My friend Tom, who is awesome, went on a scavenger hunt and dug up some live versions of new Ryan Adams & The Cardinals songs that are showing up on the tracklist for Cardinology (due out October 28 on Lost Highway). I’ve added to it, let’s have a listen! Shocking, it’s a little jammy.
So I finally, finally saw No Country For Old Men this weekend (I know, right?!) and thought it was a near flawless film. As I’ve mentioned before, Cormac McCarthy has been one of my favorite authors from the first time I read All The Pretty Horses in high school. I’ve been mesmerized by his austere, profound, unadorned writing ever since.
The Coen Brothers did something extremely rare by accurately capturing the mood and tone of the book in addition to just re-telling the story. If you’re even more behind than I am in this one, I won’t ruin the ending — but will say that it was one of the most perfect, piercing closing seconds to a film that I’ve seen in years.
This week is a busy one for me, holding 5 shows by my count. And I’ll be moving into a new place downtown in a few weeks. Wish me luck — heck, just wish that I survive. Here’s what I’ll be listening to amidst the madness:
The ’59 Sound The Gaslight Anthem This song is about death come too soon, but Gaslight Anthem‘s sound wraps up these themes of youth and death with a defiance that burns through in their music with resistant lines like “ain’t supposed to die on a Saturday night.” Some say that these New Jersey fellows evoke a contemporary America in a Born to Run way, loose and raw [via]. Their song “High Lonesome” pays subtle tribute to a fantastic line from Counting Crows’ first album, and I hear the urgency I love about Roger Clyne in the vocals as well. So yeah, they’ve got my attention. Gaslight Anthem is out on tour with Against Me, which I don’t know much about but now see that they have an exclamation mark in their name – Against Me! So that might be too much excitement for me and I’ll wait to check these guys out when they circle back through on the club circuit. What a show that would be — I’d predict catharsis and the purity of rock n roll.
Oppressions Each Brightblack Morning Light New Mexico freakfolk collective Brightblack Morning Light is fun to read interviews with. Why? How about this gem: Singer Naybob Shineywater used to sing shows with an arrowhead in his mouth. Why? “To let his own sung words & breathe touch this stone before European ears could hear them.” Naybob says, “I was not singing for war, but to engage the spirit of the maker of the arrowhead itself, to offer up Peace, that his warrior effort find a new respect, and to help my own warrior spirit sing in Peace.” See? That’s crazy fun right there. But no seriously — if you’re not all hippy dippy you still absolutely can and should enjoy this extraordinary song off their new album Motion to Rejoin (out tomorrow on Matador Records). It’s incredible — all thickly woven with retro sounds that sound like they are coming through a steamy bathroom, down the hall, and through a layer of feathers to your head under the pillow on a Saturday morning.
Get Yourself Home (In Search Of The Mistress Whose Kisses Are Famous) These United States The most recent Colorado show that Washington D.C.’s These United States played was a few weeks ago at a farm party for Labor Day out near Nimbus Road and Diagonal Highway in Niwot. I hear the two things that existed in some abundance were farmland and alcohol. This sounds like the kind of band that you could have a lot of fun with in those doses. After getting positive reviews all over the place from folks like NPR, KEXP and Morning Becomes Eclectic, These United States are releasing their sophomore album Crimestomorrow on United Interests. There’s a rustic folk charm here with a feisty and jittery thread weaving through this that would make M Ward proud.
Nice Train The Donkeys There’s a simple aura of palatable psychedelica that vibrates through this song from San Diego’s The Donkeys, along with a very basic rhyming scheme that reminds me in an odd way of “Girls” by the Beastie Boys. Don’t believe me? Listen to the “how/wow/cow” sequence and tell me it doesn’t echo “way/MCA/play/you may” bit. Or maybe it’s just me. It’s a unique blending of ’60s rock with modern day heroes, and I think they also might reveal a possible love of folks like Pavement. Living On The Other Side was out a few weeks ago on Dead Oceans (Bishop Allen, Bowerbirds).
Hold It In Jukebox The Ghost Despite the heartfelt personal invitation from these endearing fellows who were passing out hand-drawn flyers on Saturday at Monolith to encourage people to get there early Sunday to hear their set, I failed. I wanted to, especially after listening to the ebullient pop of their album Live And Let Ghosts, and especially because they stand out from the indie crowd with that fun dash of Freddie Mercury vocal drama. Aquarium Drunkard rubs salt in the wound of my tardiness by writing that Jukebox The Ghost “set a high bar for the rest of the festival, cruising as they did through an infectious set of grandiose piano-driven pop — for a 1:00 crowd, it was a packed and energetic room.” They are on tour now across the country, ending in SF on October 18th.
SPIRITUALIZED: SOUL ON FIRE Live 8/2/08 in Buffalo, NY @ Town Ballroom
For more content (an interview, etc) check here. They just played the Treasure Island Music Festival in San Fran this weekend and I heard a tinny snippet of their set over a cell phone; they’ll probably sound better at one of their actual tour dates.
On the second day of its second year, Monolith solidified its place as a festival to be reckoned with. Also, Jesus took the stage in a glowing cloud of blue light — oh wait, no that’s Band of Horses. Close to divine.
Although the attendance this year was a ways from capacity, Monolith is still one of the better festivals I’ve been to recently, with its diverse lineup of acts –from hip hop to acoustic indie, cock rock to electronica– and gorgeous Colorado scenery. Maybe it’s just our mountain air but everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Each time slot had at least one band I wanted to see, usually three or sometimes four. I could live the festival through another few rounds (with permission from my liver, of course) in order to see all the acts I missed. Kudos all around this year on a solid festival well done.
If Monolith returns in ’09, I still hold onto the hope that they can bribe somebody from the Dept of Parks and Wildlife or whatever, and find a way to incorporate camping on some of the rolling land stretching out around Red Rocks (what a gorgeous location, right?) to make it more of a destination festival, like Coachella. Staying six miles down the highway at the Sheraton West was nice but not quite the same.
So Sunday — armed with Chipotle and some parking lot libations — we rolled in for day two of the festival. After braving the unseasonably nasty elements the night before, we were pleased to see gorgeous skies again that this time stayed all day. The remnants of summer were the perfect backdrop to the sunny music of Pomegranates, the first whole set I caught on Sunday.
Pomegranates sound at once epic and approachable — music that demands you take notice but in such a chiming, iridescent way. Over sugary flourishes, their multilayered percussion built and anticipated then crashed down in avalanches of catharsis. I loved their set. WOXY sponsored their stage, and also loves them; check a full live Lounge Act set here.
I heard the hard-driving scowl and Southern rock of American Bang reverberating through a wall and tentatively opened the door to see who was playing. I was summarily knocked flat; theirs was one of those sets you happen upon and everyone walks out saying, “Who WAS that?!” Kings of Leon comparisons are easy (before KOL got all clean cut and pretty) with their Nashville roots, classic rock swagger, screams and skinny jeans. It’s stuff to play loud from your 1970 Chevelle while you drive to get tickets for the Aerosmith show, and it was great.
Tokyo Police Club played at the mid-afternoon mark, and the kids from Saddle Creek seemed competent on the large stage and unrestrained in their delight. I always think I hear a smile in Dave Monks’ voice on this song, and you can see it in the pictures below.
For the final song of the Avett Brothers‘ sundrenched set on Sunday aftenoon, bassist Bob Crawford laid aside the gorgeous baroque curves of his golden standup bass and picked up an electric guitar. As the band raged and thrashed their sweaty bodies through that final song, a sort of transliteration hit me. The electric guitar personified the same sentiment of outright rock that their whole set had spoken, but in the language of things like banjos.
Moreso than the first time I saw them a few weeks ago, this set was gutting to me. I kept finding myself riveted by a wry twist of lyric in a song that was new to me, or marvelling at how their voices blended, cooperated, and fought in the way that only brothers can. Their set caught the attention of the casual listeners and the unfamiliar — even the gruff security guard down in the photo pit. I noticed him listening intently, and then forsaking his post to turn around and gape as they launched into “Die, Die, Die.” He pressed me for all the details I knew about them and actually took notes. I think a lot of folks walked away with a desire to seek out more.
The Avetts have recently spent a few weeks in the studio with producer Rick Rubin for a new album due out in the Spring. They played one of those new songs, a sweet and simple tune called “Standing With You.” When I heard it last week I was struck by the lyric, “So many nights go by like a flash, from a camera without any film” — so much so that I typed it into my phone as a memo. Maybe I took a shine to it because I have a horrible memory. But I was pleased to find this video [via] and I ripped the tune for now (so I won’t forget):
With my head spinning from the Avetts, I climbed the 472 stairs to see the talent show spectacle of Tilly And The Wall. Their set was infectiously amazing fun because they have a tap-dancer as percussionist, don’t ya know. I never learned tap dance, but if I had, this is precisely the band I would want to be in.
I only caught the tail end of the set from sexy London garage punk duo The Kills, but as I wedged myself into the area between the edge of the stage, some scaffolding, and various amps to try and get a few good pics while I enjoyed their sounds, Jamie Hince spotted me and directed a little bit of his rock god energy my way. Blending equal parts Bowie and PJ Harvey with that clear White Stripes energy, I was impressed.
Band of Horses was seriously meant to play a venue like Red Rocks. Along with recent groups like My Morning Jacket who have sent their majestic songs cascading through the oxygenless air to rain down upon the happy masses, Ben Bridwell’s haunting high tenor sounded flawless, the band powerful in that setting.
Airborne Toxic Event has been busy in the week since Monolith, defending their art to the soulcrushers at Pitchfork, but at the show I saw they were single-mindedly focused on bringing their songs to life. They played on one of the smallest stages Monolith had to offer and packed it in — imagine the swells of this immense and cinematic song bouncing off the wall of red rock in that underground cubbyhole. Is it just me, or is this a great song? “You just have to see her; you know that she’ll break you in two.”
After Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip impressed the heck out of me at Coachella, I told everyone who was undecided in the late afternoon that their set was the one to see. With their intelligent and literate songcraft mixed with can’t-sit-still beats, I wasn’t disappointed this time either. Theirs was the single most crowded show I saw on the WOXY stage. There were two entrances into the hallway pitstop where the stage was wedged, and both doors had a line 20-30 people deep trying to get in to hear them. Deservedly so.
Thou Shalt Always Kill – Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip (the original version, which I like better than the cut that made the album)
Cansei de Ser Sexy (CSS) was in their element headlining the second stage in the gusty September wind while the tightly-packed crowd danced under the stars. They sounded fantastic and fun, although I must say that Lovefoxx kind of confused me with that fluffy thing that maybe she borrowed from Bjork. By that point in the night it is good to know that Matt Picasso and I were on the same page; he wrote about the “poofiness that defied gravity” and admitted “while I should’ve probably been focused on how great they sounded, I kept thinking ‘wow, that Christmas tree thing is amazing.’” I’m so right there with you buddy. But the best thing was that watching her dance in it made me want to dance too. Which I suppose is the point.
Apparently a delightful new sub-genre of poetry is forming roots: the Hipster Haiku. In a traditional 5/7/5 metric scheme, one can skew the dark underbelly of indie youth culture with a pointed collection of words. Exhibits A, B, and C:
It remains so cold In the space between my Vans And footless leggings
Only blazer-clad Huddled like bees, our hands hold hand-rolled cigarettes
When the tattoos creep Past the sleeve line to knuckles, Time to quit retail.
Please note: an important distinction is to be drawn between the hipster haiku and the hipster sestina. Being more complex and dating back to the Renaissance poetry of Dante and Petrarch, the sestina is arguably even better (and my love of Vespas just made me laugh out loud at this bit of fantasticness):
I remember offering you a ride, Just to penetrate your thousand-mile stare. You were magnetic, so aloof and thin. When you climbed on the back of my Vespa, I loved how you put one arm loose Around my waist, instead of holding the safety bar.
I took you straight to my favorite bar, Even though you probably wanted a ride Home. I warned you, my standards are loose. I admitted I couldn’t help but stare. You were gracious, asked about my Vespa. I didn’t notice your patience wearing thin.
You had a pack of very French, very thin cigarettes, and the smoke hung over the bar like a cloud of dust in the wake of a Vespa. When you yawned, I finally gave you a ride home. Then I stood outside your window to stare. I couldn’t shake myself loose.
On an impulse, I pulled my scooter key loose From its chain, and slid its thin Promise under your door. I could imagine your stare, Your surprise. “Meet me at the bar tomorrow,” I scrawled, “and we can go for another ride.” The next day: no you. No Vespa.
So I had to buy this new, crappier Vespa. The law has allowed you to run loose, Claiming there are other scooters to ride, And the line between gift and theft is too thin. I should tell you that you’ve raised the bar— I see you now in every woman who commands my stare.
I watch you, thin and intense, ride Your Vespa toward what was once our bar. Your hair is loose. You avoid my stare.
BONUS: An anthem for Vespa riders (with my stab at lyrical translation in the comments); one of my favorites from my time studying abroad in Italy.
Brian Wilson returned last month with a new album, the sunny citrus-bedecked That Lucky Old Sun. In the 4-star Rolling Stone review, David Fricke refers to the music of Wilson and the Beach Boys as “healing.”
I paused over that word and rolled it around several times in my head. I’ve decided that Fricke’s simple summation is one of the best descriptors of Brian Wilson projects that I’ve ever read, and one of the reasons for Wilson’s perennial popularity. The sun-dappled melodies, the luminous harmonies — I’ll never grow tired of letting them wash over me, and never realized before how they do heal a little bit of the brutality of life.
NEW CONTEST: We’ve got three sweet prizes to give to three readers: * One limited-edition 180 gram vinyl copy of the new record * One 7″ vinyl single of “Midnight’s Another Day” * One copy of the new album on CD, for the turntable-less
So if you want to enter, please leave me a comment specifying which of the three you’d want (vinyl, 45 single, or CD), and I’d love to hear about your favorite moment in a Beach Boys/Brian Wilson song. Contest will end Wednesday.
One of my favorite bands discovered in 2008, the eloquent and eviscerating Frightened Rabbit from Scotland have finally recorded a Daytrotter session for your musical consumption. Check out four songs: “My Backwards Walk” and “Poke” from Midnight Organ Fight (substituting the Scottish way of saying head – heeed!- on the latter tune for the bad four letter word that starts with a c), plus “Be Less Rude” and this one from 2006′s Sing The Greys:
Of the song, frontman Scott tells Daytrotter: “I was heavily into Doves at this time, and still am. This was some attempt to ape their sound and rhythmic pounding. I was also interested in using that Blue Monday kick drum on an indie rock track. The song itself is based on the common theme of wanting to start again with someone. Throwing out what’s happened before and remembering why you were together in the first place.” I interviewed Scott back in June and I have continued to listen to the current record at least once a week since then.
Get the other three downloads and words here. Frightened Rabbit is currently on tour with Death Cab For Cutie and Spinto Band.
Ed’s never made his love for the Cubbies a secret. Now he’s gone and penned a song especially for them with lyrics that go something like:
We are not fairweather, but foulweather fans Like brothers in arms, in the suites and the stands There’s magic in the ivy and the old scoreboard The same one I stared at as a kid keeping score In a world full of greed, we could never want more
His unjaded joy for the sport that I love is heartening, and this song makes me happy. Here’s a live version; there is talk of him releasing it (a studio version?) on vinyl as a 45 single, and it’s currently burning up the radiowaves around Chicago. STREAM: Someday We’ll Go All The Way – Eddie Vedder (file removed, you can now buy it over here)
Saturday was the start of the Monolith Festival and we were ready. The morning dawned perfect and gorgeous (and by dawned I mean 10am) and our parking lot tailgate went off without a hitch. Well, some hitches. We forgot utensils to flip burgers with and so mix CDs were sacrificed to the angry Weber gods.
I’d never heard New Zealand’s The Veils before, so their set was the perfect way to start a weekend designed for new musical discoveries. Silhouetted against the massive Ship Rock on the New Belgium Stage, their set impressed me with chimey notes, a bluesy groove, and Morrissey-esque vocals. I learned that the band Traviswas instrumental in originally signing them to the Rough Trade label, where their latest album Nux Vomica was released in 2006.
After the Veils it was off to the WOXY stage down in the inner bowels of the Red Rocks Visitors Center. So many of us never even knew that stages could fit down there, but fit they somehow did. Pictured below is the box o’ fun that Port O’Brien brought their pots and pans and lids and wooden spoons in for the riotous closer to their set. Alaskan Adventures indeed. Their set was a definite standout of the entire weekend for me, moving from a strong rootsy vibe to chaotic joy, all interlaced with phenomenal melodies. Just to give them that extra punch of alt-country cred, they actually have a guy in the band (guitar) named Zebedee Zaits. I would see them again live absolutely, and their All We Could Do Was Sing album may be on my tops list this year.
After hearing stories from several friends and relatives who actually have travelled to faraway cities to see Superdrag on their current club reunion tour, I was excited to finally be getting to see them for myself. Their set was relentless and rocking and still felt very vital. I’d love to find a way to bring them back to Denver to pack a small sweaty club of our own. They played a varied set drawing from the range of past albums and ace new tunes like “Filthy and Afraid.” And you know what I have to admit? It was more fun than I thought it would be to sing along and wonder just who exactly sucked out the feeling.
From Melbourne Australia, Cut Copy‘s mainstage set was some of the most fun I had all day, unexpected in the bright daylight. Their synthy alternative indie-dance sound bounced around off the massive rocks flanking the crowd and funnelled all that energy back into the writhing masses. Some of the most enthusiastic dancing I saw all day took place at this show (probably because folks had room to dance — in contrast to their labelmates The Presets whose later set downstairs was so crowded that the fire marshals came to remove a few of us).
Shortly before Holy Fuck took the New Belgium Stage around 5pm, my friends and I decided that every time someone says their band name, either an angel dies or the baby Jesus cries. I also feel like I need to call and apologize to my mom. But none of that is relevant to the soaring sounds that they send shooting out from their huddled mass of collective intensity on stage. Their set was very similar to the one I saw at Coachella, down to closing with the magnificent “Lovely Allen,” and I remain fascinated by their blend of electronic sounds with completely real rock.
AND! These videos that I shot both give me a delicious frisson of delight down my spine:
HOLY FUCK AT MONOLITH, UP CLOSE
HOLY FUCK CLOSING SONG: “LOVELY ALLEN” AT MONOLITH
The Night Marchers came from nowhere (okay, San Diego) and blew me away with their filthy retro garage rock. A friend mentioned that I should check out this group fronted by Rocket From The Crypt’s John Reis — and after hearing their tunes alternate between punk, surf and straight up devil’s apocalypse, I was glad I heeded his call.
White Denim was simply insane, like someone reincarnated Jimi Hendrix and we were gonna get the guitar-lighting festival moment all over again. Hard to believe it’s just a handful of skinny young guys, but they sounded blow-your-hair-back good (and loud!). I felt fortunate to see them on the small WOXY stage because they could be playing much larger venues in no time.
I will admit that there are others who know much more than I do about Minneapolis duo Atmosphere and their glass house of dark hip hop, but I do know that I was mesmerized by the girls in the front row who kept lifting out their bare breasts and vigorously shaking them at the guys. I mean, like Motley Crue action going on at my very own indie rock festival. I was so proud. And no, I didn’t get pictures.
Devotchka was dizzying and musically dazzling as usual (even as sleety rain spat down on us), and it felt fitting to have a Denver band headline the main stage on opening night. Amidst instruments wrapped in christmas lights, and theatrically keening melodies played on exotic instruments, the crowd warmly received these hometown indie-gypsies.
…But my favorite show of the late-night set came from Denver’s slightly-less-well-known musical collective, the multiple membered Everything Absent Or Distorted. As if the band name wasn’t enough of a mouthful (go ahead. say EAOD. we do), they pack enough random musicians onstage that their near-midnight set on one of the underground stages seemed like we just crashed band practice amongst friends. As a late addition to the Monolith schedule, not many folks found this show. But I was glad I peeled myself away from the end of Devotchka’s set to see them leap and twist and yell and play.
Reprising a collaboration from the Underground Music Showcase last month, they finally launched into a cover of this song with an unbounded, melodic ferocity — and I almost busted a spleen from singing along:
Passion Pit came and Passion Pit played that dang song which the moment I even think about it (like oh! right now! it’s happening right now) it starts looping in my head like someone implanted a tiny robot to sing it in there. I can hear it clear as day. They kicked off the Saturday night afterparty and shortly after, I kicked off some wandering and drinking and talking, and oh there was an unexpected limo ride involved. So it is with my apologies that my reporting back dwindles to a close here for Saturday at Monolith.
But oh! We had a whole ‘nother day of fun to come. We’re just getting started.
PS – I saw lots of other bands that I am too overwhelmed to write coherently about, but notably The Muslims (what Chris wrote was both true and more punctual since he blogged when I was off sleeping instead) and The Morning Benders were really grand. See everyone from Saturday: Part One, Part Two
[Superdrag setlist photo credit the formidable John Moore]
I survived Monolith, but I might not survive this subsequent week. Sad but true. It’s been a brutal one. For now, let’s talk about all the fun we had in the halcyon days of yore (okay 3 days ago) and the excellent variety of music that rocked Colorado this past weekend.
The Second Annual Monolith Festival started with a bang, a clatter, some violins and paintings on easels — and lots of really good tunes. Friday night at the Bluebird was the official kickoff party for all the folks coming from far and wide, including my blogger friends at My Old Kentucky Blog, Gorilla vs Bear, You Ain’t No Picasso, Muzzle of Bees, and Between Love and Like. Thanks to the unique naming preferences of bloggers, that sentence looks like a randomly generated collection of nouns.
The air was electric with anticipation when the Young Coyotes took the stage, in a bit of a coming-out party (there were some folks from labels in attendance to see them, something they deserve every bit of). Several friends that I ran into kept asking me if I knew who this band was and how good they were. Their propulsive melodies and massive percussion started the festival off right. As I recently wrote for the Colorado Music Buzz, “Young Coyotes play earnestly and with joyful abandon, and that’s something that will always be worth hearing.”
I unfortunately missed the set by Seattle duo The Dutchess and The Duke in the middle of the evening (mmm I wandered off) but the final act on the bill was riveting: the epic multisensory performance of Cloud Cult.
It was an experience unlike any other show I’ve been at. I have always been fascinated by the visual arts and the vibrancy of the brushstroke, the choice of colors — so I was left amazed by the creation of art springing fertile from the music as it was performed. The music was dramatic, ethereal, and powerful. Some of the songs were sung with one shoe off and one shoe on. We’re not sure why.
Name: Heather Browne Location: Colorado, originally by way of California Giving context to the torrent since 2005.
"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part..."
—Nick Hornby, Songbook
"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel." —Hunter S. Thompson
Mp3s are for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you'll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends. Rock on.
My friend Tom, who is awesome, went on a scavenger hunt and dug up some live versions of new Ryan Adams & The Cardinals songs that are showing up on the tracklist for Cardinology (due out October 28 on Lost Highway). I’ve added to it, let’s have a listen! Shocking, it’s a little jammy.
Name: Heather Browne
