Last week, Colorado College (where I work) welcomed back to campus one of its own, Abigail Washburn and the Sparrow Quartet, featuring ten-time Grammy winner Bela Fleck on the banjo, Casey Driessen on the violin, and the marvelous Ben Sollee on cello.
Washburn has a lovely, lilting, strong voice, and her music is a fascinating blend of bluegrass Appalachian, woven with old threads of 1930s Americana and traditional songs, then globally spiced with Chinese melodies and Chinese language. Abigail and I are roughly the same age, so she was at the College long before I came to work there, but she studied abroad in Shanghai and majored in Asian Studies (both are part of my job now in International Programs).
I felt a certain kinship with the journey of discovery she talked about all throughout her concert, remembering the old woman who taught her a song in China, or what the sky looked like where she lived during her time abroad. It was amazing to see how far life has carried her since those days, but how the seeds of her diverse life experiences have germinated in brightly colored ways through her music.
She is a formidable presence live; each member of the Sparrow Quartet seems smiley-in-love with the music they are creating, appreciatively watching the others play, and holding the audience quite spellbound. Seeing as many rock shows as I do, I was amazed that I didn’t even miss the drums. The range of sounds that their instruments sang out captivated my attention completely.
I brought my little boy to the concert with me (he was my plus-1/2 instead of plus-one, we joked, since he’s only 5) and he sat transfixed. As we walked out through the snowy parking lot, he emphatically told me that he’d never ever heard music like that before, and said, “Mama… it made my brain tickle.”
Pretty excellent description right there. A Fuller Wine – Abigail Washburn & The Sparrow Quartet
This weekend I had my face melted (a few times actually) down at the Larimer Lounge — most completely by the duo El Ten Eleven, who were opening for Land of Talk on Saturday night. Kristian Dunn and Tim Fogarty make mindblowing sounds using just a drum set and fretless bass/double-necked guitar.
With the help of about 27 different pedal and whirlygig deals on the floor, they loop layers of sound to create some amazing(ly fun) music. From the initial stirrings of even something like Pachelbel’s “Canon in D,” I’ve always found the slow build and denouement in any song to be fascinating, especially ones that focus on adding the layers of sound or noise and then taking them back. My brain likes appreciating each element distinctly.
The vague confusion that I felt when I first walked in on their set (“Wait — I am hearing sounds that are not currently being played by those hands I see in front of me…”) slowly melted into a hot flush of wonder. I’m a sucker for cool loops. Watching Kristian lay down one bit of melody and then another, effortlessly weaving in and out of different sounds with a flick of a finger across the strings — it was sort of like watching a magician at work, albeit in sneakers and a striped t-shirt. Together with Tim the relentless drummer, he constructed something that was awesomely danceable but intelligently (and joyfully) composed.
WATCH: “Hot Cakes” (live in Arizona)
El Ten Eleven hails from the Silverlake neighborhood of Los Angeles (although 1/2 of the duo went to a neighboring high school from mine in the San Fran Bay Area). Their music is, hmmm . . . danceable like Justice, with pulsing basslines like Primus, and radiating sonic atmosphere like Sigur Ros. Their music darts in and out of ethereal and rocking, sublime and visceral.
These Promises Are Being Videotaped is their third album, self-released after a stint with Bar/None Records. I can’t get enough of this first song, and check that Radiohead cover! The crowd packed around the stage provided the “sing-as-loud-as-you-can” vocals to their instrumental rendition.
And while you’re over on their website, you can check out the sweet “Slasher Tee” I bought at the show and love because it makes me look like an Eighties guitar hero. Which is something I shall ne’er be.
GO SEE FOR YOURSELF Nov 17 – Record Bar, Kansas City, MO Nov 18 – Mojo’s, Columbia, MO Nov 19 – Canopy Club, Urbana, IL Nov 20 – Founders Brewing, Grand Rapids, MI Nov 21 – Beachland Tavern, Cleveland, OH Nov 22 – Casa Cantina, Athens, OH Nov 23 – Bug Jar, Rochester, NY Nov 25 – Cafe 9, New Haven, CT Nov 26 – The Bell House, Brooklyn, NY Nov 28 – 92Y Tribeca, New York, NY Nov 29 – Brillobox, Pittsburgh, PA Dec 1 – 816 Pint and Slice, Fort Wayne, IN Dec 2 – Schubas, Chicago, IL Dec 3 – TBA St. Louis, MO Dec 4 – Opolis, Norman, OK Dec 5 – The Cavern, Dallas, TX Dec 6 – Beauty Bar, Austin, TX Dec 10 – Hotel Cafe, Hollywood, CA Dec 19 – Hotel Monte Vista, Flagstaff, AZ Dec 20 – Plush, Tucson, AZ
San Francisco songwriter/rocker (and fellow covers-whore) Matt Nathanson played the Bluebird last Monday in a sold out show which, as usual, juxtaposed his own wonderful songs with a well-picked stream of covers and snippets of other tunes. I’ve seen Matt several times and always walk away from his shows feeling a little gutted by his songs (especially his recent output chronicling the unmagnificent relationship difficulties of adult life) and smiling from the force of his hilarious and engaging personality.
He closed the night with this, one of the saddest songs of the year in my book:
And I had not realized how devastating (and uncomfortably close) the lyrics of “Cath” by Death Cab for Cutie are until Matt quoted a few of them at the beginning of his song “Wedding Dress.”
Check out the rest of the show on the Live Music Archive, including a sweet little cover of “All I Have To Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers, which was a song I’d requested, and came out just lovely. Also, we rocked that singalong cover of “Take On Me” in a catharsis I wouldn’t have thought possible.
Seeing Ray LaMontagne the first time was pretty dang incredible. It was early 2005 and I had just experienced the beginnings of my slow musical rebirth (snatched from the jaws of grownup musical apathy) through his groundshaking Trouble. I listened to it non-stop, feeling like something I had been missing out of music was slowly being diffused back into me. The rough-hewn beauty of the music, the incisive daggers in his lyrics, and most of all that unbelievable voice — it all felt so raw and beautiful. I went to see him at the Fillmore in S.F., and as I wrote:
“This skinny guy comes walking out on stage, looking as uncomfortable as all get out. Big beard. Quiet voice. Hiding behind his guitar. I almost thought he was going to bolt.
But then he opens his mouth and begins to play.
He has this vulnerable, raspy, velvety, pure voice, and he absolutely pours his soul into his music . . . He feels each word and resonates with each chord.
[One] non-album track that I remember vividly from the show is “Can I Stay.” He ended with this song. The venue went still, as if we were all transfixed in the moment, like you could almost feel the song hanging there above our heads. The spotlight shone on him, with the dust motes swirling in the heavy air. Absolutely beautiful song. I almost felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
On Monday night, I made the long drive up to Boulder for my fourth time seeing Ray. As jaded and cynical as I sometimes worry that my little critic’s heart is becoming, wouldn’t you know it – it happened again for me. The chills and the lump in the throat. Several times. The potency and passion still lives in Ray’s music, and I was so glad to meet up with it again.
Dressed in the same plaid shirt/jeans/workboots ensemble of his Maine roots, Ray is really hitting an amazing stride and finding his subtle confidence as a performer. Instead of feeling bad for even looking at him on-stage, as I sometimes did that first night, Ray now exhales a quiet sense of purpose, a level of comfort as he melds with his backing band, and occasionally a wickedly funny streak. (One gal in the crowd yelled out that it was her birthday, 26. Ray first claimed not to remember that long ago in his life, and then he thought for a moment and pensively but determinedly said, “Now I said I didn’t know what I was doing at 26, and that’s not true. I was getting stoned, that’s what I was doin’”).
Ray’s set skillfully wove his older material together with the bigger, brighter, shiner songs from his new album Gossip In The Grain. From the robust opening notes of “You Are The Best Thing,” to the rocking blues of his ode to Meg White (while the stage was saturated in a very White-Stripesy crimson light), it was exciting to see this different side of him bloom. The country flavor ran deep, with pedal steel replacing the elegant strings on songs like “Shelter.” Songs were laced through with high and lonesome whistles, and harmonicas unbounded like a runaway train.
I was nothing short of captivated, that he could still move those puzzle pieces around inside me. In a moment, Ray’s music conjures up a hard-working world of faded wood cabins on the plain, country dresses, and going home at night exhausted to someone who really loves you. There may be some cornbread involved, maybe a passel of children. All that flashed through my mind (and I thought about various Steinbeck books I’ve read) in the way he sang the line from Empty about, “kiss me with that country mouth so plain.” Overactive constructs, perhaps, but I loved it nonetheless in its simplicity, and in his absolute gut-wrenching conviction. He still doesn’t sing songs as much as they are yanked out from his insides.
Since you all already know that I’m a sap sometimes, I’ll totally cop to crying on his solo acoustic version of “Burn.” I didn’t expect that. It was very much like this video from a few days prior, and just bleeding raw and damn gorgeous:
A guy in the balcony said it best when he yelled out during one of the many quiet moments of guitar tuning between songs: “You sound good, Ray!”
And good it was. Very good.
SETLIST
You Are The Best Thing
Hold You In My Arms
Let It Be Me
I Still Care For You (with Leona Naess) Empty
Henry Nearly Killed Me (It’s A Shame)
Narrow Escape
Meg White
Burn (solo acoustic) Winter Birds (solo acoustic) Hey Me, Hey Mama
You Can Bring Me Flowers
Shelter
Trouble
–Encore–
3 More Days
Jolene
Gossip In The Grain (with Leona Naess)
On Thursday night, the prodigal sons of preacher Leon were out in fine form at the Fillmore in Denver. Playing to a sold-out crowd, Kings of Leon opened with their current steamy single “Sex on Fire” and pushed through the early technical difficulties with the swagger of “My Party.”
Minus the long hair and cleaned up like school photo day, the clan kept it tight through through pent-up rockers like “Four Kicks” (which always makes me feel like I want to, well, kick somebody) and my favorite song off Because Of The Times, “Fans” (to my unbridled delight). Some of their newer material felt a little sludgy but definitely hit a high point with “Use Somebody,” which is a fantastic song and sounds epic live. Although for me they never quite hit the same sweaty frenzy of the last time I saw them at the smaller Ogden Theater, they –and possibly their sex, although this is unverified at press time– were still on fire.
Off Canada’s Arts & Crafts label, The Stills opened the night (always the bridesmaids, never the brides — although they totally could bring it as headliners themselves) followed by New York’s We Are Scientists. The Gigbot photo booth was also out to capture all the fine looking hipsters in the crowd, and then there was me and Julio.
There’s a scene in Elf where Will Ferrell’s character, as naive and untainted by the world as he is, falls for Zooey Deschanel’s shopgirl character. He stretches out his arms wide and yells, “I’m in LOVE! And I don’t care who knows it!!“
As I stood four feet from John Darnielle and his rotating crew of Mountain Goatsat a sold-out show at the Bluebird on Friday night, I found myself thinking the same thing, with almost that same embarrassingly unabashed fervor.
Darnielle is not hip. He is too vulnerable and transparent, too honest in his lyrics and unselfconscious in his delivery to be cool. Combine that with the potent gut-punch of the songs and you’ve got a memorable evening. Amidst exuberantly lame dance moves (me too John! Me too) he spat out lyrics of hope and despair, and rocked and tore through an amazing range of intelligent and gorgeous songs from his catalog. As Rob Sheffield wrote about Pavement in the awesome Love Is A Mix Tape, “The songs were all either fast or sad, because all songs should either be fast or sad. Some of the fast ones were sad, too.” For being as obviously intelligent and well-read as Darnielle is, he hasn’t forgotten how to rock, and rock loud.
In addition to new songs off Heretic Pride and the Satanic Messiah EP, they also played some rare back-catalog tunes (“Genesis 19:1-2“), and closed the main set with “This Year.” Those final moments with the whole crowd yelling along were among my cathartic concert highlights of this entire year. It was, for me, transcendent and very timely.
Darnielle has Wilco-like fans in their rabidity. Whenever I go to a show of an artist I’ve not seen live before, and the fans are like that, I pay extra close attention to the proceedings so I can investigate catching whatever fever led them to be foaming at the mouth in the first place. In between a crazy variety of song names being shouted as requests, the range of hardcore fans was noteworthy. I saw everyone from early high-schoolers (I think it was an all-ages show) singing along at the top of their innocent hearts, to burly biker dudes and everyone in-between.
I missed opener Kaki King because I was hauling heavy things onto moving trucks, but she came out and joined Darnielle for a good chunk of the set on her guitar, alternating between acoustic and electric and even playing some slide guitar down on the floor. She is the guest guitarist on that eloquent instrumental ballad from the latest Foo Fighters’ album, “The Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners,” as well as a collaborator with Tegan & Sara. Her distinctive style can also be heard on the new EP collaboration with Darnielle, the Black Pear Tree EP (she wrote music, he wrote lyrics). They performed “Mosquito Repellent” from that EP together, wide smiles across their faces.
The show ended too soon and left my cheeks flushed. Somewhere in these lyrics Darnielle sang, the night remains suspended:
Do what you have to do Go where you have to go When the time comes to loosen up your grip, you’ll know
Called my friend in New York, 3000 miles away Halfway through her metamorphosis, nothing I could say Hoard my small resentments Like rare and priceless gems Hang on to your dreams until there’s nothing left of them
Saturday night was a fantastic night for shows in Denver. I split my time equally between the Hi-Dive and the Gothic and caught a few superb and passionate performances.
First up, Haciendaopened the night at the Hi-Dive, in a sold out show with Dr. Dog and Delta Spirit. I didn’t know what to expect from this band of Mexican-American brothers (+1 cousin) from San Antonio, Texas, but their sound fit in nicely with the serrated retro vibes of their tourmates. Their 6-song demo landed in the hands of Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys (who is quite the producer lately), and their debut album was recorded in his Akron, Ohio studio with members of Dr. Dog. Loud Is The Night is out now on Bomp Records.
Finally . . . I left. No, really. Not out of spite for the wonderful Dr. Dog from Philly, but because the Dandy Warhols were taking the stage over at the Gothic. That’s a story for another day. Luckily, I stumbled across a wonderful local taper who recorded the Dr. Dog set! If I close my eyes, spill a beer on my foot, and turn up the heater it’s almost like being there.
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.
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.
Name: Heather Browne
