Pirates is the kind of singular record that attracts a certain type of devotion…
Day One at Pitchfork provided a rather eclectic lineup, offering a little something for everyone, including legends like Thurston Moore and Guided by Voices and relative newcomers like Tune-Yards and Ema. It was marvelous to witness both the creativity in the more experienced bands as well as the inventiveness of those newer to the scene. Much like the varied ages of the bands on stage, fans of all ages gathered to enjoy their favorite bands as well as be exposed to new music.
Wild Nothing played to a sold-out and jam-packed room at Johnny Brenda’s
Suddenly, it’s as if Bill Callahan belongs to us on some cosmic level.
It’s that time of year again, Chicago. We’re all recovering from that epic BBQ holiday weekend wondering what we have to look forward to next…well, here it is!
It’s possible there is no musician finer to see on the eve of Independence Day than Bill Callahan. Considering both his prolific nature and the distinctiveness of his voice, he recalls a stunning and vibrant modern Johnny Cash.
Wilco is back for the second version of their self-managed festival, nestled in the woods (and rain) of Western Massachusetts.
In other words, the new songs fit in so perfectly with the old stuff that The Smithereens should be commended.
For starters, this was the fourth time I’d seen them at the First Unitarian Church since early 2007.
Village Green with orchestra and choir was as amazing as you could have hoped for.
His description of the genesis of Zen Arcade led to a sort of heartbreaking admission that the album means more to others than it does to him, that he had outgrown the feelings it documents by the time they’d been written down and recorded.
Confuse your contemporaries.
It was almost too much, really. From the supergroup opener to the celebrity interview to the classic album in-full, I still don’t know what to think.
All in all, there seemed to be a lot of love between artists on this evening as OFF! were specifically selected to open the tour by Dinosaur Jr and the mutual admiration and respect is always comforting to see.
These punk rock veterans made it look so easy, flailing and headbanging away while playing some of the tightest, heaviest and catchiest music that I’ve heard in years.
One might not immediately expect the Norwegian singer/songwriter Sondre Lerche to have a dynamic stage presence.
All art is abstract art. The Cars are fairly artful and surprisingly abstract.
So what, might you ask, differentiated this year’s visit to World Cafe Live from their two previous Philadelphia appearances since their 2008 reunion?
One can’t witness the charming spectacle of lead singer Eddie Argos without thinking of a reincarnated (though straight) version of Oscar Wilde.
Just days before the release of their sophomore album Nothing is Wrong, rising Americana heroes Dawes loped onto the Vic Theatre stage in Chicago to play a set full of Taylor Goldsmith‘s new “heartbreak songs.”
Keren Ann is somewhat of an atypical chanteuse.
The Melvins take their endless residency to a half dozen fortunate cities and play five seminal and separate recordings from 1991-1994.
Frontman Jack Grisham had a maniacal, almost demonic grin on his face the whole time and was clearly enjoying himself on this evening.
Simply put, there’s no other band like them in the entire universe.
Costello and his band took the stage and blazed through four songs, opening with “I Hope You’re Happy Now”.
Swedish songstress Lykke Li blends a hypnotic mix of tightly-wound pop songs and dance floor fever.
Low’s sparse arrangements has always made live performances tricky, in my opinion, as poor sound or quirky venues has often exaggerated the ‘space’ in their music. This evening, however, the sound was stellar.
Featuring just Eleanor on lead vocals and Matt on piano and backing (and occasional lead) vocals, this was Fiery Furnaces stripped down to the core.
He also tackled Hüsker Dü‘s “Could You Be the One”? and Lungfish’s “To Whom You Were Born”.
He emerged like a half-remembered American nightmare: striped tights over black Speedo, leather jacket, cap and bowtie, “Hunx” scrawled in pink lipstick across his chest, penciled-on mustache à la John Waters and pitch-black hair…
A perfectly balanced double bill, almost too much for the strongly beating heart.
Low has a fan in Robert Plant, and with good reason. The MN-based band delivers a slow, silent killing using a brush, a mallet, some strings and some skins.
Fun fact: Kim Deal mentioned she has a sister who lived in St. Paul for nine years, on Grand Avenue. Could she have meant equally rad sis Kelley?
The performances of “Graffiti,” “No Pain No Gain” and “Late Night” completely obliterated their recorded versions.
Low sings many of their songs as if they have an anguish to share with their very willing fans. After 4 years of staying away from these parts, the audience at Lincoln Hall was more than eager to listen.
A sound with no extra fat, and its embodiment in the frighteningly muscled arms of Robert Grey (formerly Gotobed), the Clint Eastwood of drummers.
Something transcendent was implied, I believe, in the night’s most interesting visual element, more transfixing even than all the bright lights: the slow soaking with sweat of Dan Whitford’s button-down shirt, turning dark outward from the armpits until no dry spot remained.
When Kim Deal played the opening notes of “Debaser” the place just exploded, and the intensity did not go down until the house lights went up almost two hours later.
This is a band whose upside is high enough that you’ll need an altimeter to accurately gauge it; don’t miss the chance to see them in a small club while you can.
Van Etten has the ability to carry a show on her own and has demonstrated this many times.
The encore consisted mostly of guitarist Tom Watson singing a set of Minutemen classics.
The Joy Formidable may look to have a simple more bare bones set up compared to a great deal of indie bands today. The three piece is comprised only of drums, guitar, and bass and while some of their guitar pedals create a sense of spiraling near shoegaze effect for some of the songs, the structure seems first and foremost and a clear sense of a very accessible and strong sounding rock band emerges.
For those who haven’t witnessed the sheer blitzkrieg of noise that emanates from just these two men, you can’t be prepared for it. The crowd was struck and bludgeoned by the mighty Lightning Bolt.
Five men, three acts, the cold north, and the Friendship Principle.
It’s difficult not to notice the professional musicianship inherent in many bands from Canada these days. Toronto’s four piece, The Golden Dogs, is no exception. Like fellow Canadians Sloan, the band members switch up instruments without ever missing a beat and deliver on rock moves that might seem cheesy if the band didn’t seem to be so obviously having a great time. With that kind of joy projected, the feel good vibes are infectious and made for a perfect Saturday night musical experience.
I suppose it was inevitable that I would someday soon witness the iPad keyboard app used live in concert, and now I have, the Trash Can Sinatras being the unlikely conjurers of the winds of change.
On the surface, the pairing of veteran singer/songwriters Jill Sobule and John Doe seems, well, odd. In reality, though, nothing could be further from the truth.
