Music Blogger Archives — Page 14 of 39 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

Gas hurts: touring bands feel the pressure of geopolitics

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August 12, 2008

How will East Bay combo the Phenomenauts be able to fuel their van with today’s gas prices? Photo courtesy of Bagel!

By Kat Renz

You’ve got your band, your gear, your route. The road family piles on and off the rigged-up van or plush, star-caliber bus, ready for a nonstop, balls-out journey playing for legions of fans across the chosen land. It’s a classic image, old as rock ‘n’ roll, inspiring power ballads and hoary metal anthems: The tour.

With the music industry on its head due to plummeting record sales, live concerts seem the one assured mainstay of the business. Music-lovers will always pay to see their favorite acts onstage. But when the national average cost of regular gas is $3.88 per gallon, will bands be able to get there?

Currently, in San Francisco, regular unleaded gas goes for between $4.13 to $4.79 per gallon. Last August, gas was $2.77, and in 2005, it was $2.36, according to Energy Department statistics. And last year at this time, Oakland trio High on Fire – on the road eight or nine months a year – wasn’t too preoccupied with petroleum stats. Yet upon wrapping up the nation-wide, Megadeth-led Gigantour at the end of May, and realizing the amount of money devoted to gas was twice as much as budgeted, tour manager Brady Schilleci said priorities have changed.

That’s a giant inflatable dog turd, blowing in the wind, pulling down power lines

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August 12, 2008

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The shit flies fast and furious. Photo courtesy of Anorak News.

This is far too weird to pass up – “Turd on the Runs” headlines et al. Behold www.artforum.com’s take on Paul McCarthy’s “Complex Shit” piece, which caused, well, a great deal of shit on July 31 (details emerged yesterday, reports the Guardian UK) :

“A giant inflatable dog turd created by the artist Paul McCarthy was blown from its moorings at the Paul Klee Center in Bern, Switzerland, bringing down a power line and breaking a window before landing in the grounds of a children’s home, reports the Guardian’s Jenny Percival. The work, titled Complex Shit, is the size of a house. It has a safety system that is supposed to deflate it in bad weather, but it did not work on this occasion. Juri Steiner, the director of the center, told Agence France-Presse that a sudden gust of wind carried it 650 feet before it fell to the ground, landing in the yard of the children’s home. The accident happened on July 31, but the details only emerged yesterday. Steiner said McCarthy had not yet been contacted and the museum was not sure if the piece would be put back on display. The installation is part of an exhibition called “East of Eden: A Garden Show.” The exhibition opened in May and is due to run until October.

Lollapalooza day three: Waiting for Barack, word to Kanye’s mom, Kid Sister’s pure gold

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August 11, 2008

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West is the best? Photo by Angela Smith.

By K. Tighe

I arrived on the southern end of Grant Park just in time to catch Kid Sister on day three, Aug. 3, of Lollapalooza. The Chicago local has some major heat behind her – due in no small part to her recently garnered role as Kanye West’s protégé. With her mentor headlining on the same stage later tonight, it seemed likely that we’d get at least a cameo during “Pro Nails,” but no such luck. What we did get was a gaggle of bikini-laden ladies painted in gold, dancing around the stage.

“Give it up for the golden ladies! I call ’em the Golden Girls, we got them right off of Michigan Avenue, right from Old Navy,” said the cute-as-a-button MC.

Decked out in a pseudo-afro, purple dress and golden stilettos with a face full of jewels, Kid Sister looked every inch the superstar, despite her 12:15 p.m. time slot. For “Pro Nails,” West was a no-show (word from security is that he wouldn’t be arriving until just before his set), but Kid Sis had the audience eating out of her hands, singing along to the chorus, “Got my toes done up / and my fingernails matching,” while three funky spandexed dancers gave us a shoe on golden-painted chairs.

Lollapalooza day two: Wilco’s Nudie suits, Rage ‘n’ storming the castle, and SamRon hangs with LiLo

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August 8, 2008

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It ain’t broke: Broken Social Scene. All photos by Angela Smith.

By K. Tighe

Day Two, Aug. 2, of Lollapalooza posed an interesting question: how big of a Wilco fan am I? You see, the schedule of a festival was built to split the day’s sold-out, 75,000-plus crowd, between two headlining stages on opposite ends of Grant Park: Wilco takes the North End, with Rage Against the Machine bringing up the South. Initially, I considered this one a no-brainer: this is Wilco headlining a sold-out show in their hometown – end of debate.

My cohort and I claimed prime territory during Broken Social Scene’s 6:30 set. BSS’s set was unsurprisingly incredible, laced with rock ‘n’ roll guitar moves, boundless energy, and even some political banter, “You’re not just voting for America, you’re voting for the world.” From our prime BSS ground we could here Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings loud and clear – and we even had a great view thanks to the jumbo screen flanking the PlayStation 3 stage.

Jones gave another sassy showing, pulling men up from the audience to croon to – and to horrify security a bit. Jones even chose to tell us a bit about her history, but first, “I gotta take my shoes off. You know what? Let me get these earrings off, too.”

Sweet on the Bellrays

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August 7, 2008

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THE BELLRAYS
Hard Sweet and Sticky
(Anodyne)

By Todd Lavoie

Who exactly, pray tell, are these foolish Southern California boys who keep playing careless games with Lisa Kekaula’s heart? As the don’t-mess-with-me diva at the forefront of the BellRays’ unbridled soul/punk whirlwind, Kekaula has been bearing witness to the trials and tempests of love for nearly two decades, and Hard Sweet and Sticky finds the R&B shredder fighting yet another round of bedroom drama.

Here, on their eighth album, the Riverside band’s familiar Tina Turner/MC5 union is as fuzzy and furious as ever, but it is their willingness to veer beyond the usual garage bluster that makes the disc such a tremendous leap forward. Articulating matters of the heart with broader range than ever before, the BellRays have released the defining album of their career thus far.

For those who have always sought righteous liberation from the group’s combustible marriage of Kekaula’s soul-belting vocals with skuzzy ’69-Detroit chug-o-ramas, fret not: “Psychotic Hate Man” throttles as much as the title suggests, and the roughneck-bass and chanted hey’s of “Pinball City” make for certain manic nirvana.

“Wedding Bells,” however, is atmospheric noir-blues winnowed by Kekaula’s moist-eyed sighs and whispers, and the post-break-up move-on of “Blue Against the Sky” is ravishing straight-up soul, without a feedback swell in sight. The smoothness prize, though, goes to “The Fire Next Time,” a satin-and-silk slice of deception stroked by erotic ripples of come-hither jazz guitar but tempered by Kekaula’s knowing, regretful murmur: “How can I love you if you’re the hurting kind?”

Lollapalooza day one: Radiohead, Cat Power, Duffy, Gogol, rock-wine pairings

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August 6, 2008

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I was somewhere around the Loop on the LSD when the hangover began to take hold…All photos by K. Tighe.

By K. Tighe

For concert attendees, Lollapalooza doesn’t start until Friday morning, Aug. 1, but for intrepid journalists and their diligent plus-ones, there are kickoff parties, sponsor events, and Chinese dinners that all lead up to the main event. Thursday afternoon, I found myself in the Crystal Ballroom of the Blackstone Hotel, listening to a Sonoma winemaker attempt to explain about the inner workings of my brain and memory. Delving into the deeper recesses of clinical psychiatry and viticulture preferences might not seem like a rock ‘n’ roll time, but believe me it was.

“This is the place where cocaine and chocolate live,” Clark Smith was explaining to a room full of food, wine, and music journalists the topic of euphoria, a buzz word in his recent study: that wine is able to carry emotion in the same way that music can.

From his research, he’s discovered that certain vintages taste differently when paired with certain songs, a phenomenon he proved to us by piping tracks from Lolla artists into the ballroom and making us sip, sip, then sip some more. From my afternoon at the Blackstone, I discovered that Cat Power makes a Pinot Grigio soar, Dr. Dog does wonders for Pinot Noir, and the Love Theme from Superman can make even Sutter Home White Zin taste like a million bucks. I left the hotel drunk (I wasn’t spitting, as proper wine tasting calls for) and starving. My cohort and I dove into some Chinese grub in Wicker Park before heading to the Venus zine kickoff party at the Debonair Social Club. Mates of States were manning the DJ booth, and I was taking care of the bottle service at our booth, alternating nips from the bottle of merlot in my bag (goes great with Stephen Malkmus).

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Kicking back with Pacifika

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August 6, 2008

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Pacifika
July 21, Yoshi’s San Francisco

By Kevin Lee

I caught the Vancouver group Pacifika when they dropped into Yoshi’s San Francisco for a relaxed, intimate set on July 21. The cozy confines and friendly crowd helped spur the improvisation-friendly band, known for their sophisticated acoustic downtempo. Peruvian-born Silvana Kane, who sung mostly in Spanish, impressed with her breathy tones and guttural inflections that have drawn comparisons to chanteuses Bebel Gilberto and Shakira. Early on, the crowd bathed in the lush warmth of “Sol” and the acoustic pop of “Sweet,” where syllables took on a viscous quality, dripping out of Kane’s lips.

Performing from their new CD, Asunción (Six Degrees), Pacifika kept things loose by playing off the cuff. Through the soaring “Paloma,” the serene and tranquil “Chiquita,” the contemplative intonations from “Más y Más,” and the yearning from “Libertad,” the quartet – which includes guitarist Adam Popowitz, bassist Toby Peter, and percussionist Elliot Polsky – displayed a stylish variety of musical directions and exhibited a playfulness between tracks. While balancing acoustic, classical, and electronic guitars, Popwitz still found time to shake it to the delight of the audience.

When the crowd wooed the band back onstage for an encore, Kane coyly responded, “An encore’s a difficult thing to define.” The band followed with the unreleased “Cruces,” a vigorous and emphatic track that had the crowd nodding with pleasure. Upon its final chords, Popowitz began strumming again, while a surprised Kane took it in stride. Recalling the passing of her grandmother eight years ago (as she did on a previous track “Cuatro Hijas”), Kane launched into “Vida Lleña,” a moving tribute and the highlight of the night.

Sonic Reducer Overage: Staycation nation with Projekt Revolution, Sam McPheeters, Balmorhea, more

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August 5, 2008

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Busta Rhymes busts a move in “Dangerous” – and at Projekt Revolution at Shoreline this week.

As summer fades into a hazy, chilly miasma of Blood Marys, Krautrock beats, and high gas prices, the time has come to make the rounds at those lingering shed shows, avant-punk readings, burbling throwdowns.

A.Skillz
Sunset Promotions showcases the UK hip-hop-breakbeat turntablist, surfacing at Mighty for his first show in SF in four years. With Murphstar, AnTenNae, and Motion Potion. Fri/8, 10 p.m., $10-$15. Mighty, 119 Utah, SF. www.sunsetpromotions.net

“I’m my own worst enemy”: Linkin Park’s “Given Up.”

Projekt Revolution
A revolution in WTF! pairings begins here: Linkin Park, Chris Cornell, Bravery, Ashes Divide, Busta Rhymes, Hawthorne Heights, and Street Drum Corps. Hey maybe it’s time to check those damn assumptions; you’re breaking both your back – and mine. Sat/9, 2 p.m., $34-$77. Shoreline Amphitheatre, 1 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View. www.ticketmaster.com

Born free: Born Against back in the day.

Sam McPheeters
Take another, literary look at the local underground. The hardcore legend of Born Against fame reads from his new magazine, alongside Sarah Cathers of 16 Bitch Pileup (who will render love horoscopes from rock lyrics), Erika Anderson of Gowns (who will perform an exorcism), Tara Tavi of Amps for Christ (who will play traditional Chinese music and screen a documentary on the subject), and George Chen of KIT and Club Sandwich (who will do stand-up comedy). And yep, there’s even more. Sun/10, 7 p.m., $6-$10, 21 Grand, 416 25th St., Oakl.

Balmorhea
Austin, Texas, ambient bohos dream in elegant, string- and banjo-shaded colors. With Lazarus and Tiny Vipers. Mon/11, 8:30 p.m., $12. Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. www.cafedunord.com

Gauging hip-hop producer Presto’s ‘State of the Art’

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August 4, 2008

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PRESTO
State of the Art
(Concrete Grooves)

By Ian Ferguson

How well-known can one man be in the underground before breaking through to the big time? West Coast producer Presto, ne Chris Douglas, begs that question on the occasion of his recently released State of the Art . He’s so popular that each of the tracks boasts the lyrical stylings of a different MC: rappers ranging from New York’s CL Smooth, Sadat X, and Large Professor to fellow West Coasters Fatlip, T-Weaponz, and Blue. The disc also includes two appearances by defected Black Eyed Peas vocalist Kim Hill.

Presto’s pastiche of a production shows that he’s versed in jazz, funk, and ’70s soul. On “Pour Another Glass,” a piano groove and stereo-panning funk-horn sample support the utterances of Blu, whose whisky-tipped rhymes slip into a staccato-sung vocal part as smooth as Courvoisier.

State of the Art isn’t always a gentleman drinker – it stumbles at times. “Higher,” one of the most promising tracks on the album with its bright, Motown piano riff, fails when the soulful vocal line is transposed up an interval, then another, and at its third, loses the color and timbre of a human throat and begins to sound like Alvin the Chipmunk. Despite consistently strong beats – if not perfect, they are at least always engaging and compelling – the tracks often finish with less force or fade-outs, a weak weaning that ends a song with no closure.

Presto proves to be a competent producer in the subtle sampling of an old LP’s static; the use of a muted concert hall piano, discordant just ahead of the beat and leading the listener on; and the juggling of a variety of beats, dynamics, tensions, and flows. And he brings out the best in each MC on an album that invariably delivers.

outside lands kim

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August 1, 2008

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Radiohead Jonny Greenwood’s ‘Popcorn’ gets its West Coast premiere in SF

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August 1, 2008

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There will be “Popcorn.” Radiohead player Jonny Greenwood’s “Popcorn Superhet Receiver” will get its West Coast premiere in SF, courtesy of the Wordless Music Series, right before his group appears at Outside Lands music fest in Golden Gate Park. This press release came over the transom yesterday:

“On August 21, 2008, New York’s intrepid Wordless Music Series concludes its ’07-’08 season with a surprise San Francisco debut, reprising the centerpiece of the inaugural Wordless Music Orchestra concerts from last January by presenting the West Coast premiere of “Popcorn Superhet Receiver.”

“The night before Radiohead takes the stage at the Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival, Wordless Music will feature composer and multi-instrumentalist Jonny Greenwood’s Popcorn Superhet Receiver for string orchestra. Maestro Benjamin Shwartz, resident conductor of the San Francisco Symphony, will lead the Magik*Magik Orchestra in a program of music by Arvo Pärt, a major influence on the music of Greenwood and Radiohead, along with Bay Area composers Fred Frith, Mason Bates, and John Adams.

Discovering the dreamy mysteries of Masonic

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August 1, 2008

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Who are you, Masonic? Courtesy of the band’s MySpace site.

By Todd Lavoie

Precious few things in this world make for better simple pleasures than picking up a CD on a whim at the record shop, slapping it in the stereo, and having it slap you back – in the best possible way, of course.

Call me silly, but I love the thrill of discovery, the element of surprise which comes with taking a chance on the unknown and finding it to be quite the adept kisser of earholes. As of late, I’ve been reveling in the newness of an Austin, Texas, band called Masonic. I’d bought their 2007 self-released Things I Am Guilty Of full-length on a recent trip to their hometown, based entirely on a glowing recommendation written by a staffer at the full-afternoon-requiring shopper’s paradise known as Waterloo Records. Sure, I’d expected to like it: the blurb referenced both Stereolab and the Jesus and Mary Chain, as I recall, which is never a bad thing – but I seem to have already moved beyond the mere “liking” stage and am now somewhere firmly ensconced in infatuation territory. Or maybe this feeling is more like evangelism: after all, I feel compelled to stand at a busy street corner and sing Masonic’s virtues to anyone who’d listen. Since I’m not a big fan of public speaking, however, I guess I’ll direct my hosannas to the written word instead.

Masonic’s Web site and MySpace page, while both current and apparently regularly updated, do not provide a great deal of information about the band. The same goes for the liner notes of last year’s Things I Am Guilty Of CD. Thus, I cannot tell you how the band was formed, or how long they have been around. (And if anyone out there knows more about these folks, thanks in advance for sharing!) I have yet to hear their earlier self-released recordings (Never Stood a Chance, Without Warning, and Too Far Too Fast Too Soon), so I will focus on the most recent release.

Carbs rebound: ahoy gourmet donuts

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July 31, 2008

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See you latte: Lemon and thyme and vanilla bean donuts with caffeine side. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

Remember turn-of-the-century Atkins? Remember pushing that bread basket away and diving head first into a slab of sirloin? Well, maybe those nutty notions are ready to go the way of cut-glass Jello salad and all-pineapple diets. Carbs are back – big time. Proof: the line forming every morning – much earlier than you’d expect – at Dynamo Donuts and Coffee at 2760 24th St., San Francisco.

It’s those little niblets of fried batter that are making it happen. Personally, I’ve been waiting for the donut revival to hit any moment: few treats can beat a piping hot wad of cake dough covered in sugar or glaze or whatever, as the ideal desert. Add in the lovely, imaginative, only-in-Ess-Eff flavor combos at Dynamo Donut and you’ve got a hit. Enough of a hit that the line gently wound out of the almost brand new little stand on two separate weekday morns.

So far I’ve tried the lemon-thyme donut, the apricot honey-stuffed and iced number, the spiced chocolate, the salted caramel with fleur de sel, and the vanilla bean, all priced at $2 to $2.50. The lemon-thyme is bedecked with glaze, but the petite flecks of lemon and herb still peek out from their cakey home. The spiced chocolate was complex and amazing – my fave and worth the extra 50 cents. I even dug the apricot – I, who otherwise despise ‘cots. All appear to be low on the grease factor, and amazingly not too sweet despite the thick swathe of frosting and the liberal amounts of sugar coating the top and bottom of each donut. More, please.

P.S. I can’t wait to try the maple-glazed apple and bacon number, though I’ve no clue when that comes around next. Better to keep it a surprise. And word has it the current three flavors – which often sell out early – will soon expand to seven.

DYNAMO DONUTS AND COFFEE
Mon.-Sat., 7 a.m.-5 p.m.
2760 24th St. at Hampshire, SF
(415) 920-1978

O Tara! Ex-Rodan and Retsin player steps out from behind the canvas

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July 31, 2008

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Ah, Tara Jane O’Neil – how I admired her indie rock Rodan project from afar and dug her raw-as-rain country-folk Retsin collaboration with Cynthia Nelson. Now the currently Portland, Ore., resident is back in town and showing off all sides of her fine, multi-faceted self: she’ll showcase her latest acoustic musings – found on **In Circles** (Touch and Go) – at Hemlock Tavern on Saturday, Aug. 2; exhibiting her artwork alongside pieces by Vanessa Renwick at Needles and Pens’ “Cackle Cackle Rackle,” which opens Friday, Aug. 1; and, word has it, will give a “magical PowerPoint presentation” at Sadies Flying Elephant, Sunday Aug. 3. Whew. Plenty of opps to catch the woman who makes “evocative dream music based on the buzz and hum of the city’s late night symphonies” (so says The Wire).

TARA JANE O’NEIL
With PALMS and Katy Davidson
Sat/2, 9:30 p.m., $7
Hemlock Tavern
1131 Polk, SF
(415) 923-0923

‘Secret’ no more: Rex Sexsmith makes a graceful ‘Exit’

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July 30, 2008

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RON SEXSMITH
Exit Strategy Of The Soul
(Yep Roc)

By Todd Lavoie

Modesty, thy name is Ron Sexsmith. Or, that’s the way it seems from what I’ve read, anyway. The Toronto singer-songwriter has repeatedly, gracefully brushed aside assertions by others that his work is under-recognized, stating in interviews that he has never expected a larger audience and is merely grateful for those who have discovered his work.

As wonderfully “aw, shucks” in spirit as Sexsmith’s replies might be, there’s something criminal about such a careful craftsman of sharp, insightful pop songs remaining so consistently underneath the radar over the course of a double-decade-plus career. Hell, both Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney – who, if memory serves me well, seem to have penned a couple of catchy numbers themselves over the years – have lavished praise upon the guy. That should count for something, right?

Still, things are looking up: Sexsmith’s profile has been given a nice little nudge as of late, thanks to his connection with fellow Canadian vocalist (Leslie) Feist. His lovely composition “Secret Heart” – originally on his 1995 self-titled major-label debut on Interscope, released a full decade after self-issuing his first cassette – was treated to an equally resplendent read on Feist’s 2005 breakthrough Let It Die (Arts and Crafts/Cherrytree/Interscope/Universal).

Stella of ‘Project Runway’ lost member of Ramones?

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July 29, 2008

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Forget about Michael Kors and judge for yourself:

Hitting the Bullseye: a young person’s guide to safe shoot-’em-ups

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July 29, 2008

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A selection of firearms at the Bullseye Indoor Shooting Range.

By Ian Ferguson

Fast approaching my 21st birthday, I realized that I had yet to shoot a real gun – unthinkable for an amendment-abiding American patriot. Each year’s 30,000 firearm-related deaths in the United States aside, when Bruce Willis knocks that gun from the hostage-taker’s hand and it skitters across the floor to stop at my feet, I had better be able to shoot it well. Imagine how much the other hostages would hate you if you messed that one up. So I drove out to Bullseye Indoor Shooting Range in San Rafael for an hour on the range.

I’ve a few excuses for having never shot a gun: my parents. As long as I lived under their roof, their patience topped out at Nerf. There’s also my homecounty, Marin – for all its open spaces it doesn’t much tolerate guns, probably because if you fire into what appears to be open space, nine times out of 10 you’ll shoot out the window of some hedge fund manager’s house nestled invisibly among forest and hill. And there’s my wallet: shooting isn’t cheap. This trip left a hole in it as large as any in the targets. Maybe that’s why the war costs so much…wait, nope, forgot about Blackwater.

Located in the warehouse district of San Rafael, Bullseye’s range fits into an unassuming, gray, single-story concrete shell of a building. (I have no idea how they keep the bullets from ricocheting around the inner walls, or piercing through them.) Inside, guns and targets line the walls as the mostly male, mostly crew-cut, mostly Army-fit staff signs shooters in from behind a glass display case. On a backpack leaning against the cash register I noticed two patches: an American flag and a military patch reading “Pork-Eating Crusaders.”

Pitchfork fest day three: Tim Harrington trashed, Wu-Tang Clan clean up, Aussies take over

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July 29, 2008

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Sweet: Apples in Stereo. Photo by Matt Wysocki.

By K. Tighe

At every festival, I can’t help but keeping a running contest in my head. Friday night, July 18, went to Public Enemy, but Mission of Burma was only a smidge behind. Saturday, July 19, is a bit more complicated: !!! gave a raucous, undeniably fun showing, but Jarvis Cocker’s sleek, seasoned set was unforgettable. Of course, I’ve seen !!! countless times, and have seen them perform better countless times, and Jarvis was stubborn with the Pulp catalog – which means Saturday goes to Fleet Foxes, whose festival-suited, harmony-packed performance gained them thousands of fans in the span of 45 minutes.

Sunday, July 20, is a whole different animal: the final day of Pitchfork Music Festival 2008 boasts a lineup that no doubt kept many an indecisive hipster tossing in bed on Saturday night. With most of the heat packed at the end of the night, there was either going to be a shitload of running around or a lot of regrets.

Abiding Assistant and I arrived at the park just as Boris began. Between the fog machine sputtering in the blazing sun, the tight, a special appearance by guitarist Michio Kurihara (who collaborated with the trio on Rainbow, and the drummer who dove from behind a bright red kit into the crowd – he got some impressive distance, too – it’s safe to say that Boris effectively brought the rock. After the Japanese metal trio left the stage I saw something I hadn’t seen in years: a genuine call for an encore.

Musical “Buddies” who play together…

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July 28, 2008

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Sax machine: Paul Costuros, left, with his band Death Sentence: Panda!

This just in from Paul Costuros of Death Sentence: Panda!, Murder Murder, Total Shutdown, et al:

“Welcome to the first installment of Buddies! A bunch of friends hanging out in a bar (the Knockout) playing their five favorite songs. Not genre specific so you might hear Wolf Eyes’ “Stabbed in the Face” played next to Britney Spears’ “The Zone” (both good songs).

“This Monday, July 28, free at the Knockout from 10 p.m.-2 a.m., will be the following people (in no particular order):”

Chris Rolls
Eric Bauer
Eric Landmark
Eric Park
Justin Labo
Lila Holland
Diana Hayes
Dave Hoag
Emily Jocson
Cristina Jocson
Michael Doyle
Ashley Hibbs
Paul Allan
Rob Spector
Sarah Bernat
Kevin Woodruff
Antonio
and maybe Jenny Hoyston and/or Ellie Erickson

Pitchfork fest day two: Brits, mud people, and murder

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July 28, 2008

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Sucking? Vampire Weekend. All photos by Matt Wysocki.

By K. Tighe

I’m a bit of an evil sister. You see, I promised my little bro a good time during Pitchfork Music Festival. Kevin (the other K. Tighe), who is your typical unemployed drummer, flew in from Arizona under the auspice of a fun-filled weekend of great music – I never told him he’d have to work for it. This makes him something of an unwilling assistant, but since he’s preconditioned to do whatever his big sister tells him to, this also makes him quite abiding. So from here on out, we’ll call him my abiding assistant. His chief responsibilities include fetching beer, letting me know whenever the drummer fucks up, and lighting my cigarettes. Oh, and making breakfast. He’s a genius with eggs, which is why we didn’t arrive at the fest until the Caribou set was almost over.

It was clear the Caribou set went over remarkably well, and we managed to catch the crowd’s favorable reaction to the last songs as we headed over to the Aluminum stage for Fleet Foxes. It had rained all morning, leaving Union Park a soggy mess. Festival organizers attempted to clean things up a bit with wood chips and sod, but with little success. An ominous prairie sky loomed overhead as the Seattle quintet took the stage.

Fleet Foxes shine on.

The harmony-laden Fleet Foxes seem like they’d do better on a sunny day, but once they broke into the a capella serenade of “Sun Giant,” an ode to seasonal changes that rings like gospel and swells like field music, it was clear that undesirable weather wasn’t going to hold them back. Some of the festival’s trademark sound difficulties began to crop up toward the beginning of the set, but they quickly subsided – due, in no small part, to a massive effort on behalf of festival organizers to completely overhaul and improve the sound this year, which made an enormous difference throughout the weekend. Fleet Foxes spent the rest of the set doing their vest-wearing shaggy brethren proud, with tunes that managed to conjure notes from the Beach Boys as much as Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The crowd reaction was strong throughout, but swelled considerably during the impressive harmony showcase of “White Winter Hymnal.”

Pitchfork fest day one: Mission accomplished, believe the hype, and Seba-don’t,

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July 25, 2008

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MOB vs. the world? Mission of Burma at Pitchfork. Photo by Kevin Tighe.

By K. Tighe

We arrived in Chicago’s Union Park at the tail end of a 15-hour drive. Or, more specifically, the tale end of a one 15-hour drive, one backwoods Maryland carnival crabcake, one unfortunate bout of heat stroke, 12 too many energy drinks, three regretful sausage biscuits, and yet another 15-hour drive. But we arrived.

Just in time to hear the delightfully over-the-top punk whine of “All I wanted was a Pepsi” floating over from the Connector stage. Soon Mission of Burma’s Roger Miller, after chiding himself for being too old, was telling the patchy crowd, “Everybody put on your dancing shoes,” before knocking out a few strums and reconsidering, “OK, take ’em back off. It seemed like such a good idea to do that one, but as everybody out there knows, the next song is …”

Why does track order matter? Because this was Friday night, July 18, at the Pitchfork Music Festival, and the influential Boston post-punks had been invited by All Tomorrow Parties’ “Don’t Look Back” series to enlighten a new generation of hipsters with their 1982 opus, Vs. Enlighten they did: although the audience was still filtering in, Mission of Burma wooed even the reluctant Jumbo-tron watchers waiting for Public Enemy on the Aluminum stage.

Big Sur rises: Festival in the Forest offers a woody getdown and benefit

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July 25, 2008

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This in from the (((folkYEAH!))) producers:

(((folkYEAH!))) presents in Big Sur
FESTIVAL IN THE FOREST
FERNWOOD RESORT in the CAMPGROUND
Friday, Sept. 26, and Saturday, Sept. 27
(Benefiting the All Volunteer Big Sur Fire Brigade)

Friday starting at 4 p.m. at the outdoor stage (the event includes indoor and outdoor stages)
Entrance Band (Fri. and Sat. sets)
Megapuss (featuring Devendra Banhart)
Citay
Matt Baldwin Electric Band
Lemonade
Tussle
Fools Gold
White Hills

Saturday starting at high noon on the outdoor stage
Silver Jews
Port O’Brien
Beach House
Entrance Band
The Fresh and Onlys
Sleepy Sun
Little Joy (with Fabrizio Moretti of the Strokes)
Little Wings
Sam Flax Keener Band
The Parsons Red Heads
Palo Colorado
Stay High

More to be announced.

note: A special fire brigade benefit is also planned for Sunday, Sept. 28, with Pegi Young Band and very special guests.

99 problems but Noel Gallagher ain’t one

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July 24, 2008

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By Laura Mojonnier

As chief songwriter of England’s longest-declining band, Oasis, Noel Gallagher is prone to saying controversial things that ignite highly amusing faux-feuds. The charge this time: telling the BBC that Jay-Z headlining Glastonbury, a festival with “a tradition of guitar music,” was a bad idea. “I’m not having hip-hop at Glastonbury,” he lamented. “It’s wrong.”

Thankfully for the sake of our entertainment, Jay-Z responded the best way he knew how: by opening his June 28 festival set with the shittiest rendition of “Wonderwall” ever performed live (Oasis shows included). Occasionally strumming an electric guitar that hung around his neck, Jay-Z led the crowd in a singalong before segueing to “99 Problems.”

Sigur Ros’ latest evokes ice palaces, processionals

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July 22, 2008

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SIGUR ROS
Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust
(XL)

By Ian Ferguson

Almost a decade has passed since Sigur Ros’ 1999 release Ágætis Byrjun (Fat Cat/Smekkleysa) established itself as a masterful work. Arriving after two other acclaimed albums, the band’s Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust (XL), sounds like its most celebratory release to date – a triumphant recording fittingly produced by a group whose name translates as “Victory Rose.”

The first track boldly opens the disc. Evoking images of a Roman military parade, four guitar chords, panned alternately across the right then left speaker, count down to youths cartwheeling and dancing in pristine white togas, singing “lalalala” in high falsetto. Picture them spreading flower petals for the approaching processional, as Sigur Ros delivers a hard-driving drum pulse and soldiers, fists beaten against shields, boots stamped in time upon the ground, march double-time. Lead vocalist Jon Thor Birgisson sings above all this — the returning hero, chariot-borne, composed, able to silence his soldiers, or excite their enthusiasm. The sound supports him as much as a parade would its hero, home to claim his triumph.

The following track, “Inní mér syngur vitleysingur,” continues the theme, opening with an Olympic horn fanfare sample taken from faded analog tape so pale that the first track, “Gobbledigook,” stands out in brilliant contrast. The first song sounds so gloriously triumphant that it speaks more to the band’s past achievements than to the rest of the album, which establishes the timbre of its voice in the second track. Appropriate to Sigur Ros’ homeland, it’s a timbre of ice.