Outside Lands returns triumphant

I can think of much worse ways to spend an August weekend than in the heart of one of my favorite cities (San Francisco), seeing an eclectic lineup of bands both headliner-huge and quirky-small. Last year’s inaugural edition of the Outside Lands Music & Arts Festival boasted a solid roster of national and local musicians, but was plagued by a few logistical snafus that ranged from the mildly annoying (no, you can’t go that way anymore, you have to walk all the way around) to the borderline panic-attack inducing (15′-wide gauntlets of death to walk through to get to Beck, crammed like a sausage with your neighbor who is pushing the other way). It made it hard, at times, to lose yourself in the music, as Eminem advises.

This year’s festival returned with with a shimmering bang last weekend, featuring an arguably stronger lineup than last year and straightened out details, continuing to play on the gorgeous natural setting with stages spread out amidst the cypress trees. The fest also showcased local wines and restaurants with some abnormally tasty selections for a festival, far better than your standard funnel cake (not that I have ANY PROBLEM with funnel cake).

Of course, as with any festival, when you take into account the human error fudge factor, heat and/or cold, interpersonal weavings, and the occasional Heineken, it can be awfully difficult to catch all the bands you wanted. But the happy flip-side of that is that you often end up stumbling into something even better.

My three days of musical happiness began with a band that is quickly becoming one of my very favorites – Blind Pilot. This Portland, Oregon band drew a huge crowd with their rich and bittersweet tunes layered with gorgeous instrumentation, and those rootsy leanings. Frontman Israel Nebeker’s evocative voice just keeps drawing me back, no matter how many times I see them live (this was #3 this year).

“How I want that mystery / let me dive ’til I believe.”

Two Towns From Me – Blind Pilot

The only other time I’ve seen The National perform was at Coachella last spring, and it is a testament to this band and their potency that even in a festival setting, in broad daylight, they’ve managed to completely knock me flat in the best way possible. I can’t imagine what they’d do to me in a dark club. As I wrote about the Indio desert, “The National carved something out of me and put something back in, is the best way I can put it.” Their set was riveting, laden with songs that I could hardly have hand-picked better (except maybe, “Lucky You.” I’d add that one).

Matt Berninger looks every bit the refined GQ businessman in a large faceless city; gold wedding band on his hand, dark collared shirt, hair nicely trimmed. But with his baritone velvet voice, dark stories spill from his mouth of all the emptiest fears and the most acute longings that wake us in the night. The bright horns and the swells of melody twinkle and shine like a candle in a colander, putting a streak of beauty through the center.

Start a War, Mistaken for Strangers, the new Blood Buzz Ohio, Slow Show — and my favorite Secret Meeting… it was over far too soon.

Lucky You (live on Daytrotter) – The National

Next up in a magical bit of booking was Tom Jones, the Welsh crooner who can peel panties off people using only his cognac-smooth brogue. You would not believe the universal love that flowed from all sectors of the (hip-shaking) audience for his snappy set. All you need to know about the performance can be gleaned from these two pictures, and if you have more time to amuse yourself, my montage of Tom Jones facial expressions over on Facebook. As a friend texted me during his set, as I reported on the undies flying off 19-year-olds with dreadlocks and ironic t-shirts, “It’s like he went from cool to ironic back to cool.”

I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor (Arctic Monkeys cover) – Tom Jones

Friday night ended as not the best of times for me, although I did try to rally and catch Washington D.C.’s Thievery Corporation, with their Brazilian-dub-lounge groove (it looked like this, and sounded numbingly good floating through the night and turning off my brain).

ALL FRIDAY PICTURES

Saturday started off with a double-shot of global awesomeness from different corners of the world; it was bands like these that illuminated the fest for me. First up was Extra Golden, a combo of half Kenyan-benga music and half American-study-abroad-student rock. You might remember when I wrote about these guys a few months ago, I mentioned “the sound that cut through the din,”and also mused how good they might sound live. I am pleased to report that they both stopped traffic of folks walking by (with their tribal beats and African-laced rock), and also put on a superb set. I would absolutely go see them again; I kept laughing out loud from joy.

Anyango – Extra Golden

Immediately following Extra Golden, we dashed over to the Sutro stage to catch Nortec Collective’s Bostich + Fussible, on the recommendation of my friend Julio, who is much-more-savvy than this white girl when it comes to all things south of the border. I’d never heard any nortec business, but it blew my mind — the crashing together of the traditional Tijuana sounds with effortlessly cool dudes twisting knobs to make ridiculously danceable beats. My friend nailed it when he said they could occupy the stage in the back of any Quentin Tarantino movie scene — they were just that badass. Another band I would see again live in an absolute heartbeat. I mean listen to this:

Aka 47 – Bostich + Fussible

Next was Bat For Lashes (rad British chanteuse Natasha Khan), with a set that created more buzz than any other band I saw at the festival. Everyone was talking about her afterwards, and it was my favorite set of the weekend. I was only casually acquainted with her music before seeing her live, but her rich satiny alto voice flowed like a warm golden river through the middle of the sexy, synthy danceable creations. Where she was competent and confident in her stage presence, her band was amazingly kickass too, and I fell in love with both the drummer and the rainbow zig-zagged guitarist.

And: random celebrity sighting, Josh Groban totally digs Bat For Lashes; he was right by me for the set. YES, Mom, Josh Groban. Omg.

Pearl’s Dream – Bat For Lashes

Use Somebody (Kings of Leon cover, live on BBC) – Bat for Lashes

And: random fashion note, the girls in the band totally share clothes.

After wasting away some hours of the evening with folks like The Ice Cream Man and the Free Heineken Man, the only other set I participated in on Saturday (sadly! festival fail!) was the scorching set from Dave Matthews Band. I forget how much I do love Dave, and a sailor I met recently on my ocean sailing voyage has reminded me how many steps I may have also missed in Dave’s development through the years.

Musical hipsters like to look down our noses at plebian jam-rock like DMB, but dancing my ass off alongside fellow not-afraid-to-love-Dave-ite Nathaniel from I Guess I’m Floating to “Lie In Our Graves,” “Two Step” and a particularly passionate rendition of “All Along The Watchtower,” I was reminded how good it can feel.

Lie In Our Graves – Dave Matthews Band

(“and I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves wondering if we had spent our living days well/ I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves dreaming of things that we might have been….”)

ALL SATURDAY PICTURES

After two sunny warm days, when Sunday arrived grey and misty like SF likes to be in the summer (or any dang time), the layers I had fastidiously packed came in handy. Worn out from the two days already, a third day felt simultaneously like a gift (yay! more live music!) and also an uphill climb. But arriving to the festival to the pleasingly dulcet sounds of local San Franciscan John Vanderslice on the Presidio stage, I forgot my still-tired feet and smiled a wide smile.

Vanderslice is someone I have been delving more deeply into since he wowed me in Chicago at that show with John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. Again on Sunday I was struck by how he could join a musical club with Nada Surf and Death Cab and they’d all nestle in perfectly side by side. It was pretty well-attended too for an early afternoon show on a second stage, perhaps due to the strength of his latest (great) album, Romanian Names.

Too Much Time – John Vanderslice

Whatever I needed to get my mojo back, I found it (of course, in droves) at The Avett Brothers‘ fervent 3pm set at the other end of the meadow.

I had just seen the Avetts in both Boulder and Denver the weekend before (see pics and a video) and loved every raucous, earnest, sweaty second of it, but the recent satiation didn’t even matter when they took the stage before a very enthusiastic crowd. I had urged all the friends and acquaintances and other photographers I met at other shows for the first part of the weekend to make their way over to the Sutro stage at 3pm Sunday, and as I looked around, I saw an awful lot of smiles and the occasional yell-along. Their set was crisp and carried out beautifully over the meadow. They started with “Paranoia in Bb Major,” and then went right into the new “Laundry Room” and then “Die, Die, Die.” When they finished that triple-whammy, they moved into “Murder In The City,” and nearly killed me. Such a wonderful set from these brothers, in a near-perfect setting for their bluegrass punk.

Laundry Room (live on MOKB) – The Avett Brothers

PS – Get the full MOKB Laundromatinee session with Los Avetts.

Switching gears quickly from furiously-strummed banjos to yowling waves of rock, we headed clear over to the Twin Peaks stage to get in position to witness the detonation that is Jack White (The White Stripes, The Raconteurs) and Alison Mossheart’s (The Kills) new band, The Dead Weather. This is the same second-stage I saw Wilco play on last year, and it was just as crowded – another act that could have/should have played the main.

Jack White coolly walked out behind dark shades and sat behind the drumkit at the far back of the stage and stayed there for the duration of the first three songs that we photogs get to have at it. Alison handily seized the mantle of being the face of the Dead Weather (fittingly), and paced and flailed and thrashed, leaning down in our faces and threatening to grab us by our hair, and hang us up from those heavens. For a small woman, she packs an intense punch — she was feral in an awesome, invasive way. All the members of this supergroup are mightily accomplished in their own rights, and together they are pretty amazing to watch, even on a bright Sunday afternoon.

Hang You From The Heavens – The Dead Weather

It’s not every day that a girl gets to see both Jack White and Jack Black in the same day, but before I did the Tenacious D rotation (and failed to get pics because I had the wrong lens), I danced as hard as I could muster to the third world democracy sounds of Sri Lankan supernova M.I.A., who puts on a marvelously enjoyable set. I saw her at Coachella last year — well, kind of saw her, whilst I was being crushed from the massive audience that poured into the smallish tent to see her. Her reputation preceded her.

This time around, after I shot the pics, I went to a vantage point where I could see the whole huge main-stage crowd dance and pump their fists in time to the three gunshot sounds in the chorus, and smile that she was finally on the larger stage she deserves.

Paper Planes – M.I.A.

ALL SUNDAY PICTURES

So… in sum, a marvelous weekend.

And:

Blinded, I am blindsided :: Bon Iver and The Wheel in Denver last night

I’ve never heard the Ogden Theatre held so tightly under a blanket of silent reverence as it was last night for the Bon Iver show, with Denver’s marvelous The Wheel opening. Some said you could have heard a pin drop at the sold-out show, on one of the most sweltering nights of the summer so far.

There is pure, unfettered, urgent, honest magic in the music of Bon Iver, there is no denying that. For an album that some think of as hushed acoustic woodland grieving, there is also a lot of potential for a live show that rages like a howling river. First off: the man travels with two drummers. That alone is enough to win my heart completely. The songs grow and explode live, and knock you off your feet. Justin excoriates with his guitar freakouts, and pounds on his keys. It’s a cavalcade of something intensely real.

Taking the stage with fluffy longer hair that grows even more majestic when illuminated by golden spotlight from above, Justin sat down and the crowd was immediately silent, waiting. He started the set the same way the album begins, with the opening strums of “Flume”: I am my mother’s only one. It’s enough. Thirty seconds in and we already have a lump in the throat here — that’s one of my absolute favorite lyrics he’s written, for quiet personal reasons. From there, he led into an extended, experimental intro to “Lump Sum,” and as the meandering faded away, the familiar, pulsing melody drew us back and it felt so right.

Flume (Daytrotter version) – Bon Iver (via)
Lump Sum (MOKB/Laundromatinee version) – Bon Iver (via)

After a jawdropping, electrified ending to “Creature Fear,” someone down front with me yelled, “You’re a genius!” to which Justin quickly shot back, “You’re drunk,” as he smiled. But I would agree with gentleman #1 in the audience — it was an exceptional, gorgeous show. I knew what to expect, I’d been exposed to his music live before, and he still blew me away, absolutely.

With only one album and an EP to draw from, Justin laughingly promised as he tuned his guitar between songs, “We’re gonna play all the songs we know tonight, let’s put it that way.” And they did – as well as “Brackett, WI” from the Dark Was The Night compilation, and a Jayhawks cover, among others.

In a moment of humble and unaffected loveliness, the Jayhawks song they covered was “Tampa to Tulsa” (from their 2003 album Rainy Day Music) during the encore, with the band sitting around a single center microphone. Watch what I saw:

The night ended with  the loudest singalong I’ve ever personally been a part of, of “Wolves (Part I and II)”. By that point I was standing in the back near the fresh air and relief from the sweltering heat inside. Usually, the back of the club is where the talkers and chatty drinkers congregate, but as Justin urged us to sing along to “what might have been lost,” I looked around and every single person I could see was singing their heart out into the humid darkness, many with eyes closed. That song crests like a huge wave, and as both drummers pounded their hardest, each beat shot like an electric jolt into my chest.

It was the most beautiful moment I reckon I’ll see in concert for a while, and everything I want to be a part of.

Openers The Wheel were playing to a hometown crowd, but nonetheless got the loudest prolonged-cheer reception I have heard for any local band in a long time. Their intricate, melancholy songs are steeped in goodness and ready for a larger stage. The band is magnetically led by the wry, exceptional voice of frontman Nathaniel Rateliff (Born In The Flood) who in the oddest coincidence that you ever think could sound good, vocally evokes a young and impassioned Neil Diamond minus the glitter. The technicolor songs pack a punch, yet sounded timeless through a symphony of strings, aching harmonica and guitars, piano, intuitive drumming, and vocal harmonies that cut through the venue and held everyone’s attention.

If I were voting for my favorite Denver bands, say, for a local music festival competition, I might put The Wheel in the top 5. Hypothetically. Check these guys out.

Just For Me, But I Thought Of You – The Wheel (I love this so much)
My Hanging Surrender – The Wheel

[all my photos here]

Last night with the Handsome Furs

That was definitely the best show I’ve seen all year. As we shuffled out of the sweaty, dark Larimer Lounge last night, the most we could utter were dazed expletives at the power and the explosive chemistry of the Handsome Furs‘ live show. Dan Boeckner (of Wolf Parade) and the scorchingly smart Alexei Perry combine forces to drill music into my brain that won’t leave. It was a dancing, searing, yelling, blistering rock supernova. Get into this band.

Radio Kaliningrad – Handsome Furs

I’m Confused – Handsome Furs
(And: watch the zombie video for “I’m Confused,” black blood and all, and never be the same; Dan mentioned last night over pizza that he’d read World War Z twice, and that sickly eerie feeling permeates this music video)

AND YOU MUST STREAM: “All We Want, Baby, Is Everything”

Face Control is out now. I highly recommend it as one of my favorites of the year so far — the unrelenting icy alienation of huge drum-machine beats paired with startling streaks of wild Springsteenesque romanticism.

[More tour dates here]

Ain’t supposed to die on a Saturday night…

THIS is pretty much why I see live music (from last night):

AND: Yay! (Why yes, I am a dork)

AND: News from the band — they are planning to start recording a new album in January, out Spring 2010.

Brian Fallon solo acoustic album to follow later next year.

My actual review is showing up for the Denver Post, I’ll have that processed and written soon. Once my ears stop ringing.

Move on up: Eccentric Soul, live in Chicago for one bright night

“Can ya hit it ten times?”

–Syl Johnson (video/via)

The Park West is a veritable old Chicago theatre that’s been hosting events in classy style since the 1920s. A few Saturdays ago, I walked in under that mirror ball for the first time to see the Eccentric Soul Revue, curated by Chicago’s own Numero Group.

Recently named the best label in Chicago, I wholeheartedly believe that the Numero Group is one of the most clever and exciting labels releasing music right now. The handful of guys behind the releases operate out of a basement office, digging through their own (extensive) personal collections and hitting the road to track down the stories and sounds of forgotten music that still deserves to be heard.

They reissue sub-genres, niche sounds, and should-been-stars through series like the Eccentric Soul compilations, the scalding Cult Cargo line, and rich Local Customs releases.

The show they curated on April 4th was one of the most authentic and fun concerts that I’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. Numero pulled together a soulful lineup of legends from Chicago’s Twinight label (The Notations, Renaldo Domino, The Kaldirons, Nate Evans, and the legendary Syl Johnson) — some of whom hadn’t played a live show in thirty years.

As I stood there in the front row alongside my photog friend Natalie, we delighted in the the dusted-off shiny shoes, the matching blue suits (maybe with a button replaced here and there), the choreographed moves, and the gold belt-buckles emblazoned with first names. I want one:

The music from each group was tight and shimmering (backed by JC Brooks and the Uptown Sound), sets loaded with original classics like “Is It Because I’m Black,” “Not Too Cool To Cry,” and “Brotherman,” as well as covers like “Different Strokes” and the final hurrah with all the artists on-stage for Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up.” The sold-out crowd in attendance was a wonderfully eclectic blend of Pitchfork-reading indie kids and older folks who probably saw all these groups the original time around.

Every act brought their A-game, their yowls and grunts, their thrusts and slides (oh, how Syl brought the thrusts, about a foot and a half from my face). I found myself thinking as I stood there how very lucky we were to be seeing this slice of history revived in brilliant technicolor, and wishing Numero could find a way to bring their show on the road.

All my pictures are here. Oh what a NIGHT.

Bonnie Prince Billy blazes in Denver

Shortly after touching down in Denver on Sunday night after my jaunt to Chicago, I jigged my way over to the Bluebird Theater to see the Bonnie Prince Billy show. Will Oldham sold out that venue (something that surprised many last-minute arrivals), and put on a sublime show that was heavier on the rollicking country vibe than his previous elegantly hushed songwriting. He played with a full backing band, including the arresting violinist/vocalist Cheyenne Mize with a huge voice — their duets together were just gorgeous.

I shot pictures for the Denver Post’s Reverb site, so head on over to read John Moore’s sharp review, and take a look if you’ve always wanted to see Will in his long johns (he took his pants off on stage, saying he didn’t expect it to be so damn hot).

The duet with Mize on “The Girl In Me” (available on the Louisville Is For Lovers compilation) was particularly noteworthy, and looked something like this:

Bonnie Prince Billy’s latest album Beware is out now on Drag City.

And speaking of concert photos — I’ve added the Mountain Goats/John Vanderslice ones from last week to the original review.

“and i hope i never get sober”

Following a long ride on the El last night (is that how natives call it?) out to the far reaches of Chicago, accompanied by a lovely homeless man who kept trying to touch my shoulder without dropping his can of malt beverage, I saw John Vanderslice and John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats on their “Gone Primitive” tour at Chicago’s grand old Portage Theater.

The last time I saw the Mountain Goats, I proclaimed an earnest declaration of permanent affection for the way that show made me feel and the literate, stabbing richness of John Darnielle’s music. After last night, yeah, I feel the same plus some.

The 1,100 seat ornate old theater (which still screens old films and has a Wurlitzer organ) was packed to the gills with fans last night. Since the last time I saw Darnielle was in a small rock club venue with sticky floors, all of us packed tightly and dancing side by side, it felt oddly sterile to be sitting 14 inches apart in velvety chairs, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Therefore what happened next felt especially excellent.

After three or four songs of well-behaved silence, one brave fan walked right up to the edge of the stage and stood there in appreciation to enjoy the show. Warily, a few other folks eyed the door guards, watching to see what they would do, and then walked forward to join Brave Superfan as well. I jumped to my feet. Within 30 seconds, a stream of kids ran down the aisles to pool against the stage, smiles on their face, ready to sing and jump along.

Darnielle beamed, and suddenly the show felt much more right. With perfect timing and furious strumming, the next song he launched into was “Up The Wolves,” an absolute favorite of mine.

“There’s bound to be a ghost in the back of your closet, no matter where you live. There’s gonna be a few things, maybe several things, you’re gonna find really difficult to forgive. There’s gonna come a day when you feel better, you’ll rise up free and easy on that day…and float from branch to branch, lighter than the air, when that day is coming, who can say, who can say?”

Up The Wolves – Mountain Goats

Whereas last year’s anthem for me was the song “This Year,” and when I saw them in October it took all my ferocious determination to yell those words, “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me…” — last night I resonated much more with the words of rising up free and easy. And thank God.

The solo acoustic setlist included some rarer gems (like “Beach House” about how you don’t want to toy with wily seals) and the gut-wrenching spectrum of tunes like “Woke Up New,” “You Or Your Memory,” and “Surrounded.” He closed with “This Year,” and encored with the divorce epic “No Children.” Walking out on the wooden box over the Wurlitzer, I watched the crowd jump and yell and pump their fists in catharsis, finding some sort of common meaning in those terribly depressing lyrics (“I hope it stays dark forever, I hope the worst isn’t over, and I hope you blink before I do, and I hope I never get sober“). Everything about his music resonates so strongly with me, and he puts on one of the most intelligent, challenging, passionate shows I’ve seen.

John Vanderslice opened the night with stripped down, beautifully rendered versions of his densely orchestrated songs, and then played alongside Darnielle for several songs at the end of the night. Vanderslice is an artist that I have always esteemed and enjoyed, but never seen live or explored deeply. I found myself wondering last night why that is so. Armed only with his acoustic guitar and harmonies, he reminded me very much of another favorite artist of mine, Matthew Caws of Nada Surf. Since I love his music, there is no good reason why I am not equally passionate about Vanderslice. I’m on it.

What a cathartic night.

[see all my photos here]

The Fuel/Friends SXSW Experience

As I start writing this post, I am blazing up I-25 somewhere just outside of El Paso. We’re taking the long way home from Austin, and enjoying the time to let the SXSW experience percolate and settle between the yellow divider lines that flick past on the road in an endless stream. Cracker’s “Eurotrash Girl” is playing in the radio, and the windows are down as we try and sing along. Life is still really good.

We all stayed in Marfa, Texas last night at the modernistic Thunderbird Hotel, and I highly recommend it if you ever find yourself out thisaway. Pedaling rented cruiser bikes, we stopped at the charmingly-painted El Cheapo Liquor Store (really) and then rode out to an inky black field off Pinto Canyon Road to watch for the famed Marfa lights after midnight. We saw them, holy mackerel. Natural phenomenon or hoax or something in between, it was otherworldy spooky last night. As we rode home in the aching silence of the mid-desert (ok, punctuated often by our laughter), it occurred to me that I don’t know when the last time was I’d seen such a brilliantly sparkling number of stars.

These last few days I’ve been processing the absolute whirlwind of SXSW. I meant to write each day of the festival but somehow that never happened. From the time I stepped foot into those festive, loud streets, I feel like I was sucked into something that was simultaneously thrilling (because I mean really, that much music all in one place?!) and crushingly exhausting at the end of each day. I was too busy to stop and write about it, despite my best of intentions.

Let’s start with the bands that knocked my socks off.

#1 tops: Mumford and Sons on Maggie Mae’s Rooftop
One thing I loved and envied about Austin were the number of great open air venues built specifically for live music. You can’t beat the earthiness of the fresh humid air against your skin and the scent of the breeze while listening to amazing music, instead of the (mostly) indoor sweaty air I’m used to. Mumford and Sons completely blew us all away in a setting like this, their impassioned sweet harmonies rising perfectly out into the night. Their young faces and world-worn lyrics carry a strong current of hope, all banjos and stomping foot percussion.

This was one of my most anticipated shows and they didn’t disappoint. They opened with that new song “Sigh No More” that I posted last week and it absolutely slayed me. The chorus sings of “love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free — be more like the man you were made to be.” I felt more like me, only better, when their set spun off at full tilt. Jawdroppingly pure.

Pretty & Nice at Beauty Bar
My SXSW experience started at Beauty Bar (amidst the sparkly pink paint and old-fashioned hairdryer chairs) to the carbonated punk of Boston’s Pretty & Nice. Their angular rock keeled off-kilter, in the vein of Guided By Voices, and they looked like they were having a hell of a lot of fun:

The Damnwells at Threadgills
I have loved this band for a few years now, but never seen them live. One time I (briefly) considered driving to Phoenix to catch them at a film festival for their excellent documentary Golden Days, but that plan fizzled. So before my first night got rolling in Austin, I set off walking (and walking) over the river to Threadgills to see them play on an outdoor stage as the sun set. Alex Dezen’s voice is even more gorgeous and stirring in real life, and the material off their new album was solid. Here they are doing “Bastard of Midnight“:

Starfucker @ Radio Room (MOKB)
You’d have to be dead not to have fun at this band’s live show. All clad in the headbands/neon sunglasses/running shorts look, Portland’s Starfucker blew the roof off Dodge’s MOKB Showcase on Wednesday night. Explaining it to a friend who hadn’t heard them, I described their sound as Eighties sheen with real classic pop-song construction underpinning. An intensely fun 45 minutes, and a band I would love to see again.

Elvis Perkins In Dearland @ The Central Presbyterian Church
Midnight redemption.

BLK JKS @ Radio Room
Victim to the same thief that got to MSTRKRFT, South Africa’s BLK JKS (“Black Jacks”) lost all their vowels and then played the NPR SXSW party. Despite that somewhat humorous confluence of abbreviations, their set was electrifying and elemental and sounded completely fresh — an “unmistakable otherness.” Their debut EP is out on the excellent Secretly Canadian label, and their set went like this:

Oh! And in a brilliant apex of total surrealism, I watched this show with Roy from The Office. Jerk to Pam that he is.

Other memorable shows were Voxtrot at Emo’s (pretty sure I caught some new stuff in there that sounds very exciting, totally different), the bright swing and soul of Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears at the Paste Party, and Superdrag closing my festival out with a scorching set of new material at the SPIN Afterparty. Less good was Third Eye Blind. Don’t even ask, please. Sometimes you do things that make you feel dirty at SXSW.

Irish-fronted Minneapolis country band Romantica (who once recorded that soul-gasping duet “The Dark” with Ryan Adams) was an early afternoon treat Friday, in a dark and tiny bar across the highway. Australian band The Grates at Vaya Con Tacos were an acrobatic whirl of girl rock and swirling ribbons, and King Khan exploded the Rolling Stone party as expected.

The Mile Hi Fidelity Party fairly packed out The Jackalope with great Denver bands, and as an occasional hot freak myself I was pleased to spend a large chunk of my hours on both Friday and Saturday at the Hot Freaks party, listening to absolutely ravaging bands like Henry Clay People (and some confusingly fun ones like Peelander Z). All the blog showcases I attended were quality.

Oh, and Lady Sovereign looks like the cool difficult girl from junior high that totally lit that one guy’s locker on fire and then cut Saturday school.

On a personal music experience level, my favorite moments of the festival came when I saw The Hold Steady twice in one damn day. I was half a foot away from their afternoon show in a little white tent at the Hot Freaks party at the Club de Ville, with a setlist that would make grown THS fans cry. They blew out that tent, and I almost got smacked in the face a few times with their instruments. That one looked and felt like this:

At the end of the night, at the midnight Noise Pop party, I got to see them again next door at the Mohawk, also outdoors with all of us packed in close around the small stage in the warm Texas night. The crowd was appropriately rowdier and the BAC was higher, well, all around. It was like a line from one of their songs: “Let’s clutch and kiss and sing and shake…. Tonight, let’s try to levitate.”

I’ve seen THS shows several times before but never with a friend who loved them every fervent bit as much as I do, so from the opening notes the two of us screamed out the lyrics at the top of our lungs as the whole crowd became one roiling, pressing, pogoing, diving mass. Everyone had their arms around each other and for about 90 minutes I felt no pain. That was one of the best concert moments of my life. Let this be my annual reminder that we can all be something bigger.

As I stuffed clothes back into my suitcase before checking out of the hotel, I thought about the post-festival depression I always feel when the last notes of music die away, and how much more acute it was after a week of this magnitude. I am overwhelmed with the sheer number of bands I wanted to see and didn’t. I keep remembering new ones, too. Ack.

But I am so grateful for the experiences I had, both musical and non, and cannot wait to come back next year. Holy heck.

MY SXSW PHOTOS:
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four

SXSW: My ears and heart are full

This festival has been amazing and overwhelming, in a very good way. I’m barely alive (among other things the Hold Steady nearly killed me last night, two shows from them in one day) so what I can offer right now is a look through my lens these last three days.

Words to follow when I find my voice again, after all the singing along.

[click any image to see it full-size]

Elvis Perkins, midnight church, and redemption

Elvis Perkins just restored in my faith in the hot-blooded beating heart of music, in a cavernous church sanctuary in the middle of Austin tonight.

Playing a midnight set with his impassioned band Dearland, he left me reeling in the front pew as he wailed and pounded and jangled through his heartbreaking song catalog. I had never seen Perkins before and even though my feet are aching and holy mackerel have I seen a lot of music these past two days, Perkins stripped away all the jaded varnish on my ears with one of the most real, brilliant shows I have ever seen.

The whole set sounded incredible, reverberating off the arched walls and stained glass windows, but the last two songs knocked me flat. “While You Were Sleeping” is one of the most beautifully honest and aching songs I’ve ever heard, and when he sang the lines about “while you were sleeping the babies grew, the stars shined and the shadows moved….time flew, the phone rang, there was a silence when the kitchen sang…,” I started crying pretty embarrassingly honestly in the front row. But by the time he moved on to the next and final song, “Doomsday,” it was like redemption. All eight or so of the musicians, the brass section and the giant marching-band drum guy, all poured off the stage into the front of the church, dancing and kicking and hollering and raising their instruments to the arches. People were dancing in the aisles to the thump of the giant bass drum and I swear I’ve not felt like that in a long time.

Perkins comes to Denver May 8th and a bunch of other places in the coming months. Please go.

NPR’s Morning Edition yesterday (thank you Bob!)

[my camera….well, I might have dropped it in the bathroom, and my good lens just might be in four pieces. I don’t want to talk about it. I resorted to flash + daytime lens. Sigh]