Lollapalooza 2010 shines

Lollapalooza took over the massive lakeside green of Grant Park last weekend for its sixth year as a stationary festival in Chicago. I was unable to get myself to The Prairie State, and sent two talented writer-photographers to cover it for Fuel/Friends: Dainon and Kathleen. I ached with jealousy at their text and cell-phone pic updates all weekend long since it sounded like an incredible lineup.

Let them tell you about what rocked at this year’s Lollapalooza.

Dainon: The sunshine and subsequent sunburn was as inescapable as the flip flop abrasions, the beer tents at every turn and enough music-filled stages to satisfy the most ADHD-addled music listener, but Lollapalooza delivered on its promises. It was about as sold out as festivals come (to the tune of 80,000 happy faces, by some estimates) and every band these eyes saw actually started on time, and everyone who offered, “Hello, Lollapalooza!” into a microphone was cheered and celebrated like crazy. It may as well have been its own hometown city, true enough. That’s the kind of pride that came along with its mention.

Kathleen: Friday dawned steamy and warm, but not overbearingly hot – which was incredible, given the fact that I naturally associate summer music with blinding melanoma-inducing heat. Instead I trekked over to my very first show, which was the Washington D.C based group, These United States. I have seen this band many times before, and yet my dancing feet don’t seem to remember to get tired of them. Their thumping, surging, pedal steel laced rock and roll created an optimism for the rest of the day in the committed crowd (commitment at a festival means getting out of bed before the headliner).

These United States

I wish I’d caught their whole set, but one of the issues I have with new places is my complete lack of direction. I circumnavigated Grant Park (approximately the size of the Earth) completely before finding my entrance. I actually felt myself perk up when I got to the These United States show, and I’m pretty sure I owe my consciousness and perkiness to those gents and their predilection for expansive, raucous rock.

D: Jeff Tweedy showed up during Mavis Staples’ set on Friday (something I’d sorta banked on possibly happening, considering he’s producing her next album), playing acoustic guitar for a couple songs while she sang lines only she could get away with in that setting, ones like “Only the Lord knows and He ain’t you” and “I’m gettin’ too close to heaven to turn back now.” I think Tweedy grinned wider and more than I’ve seen him do in the three full Wilco concerts.

The Walkmen

K: The Walkmen seemed like such a throwback to me. Wearing nice slacks and ties, I almost thought they’d launch into some 1950s era doo-wop. Instead, I was met with a howl so full of conviction, I turned to the people next to me to see if anyone else was surprised. Instead, most people seemed to be expecting it, craving it. The Walkmen made a show out of rambling and reverb, out of bare-bones music that the band members seem to get lost in. I felt a mystery in their show, a depth like if they kept playing for five more hours it would end up in a place totally foreign to where it started.

The Strokes

K: Closing the night Friday with their first show on American soil in four years, The Strokes seemed to be a last vestige of true, epic rock and roll. Julian Casablancas entered, five minutes late, wearing sunglasses and a studded leather jacket. He put his foot possessively on a front speaker and launched into the fiery guitar licks with a coolness that make the Strokes what they are. Their show was incendiary. I actually felt a fire in my belly that held in a tight little ball, expanding to a blaze whenever the poised melodies would break out into all hell, filling the night with revolutionary, explosive sound. The cheering blended right in to each song, people chanting along to Casablancas’ droning voice (myself included). It was anthemic, a show that somehow reflected and validated all the passionate air guitar that I’ve been perfecting since childhood, just for moments like this.

D: When The Strokes took the stage, Lady Gaga was doing her thing way over on the other end of beautiful Grant Park. While a quick two or three glances in her direction revealed that people were determined to take in her set, even if they were a mile away and stepping on tiptoes to see the big screens, The Strokes forced us to look back fondly at the early 2000s, when their promise was far greater than their outcome. It didn’t rock us as hard as it felt absolutely comfortable to hear song after familiar song. Hearing the line “I want to be forgotten, and I don’t want to be reminded” sounded boozy and smirky and blurry, as it should have. It seems they’ve gotten over the whole buzz-band notion and allowed themselves to settle into their black leather and sunglasses and skin some more. This is a good— and maybe even great—thing.

DAY TWO: SATURDAY

Skybox

K: Skybox is a boatload of local Chicago fun. It’s like they captured the essence of what makes me dance in front of people and put it in Tim Ellis’ voice. From the very get-go of their early Saturday set, I was smiling and jumping and making a general fool of myself to their complex, rich pop songs. It definitely helped that all four of them were dancing too, bouncing around stage and beaming in the same key as their relentlessly catchy tunes.

Harlem

D: Once upon a time, I only knew one song by Austin’s Harlem. That song was “Friendly Ghost” and, every time it poked its head out of my shuffling jukebox of a laptop, it pounded itself on the chest like Tarzan and stomped on a bass drum pedal, and forced dancing feet. Their 35-minute set was one of the only ones I lasted all the way through for, partly because I thought I’d see a fistfight break out before it ended (sadly, it didn’t). It was all filled up with raw, short blasts of that unfiltered, unpolished, sweaty energy stuff. I’d venture they put more power into that single show than most bands do in a career. And you can take that nugget of truth to the bank and scrawl it on an album sticker. It’s deserved high praise, too. They may not be able to keep that going and they may burn out quick as they came, but at least they burned bright on that Saturday morning.

K: Harlem does not come from Harlem, I found out. It actually surprised me, what with the gritty, dirty rock they pump out, and their lack of conventional on stage niceties. These guys didn’t bother tuning in the beginning, argued with each other at the end of every final guitar lick, and yet…they were electric. It was a strange, sort of surreal experience to hear this teetering, crazed garage rock, the kind where the drumming sounds manic and the bass thumps unapologetically underneath spontaneous-sounding riffs that take over even a wide open festival ground. They absolutely commanded my attention, and drew me in as I thrummed from song to song with them, painfully aware of how straight-edge I am in the face of real rock and roll attitude. If they had been selling leather jackets anywhere near there, I would have bought one immediately.

Warpaint

K: I had been waiting see Warpaint since my braggart friends returned with tales of psychedelic girl rock from SXSW this spring. I was not disappointed. Looking like kids playing dress up in Mardi Gras masks and tie dye shirts, these four women launched themselves into their set with a level of commitment that made me feel as though I was sucked into a vortex of melting, earthy music. Emily Kokal and Theresa Wayman have these liberated vocals that just wrangle audiences. What shocked me was their floating, ethereal sound was still full of sharp edges, spikes, and dips. It was anything but just a pretty face. They also skipped right over their single from their debut album Exquisite Corpse, “Billie Holiday.” You know it’s a great show when they blow by the song everyone knows and no one seems to miss it.

The National

K: I hadn’t seen The National before Lollapalooza. I hadn’t seen them, but the number of times I’ve listened to, cried to, felt to The National far outstrips almost all other bands for me. So I practically launched myself across Grant Park to be one of the first people in front of the Playstation stage. Matt Berninger already had a green bottle of white wine chilling in a big plastic bowl on the stage, and the setlist taped where my zoom lens could find it. And just like it told me, when the guys strolled out, they launched into “Runaway.” Berninger has a baritone that socks me in the windpipe with its haunted depths every time. Live it was even better. I was rooted to my spot, blown away by the shifting, glowing soundscapes they were able to use to fill the enormous Grant Park.

Berninger carried himself with the grace of someone from faraway and long ago, like he should have a maroon leather wingback chair and a roaring fire at all times. They completely flattened me with their devastating performance, both tight and yet not the same as listening to the record. It was real and tangible, and offered a jagged edge that made the dangerous, sometimes downright mean, themes of their songs come to living, breathing life. I have to say, as I pulled myself away from the emptied stage, I felt sad and satisfied at the same time – as though I could not have handled more soul stretching, but that I hungered for more, like a musical masochism. Extreme? Possibly. Don’t psychoanalyze me, I didn’t write the music.

[Dainon’s take on The National is here. It was so good he needed an entire post. And this happened to a friend of mine and his kiddo – pretty rad.]

DAY THREE: SUNDAY

The Antlers

K: It was raining on Sunday morning, but that didn’t stop my determination to see The Antlers perform in muddy Grant Park. So I slapped a plastic bag over my camera and secretly wished the park was connected by a network of Slip ‘N Slides. Though that wish wasn’t granted, I did get to witness the painfully beautiful Antlers set. Antlers deliver the same shiver and ache on stage that they do on their records. Their sparse presence on the massive stage lent itself well to their songs, which talk about death and loneliness and layers in life. Granted, not the usual festival fare, but it was so fitting to be standing in the silver drizzle listening to songs about real things sung with such passion. It was grounding, and a fantastic breath before diving into what would end up being a hot, humid day.

The Ike Reilly Assassination

K: The Ike Reilly Assassination is a band I first heard about through this same blog, and I was so excited to go see the Chicago group tear my socks off and incite me to jump up and down. And sonically, they did just that. Unafraid to be loud, and delighting in having the whole audience sing along to “Valentine’s Day in Juarez,” I felt like the stage was filled with my crazy uncles at Thanksgiving dinner. Not the annoying crazy ones that pinch you, but the fun ones that you know might be a little drug addled from younger days with unforgettable stories that they just might tell you if you keep the brandy coming. The Ike Reilly Assassination put so much energy into their rollicking show, I would be surprised if they could walk afterward. It was the kind of performance where drum sticks crack and guitar strings snap, crackle, pop, and everyone’s smiling about all the fun coming out of it.

Mumford and Sons

K: I’ve wanted to see Mumford and Sons ever since their release of Sigh No More last year. I’ve yearned to see them. While I was waiting, along with the rest of the people in attendance at Lollapalooza it seemed, I was already getting a little giddy thinking of their joyful harmonies and liberated banjo rolls. A moment after Marcus Mumford (and people who are not, technically, his sons) took the stage, they swept me away immediately with the title track off the aforementioned album.

Their music builds, it swells, and it takes me along until it all crashes into runaway melodies that seem composed of innocent wildness. Even better was watching their faces, because they mirrored ours. They had a shining newness on stage that showed no hint of the pretension that could come along with such success. Their sound filled me up from the inside instead of sweeping around me; it held me and moved me, and yes, I did get tears in my eyes. There is such a fearlessness in Mumford and Sons. When they perform it is intimate and real and consuming. It left me breathless.

Frightened Rabbit

K: Frightened Rabbit is an eviscerating experience. Hailing from the gray moors of Scotland, Scott Hutchison’s lonely wail can transform into a heartwrenching, cracking scream in a single turn of phrase. Standing amidst a huge crowd of people who knew the words to all their songs, just as I did, was comforting but strange. For such cry-into-your-whiskey music, it seemed I had a lot of comrades who related. I loved when Hutchison would abandon words all together and throw in extra howls and punctuated with guttural “oh”s, like the cracks went too deep to express with simple human language. And yet, people danced. That’s the amazing thing about Frightened Rabbit for me, they revel in the muck of life. They yell and scream about the things that go the deepest, and do so in a way that makes you throw out your limbs and give yourself to the simple act of moving. Not forward, not backward, just moving so you know you’re not a bag of sand.

Arcade Fire

K: Closing the festival, Arcade Fire was a massive conglomeration of complete mayhem on stage – people switching instruments, lights flashing, sensory overload. And yet it all coalesces into a technicolor sort of sonic boom. I was amid the tens of thousands of people yelling along to the lines as we were all pulled into the strange video projected on the high stage. They were passion personified, their energy never flagging, their voices always threatening to bust at the seams and spill out into chaos. It felt like being part of a rock opera, especially when they moved to songs from their newest release The Suburbs. It was a whirling two hours of exhausting their musical library, satisfying people who came for old and new.

Everyone in Arcade Fire is a star, which completely surprised me. No one seemed to outshine the other, which made it a white hot spectacle that required a lot of time to let it sink in. I couldn’t help but get a buzz off everyone listening; from right up front to the street people gathered and singing, the music not losing any of its power with distance. There could not have been a better closer. Arcade Fire has never been one of my favorite recorded bands, but after experiencing them in the heavy Chicago night air, I don’t think I can forget the way I felt a part of that celebration onstage and off, a culmination of musical experience and community – with a light show.

Dainon: Maybe what I’ll most remember of Lollapalooza this year will be showing up an hour before The National started, while MGMT sang softly at my back. But that’s only the beginning.

When Matt Berninger came out and sang what amount to sad, twisted love songs, holding no emotion back, when he rushed forward to the spot I was and I reached out and touched him on the hand and microphone and looked into what amounted to being very sad, dark eyes, that was the unexpected middle.

As for the end? It came with dragonflies overhead and Arcade Fire singing “No Cars Go” as my legs very nearly buckled and I sat on an offered chair instead of a mound of cool grass. That long moment, the one that lasted for a number of hours, I like that I will never be able to unforget it. What’s more, it’s a movie that comes with a soundtrack, an impossibly, gorgeous summertime one.

Thanks, Chicago. Thanks, Perry. I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to do another one of these, but, as a first and last time, it was a success all over the place.

PS – Best overheard quote during the very crowded xx set: “Whoa! This is like the real version of Facebook! Hey, are you my friend?!”

MORE PICTURES

Grizzly Bear

The Black Keys

The Big Pink

A big, pink fan at The Big Pink

the xx

See you in 2011?

[all of Kathleen’s pictures from all three days can be seen here]

Tuesday Music Roundup

So last Sunday in San Francisco I picked up this random $1 pin at the Noise Pop Expo (in addition to a cool business card holder for my forthcoming cool business cards, and I waited too long to buy this gorgeous necklace and it was gone when I came with cash. Sad).

Anyways. The pin on my bag strap now, which you can sort of make out over there in a bad cell phone snap, is a sensitive graphite rendering of Patrick Swayze circa Roadhouse. He beams at me, which made me feel good for about three days, and then I read that he’s got pancreatic cancer and now I want to mutter things like “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” and giggle when he touches the back of my arm. I will admit a huge weakness for Dirty Dancing, I cannot explain it. Who can. I hope Patrick gets well soon.

Tunes I am listening to this week:

Dragonflies
Ike Reilly
New from Ike Reilly — an artist that we are big fans of ’round these parts (top ten!)– comes an album called Poison The Hit Parade (April 8). The label says it is a collection of outtakes, demos, and alternate versions from his last three albums, and Ike adds that “it isn’t so much of where I’m going but more like the places I’ve been that people don’t know about.” One of the things that Ike verily exceeds at are songs that feel rebellious and triumphant at the same time, with intelligent lyrics that penetrate deeper than your standard radio fare. This previously unreleased tune shimmers and pushes over an urgently pounding piano cadence, while Ike sings to someone ravaged by cancer but whose skin still shines.

Into The Ground
The Brakes
Philadelphia band The Brakes just signed to Hyena Records and their full length debut Tale of Two Cities is out on May 6. None of these guys are over 23, but they’ve opened for acts like The Hold Steady and Robert Randolph, and have some shows coming up with Jackie Greene. They seem to have a vocal fanbase in Philly and beyond. This catchy tune is a simple ode to being “in her bed, and in her arms” with a toe-tapping lush spaciousness to it, and subtle hints of a modern jazz vocals that echo a bit of Jamie Cullum. And a trumpet solo, even!

Chances Are (Jim Eno of Spoon remix)
Apostle of Hustle
“Drunk, drunk in the Taco Bell,” is where we first meet our protagonist of this song, and down to the clattery unsteady rhythm and the shiny brass backing notes, that’s exactly what it feels like. Jim Eno is the drummer of fair Spoon, whose percussive sense can get me moving any day of the week. Combine that with the always well-constructed rhythmic backbone in songs from latin-indie-gypsy folk Canadian prophets Apostle of Hustle, and you have this very winning combination. The original version of this song was on last year’s National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts & Crafts).

Paisley Pattern Ground
The Black Hollies
You’d probably think this was released in the ’60s, from the name of the band, to the ode to the paisley, and the rockin sounds of psychedelica, guitars, and bells here echoing through the misty morning. But actually, The Black Hollies are from Jersey and bring “a mash up of British Invasion blues, guitar heroics and psychedelia that would bring a smile to Brian Jones’ face” according to Rolling Stone. Plus they’re apparently in a new Dell commercial which I should pimp because my new (pink) Dell laptop is scheduled to arrive Thursday and right now that makes me happy. The Black Hollies sophomore full-length album Casting Shadows is out today.

Bang On
The Breeders
Hold onto your Docs, The Breeders are back. With tones of surf guitar and rubber-ball bouncing beats that could fit easily in at a club, Kim and Kelley Deal come back with new sounds here that really surprised me; a hundred miles from the snarly-harmonic girl rock that I so loved in the early Nineties. The Steve-Albini-produced Mountain Battles is out on 4AD April 8, and they’ve got a ton of tour dates coming up, including one at Coachella (yay!).

Fuel Favorites of 2007

For each year so far that I’ve been dabbling in this music-blog-writing hobby, there seems to be a greater proliferation of choices for my ears to make. It seems like more artists are making their voices heard, more albums getting out there in one form or another, more people being turned on to music outside the mainstream 35 songs you hear on the radio.

This is good news for ears, hearts, and souls, and bad news for listmakers.

After much struggling, I’ve picked out ten albums that I’m happy with being my favorites from 2007; add all of these to your collections and be happy too. There were some very good albums that I left off this year (I am sure you will point them out to me in the comments) but these 10 are the ones that connected with me uniquely and viscerally. And they’re listed in alphabetical order because even numerically ranking them defeated me.

If you would like to hear me talk more about these albums, and discuss my perspective as a music blogger in the digital music world in 2007, please tune in to NPR’s World Cafe on January 1st. I’ll be doing a piece with David Dye, Tom Moon from NPR and Marco Werman from BBC’s “The World” program.

And yes . . . this is my poker face. I’m doing little freakout backflips on the inside.

TEN FUEL FAVORITES OF 2007

BECAUSE OF THE TIMES
Kings of Leon
Folks complain that this album isn’t as loose and rough and gut-punch raw as earlier KOL efforts, and they’re right. This album is bigger and hazier and more anthemic, but I find myself craving the riffs, the melody, the scowly drawl of the lyrics, and the unabashed rock. I agree with the fantastic Daytrotter piece that called this one “a sneaker” (as in it sneaks up on you, not a shoe). I like that KOL are experimenting with their sound and pushing the edges. Plus, they absolutely have the best live show I saw (twice) this year, all caged energy, confident strut and rock and roll.
Fans – Kings of Leon

BOXER
The National
This is the richest album in my top ten this year, in that the songs seep under your skin and percolate slowly. As we discussed, so much of this is 4am music; the late-night special, flawed but transcendent. Woven through songs that pulse restlessly with thumping drums, elegiac strings and evocative piano melodies, the lyrics here destroy me. Absolutely. They lament “another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults,” then ruefully note that “we’re so disarming darling, everything we did believe is diving diving diving diving off the balcony / Tired and wired we ruin too easy, sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave.” The purity of elemental urges and gorgeous expression makes me wants to live inside the stories of this album.
Fake Empire – The National

DIRTY BOMB
The Star Spangles
Here to save the rock and roll crown from the hands of slicker entries this year, The Star Spangles from New York are filthy and gritty and raw, making pub-chant punk with strong melodies. Full of heart, they are the real deal so don’t mess with their work ethic. In addition to playing roughly 3,528 fiery live shows this year, they’re not above doing things like playing a recent show at the Jesse Malin/Ryan Adams hangout Niagara in NYC wearing only a trenchcoat and a fedora (all the better to rock with less friction, I guess). Listen to this vibrant album loud, and feel the ebullient crush of youth.
Take Care of Us – The Star Spangles

FIGHTING TREES
The Swimmers
The owner of some trusted ears remarked upon first hearing this Philly band that “this is what Wilco might sound like if they just let their popness run rampant.” Fighting Trees is a shimmering, delicious, intelligent album full of pop goodness but not too sugary-sweet. It’s got the jangle and the thump, the three-part harmonies and the cohesive storyline lyrics that sweep me off to somewhere else; they weave a dream-sequence where you are floating above yourself, watching the actions below with a distanced eye. Loosely based around the 1964 short story “The Swimmer,” both the grad-school premise and the resulting album deserve massive props.
[stream here, buy CD at shows, out via Mad Dragon in early 2008]
Heaven – The Swimmers

GOOD AND RECKLESS AND TRUE
The Alternate Routes
In a year when I was really hoping for a grand, rootsy, golden album from Ryan Adams that never materialized for me, The Alternate Routes warmed the speakers of my car all summer long with their expansive, windows-down, wholeheartedly good brand of alt-country rock. One of my favorite lyrical pictures all year comes from these opening notes: “I’ve been wasting my days good and reckless and true, I have danced in the dark at the edge of the water, swingin my hips at the black and the blue…” The songwriting is solid and incisive, highlighted by the aching tenor of lead singer Tim Warren — and speaking of Ryan Adams, current Cardinals drummer Brad Pemberton pitches in on the skins here as well. Although the album swings effortlessly from rollicking to pensive, the common thread that I find appealing is the earnest commitment to simply playing their blessed hearts out.
Ordinary – The Alternate Routes

THE HISTORICAL CONQUESTS OF JOSH RITTER
Josh Ritter
A pal recently asked me who I thought the best modern-day songwriter was. At the time it was 2am, and I mumbled something about how I thought Josh Ritter was pretty dang incredible. Upon coherent reflection, I take that back; I think Josh absolutely may be the best songwriter of our generation that I’ve heard. His penetrating lyrics consistently blow me away, and the rock influences of his new album ramp up the folk sounds I’ve loved in the past into something that definitely hits harder and leaves me all itchy and excited-like. You must see him live in 2008, the new material is amazing in concert. As Josh weaves his intricate, literate songs on stage, he overflows with each lyric as if he were birthing every line afresh for the first time. That same refreshing joy is palpable on this album, and we are grateful for it.
To The Dogs or Whoever – Josh Ritter

I CAN’T GO ON, I’LL GO ON
The Broken West
When I first heard this new Merge Records signing last January, my post title was “I want to listen to The Broken West all weekend long, maybe until my eardrums crystallize into sugar.” That pretty much sums up how vividly I crave the sounds on this disc. Catchy hooks and fuzzy power-pop sounds blend with a blast straight from the ’60s in terms of sheer listenability — and you’re having 100% Fun with Matthew Sweet while the Kinks play in your garage. Hailing from Los Angeles, the guys in the Broken West wrap up all kinds of California imagery while also underscoring a bit of the shadow as well: “Sun down, blood horizon, now it feels all right/ No one feels the darkness down in the valley tonight.” Musical novocaine.
Down In The Valley – The Broken West

NIGHTTIMING
Coconut Records
This clever, humble, and thoroughly enjoyable album from Coconut Records (the nom de rock of actor Jason Schwartzman) came out of absolutely nowhere this year in a stealth digital-only release that spread like wildfire. Normally we can all agree that actors making music spells disaster, but in this case it absolutely spells y-a-y. Schwartzman blends some of the jangly California indie-pop of his previous work with Phantom Planet with his experience in composing film scores for this aural delight. No two tracks alike: the Weezer rock of “Back To You” flips over the lo-fi duet on “Mama” (with Zooey Deschanel?) and the scratchy dabble into Beatles pop with “Easy Girl” is a million miles from the disco beats of the title track or the Franz Ferdinand stomp on “Minding My Own Business.” The album is eclectic, stripped of pretension and ready to make you smile.
Back To You – Coconut Records

THE REMINDER
Feist
The completely charming and effortlessly cool Leslie Feist covers a lot of ground on this album, her third of original solo material, in addition to her releases with the Broken Social Scene. Feist is musically adventurous with a sound that is impossible to pin down. Moving easily from intimate songs like “The Park” that aches like a midnight dirge sung lying flat, looking out a darkened window, to the spiritual-gospel handclap community of “Sea Lion Woman,” you never know what the next track will bring. The only common thread among the songs is her gorgeously honey-drenched, knowingly sly voice. Feist possesses a welcome imaginative streak that she’s not afraid to reveal on this album. She deserves every ounce of recognition that Apple commercial got her in 2007; anyone who conceives of the idea to do a rainbow-hued dance video clothed in spangles to a song that good gets my respect. I wait in breathless anticipation to see what she does next.
My Moon, My Man – Feist

WE BELONG TO THE STAGGERING EVENING
Ike Reilly Assassination
Call it defiant pre-punk, cranked-up ’50s rock’n'roll that slipped past the censors, or just some seriously good music. Ike Reilly writes unflinching rock songs full of bluesy, boozy, humid, rock riffs and intelligent, biting, evocative lyrics that make me want to take off with him through the desert on the run from the cops, the windows down and a knowing glance between us. Ike’s not ripping off a halcyon era of memories past like some of the retro-influenced acts today (Brian Setzer, I love you, but I’m talking to you), but rather he feels like an earnest, fierce character who somehow slipped in from a time when the music was rawer, the sex was furtive, and the liquor was bootlegged. This is a fiercely fantastic album that provocatively edged itself into my top ten the first time I listened to it.
Valentine’s Day in Juarez – Ike Reilly

And yes, since you asked, my membership in the bloggers guild is currently under review for revocation for not listening to Arcade Fire or Radiohead in 2007. I’ll keep you posted.

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Odds & ends

On this lovely slow Saturday I am making up a big pot of Dill Turkey Chowder (recipe pretty much like this except I use garlic pepper) and the simmering smells are already fantastic. It’s been a week like that — a lot of interesting thoughts simmering in the back of my mind with no real time to write about them or enjoy. So since it’s Saturday, here’s what I’ve been noticing lately:

Ûž Nil Lara. I still get more comments on this guy, on the single post I wrote back for a previous World Music Wednesday, than almost any other ongoing topic. People across the world love this guy, miss his music, and wonder what he’s been up to. He’s been playing a series of monthly shows down in Florida, much to the joy of many fans, but the great news is that the Yanks get 2 doses of him next month!

Nil Lara has just announced two shows in New York City at The Bitter End in Greenwich Village, Nov 17th @ 8pm and Nov 19th @ 7:30pm. I’d love to see this guy; I’ll be in NYC a few weeks before that for the last weekend in October to see some best girlfriends, but I’ll miss this show unfortunately.

Ûž There’s a new audio interview with Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready from Tacoma, Washington’s News Tribune.

Listen to Mike talk about his reaction to the AT&T censoring of the Lollapalooza webcast, Italian fans and the new DVD, director Danny Clinch, and even some on The Scorpions & Iron Maiden. Rock on.

Ûž The Onion made me laugh with this fantastic “news brief”:

Google Launches ‘The Google’ For Older Adults
September 26, 2007
MOUNTAIN VIEW, CA—The popular search engine Google announced plans Friday to launch a new site, TheGoogle.com, to appeal to older adults not able to navigate the original website’s single text field and two clearly marked buttons.

Read the rest

Ûž The new Counting Crows album, Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings, will be delayed in its release until 2008. According to Adam Duritz’s blog:

Update 9/27/07 – “Town Hall, Old Memories, and New Delays”
Greenwich Village, New York City, 10am

. . . This will frustrate some of you I’m sure, and I apologize for that, but we’ve gone to Geffen and asked to push back the release date of Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings until sometime after the New Year.

It was just a crazy busy summer. Between all the touring and the traveling and the mixing and mastering of the new album and putting the together the package and writing all the essays for the August… reissue, we just let some little things fall through the cracks. The record itself is finished but we just did the photo shoot a few weeks ago, the art and packaging deadlines were last week, and, even putting in 20 hr days, it was just impossible to get it all done. There are videos and singles and so many things to decide on and finish and it’s just not the time in our career to be rushing important decisions. Actually, in my opinion, it’s never the right time to rush important decisions. We really try to make records that last forever. I don’t see the point in putting all the work in to do that and then not having the right cover or picking the wrong single or making the wrong video. They’re small things, I guess, but they matter to me and they’re just a few of many.

It’s a tough pill for our record company to swallow. Especially in this day and age, it’s not easy to ask them to postpone a Counting Crows album that would have been on sale for fall and through the Xmas season. Someone somewhere will not be happy with them. Luckily for us, the people we deal with at our label ARE music people and they know that our partnership with Geffen has been a marathon, not a sprint. We haven’t been around together all these years because we were worried about a few months.

Anyway, that’s THAT bit of news. I know it’s a bit of a disappointment but, like I said to all of you the other day, “Remind me never to put out two albums at the same time again.”

I recommend streaming the song that Adam has posted on his MySpace, called “Bleed.” Best as I can tell, it is a song written by Stew/The Negro Problem, and this is a live collaboration with Adam. The lyrics are pretty rich. I’d post it here, but . . . well, you know.

Ûž Finally, the Ike Reilly Assassination show was as mindblowing as I had hoped on Thursday night at the Larimer Lounge.

I voraciously dig the blistering rock songs with a punkish-retro edge, with some of the finest attention to lyrical detail and “flow” of any modern songwriter today. Johnny Hickman (founding member of Cracker) joined Ike for the gig, as Johnny is a local Coloradan now, and they were clearly enjoying themselves. I was particularly riveted by the performance of “The Mixture” (off 2005′s Junkie Faithful) — an incredible, soulful, brutal, unflinchingly introspective, raw tune that I am listening to on repeat these last two days. It goes deeper each time I hear it.

“Girl don’t like the mixture in me,
the liquid in me, the fiction it frees
the liquor in me, the Mick in me,
the fried-out lies for eyes she sees

Where were you?”

The Mixture – Ike Reilly Assassination

The picture above is by Denver photographer Doug Beam from his fine set taken at the show. Quite an unforgettable night.

I can feel the earth begin to move, I hear my needle hit the groove

[2003 Glastonbury photo credit]

Two nights ago I watched the 2003 Britpop documentary Live Forever (more on that later), which begins by laying a foundation of the music scene in Nineties England from the initial impact of the Stone Roses — so I smiled today when this fantastic cover version came up on a mix I’d made.

Yorn: “So like I said, this is hot shit for us to be over here at Glastonbury. We come from the U.S. of A and this is a very exotic festival that we love and we’re happy to be here and we’re huge fans of the music over here and blah blah blah . . . This is from Manchester, okay?“

She Bangs The Drums (Stone Roses cover, live at Glastonbury 2003) – Pete Yorn
(apparently this is encoded at a rate that streaming doesn’t agree with. Until I can fix it, if you download it, it sounds fine; if you click the blue arrow, you get Alvin & The Chipmunks singing the Stone Roses, which is actually a whole different kind of interesting)

Speaking of she bangs the drum, I could not stop my own personal rhythm section pattered out onto my legs last night at the screening of the Pearl Jam documentary. Seeing and hearing Immagine in Cornice on the big screen with all the glorious surround-sound was an immense experience of live PJ fabulousness. My personal highlights were the renditions of Blood (ugh, love that song), Come Back (sheerly absurdly gorgeous), and a compelling ending of Rockin’ In The Free World with every single Italian audience member’s hands raised in the air, clapping along in unison.

In addition to the beautifully-done cinematic treatment of their live shows, the documentary also offered some very interesting behind-the-scenes glimpses: the urgent reorganization of the encore setlist backstage while the crowd screams for more, Jeff skateboarding at some deserted Italian skatepark, Ed and his daughter Olivia talking on the tour bus (and how cute is she?), a bunch of Italian kids sitting on the street belting out a passionate acoustic rendition of Porch. Stone barely made an appearance (it’s all Stone’s fault) and not surprisingly I would have liked for it to be longer so they could have shown more of what goes on that we don’t see onstage. But overall, solid A. If I can’t see PJ live this year, heck I’ll settle for last night. Thanks to all who came out for an awesome experience, it was moltissimo fun.

Finally, the road to Denver will again be my buddy tonight as I head back up to see the Ike Reilly Assassination at the Larimer Lounge. Last time he was here it was acoustic and still mind-blowing, so I am very excited to get the full band baptism. I highly recommend this show if you can make it out.

Ike Reilly on the patio, Neil Diamond on the dancefloor

A large part of the reason that I go to live music performances is because I am looking for some element of connection. I can sit at home in front of my stereo, listen to sterile studio recordings made in a far-away state that have been remastered and flawlessly captured. Sure, I hear a lot of good stuff that way . . . but I also feel a need for a visceral connection, an elemental thread of immediacy tying creator to listener in the same physical space. It’s why I prefer smaller venues – not from snobbery, or so I can tell you that I saw them way back when they were still playing the [insert tiny club name here]. It’s so I can see their eyes and feel their words, with flaws and all. I find myself feeling less than satisfied when I see a show at a huge venue on massive Jumbotron screens. The performers are tiny little ants a million miles away, and most of the action comes from the folks dancing around me. That’s fun, and I’ll do it, but that’s not the connection I really want with my music.

On Sunday night in Denver at the Larimer Lounge, I got to enjoy this awesome moment of connection with a musician that was just pure and simple sharing of the music with no pretense. I know I sound cheesy and that’s fine; if you were there, you probably would have felt the same way and still be smiling about it just like me. Ike Reilly is a musician that I’ve written about several times since discovering him on the recommendation of a friend just a few months ago (even though he’s been around for years, making great albums).

He’s a fierce and pointed lyricist with unstoppable tunes that have a rough punk-rock edge mixed with a bit of 1950s rebelliousness. He kind of reminds me of the hellion-rebel character in all the high school movies ever made — the one hanging out behind the bowling alley trying to swindle the guys and fondle the women.

Ike was taking a break from touring with his full band, The Ike Reilly Assassination (back in the fall, though) to open for Rage Against The Machine/Audioslave guitarist Tom Morello. Tom is currently travelling with a new solo-folk-troubadour one man act where he dubs himself The Nightwatchman and brings a political message.

The show was sold out (even for a “school night,” as Tom kept saying) and the crowd was absolutely on fire, pressing themselves against the low stage, the air crackling with anticipation. Ike found himself playing to a friendly audience who often sang along heartily to his every word (he asked at one point, “Who could possibly know this?”). This was the second song he played:

IKE REILLY, “GARBAGE DAY” (ACOUSTIC)

He also came out and joined Tom Morello (they both grew up in the same Illinois town of Libertyville) for a fiery cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son”:

TOM MORELLO & IKE REILLY: “FORTUNATE SON”
(listen to the Rage-worthy ending here – I almost expected us all to start yelling “I won’t do what you tell me!”)

The most delightful moment, though, came long after the show after most folks had gone home. The Larimer Lounge has a little beer garden behind the venue, draped with white globe lights with green plants everywhere. Before the show I had a beer with Ike on the patio and he commented what a perfect night it was – the air was still and cool and summery. Long after midnight, after the show, I heard guitar strumming coming from a small group of about six folks out in the corner and I walked over to check it out.

Ike had pulled out his well-battered guitar at the request of a kid who said he “just had to” hear Heroin, a song Ike hadn’t done earlier in his set. He went on to play 6 or 7 tunes for a crowd that slowly grew into about 30 of the folks who were still hanging around, taking requests. We had been talking about “Charcoal Days and Sterling Nights” earlier in the evening (it’s based on an episode of COPS, love it) so he played this one for me:

IKE REILLY: “CHARCOAL DAYS AND STERLING NIGHTS”
(patio-tastic version that’s really dark, maybe you can adjust the brightness on your monitor?)

Once Tom Morello came out and sat on a nearby picnic table, they started laughing at each other and the set kinda tapered off. But it was pretty dang cool, not at all as hambone as it potentially sounds. Thanks Ike.

Ike has a handful of shows left with Tom down the West Coast: Portland tonight, Seattle on Wednesday. They’ll be in San Francisco on Friday night (read this excellent article from the San Jose Metro that just ran to draw attention to that fact) and closing out in LA on Saturday.

You can now listen to their recent World Cafe performance on NPR (featuring four songs and nice stage banter), and they’re also playing at the Austin City Limits Festival on Sept 13, with a full-band tour slated for the fall.

NOW PLAYING:
We Belong To The Staggering Evening
(Rock Ridge Music, 2007)

Ike Reilly tour dates announced in June/July

Blisteringly volatile Chicago blues-rocker Ike Reilly is heading out this summer in support of his absolutely fantastic new album We Belong To The Staggering Evening. I love this visceral album front-to-back, and cannot wait to see him bring it in his live show. I highly recommend both the album (see previous posts) and the show.

Garbage Day – Ike Reilly
(from 2004′s Sparkle In The Finish)

Kara Dean – Ike Reilly
(from 2005′s Junkie Faithful)

IKE REILLY ASSASSINATION (FULL BAND) TOUR DATES
Jun 9 Birdy’s – Indianapolis, IN
Jun 11 Little Brother’s – Columbus, OH
Jun 12 3 Rivers Art Festival – Pittsburgh, PA
Jun 14 The Khyber – Philadelphia, PA
Jun 15 Bowery Ballroom – New York City
Jun 16 The Loft @ Tommy Doyle’s – Cambridge, MA
Jun 18 Black Cat (the backstage) – Washington, DC
Jun 19 Phoenix Hill Tavern – Louisville, Kentucky
Jun 21 Blueberry Hill – St. Louis, MO
Jun 22 Metro – Chicago, IL
Jun 23 World Cafe – Pittsburgh, PA
Jun 29 Cabooze On The West Bank – Minneapolis, MN
Jun 30 Stones Throw – Eau Claire, WI

SOLO IKE DATES WITH TOM MORELLO
Jul 10 St Andrews Hall – Detroit, MI
Jul 15 Larimer Lounge – Denver, CO
Jul 17 Doug Fir Lounge – Portland, OR
Jul 18 Crocodile Café – Seattle, WA
Jul 20 Swedish American Hall – San Francisco, CA
Jul 21 Troubadour – West Hollywood, CA

Monday Music Roundup

I was stoked Saturday morning when I read about a program called Tangerine! that automatically analyzes the songs in your iTunes library for beats per minute (BPM) and then allows you to make playlists based on beats. I’ve been looking for something exactly like this that will give me the right beats for running different speeds. I’ve been addicted to lengthening the amount of time I run lately (thanks new shoes!) and always delight in finding the perfect song for the MPH I am going – my feet strike the ground with the drumbeat and compel me to stick with it.

My sheer unbounded joy turned to dejection when I saw that Tangerine is currently only for Macs. Boo for me. Does anyone know of websites or tools for creating running playlists based on the speed you are running? I have quite a few tunes that I personally have learned are the perfect speed for running (Pearl Jam’s “Undone” is my current fave), but would LOVE to cull my collection for other candidates. Lemme know what works for you?

Here are some tunes which may or may not work for running.
They’re all worth a listen:

Charcoal Days and Sterling Nights
Ike Reilly Assassination
The new album from Ike Reilly, We Belong To The Staggering Evening (May 8, Rock Ridge Music), is very securely in my frontrunners for Best-Of 2007. I’ve been spinning it at high volumes all weekend long and this is one fantastic album: full of bluesy, boozy, humid, rock riffs and intelligent, biting, evocative, rough-and-tumble lyrics that make me want to take off with Ike through the desert on the run from the cops, with a knowing glance between us and the windows down.

This song starts like a old-time automatic piano in a dusty Western bar somewhere, then busts into a full and marvelous scorcher. Ike sings his heart out, with lines like, “It’s those lies you tell that make me wanna be your lover, the crime in your eyes makes me wanna run for cover, the storm in your thighs makes it all feel right . . . ahh those charcoal days and those sterling nights…” I had a ridiculously difficult time selecting which track to feature since they are all so different and excellent – a single track cannot do justice to the album. I literally went back and forth for over an hour here. Depending on the tune, you get the wide-open anthems of Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers, the ambitious pop harmonies of Oasis, and the bluesy back-porch swampy harmonica of a generation past. Preorder this album immediately.

Ooh Girl
Red Button
A delightful reader who turned me on the to the best Cotton Mather b-side I’ve heard (“Heaven’s Helping”) returns to my inbox with a fantastic power pop tune from Los Angeles-based Red Button, the project of Seth Swirsky (who has written songs for everyone from Rufus Wainwright to Al Green) and Mike Ruekberg (who scored the indie film Dummy with Adrien Brody). From the lush string opener that echoes Eleanor Rigby, on into the jangly harmonies, I love the unabashed goodness of this little gem. The album is called She’s About To Cross My Mind — it’s 11 songs in 33 minutes. You can sample their other tunes on their website, and how’s this for a ringing endorsement: “If The Red Button had beeen around in the ’60s when I was producing, I would have signed them to EMI.” – Norm “Hurricane” Smith, Beatles engineer (1962-1966) and record producer (Pink Floyd, The Zombies) for EMI. Delicious.

It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
Five-Eight feat. Michael Stipe
This CD was released last month with barely a ripple, but it celebrates an amazing evening in Athens, Georgia musical culture. On September 12 of last year, local musicans gathered at the 40 Watt Club in Athens for a big party — and to record covers of a variety of R.E.M. tunes as a benefit.

Turns out four members performing that night didn’t need to rehearse any of the songs: R.E.M. was in town for their induction into Georgia’s Music Hall of Fame, and joined in on several tunes. This version is rough and fast, almost punk — a joyous ending to a fantastic evening. Net proceeds from Finest Worksongs benefits Community Connection of Northeast Georgia and Family Connection/Communities in Schools, so it’s a great album for a good cause.

The Harder They Come
(Jimmy Cliff cover)
Pat MacDonald
Speaking of good causes, the Bridging The Distance compilation was released last week on Arena Rock Recording Co. as a benefit for p:ear which works with transitional youth in Portland, Oregon. Very interesting song choices to cover – ranging from Fleetwood Mac and Yes songs to Springsteen, Led Zeppelin, and even Sam Cooke – from a variety of bands like The Decemberists, Chris Walla (of DCFC), The Minus 5, The Dandy Warhols, and this guy who may or may not be the same Pat MacDonald whose future is so bright he’s gotta wear shades. A pulsating, fuzzy, supersonic cover of the ’70s reggae Jimmy Cliff classic.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy (yep. for real)
Ian Hunter
I’ve been listening to this cheesy ’70s rock winner all weekend because I see that Ian Hunter has a new album coming out in a few weeks. Former Mott the Hoople frontman struck guilty gold in my book with this song, from the opening cockney “Allo” and the Wayne’s World-worthy guitar solo in the middle (also unfortunately covered by Great White in the ’80s). Nothing on the new album can touch the playful dance-around-and-shake-it goodness of this. Ian Hunter is still rocking the perm and the aviator sunglasses. I guess he figures to stick with what worked with the ladies. Shrunken Heads is out May 15 on Yep Roc.

I was bleedin’ on someone, and dreamin’ of you

A new tune from a band I recently heard about and can’t get enough of, Ike Reilly Assassination is from Chicago and make fun, no-nonsense guitar rock. Recommended for fans of Lucero, Springsteen, Roger Clyne, Jon Spencer or just anyone who likes a little rock ‘n’ roll now and again.

From the opening lyric, “I belong to the staggering evening, I belong to the sweltering night,” this song could be the perfect way to wish you off into your weekends. It’s pretty much about drinking and fighting, broken noses, Violent Femmes concerts, lesbians, smashed balls, and Serbian girls — so basically my average weekend.

When Irish Eyes Are Burning – Ike Reilly Assassination
(highly recommended for this Friday night)

From the upcoming fourth album from Ike Reilly, We Belong To The Staggering Evening, due out May 8th. They’ll be hitting the road in April, check their MySpace for dates when posted.