Matthew Barber

2009-04-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

Generally, you can categorize most music into a day of the week. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday tend to be tough, but the rest of the week has fairly defined sounds.

Thursday — anxious, nervous, ready to hit the weekend (See: Most post-punk)

Friday — free at last, spacious, upbeat soundscapes, excitement, urgency (See: hip-hop, tense indie rock)

Saturday — let's get crazy. obviously (See: dub-step, electronica, synth-driven rock)

Sunday — slow down, grab a blanket, recover from the weekend and mourn the coming week (See: Most things acoustic, Norah Jones. Ha!)

Well, funneling through my inbox today, though it's only Wednesday, was one of the more beautiful Sunday albums I've heard in a long time.

The name is Matthew Barber, and his new record is Ghost Notes. It was just released stateside yesterday, but was already nominated for a Juno (Canadian Grammy equivalent) this year for best Traditional Roots album. Not bad, eh?

His acoustic guitar and piano have the same light, meandering and lovely tones and melodies as Mark Kozelek/Red House Painters or a less urgent City and Colour (which, if you haven't fallen in love with already, you should check out...now).

As I was attempting to write my last music column for my college newspaper, I put on this record and got wildly nostalgic, in the least cheesy, last-song-at-prom way possible. His melodies are plaintive but hopeful — and I couldn't help but sadly smile, sitting alone in my room, writing what will be my last imprint on college.

This is Sunday morning music, coming home from war music, falling in or out of love music. Beautiful, aching in a way that doesn't quite hurt. Check it out here.

And here:

And he's only got one tour date coming up in the states: May 13, Union Hall, New York, NY and supporting Jill Sobule. If you're in the area, this is a solid bet for a great night. Even if it isn't on a Sunday.

Upon graduation, some thoughts on finding YOUR music.

2009-04-15T15:06:00.000-07:00

Ryan Adams, on his criminally underappreciated record Rock’n’Roll, sang it best when he howled, “This is it. This is really happening.” While he wasn’t singing about graduating college — it’s time to say goodbye.

Farewells in rock’n’roll are a tricky business, though, and have historically come in many forms. There’s the KISS model, in which farewell actually means, “Goodbye until next year, when we decide to launch another farewell tour. That’ll be our 12th!” Then there’s the Nirvana model, when goodbye really does mean, um, goodbye. Like, forever. Too soon?

Nonetheless, there’s an important message that must be sent before bowing out of academia.

Take some time, as much as you need, maybe years, and find the music that actually affects you. Simple enough, right? Well, sort of.

For many of us, there’s a general apathy towards our choice of music, or art, or movies or any form of creative expression. If it’s on the radio, we’ll listen to it. If it’s playing on MTV (do they play videos anymore?), we’ll watch it.

And for many people, that’s worked out just fine. Maybe you’re not a music person, particularly, and the beat of the new Flo Rida jam makes you smile. And that seems good enough.

But there’s a huge world of music out there waiting to be discovered, and it’s filled with things that won’t just make you smile — they’ll change your life. I don’t care how ‘not that into music’ you are (people who list “Everything. Except country” on Facebook, I’m talking to you), I promise that there is a song out there — hell, maybe even a whole genre — that will change how you think about life.

Sound silly? Maybe I’m just a music nut idealist. Were the tables turned and an engineering major told me there was an equation out there that would change my life, sure, I’d have trouble believing him.

But there’s something about music that is so purely human, so organic and emotional, that even the most robotic engineering student will feel something. The same argument could be made for film, for literature, for dance — and to that, I say go and explore those mediums too.

But don’t spend your life listening to whatever’s convenient. Especially in this world of technology, when any song in any genre is literally a few mouse clicks away, there are no excuses left to keep yourself in the dark from the music that could, and will, change you forever.

And that music, the earth-shattering, life-moving stuff, is different for everybody. The argument could certainly be made that Lupe Fiasco or Nas are more inspiring rappers than Flo Rida, but if Flo Rida really, truly moves you then run with it.

The point is that some music, whatever it is or however awful people like me might think it is, it’s your duty, as an emotionally-driven and intelligent person, to find it.

Don’t let critics or your friends influence you with this, either — no matter how much I hate Nickelback and wish that the band and all its music would be shot to one of Jupiter’s moons and legislation would be passed to banish any mention of Nickelback or Chad Kroeger for the rest of time, leaving the world a much better and bullshit-free place, the truth is that some people are actually moved by that music.

And if you are one of those people truly affected by lyrics about blowjobs and strippers, then, though it pains me to say this, more power to you. I wish my mind were as simple as yours.

Now your search might take some work. If your search for meaningful music truthfully starts and ends on Top 40 radio (I could believe avid card enthusiasts to be emotionally stirred by “Poker Face”) then maybe you are luckier than the rest of us.

For most people, though, the search could be long and hard — you may need to dig through your old favorites, listen hard to friends’ iTunes, search through tons of music online.

My progression began with Boyz II Men, dancing around the living room with my dad. Then somehow on to Hendrix and Zeppelin, through Saves the Day and Thursday, through The Decemberists and Jeff Buckley and, maybe most importantly, The Grateful Dead among countless others. What a long, strange trip it’s been indeed.

But, hey, you can do it. You’re a Pitt student, educated more than most people in the world. And I’ll even give you a suggestion, quite appropriate for those of us feeling scared and crazed and exhilarated about moving into the real world next week — “So Alive” by (can you see a trend?) Ryan Adams.

It’ll blow you right over.

The Supergroup to end all supergr... No, not at all.

2009-04-14T08:45:00.001-07:00

A few months back, the world was introduced to Tinted Windows, the new band featuring Taylor Hanson, James Iha and company. And hey, they didn't blow.

Apparently, though, the notion that any random assortment of musicians from other, unrelated bands can join together to become a (gulp, I hate this word) supergroup is becoming a trend.

And with that, I introduce Chickenfoot, the new band featuring Chad Smith (Red Hot Chilli Peppers), Joe Satriani (guitar virtuoso, relative douche bag) and ex-Van Halen bros Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony.

The truly (cough, cough) exciting part is that Chickenfoot is heading out on tour this summer! Anyone who was really dying to see over-the-hill Sammy Hager put on his best (read: still not good) performance will finally get the chance to see it!

Now look, supergroups are all good and fine I suppose, but few reek of such desperation to get back into the limelight than this one. Besides Smith, none of these dudes has done anything remotely noteworthy in years — aside from, of course, Satriani's sad attempt to sue Coldplay for stealing his song. Which sucked.

In terms of musical backgrounds, we can again make an exception for Smith — his drumming in the Peppers (mixed with Flea's bass acrobatics) make for one of the tightest rhythm sections in rock. But Hagar was, for years, the worst part of Van Halen, and Satriani's pompous, bloated guitar rock is less exciting than waiting for Led Zeppelin to reunite.

If you're not convinced yet that Chickenfoot will not, in fact, save rock'n'roll, here's a post Anthony wrote on his blog when the band first surfaced last fall: "I just got back last Wed. from a week and a half of recording with Sam, Joe, and Chad, and all I can say is....F_K, the shit is ROCKIN!!!! NOBODY will be disappointed!"

Hmmm. Al caps tends to mean "I don't even believe myself."

You decide: Listen here.

Now! is the time to stop buying those comps. Seriously.

2009-04-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

Now! 30, as in the 30th installment of the popular Now That’s What I Call Music! compilations, was just released and sold 146,000 copies in one week.

This news immediately brings to mind two questions. First, how in the hell have 30 of these things been made? And second, who are the 146,000 people dumb enough to buy Now 30?

The answers to these questions are actually rather simple, but they point to a deeper issue. Basically, 30 of these compilations have been made because they continue to sell, and they continue to sell because fans of soulless pop music are the most vapid type of music fan, and hence will buy anything with an exclamation point and a good beat. But that’s a gripe for a different column.

My real issue with Now still existing is that, in an age where we can download entire catalogues of records in under a minute or buy individual songs on iTunes, thereby making your own hits compilation, this series of pop song collections is utterly and completely irrelevant to the music scene. What's more, you can actually go to the Now! website and stream the compilation in its entirety, meaning that anyone willing to shell out 17 bucks for the actual disc may be the last person in the country to discover the internet.

But it wasn’t always that way.

Now! actually debuted back in 1983 in England as a 30-song double vinyl, but even then the idea wasn’t new — hits collections had existed since the early 1970’s. The series exists in Mexico, China, Czech Republic, Poland, Portugal, Israel, New Zealand and Greece, where the title roughly translates to “Now These are the Hits Today!” They’ve long served the purpose of encapsulating Top 40 radio in one place — all the catchiest pop hits of the last few months on one record, no waiting around to hear them on MTV or the radio.

Even in 1998, when Now! debuted in the states it was arguably relevant. Napster was big, sure, but the downloading scene certainly wasn’t as saturated as it is today. Looking at the track list is particularly entertaining, too — remember “Never Ever” by All Saints? Fastball, K-Ci & JoJo, Aqua, Marcy Playground and Cherry Poppin’ Daddies all show up too.

Inexplicably, so does Radiohead. Seriously, Thom?

In seventh grade, when I was king of the Bar Mitzvah party dance floor circuit, I actually won a copy of Now! 2 (which included the New Radicals’ still-underrated “You Get What You Give”) at a middle school dance when the DJ asked students to have a dance-off. And at time, it was a pretty cool prize.

If I was the same 13-year-old winning Now! 30 today, though, I doubt I’d be as thrilled. With the incredible amount of access we have to music, the fact that I could burn my own version of Now! from iTunes, without any songs I didn’t like, in a few minutes, the compilations just seem unnecessary.

Now by no means do I condone downloading mass amounts of music and stealing from deserving artists, but the songs on Now! compilations are so ubiquitous in the pop music lexicon they’re basically public property. Why spend money on a compilation that has pop songs you more than likely have on iTunes already? For the cover art and liner notes?

It seems pop music consumers have begun to catch on. While Now! 5, to name just one, sold over four million copies and Nsow! 7 sold 621,000 copies its first week, as access to music increased, the series’ sales have dropped pretty dramatically. Now! 30, with 146,000 first week sales, is one of the series’ least successful.

Still, folks, come on now. Make your own, better mixes of your favorite hits. Plus, any establishment that would put Nickleback on a compilation, like, say Now! 30, is one that doesn’t deserve your support.

A Conversation with Andrew Bird

2009-04-06T17:03:00.000-07:00

Andrew Bird has an incredibly soft voice.

When he speaks, his words are slow and crisp, each sentence clearly well thought out. The music that emanates from the multi-instrumentalist, then, seems to make sense — delicate, detailed and beautiful.

With his latest record, Noble Beast, Bird takes listeners on a musical hike through enchanted woods, complete with violins, guitars, hand claps and, as appears on so many of his records, whistled melodies.

Since Bird left his first gig — as a member of the swing revivalists Squirrel Nut Zippers — he’s been making music that floats between folk, rock and old-world jazz and blues.

Bird recently spoke to Gravity Rides Everything about music, his decidedly un-rock ’n’ roll life and the liquid state of songwriting.

Gravity Rides Everything: How much of what you write never makes it into a song?

Andrew Bird: I started off writing 25 or 30 songs for a record and cutting half of them. But that became such a heartbreaking process. Now I tend to take the same 10 or 11 songs and record them in like 10 different ways, putting them in different lights. Sometimes I’m writing three different songs at first and I realize they’re the same song. I put them together and cut off the fat.

GRE: Your songs often transform greatly from one live show to the next. How do you put together a set list?

AB: You’re tempted to do whatever worked the night before, but you have to work against it. Once you repeat the night before, there’s the potential for getting in a rut. When you’re playing every night, it’s a lot to ask of yourself, but you have to work to make the set more precarious.

GRE: Do you look back on your time with the Squirrel Nut Zippers nostalgically?

AB: It was pretty exciting to be a part of that. I was 22 or 23 playing for over a thousand people a night and hanging out with a hard-living, Southern, eccentric group of people. But it was a double-edged sword, because years after that, my own original stuff and the promoter of the show would say, ‘Come on, daddy-o, come down for a swing lesson.’ But my music had nothing to do with that scene.

GRE: What factors pushed you toward a completely solo career apart from [your former band, Andrew Bird and the] Bowl of Fire?

AB: Hitting the road really hard with five people and no support — all sleeping in one hotel room if we could afford it. And the pressure of being the host of a large band, and also just creatively not wanting to delegate parts to other musicians with their particular taste. I was writing bass lines in pizzicato in an octave pedal and playing whatever felt natural, not thinking like a bass player at all. There were no rules all of a sudden. I was just doing what I’d suppressed.

GRE: Where are you most at home — writing, recording or playing live?

AB: Playing music live is the most honest. A close second would be when I’ve a new song in my head. It can be very gratifying — the time before you bring it to anybody. It’s like this cool secret. Then the moment finally comes to show it to an audience, it’s a pretty special thing.

GRE: Do you carry around a recorder to get new melodies in your head?

AB: No, I figure if it’s worth remembering, it’ll come back. Especially with melodies — I like things to stay in a liquid state in your head for as long as possible. They stay more interesting there. Once they get out of your head, they start to solidify. That liquid magma state is the key to new songs.

GRE: So what’s next for you?

AB: A good solid year of playing shows almost every night. I don’t want to call it work, but it’ll be very demanding. I’m about my health like I’m about to do the Tour de France, putting myself on a specific training and diet regimen. It’s not the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle exactly. If I did indulge in that, well, I just wouldn’t make it.

Really, Billy? Smashing Pumpkins hold drummer auditions

2009-04-05T11:58:00.000-07:00

The Smashing Pumpkins, how I remember them blissfully.

Just this week, Billy Corgan, the one-time rock god of The Smashing Pumpkins, announced that he’d be holding auditions to find a new drummer for his somehow-still-existing band.

As in, you could be a pimple-faced 15-year-old high school band geek today and the drummer of a multi-platinum and formerly awesome alt-rock band tomorrow.

The recent development in The Pumpkins’ devolution into rock’s longest running joke formed after original drummer Jimmy Chamberlin quit the band, leaving Billy Corgan as the sole original member. Unsurprisingly, Corgan was quick to let the public know he’d continue to truck on.

As a former Pumpkins junkie ho long ago played the band’s opus Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness so much that the cassette tape actually wore through and snapped, I must say that I’m really bummed.

This is just the latest in disheartening news to spring from the Corgan camp since the band began to unravel back in the late 1990s — and the slow, painful process of watching the Pumpkins rot has been a difficult pill to swallow.

Here’s a scene: The big family Hanukkah party, held in my grandparent’s basement, and there are no fewer than 15 separate piles of presents scattered along the walls. Each grandkid gets one, and, as a general rule, the piles vary in size depending on how much each set of parents wants to show off their wealth to the rest of the family.

Well, the Jacobs brothers tended to have the smallest pile of gifts while our cousins’ would consist of several boxes the size of small cars stacked atop one another. Usually, this dichotomy would bum me out, the sensitive 9-year-old that I was.

But this year — 1995 it was — I knew that my best gift was the smallest — the double-cassette of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, by the coolest band in the land, The Smashing Pumpkins.

My young mind rationalized the Pumpkins as the coolest band ever using the following logic:

1. The guitar riff of the song “Zero” sounds like the most violent car chase ever.

2. The band had a cute, blonde bassist who had an apostrophe in her first name.

3. I thought I was the only person in the world to realize that Mellon Collie really meant melancholy, which basically means infinite sadness.

4.“Bullet With Butterfly Wings” was brutal and loud, but “1979” was soft and pretty — such dexterity!

5.The one-two punch that begins tape two, “Where Boys Fear to Tread” and “Bodies,” will blow your speakers and terrify your parents.

6.The video for “Tonight, Tonight” was a total mindf**k.

And so it went, for several years, that The Smashing Pumpkins were everything to me. I picked up the band’s earlier work (“Cherub Rock” is killer) and buzzed my hair off. Whether this was to emulate Billy Corgan or not, I can’t remember, but I looked like a penis and grew it back as quickly as I could. Several Hanukkahs later, I even received the five-disc B-sides collection box set and carried it around like a lunchbox.

But I was no blind follower, and when The Pumpkins began to decompose, so did my adoration for them. First came Machina/The Machines of God in 2000, a record that was about as memorable as the pysch class you slept through today.

Then came the first breakup — during which a few band members actually made some decent work. Guitarist James Iha’s A Perfect Circle work was solid, and Zwan, the band including Corgan and Chamberlin, was at least passable.

Bassist D’arcy Wretzky, on the other hand, was arrested for buying a whole bunch of crack. Oops!

But then began the long climb toward both a reunion and the notion that Billy Corgan is batshit insane.

In 2005, the dude took out a full-page ad in the Chicago Tribune begging his old band to rejoin him. It worked, sort of, but the resulting album Zeitgeist (featuring only Corgan and Chamberlin) was anything but, and the band began a freefall into irrelevance.

Corgan’s statement that The Pumpkins would only release singles, not albums, because, “People don’t even listen to it all” made him sound like a bitchy child. Maybe people just didn’t listen to all of your record, Billy.

And now, with Corgan living out his notorious reputation as a weird and egomaniacal control freak, he’s attempting to hold on to the spotlight for just a few more minutes by holding public drummer auditions. Seriously, send your bio, picture and a video to pumpkinsdrummer@gmail.com, and it could be you.

The whole thing stinks of desperation and is the nail in the coffin of the credibility of a once-fantastic band.

So, though I don’t have the money or shamelessness to take an ad out in The Chicago Tribune, Gravity Rides Everything will have to do.

Please, Billy, stop dragging your good name through the mud. Continue to make music, sure, but quit the childish stunts, quit the lame excuses. Iha, who just formed a band with Taylor Hanson, is more respected than you.

Enough is enough, man, and it’s time to know when to gracefully bow out.

Ted Leo and New Pornographers hit Pittsburgh...for free

2009-04-02T08:20:00.000-07:00

Though the school's got negative fashion sense, very little social normalcy and entirely too much emphasis on academics, Carnegie Mellon University sure knows how to pick its live bands.

While Pitt will be aurally bludgeoned to death by the likes of The Academy Is... and the insufferable Secondhand Serenade for its free spring concert, CMU bagged Ted Leo & The Pharmacists and The New Pornographers.

I knew there was a downside to attending a state school.

Nonetheless, the show is going down at 8 p.m. on CMU's large lawn in the center of campus on April 17.

And it's free. Did I mention that?

If you're not a fan already, it'd be a marvelous idea to familiarize yourself with either of these two truly great bands. Here's a start:

Amanda Palmer's plea for freedom

2009-04-02T00:07:00.000-07:00

In a world where most bands struggle to get a record deal, Amanda Palmer is struggling to get out of hers.

The sometime Dresden Doll and sometime solo piano basher's been playing a new live song that mirrors her real life. It's called "Please Drop Me," and it's quite literally a plea to her label, Roadrunner Records, to do just that.

Apparently, Roadrunner attempted to cut a shot of Palmer's surely lovely midriff from an upcoming video because label reps thought she looked a bit overweight.

First of all, Palmer's tummy is a lot different than the rest of her body, I'm quite sure it's damn fine. And secondly, people don't listen to Amanda Palmer's theatrical, dark cabaret pop because she's hot.

With lyrics like "I'm tired of sucking corporate dick," it seems that Palmer's coming back swinging. It's the perfect instance of an artist - a respectable, talented artist - bucking the suits, saying "fuck you" and doing exactly what she wants to do. It's more rock'n'roll than any of the other artists in Roadrunner's band collection (including Slipknot and Deicide and some other dick-rock bullshit) could muster in even the heaviest breakdown.

And speaking of dick-rock, scrolling through Roadrunner's roster is like listing the lineup of the worst festival never created. Seriously, Soulfly, Biohazard, Madina Lake, Dragonforce, Megadeath, Dream Theater, Theory of a Deadman, Sammy Hager, Stone Sour, Slipknot and, my personal favorites, RATT and Nickelback.

The company picnics must be a blast.

Here's "Please Drop Me." Let's hope they do.

A Conversation with Blind Pilot's Israel Nebeker..

2009-03-31T04:38:00.001-07:00

In a musical climate where the biggest tours roll around the country with dozens of massive buses, trucks and planes further blasting the environment to damnation, it’s refreshing to hear about an act like Blind Pilot. The acoustic folk band spent last summer on tour, just like countless other bands — but these guys did it all on their bikes.

“We went from Washington to San Diego. From just below Canada to just above Mexico,” said Blind Pilot’s singer Israel Nebeker. “And it wasn’t the first time. We’d planned a bike tour before but didn’t make it so far. We got our bikes stolen in San Francisco.”

Nebeker’s freewheeling, almost whimsical spirit carries through perfectly in his music. His high, airy voice taps out melodies like The Shins’ James Mercer over his own gently strummed guitar and college buddy turned bandmate Ryan Dobrowski’s lightly splashing drums.

The two Oregon natives began playing together amid the rush and stress of college, but never quite as much as Nebeker wanted. As it so often does, school simply got in the way.

“It was hard to do both — college takes a lot of time,” said Nebeker.

The two rejoined shortly after leaving college, and with no more pesky classes to worry about, Blind Pilot finally began to take shape. With only a handful of acoustic gems, instruments strapped to their backs and a pair of bicycles, Nebeker and Dobrowski set on the first Blind Pilot bike tour, albeit one stunted by theft.

But the first show wasn’t exactly what the two flighty folk post-grads could’ve ever expected.

“The first show on that tour — our first show ever — was booked with a punk band called, I think, F**k Me Dead. We found that out when we got to the venue and kids poured in with Mohawks, studs and leather. It was our first show, and I thought we’d be eaten alive,” said Nebeker.

Surprisingly, the punks had a soft spot for Nebeker’s utterly heartfelt folk.

“Our music didn’t fit in with the rest of the night at all, but it was cool. A guy with an orange Mohawk came up to me afterward and shook my hand. And he had the softest handshake ever,” said Nebeker.

After rebooting in Portland, Ore., getting new bikes and adding bassist Luke Ydstie and banjoist Kati Claborn, Blind Pilot was ready to head out for round two last summer. Dragging along a homemade upright bass trailer (“There are no companies making bass trailers. Luckily, Luke is a good woodworker,” said Nebeker) and a cache of instruments including a ukulele and dulcimer, the quartet biked through a lot of West Coast civilization.

“There were tons of small towns that we didn’t even know had music venues. We basically showed up and asked around where we could play. Those turned out to be some of the best shows,” said Nebeker.

With the band’s music gaining popularity through online avenues and consistent touring, Blind Pilot’s no longer traveling without a motor. Riding in style in a van nowadays, the band has even booked it’s biggest tour ever — with prog-folk heroes The Decemberists, a band whose humble sound on its first record wasn’t unlike the unassuming beauty of Blind Pilot.

Blind Pilot’s debut album, 3 Rounds and A Sound, collects the flowing vibe of life on the road, weaving in and out of ethereal melodies just like the band weaved in and out of California towns. Tracks like the nothing-short-of-lovely “The Story I Heard” find Nebeker’s voice soaring with melodies that’ll stick with you all day — and likely put a smile on your face.

Shades of Iron and Wine, Neutral Milk Hotel and even Simon & Garfunkel show up throughout 3 Rounds, all with a tinge more urgency and carried by steady shuffle beats and rhythmic guitar.

But if you hear something completely different, said Nebeker, that’s just fine. Much like his sentiment toward touring, Nebeker’s feelings on his fans are free and easy.

“I think it’s important to remember that when people are hearing my songs, it’s a two-part process. I’m writing the songs, but the process isn’t complete until they hear it,” said Nebeker. “So if they hear something there, it’s there.”

But whatever fans hear, only one thing matters to the Portland crew: Just hear it.

Show Review: N.E.R.D. pack the stage with bro love

2009-03-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

There’s nothing to pick up sullen spirits quite like a dance party, and that’s exactly what N.E.R.D. brought to a crowd of totally-bummed Pitt students in the Fitzgerald Fieldhouse Saturday night.

Local hip-hop powerhouse Formula 412 opened the show, sponsored by Pitt Program Council, to an audience slowly filtering in during the commercials of the basketball game. It’s a shame the two events coincided, too — the band plays the kind of juggernaut funk that’s best appreciated live. 412’s MC, Masai Turner, had a thumping, rhythmic flow that rode perfectly atop guitarist Nasty Nash’s jackhammer riffs and Young D’s impossibly tight percussion.

Rhythm is Formula 412’s strong suit, and like an more vicious version of The Roots, the band’s live set hit with machine gun precision. Definitely a local band to watch out for.

PPC beamed the last minutes of Pitt’s game against Villanova on the two jumbo screens in the Fieldhouse as the N.E.R.D. crew set up the show and the tension in the room was stifling. And with the last-second loss, the energy of the crowd deflated like a popped balloon.

Luckily, N.E.R.D. front man Pharrell Williams knows how to work a crowd. And the “F**k you ‘Nova” chant didn’t hurt either.

Led by Williams, MC Shay Haley and producer/synthesizer maestro Chad Hugo, N.E.R.D. hit the stage bolstered by a live band including two drummers, two keyboardists a guitarist and a bassist, making for a gigantic sound that immediately got the crowd shaking booties and all semblance of appendages.

“Brain,” a highlight of N.E.R.D.’s debut record In Search Of… was a full-on funk assault, the staccato guitar riff reverberating through the entire Fieldhouse and shaking up even the most depressed of Pitt kids.

In addition to controlling the bounce of the crowd, Williams also seemingly likes to control the crowd itself, laying down the rules of the show.

“Here are the rules. There are no more inhibitions tonight. You will totally let go,” commanded Williams. “Second, if you punch someone, you leave. Three, respect the security guards. And four, when you go back to class, you will tell everyone what the fuck they missed.”

Yes, sir.

After a punchy and energetic “Kill Joy,” Williams dove back in on the crowd instruction, actually attempting to teach the crowd proper crowd-surfing techniques. Teaching when he could’ve been busting out another funk blast, Williams’ insistence on hearing his own voice talk, not perform, was a bit of a kill joy.

Nonetheless, the music took center stage again with the smoothed out drug ballad “Provider” and the sublimely explosive “Sooner or Later,” easily two of the band’s best songs.

Though the lady-heavy audience often seemed there solely to be in the same room as Pharrell Williams (can’t blame them, dude is adorable), the front man wanted to play fair to both sexes. For the fuzz-bass blowout “Rock Star,” he invited a line of guys onstage to have their own rock star moment, resulting, predictably, in said guys jumping up and down, playing air guitar and generally wishing they were Pharrell Williams.

But the self-love didn’t stop there. For a six-minute slinky soul jam, the N.E.R.D. crew invited a veritable entire floor of Holland Hall onstage for Williams to dance with and sing to. The guy and girl stage overpopulation played more like an episode of the surely in the works MTV reality series “Who Wants to Fellate Pharrell?” than a hip-hop show.

Thankfully, all was not lost.

N.E.R.D. dove head first into the thumping coke workout “Everybody Nose” and the extraordinarily funky “She Wants to Move.” When the band spliced in the guitar riff of Franz Ferdinand’s “Take Me Out,” the show finally came full circle, ending with the infectious and intense energy it started on.

Pitt might not have won Saturday night, but for the few hundred students packed into the Fitzgerald Fieldhouse, N.E.R.D.’s show of wild and live hip-hop made the loss an easier pill to swallow.

Photos courtesy Chris Neverman

A Conversation with Alex Rosamilia of The Gaslight Anthem

2009-03-26T19:12:00.001-07:00

There are good bands, and then there are bands with music so good they become the standard of a genre. The Hold Steady have done just that for barroom rock, The Roots have done it for live hip-hop. And more recently, punk rock got its contemporary standard in the form of New Jersey-ites The Gaslight Anthem.

The band, made of singer Brian Fallon, guitarist Alex Rosamilia, bassist Alex Levine and drummer Benny Horowitz, make music that is a synthesis of two of New Jersey’s finest exports — the epic, storytelling, everyman rock of Bruce Springsteen fused sonically with the fast, fist-pumping punk of the Bouncing Souls. And with last year’s The ’59 Sound picking up steam, a cross-country headlining tour about to launch and spots on magazine covers and TV shows piling up, The Gaslight Anthem is about to ignite.

Guitarist Alex Rosamilia, on his last day off before hitting the road, called Gravity Rides Everything to talk rock, Jersey and meditation.

GRE: You’ve had a pretty incredible and quick rise to rock fame.

AR: It’s weird. It’s a constant barrage of surreal moments and pinching myself. I don’t believe this is actually happening because everyone told me it was too impossible for someone like me. We just got back from Europe and most of the shows were sold out. To go to places I’ve never been before and have people stoked to see us, that was incredible.

GRE: How’d the band come together originally?

AR: Brian and Alex were playing together in a band and drafted Benny. The previous guitarist wanted to go back to school and Benny asked if I wanted to join, but I was cautious at first — I’d given up the dream at that point. I was ok with being assistant manager at a sneaker store. I made enough money to do whatever. But he twisted my arm enough to do it.

GRE: A lot’s been made of the band being from New Jersey. Do you feel a particular connection to Jersey bands?

AR: I wouldn’t say there’s a specific Jersey sound or a Jersey genre. But even though everything sounds different, there’s a similar sense of desperation. There’s a hint of claustrophobia because of how easy it is to get stuck in New Jersey. So it’s not a genre, but a state of mind.

GRE: Gaslight’s music has a timeless quality. Is that where the ‘59 Sound concept comes from?

AR: The whole idea behind the record was that we’d found out that we all liked soul music. We basically tried to make an homage to an earlier time. We’re reaching for that sound on purpose — the Stax sound, the Motown sound.

GRE: A lot of songs on the record were written specifically to be live tunes. How do you feel onstage?

AR: This is going to sound really cheesy, but it’s a meditative process. It’s the hour a day where I don’t worry about anything, the only time I feel really focused. We’ll be driving all day, doing photo shoots and interviews, but I get onstage and it all makes sense for an hour. Then I step offstage and it stops making sense again. Onstage I don’t have to worry about creditors calling and asking for money, what I’ll do when I get home. All that shit leaves my head and I just worry about the guitar — a totally innocent thing to worry about. Something can go wrong on guitar and it won’t be the end of the world. Playing a bad note isn’t hazardous to my health.

GRE: There are a lot of styles going into Gaslight Anthem music. What are some acts that have influenced you the most?

AR: Personally, I’d say The Cure. Robert Smith and Johnny Marr have had more say over what I sound like than any guitar player. Peter Green, the original guitar player of Fleetwood Mac, and I’d have to throw in Dave Knudson from Minus the Bear. He’s too good — it’s not fair.

GRE: If you could control the future, what would the next five years look like?

AR: We’d keep doing what we’re doing, but I’d have my own place. That’s the consensus of everybody. I’m currently residing on my friend’s couch. When you’re not home at all, it’s not worth spending money. And I’m not the only one — a few of us are living the nomadic lifestyle right now.

Photo courtesy Lisa Johnson

A Conversation with Erika Wennerstrom of Heartless Bastards

2009-03-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

Female voices don’t come tougher, ballsier and more beautiful than the siren call of Heartless Bastards front woman Erika Wennerstrom. Her band’s dirty power blues sound finds Wennerstrom’s voice dragging through gravel, howling in pain like a lover scorned, all over a punch-in-the-gut bed of thunderous dirt-road guitar and percussion.

The band sounds like the soundtrack to riding into the sunset just after the apocalypse. Yup, they’re that good.

Wennerstrom took some time to talk to Gravity Rides Everything as she winded through the country — soon to be in Pittsburgh Sunday night.

GRE: A lot’s been made of your voice. When did you realize you could sing?

Erika Wennerstrom: I was 18 or 19. I’d always wanted to sing, but I never had — I just told everybody I was going to be a singer. Then around 18, I thought ‘Well, I should start doing this if it’s what I want to do as a career.’ I began to write songs and work at it.

GRE: Do you remember first time singing in front of a crowd?

EW: I’m sure it was some sort of open mic night in Dayton Ohio, but I don’t remember the exact night or what happened or anything.

GRE: How’d you get hooked up with [indie label] Fat Possum?

EW: Patrick Carney of The Black Keys walked into a show we did in Akron, Ohio and I thought I recognized him — I went up to him afterwards and we ended up hanging out and drinking some beers. I handed him a demo and he passed it on to Fat Possum.

GRE: At this point in your career, would you consider moving to a major label?

EW: I don’t know. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Ultimately, I’ve got to do what’s best for the band. I think there are a lot of great things about independent labels, and good things as far as the exposure bigger labels can offer. But in the industry right now, I think indie labels do better. They have more loyal followings. I don’t know anyone who says ‘I have the whole Sony catalogue.’ But I know people that are really big fans of labels like Fat Possum or Sub Pop or Matador. Those labels have really loyal followings that will check something out just because it’s on the label.

GRE: Who are some of your vocal idols? Who do you look up to?

EW: I love Otis Redding, Iggy Pop. I love Mick Jagger, Nina Simone, Joan Jett. My influences are all over the place.

GRE: If you could control the future, what would the next five years look like?

EW: Well, I’d hope that I can continue to write songs that I like and have people respond to them. Plus the whole ‘hope to be happy’ stuff. I’d be livin’ the good life.

GRE: What can fans expect to see from a Heartless Bastards live show?

EW: I’m sure everyone’s view of it is a bit different, but I think we’re a good band. I think we’re entertaining. I don’t do any crazy acrobatics or anything — we’re straightforward. We don’t wear costumes. No pyrotechnics or lighting. We put on a good, old fashioned rock and roll show. We’re just doing what we love to do.

Check out Heartless Bastards at Mr. Small's on Sunday night. Expect to leave feeling like you got kicked in the stomach.

T-Pain is a cultural icon bigger than a boat

2009-03-25T19:05:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, Paris Hilton. See you later, Jennifer Aniston. The most important cultural icon we’ve got nowadays is none other than T-Pain.

Why? Well, first off, he’s on a boat. He’s on a boat. Take a good, hard look, because he’s sailing on a boat.

In the parallel universe of pop culture that co-exists with the real world in which normal shmoes like you and I exist, T-Pain is the guy that shows up at every party (though no one is sure who invited him). He always has something witty to say, and he probably slept with your sister. And very possibly your mother.

By appearing in just about every popular song to hit the radio, he has become the digitized voice of pop music, the thermometer for what is hot up in da club and what is not.

Seriously, his resume of hits is staggering. Here’s just a sampler: Chris Brown’s “Kiss Kiss,” Kanye West’s “Good Life,” Flo Rida’s “Low,” Baby Bash’s “Cyclone” and my personal favorite, “I’m ‘n Luv (Wit a Stripper).”

Aren’t we all, Mr. Pain, aren’t we all?

But with T-Pain’s latest guest appearance on the brilliantly dumb “I’m on a Boat,” this big-hatted teddy bear has come full circle in the pop universe, revealing that, yes, he knows what he does is silly and meaningless, but damn it, there is nothing wrong with that.

“I’m on a Boat,” written by the regular-dude trio of Andy Samberg, Akiva Schaffer and Jorma Taccone as The Lonely Island, is, at first listen, a club track with a colossal, thumping beat about — predictably — how cool it is to be on a boat, motherf****r.

The lyrics are obviously silly, especially when being rhymed by awkward white boys in tuxedos.

“I’m the king of the world, on a boat like Leo / If you’re on the shore, then you’re sure not me, oh,” is not exactly Dylan, but that’s not the point. “I’m on a Boat” is a spot-on parody of the entire genre of bling-tastic, my-grillz-is-shinier-than-yours hip-hop pop music. The bigger the boat, the more garish the display of wealth.

That part’s easy, though. Without T-Pain, the track would be little more than the best song Weird Al never wrote.

By featuring Mr. Pain, the genre king of mechanized, impersonal party jams, the song not only sounds way cooler, but also raises the tune to a whole other level of parody.

In imitating the sound of big-beat hip-hop tracks, “I’m on a Boat” has become one of the best to drop in months. It’s divine irony is anchored by T-Pain’s self-knowingly ridiculous appearance.

Because his trademark vocal addition to any song is sung through an auto-tune machine, thereby making the sounds you hear on the record not his own, T-Pain is the ultimate disposable pop star.

He is every hip-hop dude rapping about booties droppin’ down to the flo’, he is every pop star singing about love or sex or love and sex and he is every recycled chorus that sounds like a song from six months ago.

By appearing in a song that directly makes fun of just how silly club jams are, he is stepping back from his bling-image and saying, “Yup, it’s pretty stupid.” And in admitting so, he immediately becomes the smartest pop star in the business.

You wouldn’t see Akon on this track — dude takes himself way too seriously. And you sure wouldn’t see fellas like Diddy or Young Jeezy or Usher singing lines like “Never thought I’d be on a boat. It’s a big, blue watery road ... Believe me when I say I f****d a mermaid.” Those guys are too caught up in exactly the image that “I’m on a Boat” is making fun of.

And so was T-Pain.

But by jumping around on a boat, he’s winking to every music listener that has trouble swallowing the meaningless, hollow club tracks that seem to be recycled and redone every few months.

He gets it, he’s in on the joke. But you know what? That doesn’t bother him at all. He’s getting paid, and he’s giving us one more silly banger to get us gyrating on the dance floor.

And you really can’t blame him. Because the dude’s on a boat. He’s on a boat. And all we can do is take a good, hard look at the motherf*****g boat.

And continuing the 'things that are beautiful' tip...

2009-03-23T14:40:00.000-07:00

This video hit the web back in January, but it warrants repeated viewings. If you haven't seen it yet, pay attention and listen up. The stop motion action going on here is nothing short of breathtaking, and it helps that the song is quite lovely as well.

Just a bit of background - singer Oren Lavie is an Israeli singer-songwriter with a concentration on theater. The rest of his tunes are very Leonard Cohen-y in their understated beauty, subtle melodies and slow, plodding pace. Really, really nice stuff.

Interestingly enough, his video for "Her Morning Elegance" has hit over 4 million views on YouTube, but the dude's only got 6000 or so friends on MySpace. Guess we're all just in for a one-off, which is a shame — Lavie's no one trick pony. Check the rest of his online music here.

My weekend of Grizzly Bear submission

2009-03-22T19:46:00.000-07:00

Brothers and sisters,

It is my hope with Gravity Rides Everything to present thoughtful and thought-provoking discourse on music so as to push readers and listeners to think and appreciate music on a more thorough level. As in, no silly over-hyping, no crazed-fan freakout — I want to keep a weight to the music, hence Gravity Rides Everything.

But damn it, it sure as hell is hard not to have a mini-freak out after hearing Grizzly Bear's new record, Veckatimest.

The copy came to me through a friend in town to give a poetry reading — both the work and the people behind it are quite fantastic. Check 'em out here.

The Brooklynites told me they'd been jamming to Veckatimest consistently on their reading-tour of the past week — they'd fall asleep and be brought back to life by the sweeping sounds of the record, finding themselves in a new city, new surroundings. Thinking about how gigantic each song on the record becomes, only to sink back to the shadows, it sounds like a pretty beautiful experience.

Well, this was Thursday. Now Sunday night, I've fully submitted to the power of the record. I can't turn it off. I've tried, sure, by playing other new music (Thanks you Heartless Bastards and Thursday, but you just can't help) and even old standbys (Good effort, Band of Horses), but nothing can draw me away from this record.

I will likely bite my tongue for typing this at somepoint, as I'm sure that my life will soon be significantly less swallowed by Grizzly Bear, but right now it feels right: Veckatimist is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard.

These harmonies are otherworldly — a chorus of ghosts singing from a dark corner in an abandoned house. The guitars alternate between ground-rumbling and barely-whispers, sweeping you up like a strong wind and twirling you around, over and over and upside down and inside out. And then the piano. Oh, lord the piano. Jetting in and out of each track like a devilish and clever child, beautiful, full of life.

The whole album feels like the ocean, it's tides changing over and again, each bringing something different to shore. The scope is both a huge, endless open field and the tiny space under the bed of a scared child where he hides from monsters.

It is absolutely gorgeous. I honestly cannot remember hearing another album that hit me the way Veckatimist has. Maybe The Decemberists' "Her Majesty," and that was back in 2003.

End of weekend count: 21. I've listened to the record 21 times through. That's over 1000 minutes, over 17 hours. I feel like a drug addict. But when the smack is this good, I don't wanna stop.

Here are a few of the most-leaked tracks, in the best video forms I can find 'em. Enjoy. I know you will.

Bands that were huge last year... that I just heard now.

2009-03-19T05:36:00.000-07:00

When you're a busy dude like me (class two days a week! an almost sort of full time job! at least 3 requisite nights at the bar a week!), it's easy to let some of the best music slip right by you.

Well, over the past 10 hours, I've spent some much needed time playing catch up with some of last year's gems... instead of writing the paper that's now due in 51 minutes.

Nonetheless, in case you too missed some of these sparks of brilliance, here are a few suggestions to brush up your knowledge of what totally killed in 2008.

Enjoy!

Frightened Rabbit: Yes, I've already kicked myself, difficult as it was, for not having heard Frightened Rabbit until now. But now that I have, my mind is running circles around the beautifully tortured mess that this band creates with each song. Pumping guitars, meandering melodies and enough jangle to creep into every nook and cranny of your brain. Epic, stunning. Listen now.

The Tallest Man on Earth: It's been said over and over and over, so this extremely late name-drop comparison won't hurt any feelings; dude sounds like a more ethereal Dylan. Like Dylan singing from a desolate bayou porch in the middle of the coldest night in November, wind swirling all around him, the only light coming from a single candle that's about to burn out.

Raphael Saadiq: Yessssssssss. Raphael just feels right, like a glass of wine on a night in with somebody to hold onto tight. Does that sound cheesy? Fine, but this is feel-good soul like only the greats like Stevie and the Reverend can pull off. Play this at any time of day for an instant chill out, and expect to call people 'cat' for several hours following.

I've still got more catching up to do, but these three will keep me smiling at least until I hand in this paper... in 37 minutes. Student, me?

Not good at sharing: Coming to terms with 'your' band being everyone else's too

2009-03-19T05:25:00.000-07:00

As I type this column, I’m downloading the iTunes advanced release of The Decemberists’ new record, The Hazards of Love. And I’m extremely nervous.

It’s not that I fear the album will be bad, though — the band could release an entire record of power chords and Buddhist chants and I’d likely find something to appreciate. Rather, my apprehension comes from the notion that The Decemberists, a band that I’ve loved for almost six years, is no longer my own.

With each album, The Decemberists have seen a steady increase in both fans and critical attention — a pattern that would suggest that The Hazards of Love will be the band’s biggest record. And if the huge media push (Rolling Stone called it “the Decemberists’ full-on classic-rock move”) is any indication, it’s looking like the band once beloved only by nerds and classics majors may soon be embraced by the people who used to beat up nerds and classics majors.

The Decemberists are primed for the big time, a place filled with bands that suck and the people who love them. What a sad day.

But shouldn’t I, a diehard Decemberists fan (Colin Meloy’s pre-Decemberists band was Tarkio. Who knew that one?) be happy for my band’s growing success? Well, no. Not exactly.

And herein lies the problem so many fans face as their favorite bands make it big. The logic goes like this:

You discover a band you think no one else knows at a time in your life when the band’s music gives you hope. The band becomes “yours,” and you introduce your friends to the music. Your friends begin to love the band as well. The band becomes “theirs” as well as “yours.” This you can deal with — you like your friends, you like your band. The two can co-exist.

But then everyone else catches on, usually because of brain vacuums like MTV. “Your” band begins to be the band of everyone, from the girls with braces and black hoodies in Hot Topic to the quarterback of the football team, whose previous favorite band was Bon Jovi. Your faith in “your” band begins to falter. How can someone like Bon Jovi and “your” band?

Still, if you love “your” band, you should want the best for it, and it’s hard to deny that making millions of dollars is worse than not making enough money to buy gas or underwear.

You’re stuck.

There must be a way to reconcile a band’s success and a fan’s personal connection to the band — they can’t be absolute inverses. Or can they?

Often, a band’s initial output is rough. It’s difficult to absorb, and the band gains a devoted but small following of fans who are willing to put in the time to appreciate the music. As the band gains experience, it’s music becomes easier to digest and the band gains more fans simply because it takes less effort to appreciate the music. To the economist, this is a good strategy. To the diehard fan, this means the band is getting worse.

Every band follows this pattern, from Taking Back Sunday (if you say you didn’t love the first album during high school, you’re a liar) to the Foo Fighters (The Colour and the Shape is a classic, the later stuff is tired — but loved by everyone).

For the diehard fan, decreasing personal connection is actually caused by a decrease in the quality of the music, not merely the accumulation of more fans.

But The Decemberists, much like My Morning Jacket or Death Cab for Cutie, for example, bucked that trend — popularity has grown seemingly because more people have finally heard the band, not because the music’s been dumbed down.

Like The Hazards of Love itself, a 17-part opus about a character named Margaret being ravaged by a shape-shifting dude named William, the situation is complex, and though I could wax philosophical about the price of fame on artistic integrity, the bottom line is that we fans may just have to be alright that “our” bands often become the bands of countless others, whether those countless others appreciate the music as much as we do.

It’s a difficult task, I know, but a necessary one. I’ll always have my Decemberists moments, when I felt like the band and I, in a rather Lifetime Channel way, were truly meant to be together forever. And nothing can take that away from me.

Not even the Bon Jovi-loving quarterback.

Hint: Here's my favorite -

Rothbury bags a beautiful lineup

2009-03-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

The festival lineups continue to roll in, and Rothbury (July 2-5) may just edge out Bonnaroo for the title of the Best of 09.

I'd say the top five billed acts alone make the Michigan fest's pricey 250 tickets worth it, but the list stays strong the further down you go.

Unlike both Roo or All Good, Rothbury's been able to straddle the line between mainstream blowout and jam-band heaven by raking in a lineup that is, you could say, a jam-band blowout. The best of both worlds — absolutely gigantic bands that won't appeal to the annoying douchebags who came to see Dave Matthews Band. All rejoice!

The highlights are bolded, but there are few bands that don't excite me to some degree. Damian Marley and Nas?!? Fantastic.

Who's ready for a roadtrip?

The Dead
Bob Dylan and His Band
The String Cheese Incident
Willie Nelson & Family
The Black Crowes
Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley & Nas
STS9
G. Love & Special Sauce
Gov't Mule
Broken Social Scene
Yonder Mountain String Band
The Disco Biscuits
Les Claypool
Cold War Kids
John Butler
Chromeo
Ani DiFranco
Matisyahu
Guster
Girl Talk
Femi Kuti & The Positive Force
MSTRKRFT
Martin Sexton
Flogging Molly
Railroad Earth
The Hold Steady
Toots & The Maytals
Ralph Stanley & The Clinch Mountain Boys
Brett Dennen
Zappa Plays Zappa
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
Shpongle DJ Set
Son Volt
Jackie Greene
Soulive
Man Man
Peter Rowan Bluegrass Band w/ Tony Rice
EOTO
King Sunny Adé & His African Beats
Lotus
Kid Cudi
STS9 Live PA
The Glitch Mob
Davy Knowles and Back Door Slam
Pretty Lights
Moseley, Law, Sipe & Droll
Rebelution
Quannum All Stars ft. Lyrics Born, The Mighty Underdogs, Gift of Gab & Lifesavas
Toubab Krewe
Sam Roberts Band
Hill Country Revue
Kyle Hollingsworth Band
Lipp Service
2020 Soundsystem
Break Science ft. Adam Deitch
The Hard Lessons
The Low Anthem
Underground Orchestra
Future Rock
The Macpodz
Steppin' In It
Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad
Chris Pierce
Rachel Goodrich
The Ragbirds
Four Finger Five

An Ode to Dr. Dog: My Guatemalan Anchor

2009-03-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

If you scan down the page, you'll find a picture of a Guatemalan volcano.

Welcome to the last week of my life.

I returned today after, quite literally, more than 24 hours of traveling (tiny rural village of Paraxaj to Guatemala City to Miama to JFK airport to Newark airport to Pittsburgh airport to public transit to home) from what I'd consider the most important and powerful week of my life.

Still, though, I'm too close to the action right now to be able to sort through the impact that my time living in an impoverished village will have on my life — the feelings are too fresh, too new. All I can say is that I'm not sure I'll ever be the same, or that I can ever again willingly embrace the foolish wastefulness of American culture.

But that's another topic for another blog.

Like any intense patch of life, there's music for every emotion. I went into my week in Guatemala with very few expectations for what music I'd crave, and for many of the most intense moments (visiting a family of 10 living in a house the size of a Cadillac), there was simply no music at all that fit.

I wanted nothing but silence.

But, surprisingly, one band rose to the top for those moments when sight and sound matched perfectly: Dr. Dog.

Sure, Explosions in the Sky popped up on the moments when we were driving through the mountains and RJD2 was played in our room when spirits were feeling funky, but Dr. Dog was consistently the band I came back to during the few moments when I needed a musical kick in the pants.

Why? Because Dr. Dog music makes me happier than any other band I can think of.

Just check out "The Breeze." The ethereal, floating harmonies, the slow, bopping melody, the sprinkled piano and plucked-toy guitar. The rhythm driving forward so steadily, so playfully.

And, of course, the line, "What blows us here today will blow us all away...the breeze will blow us all away."

With only one week in the tiny village of Paraxaj, I did feel that the breeze blew me in and swept me away just as quickly. And like the best music should, Dr. Dog brought out the words I couldn't find.

Five bands to keep spring break boredom free. Clearly, a must-read

2009-03-05T15:43:00.000-08:00

Here's the deal, folks.

Beginning tomorrow morning, I'll be heading to Manhattan for a few nights of drunken debauchery, immediately followed Sunday morning by a week of sobering reality — in Guatemala.

I'll be spending a week volunteering in an impoverished village in Guatemala and sleeping on a floor. No phone, and definitely no computer.

I know, I know. You're wondering whatever you'll do without GRE. I promise, you will survive. Stay strong, read some old posts for comfort and try to focus on something else, like knitting or reading a book (yes, they still exist!), to take your mind off your sorrow.

For some of us will spend spring break lounging on an exotic beach, perfecting our tans while sipping on drinks mixed with any assortment of alcohol. Some of us will spend spring break in the front seat of a friend’s car, our arm hanging out the window on the way to an unknown destination. And some of us will spend spring break watching OnDemand reruns in our parents’ basement.

Others of us are real people and have jobs (shiver races down spine).

For that third group, I feel your pain. I’ve been there — sure, spending spring break at home seems fun at first, what with all the free home cooking and…well, really just the home cooking.

But by Wednesday, a year’s worth of your mom’s awesome meatloaf couldn’t keep you from yearning to return to school. Your parents started asking you to, you know, do things (Chores?! What the hell?), and you’ve watched even the most uninteresting of what OnDemand has to offer (Check out the totally un-captivating ShalomTV).

Whatever shall you do to pass the time? Homework? That’s just silly talk. Prepare a nice family dinner before your parents return from work? Only if pop’s bringing home a sixer of your favorite beer.

Luckily, unfortunate soul, I’ve got you covered.

Listed below are five bands that, unless you are a musical whiz or a big nerd like me, you’ve never heard of. And if you have, then you don’t need my help to find some new, exciting music. Check out exactly one each day, beginning Monday, and by the time you’re listening to the last band on Friday, you'll be home free.

Monday — Kiev: This Orange County, California band is a perfect early-week pick-me-up. The percussion is propulsive, sending each post-rock shaker towards a satisfying end. Think Muse with less of an alternative rock feel, or Radiohead (The Bends-style) with a bit more of a punch, and you’ve got this co-ed crew’s sound.

Tuesday — Apes and Androids: Replace ‘apes’ with ‘funk’ and you’ve got this New York band down pat. Decidedly non-Daft Punk robotic-melodies ordering everyone to “Get f****d up” shoot like lasers over minimalist electro-funk beats. Find an astronaut suit, pop this band on at a costume party you throw at your house (you know at least mom and dad will show up!) and get ready to have a ball. It’s almost Wednesday. You’re going to make it.

Wednesday — Heartless Bastards: Alright, so the middle of the week doesn’t feel quite as close to the end as you thought. Fear not, for the slow-chugging guitar blues of the Heartless Bastards will turn those sad thoughts into, well, sadder thoughts. But the good, introspective-but-not-bitter type of sad. And better yet, this Cincinatti, lady-fronted grit-machine will play Pittsburgh next month with Gaslight Anthem, so you can relive the excitement that was your spring break once again!

Thursday — Vetiver: You made it over hump day and it’s time to celebrate the nearing end of your time at home. But we’re not talking a big champagne bash with the folks — the sunshine-drenched, upbeat, acoustic folk of Devendra Banhart compatriots Vetiver will suffice perfectly. Tunes like the lovely and sublime “Everyday” will remind you that there are greener pastures back at school. Greener pastures where you can get drunk when you want to get drunk, and you can dance through the streets freely instead of being confined to your hallways where you risk breaking mom’s piece of art she bought at a community crafts fair.

Friday — Dan Deacon: You’ve made it! Through trips to the mall with mom, ‘We’re proud of you’ moments with dad and more couch time than a coma patient, you’ve made it to the end of spring break. Congratulations, and some hot beats are in order. Blast some of Dan Deacon’s strobe-ready dance party jams and watch your folks freak out. Seriously, they’re having a seizure. Deacon jams will do that to the fragile and middle aged.

Well, there you go, homeward-bound students. I guarantee that the inclusion of these one-a-day bands will make your basement dwelling significantly less of a bummer.

I’ll see you next week, after I get my wicked, tropical tan.

Let's give Tinted Windows a fair shake, shall we?

2009-03-04T10:43:00.000-08:00

If you have access to the internet (and by reading this, I can logically conclude that you do), then you probably heard the news last week about Tinted Windows, a new band.

That's right, just a new band.

Sure, I could mention that members of said new band include James Iha (from the Smashing Pumpkins), Ben E. Carlos (from Cheap Trick), Adam Schlesinger (from Fountains of Wayne) and Taylor Hanson (from, um, Hanson), but to do so would mean that if you decide to listen to said new band, you won't hear said new band, you'll hear (or attempt to hear) Smashing Pumpkins, Cheap Trick, Fountains of Wayne and Hanson.

You see, by knowing who the members of Tinted Windows are, it is goddamn impossible to view the band as the sum of its parts. The band's parts are simply too iconic in themselves to meld into the singular entity of a band. By doing that, we are robbed of ever even having the chance to like Tinted Windows, or, hell, even love Tinted Windows. And, as Taylor Hanson would say, where's the love? If you don't forget about the Windows' past, well then damn it, it's not enough.

So, though I realize that if you've read this far, I've already ruined your chances to hear Tinted Windows as Tinted Windows (blogs are so self-defeating), do me a favor and give the track "Kind of a Girl" a try right here:

Now let's compare notes.

None of the band member's original bands were exactly known for cutting edge or heady rock'n'roll, so I didn't expect to hear any in this clip. And I sure didn't.

But that ain't so bad. The song's catchy. Really, really catchy. It's sugar-sweet pop-rock with a killer chorus, a lot like - who woulda guessed! - a harder-edged Hanson or an exactly-the-same Cheap Trick.

And though I may be crucified by the indie police for ever saying this, I. Like. It.

I wouldn't pop it on a mix of the most meaningful songs I've ever heard ("She's a kind of a girl you can't get enough of" doesn't quite capture my heart), but it'll be great for parties full of drunken kids looking for something to pogo around a basement to.

So do me a favor, try to forget that the dudes in this band are also responsible for "MMMBop," "Bullet with Butterfly Wings," "Stacey's Mom" and "I Want You to Want Me." Give it a shot. Yes, you'll be embarrassed when you like it too, but it can be our little secret.

Does make you wonder, though. What do the other, less talented and less attractive Hanson brothers think of Taylor's new digs? That's gotta be awkward at the dinner table.

Shit, the indie police are banging in my front door. Gotta go.

Finally, Scientific Proof That Nickelback is for Dolts

2009-03-02T20:03:00.000-08:00

That's right, folks.

It's been a long time coming — years spent arguing with sad, mulletted chaps named Buck or Earl, years of feeling like I waved the flag of Nickelback-suck-dom alone in a storm of shitty music — but finally, there is scientific proof to back up my claims.

Recently, a former computer hacker named Virgil Griffith compiled a comparison of college students' SAT scores versus favorite bands to find a correlation. He did so by amassing favorite bands on the Facebook accounts of students at various colleges, as well as the average SAT score at said college (Confused? Well, that's why he goes to CalTech.) And guess what? He found one!

You can check out the full and readable chart here.

Before you scoff at the notion that you, Nickelback (or Breaking Benjamin, or The Used. Ha!) lover may actually like your music because you are, in fact, dumber than most high school graduates, let me assure you that our fine Mr. Virgil Griffith is no pimpled-basement hacker.

The dude's been written up by The New York Times and - get this! - has his own Wikipedia page. And we all know that Wikipedia is today's measure of authenticity and worth.

Nonetheless, according to Griffith's findings, there is a strong correlation between preferred bands and SAT scores, and the results are staggering.

The artist who generated fans with the lowest SAT scores was, almost amazingly, Lil Wayne. Who would've thought that Weezy's often-loopy rhyme schemes would appeal most to morons — the average SAT score of a Lil Wayne devotee was in the 870's (Scores apply to old SAT format, with 1600 max score). Shoulda laid off the herb and opened a book.

Also in the low end were T.I, Beyonce and, laughably, the entire genre of Reggaeton.

Maybe my favorite low-ender is the genre of gospel. Paired with this scientific finding, really makes you think about the mental capacity of gospel-loving religious nuts. Jesus is great, sure, but totally digging music devoted to him means you probably wouldn't get into community college. That just may explain why the guys who hand you those pamphlets on the sidewalk don't ever seem to, well, have jobs.

Jam bands had a fantastic high showing, with both Phish and the Grateful Dead placing among the favorites of students with top-third SAT scores. So scratch the pot comment above. Shoulda laid off the syrup instead?

The highest-placing contemporary artist was Sufjan Stevens (no surprise there), and far and away the highest musician overall was Beethoven, a full 100 points above Stevens.

So what does it all mean? Well, it certainly doesn't mean that by listening to Beethoven you'll get smarter. If anything, it means that people who are already smart naturally flock to certain music, and people who are already dumb naturally do the same.

It's a scary thought. Especially if you're into Nickelback. But in that case, you were damned already.

Cursive: Cleverer than Radiohead?

2009-03-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

Of all the bands out there, Cursive are among the least likely to be in it to make a buck.

Tim Kasher is the type of performer and lyricist that, especially when you see him perform live (check below for recent video), exudes the type of desperation that screams sincerity. As in, had he not the stage as an outlet to unleash the emotional hurricane that flows through his veins everyday, he damn well might explode.

That said, Cursive's done and pulled a Radiohead with its newest album, Mama I'm Swollen.

Well, not exactly.

While Radiohead gave fans the option of paying whatever they wanted for last year's In Rainbows, Cursive are a bit trickier. Starting today, you can buy the album for near nothing - a single dollar. For each day until the album's actual release, March 10, the price will increase by a dollar — meaning it'll then cost a still reasonable 10 bucks. They're actually pressing fans to pay less by, well, being good fans and grabbing the record as soon as possible.

Not only has the band stirred up a veritable shit ton of curiosity about the new record, but now Kasher and Company have gone and successfully created a buzz that'll push possible buyers to pick up the record as soon as possible. God forbid you download it tomorrow and pay two dollars. The ploy is a bit silly, sure, but it got me.

I made sure to download Swollen well before midnight. And having listened to it through no less than three times so far, I suggest you do the same.

This record is vintage Cursive: thrashy, screaming, intense and hard to swallow. Exactly as it should be.

If you're still not sold, check out "From the Hips," one of the records shiniest gems:

Ben Kweller's "On My Way"

2009-03-01T17:28:00.000-08:00

I do love Pittsburgh, but sometimes, damn it, I hate the tools that give it a bad name.

Ben Kweller's Diesel show last night was filled with gorgeous country-pop ditties about how much he loves his wife Lizzy, lots of flannel and, unfortunately, lots of cat calls for Kweller to take off said flannel.

Maybe the most baffling comment of the night was, "Ben! You are a rock god! You and Ben Lee! And Youth Group!"

The above drunken asshat was likely naming all three musical acts that he knows, oddly enough including Australian Death Cab for Cutie copy Youth Group.

Kweller handled the heckling like a true Southern gent, but it was obvious that the Pittsburgh hospitality was grating on him.

Nonetheless, the show was stellar and everyone left feeling like they'd just sat around a campfire in July. Perfect.

Check out "On My Way," one of Kweller's most adorable songs. And I mean that sincerely. Dude's music just makes you want to cuddle.

Ben Kweller "On My Way," Club Diesel in Pittsburgh, 2/28/09 from Justin Jacobs on Vimeo.

Kweller's Country Tornado Hits Pittsburgh Tonight

2009-02-28T11:53:00.000-08:00

Let’s get the obvious part out of the way first — Ben Kweller, the foppish, high-voiced singer-songwriter who’s been banging out garage rock since he was a preteen, just put out his first country record. As in, Texas-boy-showing-his-roots country.

But like the best folks in the genre, Kweller’s always been a storyteller. And though his latest record, Changing Horses, is more rodeo than rock ’n’ roll, the familiar playfulness and hard-to-hate sunshine songs fans have known for years make this Kweller’s best in years.

And yes, he knows it’s country.

“They did the same thing to Bob Dylan when he put out Nashville Skyline, and I even call that his country record. He’d probably say, ‘F**k you man,’ but we gotta label things because we got a language so we can explain things to people,” said Kweller from his home in Austin, Texas. “If you want to call it a country record, so be it, I don’t care. But it is just another Ben Kweller album.”

Good country music’s all about the story, and not surprisingly, Kweller’s Jewish, rock ’n’ roll, boy-wonder-in-the-South tale is among the best.

Now 27, Kweller wrote his first song when he was only 8 and “sounded like a little girl with a Southern accent.” Naturally, this didn’t sit well with the aspiring cowboy rocker.

“I was in fifth grade, and I made a cassette for my friend who was really into AC/DC. My two songs were country piano songs, and I gave him the tape. He came back the next day and said, ‘Man, you sing like a girl,’” said Kweller. “I was so devastated and bummed. So I tried to make my voice sound tougher. I didn’t want to sound like a p***y to my friend.”

His family had moved from California to Texas when he was a year old, making his eventual laid-back California sunshine-child attitude a bit of a surprise. Especially given that his childhood idols were Garth Brooks and Alan Jackson. But adolescence — and the early ’90s — threw him for a loop.

“This little band called Nirvana came out. I was at a skate park when I first heard ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,’ and I literally pulled over and said, ‘What the f**k is this,’” said Kweller.

For one thing, it was inspiration. By the time he had his bar mitzvah, Kweller was putting out records in the band Radish, going on to play both David Letterman’s and Conan O’Brian’s shows and touring internationally.

And though he might not have sounded tougher on the CBS soundstage, a p***y he was not. Kweller was an indie rock hero in England before he could drive.

Alas, Radish spoiled by 1998 and Kweller was on his own — and better off for it. By 2002 he’d released his first solo record Sha Sha, an album that straddled rootsy indie rock and gut-punching brat-punk. And while Kweller’s country roots took a backseat, they were undeniably still there.

Now with Changing Horses, Kweller’s sixth solo record, Texas is back. But don’t expect a Garth Brooks hillbilly stomper. Horses is filled with gorgeous acoustic ballads (“Ballad of Wendy Baker”), plodding steel-guitar workouts (“On Her Own”) and catchy, sun-baked sing-alongs (well, every song).

“A lot of the songs have been written over the years,” said Kweller. “I’d write one and say, ‘God, I love this song, I want to make an album like this.’ There were certain songs I knew belonged on an album together with their cousins. And it just seemed like the right time to make this album.”

Before he’s even hit 30, Kweller has been making a living in music for more than half of his life. And with his first son Dorian (whose middle name Zev, matched with Kweller’s middle name Lev, translates in Hebrew to “Lion Heart”) and wife Lizzy by his side, Kweller shows no signs of slowing down.

“I’m not good at anything else. I knew that early on — thank God I got lucky and got a record deal when I was so young. But there’s other things I love — science, history, the outdoors, camping and fishing,” said Kweller.

“I always say if I was doin’ something else, I’d be a park ranger or a professional fisherman. But I’d probably get bored of that — I’m an artist first and foremost. Music is my thing.”

Rolling Stone's Five Star Rating More Than a Little Misleading

2009-02-26T13:21:00.001-08:00

What makes a classic record classic?

According to Rolling Stone Magazine, the answer is a five-star rating. And going with that reasoning, two brand new albums have already achieved such status — U2’s No Line on the Horizon and Bruce Springsteen’s Working on a Dream.

Are both records good? Sure. Good. Springsteen’s Dream is certainly his most accomplished record in a handful of years — better than Magic, less adventurous than his Pete Seeger throwback We Shall Overcome — but it doesn’t rank with the record’s most would consider classics of the Boss. Mainly you’ve got the big three — The River, Darkness on the Edge of Town and a little record called Born to Run.

On the U2 front, many critics have called No Line on the Horizon the band’s best effort since the blockbuster-via-artistic-freakout Achtung Baby. But when you consider U2’s output between the two albums, the fact that this is the band’s best album in almost two decades doesn’t seem so drastic. 1997’s Pop? Almost laughable. All That You Can’t Leave Behind from 2000? Would’ve been considered an artistic highlight for, say, Matchbox Twenty, but as a U2 record it didn’t impress me.

So it’s safe to say that both the new Springsteen and U2 albums are certainly returns to form for the artists. But classics?

Rolling Stone’s rating system ranks albums as thus: one star is poor, ascending to four stars (excellent) and five stars (classic). That last word is printed in every issue of the magazine in the ranking descriptions, but very rarely seen actually assigned to an album. And that’s as it should be — any publication taking a critical approach to art should really think through its ratings so that to earn the highest score, said art has to be truly worth it.

But herein lies the problem of Rolling Stone’s stars — by calling five stars ‘classic,’ the magazine sets itself up for trouble. The commonly understood notion of a classic record would be one that has earned the classification through both quality and impact. In other words, Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde is a classic record because it is truly amazing, but also because of its great impact on the entirety of popular music — the record is a milestone of rock and roll.

And the solution is utterly simple. A five star album should be saddled with a really enthusiastic adjective, but not classic. How about 'Fantastic.' Or even 'Holy-Shit-Good!' Anything but 'Classic,' because - guess what? - an album can't be a classic until time deems it so.

Turning back to Bruce and Bono, we’ve got a serious problem. Let’s ignore the question of either new record being actually great — that’s a reviewer’s job, and for the sake of this column, a reviewer I am not — and look at the implication of a classic.

It is simply impossible to comprehend the impact of either record because it hasn’t happened yet. They’re simply too new. Hell, U2’s Horizon has only been released on MySpace. The physical record won’t even hit the shelves until March 2. Rolling Stone’s David Fricke, who, don’t get me wrong, is one of the best rock critics since Lester Bangs, dropped the review on February 20 — almost two weeks before the world even had the chance to hear this supposed classic.

And this leads to the most important point — classics are decided by the fans (of music, not of a certain band) not critics. That is not to say that all classic records are huge sellers, though. Television sold a paltry number of its masterwork Marquee Moon, but the album’s huge impact on the burgeoning punk scene and its cache of devoted fans pushed it to classic status. Had only critics championed it, it would’ve been forgotten.

But for fans to attach themselves to a record or for that record’s impact on music to be even remotely calculated, one thing is crucial — time.

Marquee Moon wasn’t a classic when it came out in 1977, it was just a really great record.

And that’s what Horizon and Working on a Dream are. Really great records. But not classics. Not yet — and if you ask me, neither ever will be. The days of classic U2 and Springsteen both ended a long, long time ago, though this doesn’t negate that either still writes good, if not great music. Well, not U2. U2 stopped being even remotely awesome around 1992. But I digress.

Rolling Stone used to be criticized for bashing records that eventually became undeniable classics (ever heard of Led Zeppelin?). But today, the magazine’s been doing quite the opposite — hailing classic albums years before the word should even be uttered.

A five star rating is fine, but not when it implies a classic. Can’t it be called something else, like really, really, really, really, really good?

My Pre-teen Image of DMX=Awesome is Dead

2009-02-25T22:17:00.000-08:00

One day when I was about 12, I decided that it was time I started listening to rap music. Knowing little about it at the time, I went to the local record shop and picked up what, in my mind, were two classics of the genre: DMX's It's Dark and Hell is Hot and Jay-Z's Vol. 2.

Jay was great ("Can I Get A.." is. fucking. awesome.) but what really grabbed me was DMX. Dude had a growl, a vicious, almost inhuman vocal delivery and drive that made this white, suburban Jewish boy nod with that-guy-is-badass admiration.

Then I grew up and realized that he kinda sucked.

While the first two DMX albums were absolute gems of second (or third?) wave gangster-aggression rap, DMX's subsequent output was simply regurgitated rants about how he was still street, and included more references to dogs, or, excuse me, dawgs, than anyone should ever utter in an entire lifespan.

All that said, it's safe to say the dream is gone: DMX is now officially lame as hell.

Just as it seemed D couldn't have gotten less awesome, he did. Check it out: not only is he currently in jail for felony charges of theft, drug possession and a misdemeanor charge of animal cruelty (hedging on badass, except for that last one), but today he threw a lunch tray at an officer after said officer told him he wasn't allowed to eat the meal he'd picked up in the dining room. Why? Because, due to another scrapple, DMX is on a bread and water diet and he wanted something a bit more substantial.

Fair enough, but throw a tray at a jail guard? What is this, kindergarten?

After years of hoping he'd return to greatness, I'm signing off.

Get at me no longer, dawg.

New Cursive Track is Unsettling in All the Right Ways

2009-02-23T14:01:00.001-08:00

The day of judgment approaches, and today we got a punchy little taste of the apocalypse.

Omaha masters of torture Cursive, who'll release new album "Mama, I'm Swollen" on March 10, just leaked new track "I Couldn't Love You" to, of all places, Entertainment Weekly, one of the least credible magazines when it comes to good music.

But alas, the tune's out there for us cretins to enjoy. And enjoy we shall. "I Couldn't Love You" sees Cursive back in the sloppy-brilliance of pre-Domestica releases, where melody wasn't the focus, but rather power, passion and drunken, violent love rants. The recording seems purposefully murky, too - gone is the precision and sharpness of Happy Hollow. No complaints here, though that album did kill pretty substantially.

So, enough with the banter - I know what you want. The link to the tune is right.... here.

Listen once. Then another time. I swear it gets better and better.

And the tune is an indicator that Swollen could be Ugly Organ good. At least Tim Kasher said so - in more than one show, including the Columbus show last month reviewed below, he's said that the new songs are "Fucking brilliant." Cocky, sure. But with "I Couldn't Love You" he doesn't seem too crazy.

Review: Tapes 'n Tapes 'n a Half-Decent Show

2009-02-23T00:37:00.000-08:00

Welp.

Just got home from Tapes 'n Tapes playing with Wild Light and locals Br'er Fox. Feelings: Mildly underwhelmed.

All the bands put on a solid show, sure, but nothing jumped out at me, nothing shook me, nothing moved me.

Now, to be fair, a good part of the mediocrity of the show had to do with the shitfaced Bro wearing a Richard Marx t-shirt (out of irony? Or does he really like Richard Marx? It's a toss up with this one) and attempted to start a mosh pit in the front left of the club. Only awkwardnes, lots of spilled beer ensued and general looks of "What a douche bag" ensued.

Wild Light played a solid if uninspired set, leading me to believe they are one of the few bands that may actually be better on record. Theirs, Adult Nights, is really stellar power-pop in the vein of an artier Weezer. The show, not so much.

Tapes 'n Tapes certainly picked up the groove quickly and the band's bass-centric sound resonated well in Brillobox's tight quarters. There was nothing particularly off about Tapes, but there wasn't the electric current in the crowd that a great show can create.

Check out "Just Drums," from Tapes 'n Tapes first record The Loon. Sound is good, video not so much. Enjoy!

Interview: Wild Light's Seth Pitman hits Pittsburgh with Tapes 'n Tapes

2009-02-19T16:10:00.001-08:00

It takes some guts for a band to start the first song on its first record with “Fuck today/ fuck San Francisco/ fuck California,” but when the music is as good as Wild Light’s, the lyrics could damn Pittsburgh and I’d still listen up.

New Hampshire natives Wild Light’s debut record Adult Nights mixes plaintive vocals with jangling guitars and more solid hooks than a boxing match for a classic rock-leaning indie-pop sound. The band hits Brillobox this Sunday with blog darlings (Jesus Christ. Let’s use a less mind-numbingly overused phrase. How about ‘rock band’?) Tapes ‘n Tapes and local blues blasters Br’er Fox (Don’t ever doubt there is serious talent in this city).

I spoke to bassist Seth Pitman while he was busy working the front desk in a New Hampshire hospital (that his mom, the hospital president set him up with - recession be damned) between legs of the tour. Clearly building up some cash before hitting the second leg of the tour while staying at home and eating well-deserved home cooking.

Gravity Rides Everything: Adult Nights starts with some harsh words against California. Where’d the song “California on my Mind” come from?

Seth Pitman: Our lyricist Jordan (Alexander) wrote that song living in the Bay Area trying to start a band, and he was just frustrated. It’s nothing against California, it’s just a venting song. But it has somehow attracted people way more than ever expected.

GRE: Was there much of a scene growing up in New Hampshire?

SP: Well…no. In terms of a real music scene there was not and there is not. But there was
Well…no. In terms of a real music scene there was not and there is not. But there was a do-it-yourself scene and a few clubs that we used to play in — a bunch of basements were turned into clubs.

GRE: The band formed in 2005, but you were friends before then. How does that affect the band’s dynamic?

SP: Knowing each other as long as we have, there’s nothing that doesn’t get touched on. There’s no way for us to keep anything from each other. Having had this long history has made it a learning process in how not to invade each other’s spaces or lives. So when we make decisions, there’s baggage — it’s a complicated dynamic that has to be maneuvered to find a place where we can all work together productively.

GRE: The record sounds truly timeless. What were you listening to when recording?

SP: We have a lot of standbys. We’re always returning to the classics — Dylan, the Beatles, The Clash, Fleetwood Mac. The kind of stuff that never gets old. When you first hear it, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. And the most recent time you heard it you feel the same way. That’s what we aspire to.

GRE: You’ve toured with some big name bands (including Arcade Fire, The Stills and LCD Soundsystem). What would be your dream show lineup?

SP: Let’s see. The Clash circa 1980, Bob Dylan and Rolling Thunder Review circa 1976. (Pauses to think. Ponders Elvis and Johnny Cash). And Nirvana. Definitely Nirvana.

Say it with me now: "Fuck California." Here's "California on my Mind."

Black Moth Super Rainbow/School of Seven Bells announce super tour

2009-02-18T18:53:00.000-08:00

Summer's way off, but it's not too soon to start planning which nights to take a psychedelic magic carpet ride. And if you live near any of the cities listed below, that decision's already been made for you.

Pittsburgh champion freaks Black Moth Super Rainbow just announced a co-headlining tour with fellow space cadets School of Seven Bells, making one of the longest marquees I can ever remember, but also one of the better-matched tours of late.

Black Moth's bubbling, trip-hop organ workouts couldn't go better than with Seven Bell's, um, bubbling, trip-hop organ workouts. The difference is in the important details, though — the former is certainly a good bit further out of the box than the latter's mix of lovely melodies and shape-shifting beats.

Nonetheless, the duo seems made for each other. Someone should've thought this up months ago.

Here are those dates:
Wed. May 20 - Chicago, IL @ Bottom Lounge
Thu. May 21 - Madison, WI @ High Noon Saloon
Fri. May 22 - Minneapolis, MN @ Triple Rock Social Club
Mon. May 25 - Quincy, WA @ Sasquatch Festival
Tue. May 26 - Portland, OR @ Holocene
Thu. May 28 - San Francisco, CA @ Bottom of the Hill
Fri. May 29 - Los Angeles, CA @ Troubadour
Sat. May 30 - Costa Mesa, CA @ Detroit Bar
Sun. May 31 - Phoenix, AZ @ Rhythm Room
Tue. Jun. 2 - Austin, TX @ The Mohawk
Wed. Jun. 3 - Denton, TX @ Hailey's
Thu. Jun. 4 - Little Rock, AR @ Sticky Fingerz
Fri. Jun. 5 - Nashville, TN @ Exit/In
Sat. Jun. 6 - Columbus, OH @ Circus

See anything missing? I do. That city Black Moth Super Rainbow is from isn't on the map here. Ouch, Tobacco, ouch.

Check BMSR's "Sun Lips"

Photo courtesy Sarah Cass/Pitch Perfect PR

Review: Delta Spirit, Other Lives raise the dead

2009-02-18T01:44:00.000-08:00

Photo: Taylor Goldsmith of Dawes joins Delta Spirit onstage.

Tuesday is easily the worst day of the week.

With no weekend afterglow (Monday), no light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel (Wednesday) and certainly not the weekend (Thursday-Sunday), Tuesday is left alone in the week, sad and pathetic.

Thanks to tonight’s Brillobox triple bill of Delta Spirit, Other Lives and Dawes, though, Tuesday got a huge boost this week.

Dawes’ harmonized and rolling heartbreak folk got the quiet, stiff crowd at least a little warmer, but the haunted classic rock meditations of Other Lives (think a prettier Shearwater) actually got some feet moving, even if ever so slightly.

What separates Other Lives from the near-countless other mope-Americana bands touring in plaid shirts and serious faces (see: Lucero, Evangelicals) is the radiant Jenny Hsu, who, sitting unassumingly at the corner of the stage, grounded each song with her slow rumbling cello. Though the instrument never took center stage (see: Cursive’s The Ugly Organ) it provided a beautiful, lush backdrop for singer Jesse Tabish’s light, hollow voice to waltz through the band’s subtly disarming melodies.

Photo: Other Lives' Jesse Tabish

Other Lives proved a perfect match for the other side of the mope-Americana coin — headliners Delta Spirit took the stage after a 20 minutes respite to the welcoming applause of all 50 or so people who, like me, decided that it was time for a more lively Tuesday.

Like a less swamp rock, more soulful Creedence Clearwater Revival, Delta Spirit chugged through its hour-plus set with bottled energy always on the edge of bursting.

Singer Matt Vasquez, his jeans rolled into black workman boots, stayed closer to the edge than anyone — the short, baby-faced front man with lost eyes has such a strong conviction to dragging his voice through gravel on long notes and wading through each song’s slow melody that it’s hard not to believe his pained-heart songwriter aesthetic.

Particularly convincing was the bitter slow dance “House Built for Two,” with it’s chorus, “Well it’s true, I built this for you. This house built for two, it’s too small for you,” paired with Vasquez’s slight signs of self-assurance — after lines well-sung, he’ll often nod to himself, to the audience, to the music, his eyes closed and fingers tightened — made the torture and piano-sprinkled ballad sound like it could’ve been about murder.

Photo: Matt Vasquez of Delta Spirit

Vasquez’ inner monologue has a two-fold effect. First, it lets the audience know that he’s real — not one note over-rehearsed and no reaction fully expected, I got the impression that Vasquez was as effected by the sounds created by his band as the audience. Maybe more.

Second, or rather an extension of the first point, Vasquez’ impassioned performance through the entire set gave a truth to the show that few bands achieve. The guy could’ve been singing about a penchant for mail order brides and I would’ve thought his was a noble cause.

Delta Spirit’s dual guitar and often three drum (along with drummer Brandon Young, guitarist Sean Walker and pianist Kelly Winrich took turns pounding — the heavier tunes saw all three attack at once) thunder paired gorgeously with Vasquez’ post-punk-with-some-pain vocals.

The music of a track like “Children,” with a churning percussion section and an almost-playful melody (note: almost), molded beautifully into one heavy wall of twanging rock and reverb.

The stuttering stomp of “People C’Mon” swung with the drunken energy of a bar fight and the piano-shuffling “Trashcan” could’ve been the best song Dr. Dog never recorded.

But the selling point of Delta Spirit, at least in a live setting, will always be Vasquez. By the end of the 15-song set, with the gang chorus of “Crippler King” pushing the band to yell at the audience and the audience to yell back, Vasquez might as well have been an old man drained of prayer in church — who was just touched by the spirit.

Photos courtesy Mahsa Borhani. Check her out here.

All Good Festival announces initial line-up

2009-02-16T18:45:00.000-08:00

For a seriously organic, music-focused, no-bullshit festival this summer, you're not going to find one better than West Virginia's All Good.

Last year's three day extravaganza kept me awake for damn near, well, three days and featured some truly incredible sets from Widespread Panic, Bassnectar, Gov't Mule, Dark Star Orchestra and tons of other jammy favorites.

Here's the initial line-up of the 2009 romp, July 10-12 at Marvin's Mountaintop in Masontown West Virginia. Per usual, in bold are the acts that I'll be holding my breath for:

Ben Harper and Relentless7
Bob Weir & RatDog
moe.
STS9 (Sound Tribe Sector 9)
Les Claypool
Yonder Mountain String Band
Tea Leaf Green
Buckethead
SOJA
Bassnectar
Steve Kimock Crazy Engine
The New Mastersounds
Donna the Buffalo
Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk
Todd Snider
Cornmeal
Trombone Shorty & Orleans Ave
Fear Nuttin' Band

There's sure to be a ton more wonderful bands announced, so keep posted.

Also, tickets went onsale TODAY — if you pick 'em up now, they're only $109. No joke. That'd pay for, like, five hours at Bonnaroo, right?

GRE's Interview with Brooklyn's Finest, The Dig

2009-02-16T02:14:00.000-08:00

The Dig are exactly the band you could expect to stumble upon after a long, dark night in New York City — pulsing, low-end bass, screaming, angular guitars and catchy, thrashing choruses.

The whole thing sings ‘dimly-lit basement show,’ that is if the sound wasn’t so damn big. A more apt description might be ‘darker, less hokey Muse’ or even ‘less faux-arty Tapes ‘n Tapes.’

Still a bit confused? Fair enough — The Dig’s Brooklyn stomp is hard to pin down, except for one descriptor. And that, of course, is ‘good.’ The swagger’s there, the style’s unique and the sound is propulsive. With one 6-song EP and one 3-song under the band’s belt, as well as a yet-to-be-financed but already-written debut album in the works, it’s safe to say The Dig are going to be big.

Check out the band's best song so far, "She's Gonna Kill That Boy."

Here are cuts from my talk with singer/guitarist David Baldwin and drummer Nick Brown. The band’ll be in Pittsburgh February 28 at the Thunderbird Café in Lawrenceville – a sure bet for a solid evening.

Gravity Rides Everything: How can being a ‘Brooklyn band’ be both a benefit and a hindrance?

Nick Brown: It’s a hindrance within the city more than anything. There’s so much bullshit to weed through. But if you have a sound that stands out and you work hard, the best opportunities are here.

David Baldwin: There are thousands of bands in the city, but it doesn’t seem that there are too many bands that are constantly promoting themselves without a label — flyering and talking to people on the street.

GRE: Is it weird to hit the road and not find the following you’ve built in New York?

Nick: We just started playing out of town a year ago. It’s crazy playing a show here to 200 people, then going out of town and play to 10 people. I’d think ‘What’s the point?’ But after awhile, you accept that and you see a difference when you go back to those places. There’ll be 20 people, then 30 people. Play a kick ass show, and you’ll see the payoff.

GRE: But does online promoting devalue playing a show for 10 people when they can just as easily hear you on MySpace?

Nick: I don’t think so. In our case, I feel our live show has more of an impact. Before we come to Pittsburgh, we will hit up people on Myspace. And some of those people will come out, but all of those hardcore fans we’ve made are those that have seen us live. The more we play live, the better a band we get.

GRE: The band’s been friends for a long time. Does that help you work together or cause a lot of bickering?

David: Definitely both. We’ve become so similar musically – we’re always on the same page. But because we spend so much time together there’s always bickering. Little differences get magnified. But still, I think it’d be hard to find songwriters that are more in the same boat as us.

GRE: Is it hard to find ample practice space in the city?

Nick: I guess you could call ours ample in that we can all fit in the room. It’s called The Music Building, a 12-story building in midtown Manhattan that’s all rehearsal space. Our room is about the size of a bedroom and we share it with four other bands. We also have some cool neighbors – The Strokes were rehearsing last night two doors down. The Teenage Prayers share the space and The French Kicks used to play the room.

GRE: You’re hitting the Midwest and East coast this month. What do traveling arrangements look like?

Nick: We try, whenever possible, to crash with friends. The last tour we only stayed in a motel 3 nights, the rest we stayed with friends. If we don’t have any friends in that town, we’d make friends. I’m planning on buying an inflatable mattress, so we can eliminate the arguing of who gets the couch, the floor, the bed.

Be sure to check out The Dig February 28 at Thunderbird Cafe

Lordy, Save Me: Legendary Shack Shakers and O'Death at 31st Street Pub

2009-02-14T12:56:00.000-08:00

One part Southern nostalgia, three parts punk energy and two parts genuine showmanship made up the stacked bill of last night’s Legendary Shack Shakers, O’Death and The Red Western show at the 31st Street Pub.

The pub supposes itself as the place in Pittsburgh for cutting edge rock, but is music cutting edge if it smacks of, say, Alabama in the 1930’s? The bands, as well as the 75 people in the crowd, would say yes. And so would I. The music may’ve been more crazed-tent-revival than avant-garde Brooklyn art-punk, and the feverishly energetic assault on the crowd’s bodies and ears did feel a lot like a spiritual reckoning, but there was nothing old or rehashed about the show.

Pittsburgh’s The Red Western opened with some amped up songwriter-country put to a punk beat, and front woman Lauren DeLorenze rocked like a spunkier version of Silver Jew Cassie Berman.

O’Death, Southern macabre enthusiasts from Brooklyn, looked more like a maudlin group of college philosophy majors than a country-revival band, but looks proved deceiving. Lead singer Greg Jamie’s creaking voice (think Isaac Brock singing Johnny Cash) crawled through the songs, exploding in psych-ward hysterics when the music called for it, but never left his calm, almost possessed countenance.

Jamie played the perfect foil for the rest of the band, who played like madmen dancing, stomping and shaking around him like the hurricane to which he was the foreboding eye. O’Death plays music with the same unsettling, jittery quality as, to pull this card twice, Modest Mouse at that band’s most wild and flailing.

The songs are about being lost at sea or buried or dead, all sang over caffeinated funeral dirge music of acoustic guitar, bass, banjo and the occasional ukulele.

And if you’ve never seen someone shred on the ukulele, you’re missing out.

Here's O'Death's sublimely creepy "Low Tide."

The set’s high point was “Down to Rest” — about, you guessed it, burial — which actually got the crowd stomping, and one poor soul attempting a solo mosh pit.

Speaking of souls, O’Death like to air theirs out. The band plays like they’ve got the devil inside them and they want him gone — faces contort, bodies shake and voices quiver. It’s no surprise the music could be the soundtrack to the drunken after party of a Southern gentleman.

That is, the Southern gentleman who shared the bill.

“We’re lucky to be on this tour with the Shack Shakers,” Jamie said. “They’re dicks, though. Really mean people.”
Who says there can’t be humor after the funeral?

The Legendary Shack Shakers’ biggest claim to critical fame has been Jello Biafra’s call that singer J. D. Wilkes is the “last great Rock and Roll frontman.”

Well, maybe not the last, but he’s certainly a leader of a dying breed.

Whereas O’Death could DJ your next funeral, The Shack Shakers could own your county fare. Wilkes dresses like a carney, with giant horn-rimmed glasses (held around his head with an elastic strap) and striped pants. He’s wire thin. His voice, hollered into a 50’s-era microphone, sounds like he should be saying “Step riiiight up!” through a loudspeaker, and he may be downright insane.

Here's a peak at the madness, in a song about "Chicken, chickens and poultry," topics criminally underrepresented in rock:

The Shakers played like they wanted to level 31st Street to its foundation — Mark Robertson’s bass is a standup and thunderously tears across the room and the double-bass drum drilling comes right out of a Slayer song.

But the centerpiece of the show is Wilkes, a front man I’ve never seen the likes of before.

As he stripped much of his clothing off, Wilkes grabbed the audience members and shook them, spit into the crowd (more up-and-over than at anyone) and playfully smacked people in the head. He jumped around, bent in all sorts of athletic ways and often put his fists up, ready to brawl.

But that’s the point — the band’s rockabilly gone insane thrashing is meant to get the crowd moving, moving away from the notion of “I’m in a club in Pittsburgh” and towards “My spirit is being exorcized by the sublime power of Rock’n’roll,” as well as moving physically — for such a small, unpacked club, bodies jumped and stomped and swung around limbs and heads.

The band’s groove was undeniable — thick, syrupy chugging rhythm churning under fast rockabilly guitar and punched-in-the-face bass lines.

The Legendary Shack Shakers play at the altar of Southern gothic. They are the energy you picture in a 1930’s tent revival, with ladies in summer dresses holding fans screaming about the power of the Lord, oh Jesus, please save me.

If Sufjan Stevens Was Japanese...

2009-02-11T15:09:00.000-08:00

...He'd be Shugo Tokumaru.

I caught wind of this multi-instrumentalist (and by multi- I mean many. Dude plays almost 50 instruments) from Paste Magazine's Rachael Maddux's Shugo Sleep Experiment.

According to the post, good old Shugo wrote most of the lyrics to his new album (relatively, that is. It was released last year in Japan) called Exit based on dreams he had and miraculously remembered. I have a hard time remembering what I had for lunch or my dad's birthday (Which is today. Happy Birthday, Steve!), let alone what I dreamt about.

Regardless, he's the musician and not me, so I digress.

Of all the music I've come across in, say, the past month from bloggers and publicists, this might damn well be the most original.

Remember how blown away you were after hearing Sufjan Steven's Illinoise album? That how-the-hell-did-he-write-that type of amazement?

Swap in Japanese lyrics in a voice just as lofty and ethereal and you've got Shugo. The sounds of a whole playground of instruments dance around in these songs like drunken lovers spilling out of the bar and into the streets.

The melodies (instrumental and vocal) are playful little aliens and they'll creep into your brain and keep on dancing.

The twang of traditional Japanese music (or, rather, the sounds I'm used to hearing in Japanese restaurants) are sprinkled gently on top of the whole carnival. The Sufjan comparison comes not so much in the sound, exactly, but rather the creativity and orchestral lushness of the whole thing.

While Sufjan's work sounds like it was recorded with a whole symphony of flower children on call, Shugo's could've been laid down in a big kitchen with a whole array of oddball tools, bells, whistles and plenty of counter space to bang on.

Anyway, here's the moral: If you check out one new artist this week, make it Shugo Tokumaru. To whet your whistle, here are some of his videos:

Three Views on Lil Wayne's Stupifying New "Prom Queen"

2009-02-11T14:26:00.000-08:00

Yeah, we're confused too.

Every so often, an event tears through the world of hip-hop with the force of a level five tornado or Fat Joe sitting down.

Maybe it’s global warming, but recently there’ve been too many of these game-changing events to count — the stability of hip-hop as we know it is melting as artist after artist experiments with their tried and true sound. First Snoop Dogg abandoned rap for cheesy, irresistible late ‘70’s funky coke-disco with “Sexual Eruption.”

Then Kanye West left his lady of hip-hop and began making rabbit-paced love to an auto-tune machine, giving birth to 808s and Heartbreak last winter. But the most recent tremor in hip-hop has been by far the most staggering.

Dr. Weezy F. Baby, or Lil Wayne to the squares, abandoned rap to make a rock’n’roll record. What in the hell is he doing? Didn’t he just release the most successful rap album of the year? Didn’t he just release the most successful album of the year in any genre? The answer to the second two questions is yes, but the first one is a good bit harder to answer. The simplest way to do it, though, would be this — whatever the hell he wants to do.

On January 27, Lil Wayne debuted “Prom Queen,” the first single off of his upcoming rock record called Rebirth. The track sounds like the result of the guitarist from System of a Down, the drummer from Linkin Park, the rapper from, um, Lil Wayne and the auto-tune machine from every rap song in the last six months drinking lots of Redbull, smoking a joint then trying to be poetic. Sound confusing? Well, it is. Check it out:

To separate the song from its source is simply impossible, as it would both mean that approximately 99% of the people who’ve listened to it never would’ve and it would negate the gigantic force Lil Wayne has had on the music world in the past year and a half.

So we’re left at an impasse, as the most successful and talented (arguably most talented… I’m still waiting for Lupe Fiasco to get his due praise) rapper of the MySpace era just dropped a big bomb of what-the-hell-is-this on our collective laps. It’s like our probably reaction to a Coldplay rap record — the band is known for doing what they do well, but how could we transpose that sense of guaranteed quality to a completely new genre?

Then again, maybe that’s a bad example. A Coldplay rap record would most assuredly be even weaker than a smack from Chris Brown.

That said, the only way I see fit to review “Prom Queen,” and thereby predict how the next record from the year’s biggest artist will be, is to do so thrice.

First, we look at “Prom Queen” as a rock song. Compared to most rock songs that most rock fans would consider good, “Prom Queen” is pretty decent (Note: not indie. For our purposes, rock means mainstream Linkin Park-type business). Wayne’s guitar sound is sharp and cutting, if not overly complicated, and is certainly reminiscent of the minor key tinkering of System of a Down. The percussion packs the same punch as the best of the late-90s rap-rock bands, sounding surprisingly in timbre as those Christian metal dudes P.O.D. I know, I think it’s weird too.

In the chorus, Wayne’s non-auto-tuned shriek of “Prom Queen!!” is a genuinely awesome bratty punk squeal, and the whole thing is really quite catchy. So we’ve got one thumb sort of up.

Next, we look at “Prom Queen” as a Lil Wayne song. This category is a lot tougher, as Wayne has got some seriously fantastic material. From his mixtapes to his guest appearances and studio albums, the guy has a quality average of near-stellar. Lyrically, Wayne has certainly tackled a lot of tougher topics than in “Prom Queen,” which is mostly a bout sitting behind a girl with sexy underwear in class. You know, to take a peak. Though that’s an admirable cause, we know he could’ve done better because he has so often. Thumb down.

Last, we look at the song as a Lil-Wayne-doing-a-rock-song song, a category that’s trickier still. Genre crossovers do deserve some respect when done well, as “Prom Queen” is. The man’s got to get credit for playing and writing his own guitar part, which isn’t half bad. And the shock value of the song (“That’s Lil Wayne?!”) lasts for awhile — through about 15 plays. Ultimately, though, by 18 plays (when I’d finally finished this column), the shock wore off and I was left with a song that was just alright. Thumb sideways.

There you have it — results inconclusive. Then again, maybe that’s what Wayne wants — a holdover record until he drops his next atom bomb on us. We can only hope.

Grammy's Most Awkward Moments: Even More Than Middle School!

2009-02-08T23:37:00.000-08:00

You probably watched the Grammy's, and that means you were at the edge of your seat for several hours, your emotions pumping like an overworked steam engine and your heart palpitating, your knuckles ghost white and your mouth dry as you witnessed music history go down right before your tearing eyes.

Wait, that wasn't you? Of course not. It wasn't anyone (except for a probable constituent of Kenny Chesney fans who think he is a man-god), and the night was like it usually is: filled with promise, and delivering on very little of it.

Overall, I thought the night was filled with some seriously awkward moments. Like middle school dance awkward, and you're the adult chaperone watching pre-teens stand on opposite sides of the gym. So here we go:

1. Whitney Houston A Bit Rusty: Remembered to brush off her nose! In a mostly incoherent presentation, a rather dysfunctioning robot-like Whitney Houston stammers through several sentences, mostly without opening her eyes. For a woman who we know can emote (remember that hit, what was it called, um, "I Will Always Love You"?), Houston might as well have been a cardboard cutout propped onstage with a voice dub. Bummer.

2. Blink 182 Reunite, Crickets Chirp: Presenting an award, the estranged members of Blink 182 were waiting for that perfect moment to - bam! - reunite. I'd imagine they expected a moment of silence, then booming applause during which "All the Small Things" would blast from the PA, Blink-logoed balloons would drop from the ceiling and everyone who was 13 in 2001 would promptly pass out on their couches. Welp, it didn't quite happen like that. Travis Barker said, "We used to play music together, and we decided we're going to play music together again." Mark Hoppus yelled, "Blink 182 is back!" Then, um, they presented the award like nothing had happened.

3. Dwayne Johnson - Still Not Funny!: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson attempted to make a joke about Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl." Something to the effect of "The first thing I did today was kiss a girl too! It was Katy Perry! (Pause for laughter) But then she made me stay 50 feet away from her (Pause for laughter)!" Needless to say, said joke falls flat. Not even the dude's arched eyebrow's could save this dud of a monologue.

4. Kid Rock - Still Sucks!: Kid Rock is such a gentleman. Not only does he steal and rewrite (see: ruin) the songs of two perfectly dead rock stars, but he also includes the lyrics "Guilty of being white" in his performance, cementing belief that, aside from his brief stint as a rapper, Kid Rock is among the whitest people ever. Bravo, sir. A true artistic gem.

5. John Mayer - Clearly, Better Than B. B. King: In a tribute to Bo Diddly, a pack of guitarists including John Mayer, B. B. King and Keith Urban (really?) trade some blues bars. Guess who plays the most. Nope, not the arguable best living blues guitarist (Keith Urban, of course. Yea...), but John Mayer. Way to go, bud. Lucille is pissed.

6. Katy Perry, Also Kissed a Robot: Continuing the trend of females acting particularly robotic, Katy Perry's dancing during "I Kissed A Girl" was more like subtle swaying. And the occasional slight hop.

7. Morgan Freeman and Kenny Chesney - Totally Bros: Morgan Freeman introduced country bumpkin Kenny Chesney as his close friend. Seriously? Do they go fishing? Talk for hours on the phone? Or, more likely, say four to five words to each other backstage? Words like, "Wait, what's your name?"

8. T-Bone Burnett - Not Important!: After winning Best Album, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss thank some folks, then make room for producer T-Bone Burnett to talk. CBS, on the other hand, makes no such room. Dude made the Album of the Year! Cut off the 'Get the hell of the stage' music!

9. Stevie Wonder as The House Band: Wonder plays a solo joint as the crowd disperses. Is it not mildly offensive that one of the night's biggest stars gets to play as people leave? Is it not ironic that he couldn't see them do that?

Kings of Leon finally, finally, finally hit Pittsburgh

2009-02-06T12:48:00.000-08:00

It's been a long, slow climb for the Kings of Leon, but they've finally hit the big time.

As in, they're finally playing Pittsburgh. Success at last!

After a sold-out show at Madison Square Garden on January 29, the band's finally got enough confidence to take on bigger venues and embrace the (hopefuly) inevitable future: Though it took way too long, America will come around and start liking them. We're always the last to 'get' it. Silly Americans.

The band announced earlier today a spring arena tour schedule, including the following. No opener's been announced yet, but I'm pulling for Dead Confederate. Just think about that one. Yes, I know. It'd be incredible.

APRIL 2009

19 - Boston, MA - Agganis Arena
21 - Toronto, ON - Air Canada Centre
22 - Pittsburgh, PA - Palumbo
24 - Fairfax, VA - Patriot Center
25 - Philadelphia, PA - Spectrum
27 - Norfolk, VA - Constant Convocation Centre @ ODU
28 - Raleigh, NC - Koka Booth Amphitheatre
30 - Charlotte, NC - Bojangles' Coliseum

MAY 2009

04 - St. Augustine, FL - St. Augustine Amphitheatre
05 - Orlando, FL - UCF Arena
07 - Miami, FL - Bank United Center
08 - Tampa, FL - Sundome
10 - Charleston, SC - North Charleston Coliseum
12 - Cincinnati, OH - National City Pavilion
13 - Cleveland, OH - Tower City
19 - Phoenix, AZ - Mesa Amphitheatre
21 - San Francisco, CA - Bill Graham Civic Auditorium

Now check out this video from the band before America realized how fantastic they were. Silly Americans.

Photo by Jeff Gentner/Getty Images

Trying to Write a Joke About NERDS Taking Over State School...

2009-02-05T14:10:00.000-08:00

Pittsburgh will get a lot cooler on March 28. Or at least it'll be significantly more filled with dudes who hang out with Snoop Dogg.

Pharell Williams' vehicle for being taken seriously, N.E.R.D., will play at the University of Pittsburgh's Fitzgerald Fieldhouse as the school's better-late-than-never winter concert.

Past acts have included Lupe Fiasco (expected greatness, got greatness) and Nas (expected greatness, got... about 30 seconds of a few dozen songs. Meh), and so this year continues the trend of bringing a hip-hop act that white kids love.

The difference here, though, is that N.E.R.D. haven't had the huge hits that Fiasco ("Superstar") has or the instant name recognition that Nas has.

In my mind, at least, that makes things significantly more exciting - less drunk idiots yelling "Play (Insert only song drunk idiot has ever heard by said artist) now!" and more people who actually give a damn.

There's only one thing I'm worried about: The Fieldhouse isn't that huge... can Pharell's ego fit in there?

More on this closer to the show. I promise.

Call National Geographic - MONO Releases a New Album

2009-02-04T19:04:00.001-08:00

Atmospheric, instrumental post-rock is, at the same time, one of the most touching and silliest genres in modern music.

The genre pairs perfectly with pictures of beautiful sites in nature in several ways: Both can be extremely affecting and dramatic, but only when done right. Really, when I think of, say, a Mogwai song, what runs through my mind is a slowly panning view of beautiful nature scenes, always in slow motion and usually showing snow. Sigur Ros and the Discovery Channel is a match made in heaven - the huge, epic movements of the music pair perfectly with the vast openness of nature. Music most often described with adjectives that mean 'big' is at home with mountains, deserts and other things that are, well, big.

Now the touching/silly duality is an interesting one.

On the one hand, the simple melodies and often gently lapping patterns, ascending in intensity, can boost the emotionality of any moment. Take for example, a kiss and a Sigur Ros song.

Press play and begin kiss. Pretty nice, right? Gentle piano, light vocals. Some really pretty stuff. But then the track builds as the tympanis and strings crash in and suddenly you're making out, thanking your lucky stars that these dudes from Iceland know how to scale a wall of sound.

On the other hand, this stuff is silly. Many of the songs sound the same in their gigantic crescendos and minimalist musical valleys, and the lack of vocals is starting to get on your nerves. Give me a chorus, damn it.

Still, the bands that do it right are the genre leaders for a reason: Sigur Ros, Mogwai, Godspeed You Black Emperor and Explosions in the Sky turn up the volume at all the right times.

Japanese quartet Mono has never reached the emotional mountaintops of the above four, but it's not for lack of trying.

The band will release it's latest album, Hymn to the Immortal Wind, next month on Temporary Residence Ltd. The record is a step forward in Mono's sound (described in just about every review ever written on the band as 'massive) in that these dudes employed a 22-person orchestra to make the songs even more - you guessed it! - MASSIVE.

Below is a video matching two things that were meant to be together forever: A Mono song and nature photography. Enjoy "Follow the Map" and check out the new record March 24.

Many thanks to freefoto.com and freenaturepictures.com

Stop Buying Albums, Save Rock'n'Roll (R.I.P. Langerado)

2009-02-04T17:56:00.000-08:00

For the past few years, concerts have remained the bastion of hope for those music fans praying that the entire music industry wouldn’t go down as flaming wreckage. Total album sales from 2008 decreased a staggering 45% since 2000 while illegal downloading has skyrocketed, but touring has kept a steady pace even in the face of an economy that’s about as bleak as seeing MC Hammer’s career dump him in a Cash4Gold commercial.

Bon Jovi’s tour last year alone made over 210 million dollars. Further, last year saw the most successful year ever for rock tours, up 13% from 2007.

But if the Bush economy has taught me anything, it’s that things can always get worse. And yesterday, they did.

Langerado, an annual Florida music festival, announced its cancellation due to slow ticket sales. Co-Promoter Ethan Schwarts wrote, “During these difficult economic times… it’s become apparent that we cannot execute a production that lives up to the high standards of our past events. Putting Langerado on hold was the toughest decision we have ever had to make.”

The popular three-day festival has landed some of the industry’s top not-awful bands in its six year run including the Beastie Boys and R.E.M. with last year’s fest drawing almost 30,000 people.

This year’s cancellation can be attributed to a few factors. The first is that the genius folks planning the fest decided to move it from the rural Big Cypress Indian Reservation to the Bicentennial Park in the decidedly non-rural Miami, thereby alienating the many fans who are drawn to music festivals for their free-flowing environments where camping and, ahem, mind-expansion are welcomed.

Sure, it was a bad idea, but the lack of Langerado this year points at a much grimmer conclusion — the fortress of live music has begun to crumble in the face of the economy.

Now a logical, albeit foolish, thought here would be “Maybe Langerado just sucked this year and no one wanted to go. I’m going to Wal Mart to buy the new AC/DC.”

But it’s hard to make that argument when the proposed lineup included heavyweights like Death Cab for Cutie, Modest Mouse, Broken Social Scene, Against Me!, Parliament/Funkadelic and a reunited Public Enemy. In other words, it’s the economy, stupid.
And the only solution I can foresee is this: Stop buying CD’s. Seriously, if you haven’t already (though most of you have), just stop buying CD’s.

Here’s why — we’re all on a budget nowadays, and tight budgets call for hard decisions. If you’ve got, say, $50 that you’re willing to part with for five new albums on iTunes, why not save that money for a concert that you’ll remember forever instead of 11 tracks that’ll likely get lost in the annals of your surely gigantic and unnecessary iTunes library.

I’m willing to say that in the face of this possible impending doom there is no shame in downloading or (much better yet) simply streaming music on your computer through sites like Skreemr.com or the ubiquitous MySpace if it’ll free up your cash to help keep live music, well, alive.

The world of rock’n’roll would be better off with an even steeper decline in record sales if it’d keep concerts halls from having empty seats. Because at the heart of the music world is the live show. You can get the recorded music anywhere, from your friend’s iPod to bit torrent sites to MTV (during the 6 minutes a day when dating shows aren’t broadcast) to the 12 billion music blogs out there. But you can’t get the experience of a live show anywhere but a live show.

So for the sake of the summer tours and festivals that are still in tact in this black hole where the economy used to be, save your money to see that band you love in concert, because a world without great rock concerts and festivals would kill off what’s left of the independent spirit of rock’n’roll that Nickelback hasn’t already killed.

Bruce, Phish top Bonnaroo 09 lineup...

2009-02-03T07:01:00.000-08:00

The lineup for this summer's Bonnaroo festival was released this morning and hot damn is it long.

While the following gigantic list is certainly full of amazing, seriously amazing talent, but it's finally safe to say that the country's biggest jam band festival is no longer for the jam bands. At my count, only 10 of the bands announced would fall into any sort of jam band category - though the reunion of Phish might as well count as three or four.

But that said, it says something further when the reunion of arguably the second biggest jam band of all time is billed second, even if it is after Springsteen.

Tickets go on sale February 7 right here.

So without further ado, here's the list. The acts that really get my blood pumping are in bold.

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
Phish (2 Shows)
Beastie Boys
Nine Inch Nails
David Byrne
Wilco
Al Green
Snoop Dogg
Elvis Costello Solo
Erykah Badu
Paul Oakenfold
Ben Harper and Relentless7
The Mars Volta
TV on the Radio
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Gov't Mule
Andrew Bird
Band of Horses
Merle Haggard
MGMT
moe.
The Decemberists
Girl Talk
Bon Iver
Béla Fleck & Toumani Diabate
Rodrigo y Gabriela
Galactic
The Del McCoury Band
of Montreal
Allen Toussaint
Coheed and Cambria
Booker T & the DBTs
David Grisman Quintet
Lucinda Williams
Animal Collective
Gomez
Neko Case
Down
Jenny Lewis
Santogold
Robert Earl Keen
Citizen Cope
Femi Kuti and the Positive Force
The Ting Tings
Robyn Hitchcock & The Venus 3
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
Kaki King
Grizzly Bear
King Sunny Adé
Okkervil River
St. Vincent
Zac Brown Band
Raphael Saadiq
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Crystal Castles
Tift Merritt
Brett Dennen
Mike Farris and the Roseland Rhythm Revue
Toubab Krewe
People Under the Stairs
Alejandro Escovedo
Vieux Farka Touré
Elvis Perkins In Dearland
Cherryholmes
Yeasayer
Todd Snider
Chairlift
Portugal. The Man.
The SteelDrivers
Midnite
The Knux
The Low Anthem
Delta Spirit
A.A. Bondy
The Lovell Sisters
Alberta Cross

The fest runs June 11-13 in Manchester, Tennessee and runs about $250, but if you park your car a few miles away, sit on the hood and take really deep breaths, you'll get a high time for free.

The Steelers won the Superbowl AND there are great shows this month!? Too much!

2009-02-02T19:09:00.000-08:00

After so much hype, so much build up in Pittsburgh for the Super Bowl, waking up this morning was inevitably going to be a bit of a come down.

I came, I saw, I petted a riot police horse.

I'd say Bruce was the most exciting part of the game, but honestly, few things were, and ever will be, more entertaining than watching gigantic James Harrison chug down the entirety of the field to score a touchdown, then collapse out of sheer exhaustion.

But alas, I vowed in the post below that I'd never blog about sports (something I know as much about as, say, my mother knows about cutting edge music. No, Dan Fogelberg is not hip), and so I digress.

Were I to have written this post a month ago, it'd be pretty bleak, but February is shaping up with some great shows to go with the laughably awful shows. See if you can pick which is which!

2/8 School of Seven Bells @ Carnegie Mellon: Great!
2/13 Legendary Shack Shakers w/ O'Death @ 31st Street Pub: Folky!
2/14 The English Beat @ The Rex: Still alive!
2/16 Ben Folds @ Club Zoo: Fantastic!
2/17 Delta Spirit w/ Other Lives @ Brillobox: Lovely!
2/19 Eagles of Death Metal @ Mr. Small's: Kick ass!
2/22 Tapes 'n Tapes w/ Wild Light @ Brillobox: Woo!
2/24 Dark Star Orchestra @ Carnegie Library Music Hall
2/25 Avenged Sevenfold w/ Buckcherry & Papa Roach @ Petersen Events Center: Why, god why?

And, finally, the month ends with a night of "How Can I Decide Which to Check Out? I'm Only One Man"

2/28 Tokyo Police Club w/Ruby Coast @ Mr. Small's Theatre
AND
The Dig @ Thunderbird Cafe
AND
Jason Isbell w/ Deer Tick @ Club Cafe
AND
Ben Kweller w/ The Watson Twins @ Diesel

What to do, what to do?

In the meantime, here's a hint at which way I'm leaning right now:

I swear this'll be the only sports-related post ever on here...

2009-01-29T13:56:00.000-08:00

What do you get when you mix prepubescent kids, Pat Benatar and the Pittsburgh Steelers defensive line?

Hint: It's not this Sunday's half time show, though that would be undeniably and universally awful.

It's Pop Rocks, a group of kids, age 11-14, playing their ode to the best/only team in football that matters. This is about the coolest thing I've seen in awhile. When I was 11 I was making mix tapes off of the radio and trying to press record right when the DJ stopped talking. What a wasted youth. Seriously, check this out:

Where's your band of child prodigies, Arizona? Bitches.

New Trail of Dead track hints at a band 'Ascending' back to greatness

2009-01-28T19:49:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are, Trail of Dead fans. The crossroads. That place where many a band comes right before a new album drops, with expectations caught in a schism due to a truly solid back catalogue, but a truly sordid last record.

...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, the Texas blitzkrieg rockers who've been bashing around on record since 1998's self titled debut, are on the verge of dropping its latest, sixth album, The Century of Self, on February 17th, three years after the almost universally panned So Divided, with its almost universally awkward anime-like cover art, seen here:

The record could go a few different ways. Hell, it could go in many different ways. For all we know, front man Conrad Keely spent the last three years listening to Tuvan throat singing and Europop and the new disc will sound like Ace of Base and we'll all kick ourselves and say "Those crazy art-punks, what'll they do next?"

Luckily, though, I don't think that's going to happen. In fact, it's looking like The Century of Self is going to kick ass. Like, a lot of ass.

SPIN.com just posted a track from the album, "Ascending," and it is damn good.

Check it out here.

The tune starts out in familiar Trail of Dead form: no warning, no guitar-strum intro, just a quick-punch dive into an angular, almost uncomfortable guitar attack paired with stuttering drums exploding like falling bombs.

The verses hit with traded vocals - a tactic too-often employed in god-awful emo mush. Here, though, it's done right: both vocal lines have distinct melodies, which intertwine, back and forth, forming one cohesive whole.

True to Dead's shooting-for-epic formula, the track slows down to a plodding, pulsing pace and marches steadily. The whole thing plays like a spunkier, less gigantic "Will You Smile for Me Again," Words Apart's best track.

All in all, "Ascending" deserves to be blasted from your speakers, as it has been from mine. For the past two hours.

Extra bonus: How cool is the new album's cover art? (Answer: very cool)

Bruce plays Superbowl. Now with 100% less Jackson nipple.

2009-01-28T13:10:00.000-08:00

This Sunday will be a triumph for the blue-collar folk of America.

All eyes will be on a rag-tag gang who fought for years to be recognized for their talent and skill as they will undoubtedly put on a legendary performance at The Super Bowl, representing a hard-working, underappreciated ‘nation’ of millions of die-hard fans.

Oh, and The Steelers will be there too.

I’m talking, of course, about Bruce Springsteen and his almighty E Street Band, who will take the stage (or field, as it were) to bash through some classic songs during the halftime show of The Super Bowl. With The Boss’ latest, 16th studio album Working on a Dream having just hit the shelves on Tuesday, paired with his recent show-stopping performance at Obama’s inaugural concert last week, Springsteen’s popularity and visibility are riding high, making him the perfect pick to carry the torch of half time performers.

The list of those who’ve played for millions at a Super Bowl half time is long, sure, but it’s certainly had its ups and downs.

In fact, it was only in 1988, at Super Bowl XXII, that the notion of a rock’n’roll act playing at half time was even introduced. And even then, the performer was Chubby Checker, famous for his hit “The Twist” and several too many subsequent variations of the song, and is now the proprietor of Chubby's snacks beef jerky and steaks. Totally weird.

The folks in the Super Bowl ivory tower have gotten it right for the past few years with some truly great shows, including rock royalty like Paul McCartney (who I seriously doubted could kick ass, but proved me wrong), Prince, the Stones and last year’s Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. The formulas of these recent shows have been simple and successful — pick a rock band, let said rock band play a few songs, then get back to giant dudes smacking each other’s asses while wearing tight pants.

But it hasn’t always been such easy sailing. Some past halftime performers have been downright awkward, with China’s-Olympic-opening-ceremony size shows (1989’s show included an Elvis impersonator singing pointedly non-Elvis songs, dancers and hi-tech 3-D special effects) or just plain awkwardness. Nothing says football — gruff and athletic — like Carol Channing’s tribute to Mardis Gras at Super Bowl IV.

In 1999, the show was called “A Celebration of Soul, Salsa and Swing,” copping the popular and short-lived trend of the day, and featured Stevie Wonder (good pick!), Gloria Estefan (totally lame, but good pick!) and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy (Um…who?). The band, which rode in on the awesome-for-about-six-minutes swing revival, played one song at the Super Bowl, then promptly disappeared for the rest of time.

1991 saw the just-about-pubescent New Kids on the Block perform surrounded by over 3,000 children of different ethnic background. The two groups were a match made in awkward heaven. While ‘3,000 children of different ethnic background’ just screams diversity, the same cannot be said of the five rich white boys of NKOTB.

But nothing tops 1993’s Super Bowl XXVII for sheer awkwardness or irony. Sole performer Michael Jackson waved his humanitarian flag high, performing hits like “Black and White” and “Billie Jean” while the crowd held up different colored cards that, altogether, formed images of cartoon children. The finale featured a giant, inflated globe with Jackson singing “Heal the World” as a crowd of about 3,500 children surrounded him, raising their voices to high heaven.

Just a few months later, Jackson was first accused of child sexual abuse. Oops!

Thankfully, since the NFL has gotten over its penchant for filling the field with kids and moved on to straight (though certainly bloated) rock’n’roll performances since 2005.

And with Bruce Springsteen, the beating heart of all that is rock, playing this year, there’s slim chance that anything will go wrong. Unless Justin Timberlake shows up and exposes his nipple.

Decemberists. New Song. New Album. New Levels of Ecstasy.

2009-01-26T22:27:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know, this track has been floating around the internet for the better part of two weeks.

But a new Decemberists track, to me, isn't something to simply digest and regurgitate onto a blog. A new Decemberists song, you see, must be dealt with carefully and slowly, like a small puppy or an infant child. These things are precious.

And so, my friends, though you've doubtlessly heard it elsewhere for awhile now, I'm finally ready to talk about "Rake's Song," the newest track from one of the greatest bands out there.

(Wait - did you hear that? I think it was any guise of journalistic objectivity flying out the window.)

The Decemberists have certainly changed since the absolutely gorgeous first disc Castaways and Cutouts and the criminally - criminally! - underappreciated follow-up Her Majesty. Colin Meloy has long since traded the lush, almost lullaby-like sound of his early material for more ambitious aims — long, complex song structure, more percussive tracks, concept albums, the like.

The first track to hit off the band's upcoming fifth album, Hazards of Love, due March 24, like much of Meloy's more recent work, attempts to reconcile 'lovely' and 'ambitious.' In other words, just as he did with The Crane Wife, he wants to appeal to both the critics looking for something impressively edgy and high concept and the more simplistic music lovers simplistically looking for a beautiful melody, a pretty guitar strum to hold on to.

"The Rake's Song" succeeds on both fronts. This sure isn't the care-free breezy folk of Castaways, but Meloy's melody is playful enough that we don't get the impression that The Decemberists are taking themselves too seriously.

The track tells a very Meloy-esque tale: Poor chap marries young, sees his wife's womb "start spilling out babies" (Imagine that line in doctor speak: "Ma'am, you're water has broken. You're about to start spilling out babies"), sees his wife die in childbirth and proceeds to kill (or, ahem, allow to die) his kids, freeing him to conveniently narrate the rest of the album.

It's catchy, certainly entertaining, and, more than anything, should push fans to mother-trying-to-buy-Hannah-Montana-tickets level excitement.

And, if you're in the Pittsburgh area, keep your eyes and ears open. A rumored (yes, just rumored) Decemberists show may be just around the corner.

Just for good measure, have another listen.

Silver Jews' David Berman Quits While He's Ahead

2009-01-25T22:43:00.000-08:00

Silver Jews fans (which, if you're not already one, you've missed out) can forget about that fantasy they have in which, after a Jews show, they meet David Berman backstage and proceed to sit sipping whiskey all night talking about poetry, writing and depression. Or maybe that's just my fantasy.

Regardless, the Jews' braintrust, lyrical (if not musical) genius David Berman recently announced that he is moving on from music. A message board from his label Drag City revealed the following Berman gems:

"I guess I am moving over to another category. Screenwriting or Muckraking. I've got to move on. Can't be like all the careerists doncha know."

At least he left us with a bit of wit, writing: "If I continue to record I might accidentally write the answer song to 'Shiny Happy People.'"

For those of you in Pittsburgh, here is the point when you kick yourself (physically, if possible) for not shelling out the 8 bucks to see the fantastic Silver Jews show that Pitt's WPTS put on last fall.

As Berman only does (or, did...sigh) email interviews, here are the highlights from the e-conversation I had with him before that show:

GRE: Is a song just a poem that you write which happens to come to you with a melody? If not, how does the writing of both differ?

DB: My sit-down intent is different for each. Things don’t just come out of nowhere. I have to sit down and start to make them. That means taking a first step with nothing to go on but hope and past positive experiences. In the terms of weekend hobbies: Poetry is like painting in the laundry room. Songwriting is like building a motor in the garage.

GRE: How do you see your need to write as both a blessing and a curse?

DB: It’s a curse in that it involves anxiety that I imagine would be lessened in a line of work that everyone didn’t consider themselves to be an expert on. Everyone thinks they have good taste in music. Everybody is, somewhere inside, an expert on music. But it’s blessing all the way down from there.

GRE: Here's a classic debate: Why does the most boring music get the most play by fans and press? If independent rock is so good, why isn't it more mainstream?

DB: Because the masses are asses. Der oilem iz der goilem.

Get Up Kids Front Man Matt Pryor rehashes "Overdue"

2009-01-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

Admit it: Like the rest of us, you listened to some semblance of emo music in middle school. Hell, maybe even high school.

Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle"? You loved it.

Taking Back Sunday's fist album? Classic.

And if you were a bit more dedicated, you most certainly loved The Get Up Kids. With Matt Pryor's aching vocals and not-even-close-to-punk instrumentals, the band was perfect for hearts reeling from early teenage love and break ups.

That said, here are two clips of GUK front man Pryor's acoustic performance last night at Mr. Small's in Millvale. The quality isn't too grand, but the melody's all there.

Check out GUK's "Overdue."

Matt Pryor covers Kevin Devine's "Brooklyn Boy"

2009-01-25T11:59:00.000-08:00

First comes a cover of singer-songwriter Kevin Devine's "Brooklyn Boy," in which Pryor forgets the words completely. Adorable.

Cursive's Tim Kasher calls new album "Fucking Brilliant"

2009-01-23T09:17:00.000-08:00

Check live video below!

Cursive front man Tim Kasher has never been much for subtlety.

Be it lyrics about outright heart-crushing topics, riotous sandpaper shouts or punch-in-the-gut guitars, Kasher’s music with Cursive isn’t for the faint of heart.

And that’s the whole appeal — leave politeness for the radio pop, it’s time for torture.

So when the overstuffed Columbus, Ohio crowd spilled onto the low stage last night at dive bar/rock madhouse The Summit, compromising Kasher’s amplifier, he didn’t hesitate to speak his mind.

“I know we’re attractive people,” he said. “Believe me, the times I’ve masturbated in the mirror… But take a step back. I promise, we’ll look the same.”

What a sweetheart.

But the crowd’s foaming frenzy wasn’t unfounded — Kasher’s impassioned, atonal-as-always holler could peel paint. And for a band that specializes in uncomfortable, churning and chugging rock’n’roll, that’s quite a complement.

The stage at The Summit is about as big as a billiards table, but Cursive played gorgeously haunted as ever, with a set frontloaded with the driving “Dorothy at Forty,” the back catalogued wall of sound “Sink to the Beat” and the thrashing, twisted “Art is Hard.”

Unreleased track “We’re Going to Hell,” far from what its title would suggest, eased on the agony. The track is a haunted slow dance with Kasher’s falsetto of the title repeated over shallow, cymbal-heavy drumming and crawling keyboards — like U2’s “One” for the beautifully demented. The tune was a welcome respite from the organized chaos of the rest of the show, and the kids in the front, whose shins were pressed tight against the stage, needed the break.

Other new tracks, including almost majestic, fast-shuffle “The Hips,” found Cursive almost antsy — these Omaha boys are ready to drop a new record.

“All these new songs will be your favorites. This record is fucking brilliant,” said Kasher cheekily. “If you like Cursive like I do, you’ll love it.”

Around the halfway mark, Kasher, who often sang with his face contorted, his hands over his head, began to show a crack in his otherwise flawless performance of anguish set to melody — he was losing his voice.

After the band completed the wild, flailing “Some Red-Handed Sleight of Hand,” Kasher could barely muster up a hoarse, “Thank you.”

Inviting a 21st birthday girl to sing “A Gentlemen Caller” proved not such a good idea — even with Kasher and guitarist Ted Stevens’ help on the microphone, she was as outgoing a front woman as you could expect from a tiny blonde girl being accosted by 200 fans - she stood there frozen, half-mouthing words like she was chewing applesauce.

Kasher bolted from stage to grab a drink, and a minute later returned for a big, hoarse finish — “The Recluse” and “The Casualty.”

By the oft-repeated last line of “It’ll swallow you fucking whole,” Kasher’s voice had slid through a paper shredder and landed on broken glass — barely audible, more a pained, stretched whisper.

The band walked offstage. The crowd jumped on hoping for a setlist, a guitar pick, a vibration. A sign that what they’d just seen was real.

Photo credit: Dana Hupczey
Below: Cursive plays "The Recluse"

An Interview with Dustin Kensrue of Thrice

2009-01-22T16:28:00.000-08:00

The bands whose singers are part of the Where’s The Band Tour, together, would make for a veritable hall of fame of emocore.

Dustin Kensrue of Thrice, Chris Conley of Saves the Day, Anthony Raneri of Bayside and, most excitingly, Matt Pryor of the Get Up Kids could make even the most resistant closet-emo kid week in the knees.

But with just acoustic guitars and their voices, they’ll strip things down for an up close and personal take on music that’s about as up-close and personal as it gets.

Maybe the least deserving of the emo title is Dustin Kensrue, front man of California post-hardcore titans Thrice. The band’s been pumping out fast, blaring, guitar-assaulting rock for the better part of a decade now, and it’s gotten better with each record — from a simplified take on chugga-chugga rock with 2001’s Identity Crisis to the atmospheric, outer-space bombast of last year’s elements-themed Alchemy Index Vol. III & IV.

Kensrue’s solo work, though, is straight-ahead singer-songwriter fare laced with his gravelly yell one moment and delicate whisper the next.

Kensrue called Gravity Rides Everything on his way to Thrice’s band practice rehearsing songs for the band’s next album to talk shop.

Gravity Rides Everything: How will the upcoming Where’s the Band? Tour differ from a Thrice tour?

Dustin Kensrue: In almost every way. We’re riding in a van together, which I really like. There’s no band onstage, so these shows will be more relaxed and intimate. It’s more of a gathering than a show. There’s less disconnect between the stage and the crowd.

GRE: Do fans often ask about Thrice on a solo tour, or do they focus on your acoustic work?

DK: It definitely started with a core of Thrice fans, but fans of my solo work are slowly developing. A lot of people are fans of both — and I will play a couple Thrice songs at each show, of course.

GRE: What pushed you to actually lay down your solo work?

DK: It just happened over time. Some songs were never going to work out as Thrice songs and I’d play them for friends. I just kept getting encouragement to make a full record [Note: Kensrue released his solo debut, Please Come Home, in 2007].

GRE: Is it refreshing to be alone onstage, to be more revealed to the audience?

DK: I like the fact that there’s not as much going on, dynamically and vocally. I’m a little free rto take a song where it feels like going. I can take it down, bring it up, change it all on the fly. It’s also a way for me to really focus on singing.

GRE: How has your songwriting developed from Identity Crisis to Alchemy Index and through your solo work?

DK: I’ve always been able to write decent lyrics, but I’ve gotten more consistent. There are some songs even on our first EP [1999’s First Impressions] that make me think, ‘Now those are some good lyrics.’ I’m more consistently proud of my writing now, though. Musically, we’ve all gotten into more and more diverse music. It made us appreciate more aspects of music than loud, fast and heavy.

GRE: Are there any career goals you’ve yet to reach?

DK: We’ve never been a goal oriented band — even less with me as a solo artist. I don’t want to get caught up in looking at it from that angle. If you have goals, you need to think about what it’ll take to make them happen, and that ends up overshadowing the music. That’s never our priority. But we are working on a new record for the fall, and I’ll be recording a new solo record for this summer.

GRE: It’s hard to think about summer now — it’s about seven degrees in Pittsburgh.

DK: Jesus, man. It’s about 80 degrees here. I wish we could share our warmth and cold and we’d both be cool.

For the emo faithful (much as I try, I can't resist), here are the tour dates:

Jan 21: Dekalb, IL @ The House Cafe

Jan 22: East Lansing, MI @ Union Ballroom

Jan 23: Columbus, OH @ The Basement

Jan 24: Pittsburgh, PA @ Mr Smalls Theatre

Jan 25: Cleveland Heights, OH @ The Grog Shop

Jan 27: Memphis, TN @ The Hi-Tone

Jan 28: Nashville, TN @ Rocketown

Jan 29: Covington, KY @ Mad Hatter Club

Jan 30: Pontiac, MI @ The Crofoot Pike Room

Jan 31: Chicago, IL @ Subterranean

Will Puffy Soften "Notorious"?

2009-01-21T11:54:00.000-08:00

As a tiny, Jewish suburban white boy growing up in Amish country Pennsylvania, I always felt that Notorious B.I.G. spoke directly to me.

When he would rap, “It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up Magazine,” I would sub in Newsweek and nod along, occasionally saying aloud, “Bay-beh, Bay-beh.”

Like a giant father figure, his slow, syrupy voice came through my stereo speakers and told me to get off my boney ass and make something of myself. And I took his advice to heart, quickly rising to prominence as the premier hip-hop superstar of my generation, selling millions of records about hustling the streets, being kind to my moms and getting with mad bitches.

Ok, so that last part isn’t exactly the truth, but Notorious B.I.G.’s influence on music, hip-hop fans and (truthfully) me was undeniably huge — bigger than the man himself.

And now, 12 years after he was tragically gunned down in L.A., he’ll be further immortalized in the new biographic flick “Notorious,” which opens this week.

Biggie isn’t the first famous music star to have his story told through film, and he certainly won’t be the last, but his flick is an interesting case.

First off, his story is certainly one of the more recent ones to be committed to the silver screen. “Ray” followed Ray Charles through his childhood and young adulthood in the pre-rock’n’roll South. “Walk the Line” saw Johnny Cash shrouded in black through the late 60s, but went no further.

Now there have been semi-biographical movies portraying more recent stories — most notably Eminem’s “8 Mile” and 50 Cent’s “Get Rich or Die Trying.”

But here’s the difference as I see it — the older-story biopics work because they portray a world far removed from where we are now. The country music touring circuit in the 1950’s, for example, is a far cry from that of today. The newer-story biopics, thus far, have portrayed artists before they made it big, similarly portraying views of the artists that are far from our conceptions. 50 Cent’s flick, for example, attempted to realize the near-mythic proportion back story he’d been writing about for years.

With “Notorious,” though, we’ve got a slight change — sure, the movie does portray Biggie’s background and upbringing, but also his success, and in doing so shows characters that are still in the spotlight today. Can we take seriously a flick with an actor playing P. Diddy the confidante and producer before he became the media whore that we know so well? Can we take a Lil’ Kim character seriously, or will it be tragic to watch her pre-fame character knowing that today, she’s all but washed up.

Will the movie be good? Sure, probably. Biggie’s story of rise to fame from a childhood of drug deals and ghetto life is inspiring, no doubt, and the mystique surrounding the man is, while not as vibrant as Tupac’s, certainly intriguing.

But wouldn’t we believe the flick if filmmakers had waited a few more years, or, say, 10, to release it. Not because Biggie isn’t a legend already — he is — but because so many of his surrounding characters are still in the news daily. We need time to separate ourselves from the world of Biggie so that when his movie does drop, it is, like “Ray” or “Walk the Line,” an entirely different world full of nostalgic references, musical memories and a soundtrack of “I remember that track!” moments.

On the flip side, Jamal Woolard, the actual Brooklyn rapper who plays Biggie, is eerily right on. His penguin-like swagger, his slow drawl and deep voice are like the ghost of Christopher Wallace hitting the screen. He’s not the problem here — it’s the secondary characters that worry me.

The movie will probably kill at the box office, launch the career of Woolard and boost the already successful post-mortem career of B.I.G., but I can’t help but wonder — are we ready to see Mr. Making the Band as Mr. Making the Biggie?

We Are One: Obama's Concert Forgoes Cheesy Patriotism and Kicks Ass

2009-01-18T19:05:00.000-08:00

Sure, mainstream rock music can be trite. Sure, it can be uninspired. But standing only 100 yards from the giant stage on the Lincoln Memorial for the Opening Ceremony Concert of the Inauguration, I was thinking of anything but indie cred.

This afternoon, in front of an estimated 300,000 people spread from the base of the Memorial all the way to the steps of the Washington Monument, an amazing array of musicians rocked inauguration-appropriate songs in a near-two hour extravaganza.

Obama, the man of the hour (and day, and week, and year and next four years) sat with his family - his daughters snapping digital photos and leaning on their dad - sat protected from the front by a square glass encasing and from the back by snipers atop the Lincoln Memorial.

Inaugurations aren't child's play.

Obama also showed his true rock'n'roll colors during the program. He grinned and sang along, looking like he'd rather have had a guitar than a seat.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

After the Jumbotrons had finished playing another will.i.am-organized celeb-fest video (including, awkwardly, Seinfeld's Jason Alexander wringing his fists and singing along with faux white boy soul), the program started with an epic orchestral performance of Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare for the Common Man."

The sound coming from the crowd is impossible to accurately describe. It wasn't loud, exactly, as I was regrettably far from the thousands and thousands of cheerers. But it was absolutely massive - like standing far away, word wide thunderstorm. The sound was everywhere, all encompassing; it swallowed us all whole.

Denzel Washington spoke briefly and then - magic.

Bruce Springsteen, with an acoustic guitar and an entire gospel choir, singing "The Rising." The song was perfect, the moment epic. The Boss was in charge. The song's "La, la, la" refrain shot above the crowd, higher and higher; Springsteen's face strained, his voice scratchy and bold as ever.

I'm not one for sentimentality, so let's just say that the cold weather made my eyes water.

The Boss' performance set the stage for all that would come - basically, accomplished musicians singing not to the crowd, not to Obama, but to the feeling that so many people had come together to celebrate, to sing and dance, to (Note: please excuse, again, sentimentality) shake at the power of rock'n'roll.

James Taylor and John Legend, kings of the Middle-of-the-Road, hit it with a feel-good "Shower the People."

John Mellencamp, king of the Comeback-via-American-Pride-Flaunting, actually impressed with - bet you didn't see this coming! - "Pink Houses," with it's refrain of "Ain't that America for you and me?" But, truthfully, sing-along was just right for the mood of togetherness and unity, even if it does only last a few days.

In the surprise of the day, Garth Brooks (yes, Garth Brooks), sang "American Pie," and it was awesome. Honestly, I never would've expected to write "Garth Brooks" and "awesome" in the same sentence, unless they were separated by "is not," but the man puts on a great show, and his voice and energy was nothing short of rousing.

Then Brooks dove into The Isley Brother's "Shout," and shit went crazy.

The only artist who acted too cool for his own good was Usher, who undeservingly performed "Higher Ground" with pop princess/annoying voiced Shakira and living soul god Stevie Wonder. Were the former two have been bypassed for, say, only Stevie Wonder, the moment would've been Wonder-full (awkward pause) and much better.

Wonder even sang "O-ba-ma" as the song faded out.

U2 are not American, but they'd like you to forget that.

Bono has more American pride than an Alabama high school football coach with a bald eagle tattoo and a "Support the Troops" bumper sticker.

The band hit with "Pride (In the Name of Love)," honoring Martin Luther King, Jr. For a band that loves to overdo it, the performance was subdued, appropriate. Bono shouted, his day job as a worldly peacekeeper and motivational speaker shining through, "On Tuesday, this dream comes to pass."

But no rock star could outshine Obama, and he spoke with the dignity and gravity we've come to expect.

"There is no obstacle that can stand in the way of millions of voices calling for change," he said. "Together, we can rally as one nation, as one people."

Springsteen and -what!? - Pete Seeger playing Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land." Seeger is 89 years old and can still shred on the banjo.

As the tune ended, Seeger, old and visibly weak, raised his hands above his head. His arms shook, his face overjoyed.

Music is a powerful thing.

The whole she-bang ended with a Beyonce-led "America the Beautiful," joined by the cast of the whole program. She kept vocal acrobatics to a minimum, allowing the focus to rest on the sheer impact of the filled-stage visual. It worked - even the press pit was swaying and singing along.

Where We Are One could've been a gawky parade of celebrity flash, it never took focus away from the matter at hand - we'd come to celebrate a new chapter in American History. The stars knew it, the crowd knew it and Obama, bearing his rock'n'roll soul throughout the day, showed it in his broad smile, the weight of the world resting a little lighter on his shoulders.

Music is a powerful thing.

Photo credits: Kevin Mazur/HBO

The Inauguration Opening Ceremony Concert

2009-01-18T16:47:00.001-08:00

I'm still letting the gravity of Obama's opening ceremony concert sink in - and it ended almost four hours ago.

Wedged in the press section, I was no more than 100 yards from the likes of Bruce Springsteen, U2, John Mellencamp, Beyonce, Usher and, by far the most incredible to be near, Stevie Wonder.

Yes, Stevie Wonder.

I'll have a full run down of the concert extravaganza soon. Or, rather, as soon as I can get out of Cosi's and sit down with my own computer. Stay tuned.

Ryan Adams Takes a Breather

2009-01-14T18:02:00.000-08:00

After hurtling full speed ahead in his career for the past near-decade, Ryan Adams announced earlier today that he's decided to step back from releasing music, touring and being a member of his dream team band The Cardinals.

My first response was something to the effect of, "Well, now. That's a shame."

And it was that lack of a knee-jerk response that, to me, means that Ryan might have made the right decision.

Let's look at the (highly subjective) facts:

In 2000, Adams released Heartbreaker, the acoustic agit-folk album that most would consider his masterpiece. For the next four and a half years, he continued to release a string of albums ranging from pop-rock near-perfection (Gold, 2001) to the best Grateful Dead record never released by the Grateful Dead (Cold Roses, early 2005) to the endlessly debated, but downright gorgeously sad Love is Hell EPs (2004).

But the second half of 2005 marked a slow but steady decline in Adams' output.

Both 29 and Jacksonville City Nights (his second and third releases of 2005) were solid but, well, not as enthralling as his earlier work. Easy Tiger, Follow the Lights and this year's Cardinology followed the trend - each record was nothing to scoff at, but certainly nothing to write home about either.

So here's my point: Ryan Adams has written some of the most affecting and beautiful music of the last decade (or even longer if you include his material in Whiskeytown), but everybody needs a rest sometimes. Though Adams wrote about taking a break to mend some emotional and physical wounds (he claims to have lost some hearing on the road), artistically, maybe he needs a break just as badly.

I say this not in a 'Ryan Adams is a washed up hack' sense; no, quite the opposite. Ryan Adams is an immense talent, but even the greatest of artists need to refuel on ideas and inspiration.

So take your time, Ryan. We'll be waiting patiently.

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Snubs Stooges, Continues Irrelevance

2009-01-14T12:26:00.000-08:00

After years of awful Grammy winners, talentless pop stars gracing the cover of the Rolling Stone and unoriginal rock band hacks being touted by record labels as the next big thing, it’s no surprise that any self-respecting music fan would be quite wary of, shall we say, the corporate rock’n’roll machine.

The Rock And Roll Hall of Fame, though, always seemed to me to be so self-aware that its kitsch factor overshadowed its corporate undertones, still maintaining some form of clever credibility.

Until yesterday.

For yesterday is when the judges at the Hall of Fame announced their inductees of 2009, taken from a larger list of nominees. It’s a pretty solid list, too, until you notice which nominee was left in the dust. The inductees include Metallica, Run D.M.C., Jeff Beck, Little Anthony and the Imperials and Bobby Womack. Left off that list, criminally, is The Stooges, a band responsible for influencing the creation of this little genre we like to call, ahem, punk rock.

(Pause in writing for readers to huff and puff in disgust for several minutes, calm down by listening to something loud and agitated, then realize that said band was undoubtedly influenced by The Stooges, start fuming again, punch the nearest inanimate object, then calm down. Estimated time: Seven minutes).

The actual Hall of Fame building, as supposed to the institution, is a giant glass pyramid overlooking Lake Erie right in the heart of downtown Cleveland. It houses a handful of theaters showing flicks about the magic of rock music and the badass-ness of bands like The Who.

The whole establishment hallows the forefathers of rock music with shrines and exhibits where the actual edge of rock’n’roll is softed, archived and presented in glass cases. Is it lame? Of course, but it’s endearing as well.

The Hall of Fame is a lot like your soft-spoken uncle who used to drop a whole lot of acid and then roll around in the snow naked in the 60s, but now just sits at family picnics eating potato salad and referencing his youth with phrases like “Well, back then things were different” and “Oh, we were kids then.”

In other words, The Hall of Fame gives you a glimpse of the wild world of rock, but is careful to watch its manners.

But still, for an institution that proposes to honor the golden age of rock’n’roll, the bands who really made an impact on the world of music, it sure as hell missed the mark. Are other bands more popular than The Stooges? Yes. In fact, most bands are more popular than The Stooges. Seriously, name one. There’s a good chance that the band you just named is more popular than The Stooges. But there’s almost no chance that it was more influential.

With front man Iggy Pop’s rattlesnake holler and penchant for bloodying himself onstage, Ron Ashton’s rough and skin-tearing guitar lines (Note: Ashton died in his home just last week, and should be rolling in his grave right now) and Scott Ashton’s jackhammer drumming, The Stooges created raw and driving punk rock nearly a decade before so many bands used the then it-genre to rise to fame.

In the summer of love, The Stooges were preaching destruction with guitar distortion and spastic rock freak-outs.

What’s worse, some of the first wave punk bands that The Stooges influenced have already been inducted, some years ago, to the Hall of Fame. The Clash? 2003. The Ramones and Talking Heads? 2002. Even the more-hype-than-talent Sex Pistols made it in 2006.

What’s worse is that The Stooges were among the nominees, meaning they were willfully passed up.
The Hall of Fame had the chance to actually live up to its potential (that is, to honor the creators and shapers of rock while balancing credibility and family friendliness) and the probably old, white and out-of-touch judges blew it.

Maybe next year the Hall of Fame judges will take their collective head out of their collective ass, park the minivan and throw the James Taylor (who was inducted in 2000) CD out the window, then listen to a Stooges jam and realize what complete rock’n’roll madness they’ve been missing.

Triggers: This Year's Model of Costello-Influenced Bands

2009-01-13T02:17:00.000-08:00

At only 35 minutes long, Pittsburgh power-poppers' Triggers' new disc Smoke Show is a quick and undeniably fun listen. But, seriously, with hooks this huge, you can safely leave the record on repeat for more than a few run-throughs. Elvis Costello-swagger-pop hasn't sounded this good since, well, Elvis Costello did it. Here's an interview Gravity Rides Everything did with the band in it's basement practice space.

Practicing on Monday night in preparation for the band’s upcoming gig at the 31st Street Pub, Triggers’ beer bottle filled, poster-adorned Squirrel Hill basement/communal house is completely filled with the band’s propulsive, Costello-on-caffeine rock. But don’t call the neighbors just yet. These are some hospitable boys.

“Do you need earplugs?” asked keyboardist and vocalist Brett Zoric. “I think we have some paper towels you can use.”

Thanks, but no thanks.

Zoric , all arms and legs with thick, black-rimmed glasses, sits behind his dual keyboards. Triggers launch into its catchiest song, “Anyone at Anytime,” beginning with Zoric’s barroom shuffle on the keys. Guitarist/vocalist Adam Rousseau’s jagged riff cuts through the keyboard and launches the band, along with drummer Rich ‘Woody’ Kawood and bassist Joe Kasler into the hyper-catchy song, a mix of Weezer’s crunchy guitars, Maroon 5’s white boy soul vocals and a swagger that’s all their own.

The song ends. Silence.

Zoric cracks a grin and says, “This is usually the part where someone yells ‘you suck!’”

That wry humor is, at least in part, responsible for Triggers existing in the first place. Back in 2005, Kawood and Rousseau were, ahem, asked to exit their former band The You. Conveniently, Zoric and Kasler similarly took a bow from their band Monarch.

“We were kind of the rejects of different bands,” said Rousseau.

“I would always say ‘that drummer and bass player [Rousseau played bass] are awesome’ Apparently, they said the same thing about us. Finally we said we should probably just play together,” said Zoric. “Then we all held hands.”

By the end of that year, Triggers had self-recorded its first EP and began playing around town at local mainstays like Club Café and eventually Brillobox. For the band’s debut album, Smoke Show, released just last year, it was time to bring in some outside help — enter producer John Hiler (Liz Phair, Duncan Sheik). But hearing criticism and actually listening to it were two different things.

“There’s a leap of faith you’ve got to take with a producer. Because he might suggest something, but if you wanted it that way, in a sense, you would’ve written it that way. In the end, you either trust him or you don’t,” said Zoric.

Triggers decided to trust Hiler. The result is 35 minutes of super slick party rock that would make The Cars smile wide and make Elvis Costello lower is glasses to look a bit closer. Zoric’s synthesizer lines trade thumping melodies with Rousseau’s guitar, while Kasler and Kawood are a driving rhythmic force — that is, a force that’ll drive you to the dance floor. Throw in the oft-gang shouted ‘whoa’s and ‘hey’s and you’ve got a power-pop punch in the gut.

But with full time day jobs all, recording a full-length was no easy task.

“During preproduction, we would come home from work at six, then we’d work from then until two in the morning, then get up for work the next day,” said Zoric, who works in real estate. “The good news is, it didn’t let us f**k around.”
For the actual recording, though, the band blissfully took off work to devote necessary attention to the music.

“A lot of bands at our level end up taking months or years [to record] because everyone is working and it’s hard to get studio time,” said Rousseau. “But we took off work, scraped together every penny we had and made this thing in a couple weeks, just banged it out.”

A handful of thousands of dollars later (manager Phil Pierre estimated, “somewhere between 10…and 30 thousand.” Rousseau added, “The key is not to think about it.”), Smoke Show hit local shelves and saw the band begin touring more than ever. But while booking shows has proved fairly simple, the band understands that economic woes, as well as hunger pangs, can dissuade a listener from checking out any band.

“We know what it’s like to put out five bucks for a show. That’s time sitting at a job you hate. Any time someone puts out that five bucks, that’s responsibility for us,” said Zoric. “From the time they come in the door, it’s our job to make sure that person doesn’t think ‘I wish I’d kept that and gone to McDonald’s.’ And that’s a choice. You can eat a foot long sub, or you can walk down the street and see us. It’s our job to make sure people continue to walk down the street.”

The Gaslight Anthem will, ahem, light up Mr. Smalls

2009-01-07T14:46:00.000-08:00

The Gaslight Anthem wears its influences on its sleeves so unabashedly, well, it's hard to hate on them. While, harkening way back to ye olde 1990s, the snottiness of Oasis long ago brought the masses shunning the band for its unapologetic hawking of the sound of The Beatles, the sheer excitement to which The Gaslight Anthem brings together driving punk rock and Rock Senator Bruce Springsteen is contagious. And, luckily for all of us, it's flu season.

The band just announced some stateside dates, and (thanking any number of lucky stars) Pittsburgh's landed ourselves a show. Hot damn!

03/28/2009 The Trocadero, Philadelphia, PA Heartless Bastards 

   03/29/2009 Mr Small's - Headline Show! Pittsburgh, PA Heartless Bastards     

04/02/2009 Turner Hall, Milwaukee, Heartless Bastards  

04/03/2009The Bottom Lounge, Chicago, IL Heartless Bastards     

04/04/2009The Varsity Theater, Minneapolis, MN Heartless Bastards  

   04/07/2009 The Warehouse, Calgary, ALB Heartless Bastards     

04/08/2009 The Starlite Room, Edmonton, AB Heartless Bastards 

   04/10/2009 The Plaza Nightclub, Vancouver, BC Heartless Bastards 

   04/15/2009The Boardwalk, Orangevale, CA Heartless Bastards      

04/16/2009 Slim's, San Francisco, CA Heartless Bastards    

04/21/2009The Clubhouse, Tempe, AZ Heartless Bastards

   04/24/2009 Gothic Theatre, Englewood, CO Heartless Bastards 

On Why There Is Nothing Better to do on New Year's Eve Than go to a Show

2009-01-07T14:05:00.000-08:00

For most people, New Year’s Eve includes drinking too much booze, partying your hardest and a slowly descending ball. The whole ordeal is not unlike a boy going through puberty.

For me, this past New Year’s Eve was much the same, except replace the ball with an Eastern European punk band, a drunken and fighting middle aged couple and a trip hitchhiking through Philadelphia.

Or, put simply, here is Why The Best Thing to do on New Year’s Eve is go to a Concert.

The atmosphere at a good show, no matter the genre, is electric — a group of like-minded fans coming together to celebrate something they love. Does that sound corny? Of course, but it sure as hell feels good.

Throw in the general sentiment of a New Year’s Eve celebration and that electric feel is going to explode. Not only are concert go-ers partying over music — the great unifier of people — but also over the fact that come midnight, everything seemingly changes and it’s time to start fresh.

In that way, a New Year’s Eve concert is a two-for-one deal, and I love a bargain.

Scanning the possible shows on the east coast, my girlfriend happened upon a Gogol Bordello show at Philadelphia’s Electric Factory.

Neither of us had been particularly familiar with the band, but re-listening to some of their albums, the show had the makings of an epic party. Gogol Bordello is the brainchild of Eugene Hutz, a Brooklyn-via-Romania madman who throws raucous punk rock speed and attitude with even more raucous gypsy-esque, almost klezmer, Eastern European traditional folk music into a big pot of borsht. He then sprinkles in lyrics about drinking, wearing purple and being an immigrant, all sung in Hutz’ quaky, gruff holler and thick accent.

The result sounds, or tastes, great. Like the wildest Balkan wedding you’ve never been to.

Our hopes for the show was higher than the tips of Hutz’ massive moustache (easily the best in rock’n’roll – even better than The Hold Steady’s Franz Nicolai).

The band didn’t disappoint.

Wanting to be in the right mindset for such a party, upon arriving at the club (after a cab ride with a driver who enlightened us with a story about how he held a previous rider by the beard while beating him upon the head), we zipped to the bar. Soon we’d nudged ourselves into a prime spot — front row, center balcony. The West Philadelphia Orchestra was finishing up its set of thumping Balkan stompers and we noticed a rather odd pair a few rows up on the balcony.

Often foolishly, I love to meet weird looking strangers. I drug my girlfriend to introduce ourselves to the couple — the man had an admirably bushy mustache, a bunch of beaded necklaces, a shiny vest and the type of hat that would’ve looked great with a few feathers. The woman could’ve stepped out of a silent movie — all in black, with a veil covering her face.

After some understandably awkward hellos (German guy, British lady, heavy accents both), I discerned that the woman worked at Urban Outfitters and the man was unemployed. A few minutes later, they were arguing with each other and flipping mutual birds. Perfect time for an exit.

Gogol Bordello took the stage to the general elation of the crowd, which began to dance before a note was even played. Multiple drinks later, we dove into the crowd just minutes before midnight.

Describing a Gogol Bordello show is a lot like describing the true nature of God. As in, well, you can’t do it while justifying the power of something so huge. Under the massive weight of the musical stomp of the near-dozen member band, the entire crowd moved as one, many arm-in-arm twirling in circles, others stomping, jumping and shaking like they were having an Eastern European seizure.

Three…two…one and hundreds of balloons dropped on the crowd. Due to the near-violent intensity of the dancing, many popped before they every hit the floor.

Hutz, half-naked and in raving lunatic mode, bounded over the stage with his acoustic guitar like he was leading a punk rock workout video.

The crowd responded to tunes like the instructional romp “Think Globally, F**k Locally” by appropriately going bats**t insane. If anyone left without making some new dancing friends, they were likely deaf, blind or painfully sober.

The show let out around 1:30 a.m. and the sweaty, exhausted masses hit the streets. Wobbly drunk and still dancing for some reason, I thought it’d be no problem to get a cab. On New Year’s Eve. At 1:30 a.m.

After catching frostbite on at least 74% of my body in only 20 minutes, we decided that it’d be best to walk the several miles back to my brother’s apartment. Luckily, after a few blocks, a car full of black girls stopped on the corner.

“You need a ride?” one asked eagerly.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Are you guys legit?” Apparently, this was how I saw fit to judge if we were or were not going to get robbed.

“You know it,” she said.

“No, I’m not going…” said my girlfriend as I pulled her into the car with me.

My judgment was fantastic, and we made it in just a few minutes. After several more drinks, I fell asleep in a suitcase.

If this tale hasn’t convinced you, then let me be blunt. Go to a good rock’n’roll show next New Year’s Eve. It beats the ball every time.