It was a bit of a last minute decision/stroke of good luck that I was able to attend The Flaming Lips' show at Terminal 5, part of a series of shows commemorating Spin Magazine's 25 anniversary. The Lips weren't a band I was superfamiliar with, apart from The W.A.N.D., which I first heard from that one commercial and thought was awesome. I had heard that their shows were pure spectacle: the type of concert you just *had* to see before you died. Well, they're in town, I'm in town, I was lucky to get my hands on some tickets, so off I was.
The Lips had played Summerstage at Central Park the night before, and I was kind of disappointed I didn't catch that show because, from what I've heard of their songs, Summerstage, for some reason, perhaps because being an outdoor venue tricks you into thinking it's bigger than it is, seemed a more appropriate venue for them. If I'm to expect The Greatest Show On Earth, I want to see it in a location that's expansive and lacks the illusion of boundaries, not in some cramped, reconverted old warehouse-y looking building. Being in Terminal 5 seemed constricting to them, which was worrisome to me, but probably hardly an obstacle to them.
Despite arriving at Terminal just as doors opened, there was already a crowd of about 100 on the floor. Not having the energy to stand there all night and having to fight for my spot with some lame crowd-pusher, I went up to the first mezzanine and managed to secure a decent spot there. There were some Spin-related hijinx happening up there (some sort of photo kiosk? Eh.) but it was pretty clear while the opening acts performed. Speaking of which, first act up was Fang Island, who I wasn't too impressed with because they seemed light on lyrics and didn't have enough stage presence to keep me compelled, plus they kind of dressed like '90s mall kids with giant hoodies, which seems to be what I remember most about them.
As the crew sets up for The Lips, Wayne Coyne walks out on stage to oversee and help out, and takes a moment to cordially address those on the stage that they ought to finish up whatever they're eating or drinking before the show starts because... well, they'll find out. He exits the stage, the setup is complete and the lights go on. Showtime!
Fast-forwarding a bit, the event happens that Wayne has warned about: he rolls over the audience in a giant hamster ball. Apparently, bragging rights are associated with being in the audience and saying you've had the opportunity to touch this magical bubble ball. He tries to cover as much of the audience as he can before he rolls back to the stage and the show resumes in a relatively standard method. Rewinding to the event BEFORE the giant plastic bubble... it should have been evident to me by just their name alone that The Flaming Lips have a fascination with women. The electronic screen lining the back of the stage illuminates bright blue, and a woman dancing naked appears, magnified to larger than life proportions. Her dancing is of the old-fashioned burlesque type, nothing scandalous, but still, I thought about the handful of elementary-school-aged kids I saw with their parents in the venue and how somebody's gonna get The Sex Talk when they get home. The woman continues gyrates for a few minutes on the screen until she sits down spread eagle facing the audience. Then the band pops out from behind the screen, giving the illusion as if they're coming out of the woman on screen's vagina, essentially giving birth to them. THERE ARE NO WORDS. This is basically a theme throughout: having the initial notion that these images of women are just being seen as sex objects, when they are meant to be interpreted as nurturers. Early in their setlist, The Lips perform "She Don't Use Jelly," something that sounds like it could have vaguely scandalous themes, but it's an ode to a mother/caretaker type whose dishes are always lacking a certain kitchen condiment. For another song, the group sang while a schoolgirl appeared on screen, a symbol of innocence. It isn't until the final song of the night and probably the band's best known, "Do You Realize?" an emotional love song that are clear on Wayne's face, magnified on the screen behind him, that you realize that Coyne means to put women on a pedestal and not objectify.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Way I See It
Once upon a time on a very hot and humid Saturday summer afternoon, I dragged my boyfriend to a Raphael Saadiq concert. What I like about my boyfriend is that he's pretty open to being dragged to concert after concert because, as a concert newbie, he always takes it as an experience to learn more about music, whereas many of my friends aren't really about musical exploration and, unless there's free booze, start to look bored after a while. I guess I've been a Saadiq fan from way back: I distinctly remember spending a summer at my grandparents' house enjoying the wonders of MTV, and my cousin diving for the remote control to turn up the volume whenever Tony Toni Tone's "It Feels Good" video came on because it was HER FAVORITE SONG!!!! I was also vaguely familiar with Saadiq's other musical outing, Lucy Pearl, alongside an ex-En Voguer, best known for "Dance Tonight."
For some time now, Raphael's been pursuing a solo group, which finally reached my consciousness when I kinda sorta stole my dad's copy of The Way I See It (sorry, Dad, but it's the best gift you never gave me!) Chock full of Motown-esque retro throwbacks (and the obligatory Stevie Wonder cameo), I was instantly in love because it was incredibly catchy with a definite modern edge. Some Motown love songs sound downright chaste and outdated-ly old-fashioned by a standard of today's lyrics (sorry), but Raphael manages to take the old-school sound and make it relateable to today's audience.
The day of the show I implore to my boyfriend that we get to the show early so we get a good spot. We arrive at Central Park bright and early, emphasis on the bright. At 2PM, the sun is beating down on us and the show hasn't even started yet. I know my boyfriend despises being outdoors in extreme heat, but he was such a trooper. First, young rapper TK Wonder comes out. I thought her beats were really catchy, but, perhaps due to nerves, her rhymes were a little off-rhythm and her stage presence consisted mostly of stomping back and forth across the stage. I think she could be great in the future, but her most memorable feature were her awesome pants that I *think* were tie-dyed, with rainbow fringe along the sides. Amazingness.
Next up was soul singer Aloe Blacc, who I joked had styled himself similarly to a sartorially-restrained pimp from a blaxploitation film, with dark red bell bottom pants, a white button-up shirt and an animal print (perhaps zebra?) shirt. Seducing the audience with his smooth voice singing his own original tracks as well as covers like "My Cherie Amour," his most memorable performance was a bluesy version of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" that pretty much drove the audience crazy.
By the time Raphael hit the stage, the audience were just pools of sweat lying on Summerstage's astroturf, trying to keep it together (my boyfriend waited forever on line to get bottles of water, only to be told that he would have to get on another line and wait again. Luckily we had to settle for some mango sorbet) but his energy was so high the audience couldn't help but match him. I was expecting a setlist tailored to his solo work, but he was awesome enough to cover his entire career. Hearing "It Never Rains (In Southern California)" transported me back 20 years to a memory of me singing that song in the back of our rental van during a family vacation to (a rainy) Florida. A vision in a white suit, Raphael could no longer maintain the appearance of feeling as cool as he is, and soon peeled off his layers as he sweat right along with the crowd. And it must be noted that his backup singers, one male and one female, put in nearly the same effort as Saadiq plus added dance moves. The female singer all but bared her soul with her voice during her solo for "Just One Kiss." Although he performed a lot of medleys of his older songs, just hearing snippets of "The Blues" made me just want to stop everything and do The Running Man. Unfortunately, Saadiq didn't perform my favorite song from The Way I See It, "Staying In Love," I walked away a happy girl and with newfound respect for a performer who gives everything, even when it feels like an inferno outside.
For some time now, Raphael's been pursuing a solo group, which finally reached my consciousness when I kinda sorta stole my dad's copy of The Way I See It (sorry, Dad, but it's the best gift you never gave me!) Chock full of Motown-esque retro throwbacks (and the obligatory Stevie Wonder cameo), I was instantly in love because it was incredibly catchy with a definite modern edge. Some Motown love songs sound downright chaste and outdated-ly old-fashioned by a standard of today's lyrics (sorry), but Raphael manages to take the old-school sound and make it relateable to today's audience.
The day of the show I implore to my boyfriend that we get to the show early so we get a good spot. We arrive at Central Park bright and early, emphasis on the bright. At 2PM, the sun is beating down on us and the show hasn't even started yet. I know my boyfriend despises being outdoors in extreme heat, but he was such a trooper. First, young rapper TK Wonder comes out. I thought her beats were really catchy, but, perhaps due to nerves, her rhymes were a little off-rhythm and her stage presence consisted mostly of stomping back and forth across the stage. I think she could be great in the future, but her most memorable feature were her awesome pants that I *think* were tie-dyed, with rainbow fringe along the sides. Amazingness.
Next up was soul singer Aloe Blacc, who I joked had styled himself similarly to a sartorially-restrained pimp from a blaxploitation film, with dark red bell bottom pants, a white button-up shirt and an animal print (perhaps zebra?) shirt. Seducing the audience with his smooth voice singing his own original tracks as well as covers like "My Cherie Amour," his most memorable performance was a bluesy version of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" that pretty much drove the audience crazy.
By the time Raphael hit the stage, the audience were just pools of sweat lying on Summerstage's astroturf, trying to keep it together (my boyfriend waited forever on line to get bottles of water, only to be told that he would have to get on another line and wait again. Luckily we had to settle for some mango sorbet) but his energy was so high the audience couldn't help but match him. I was expecting a setlist tailored to his solo work, but he was awesome enough to cover his entire career. Hearing "It Never Rains (In Southern California)" transported me back 20 years to a memory of me singing that song in the back of our rental van during a family vacation to (a rainy) Florida. A vision in a white suit, Raphael could no longer maintain the appearance of feeling as cool as he is, and soon peeled off his layers as he sweat right along with the crowd. And it must be noted that his backup singers, one male and one female, put in nearly the same effort as Saadiq plus added dance moves. The female singer all but bared her soul with her voice during her solo for "Just One Kiss." Although he performed a lot of medleys of his older songs, just hearing snippets of "The Blues" made me just want to stop everything and do The Running Man. Unfortunately, Saadiq didn't perform my favorite song from The Way I See It, "Staying In Love," I walked away a happy girl and with newfound respect for a performer who gives everything, even when it feels like an inferno outside.
Guac Rock!
What do you get when you mix a cruise ship, live music and bowls and bowls of the city's best guacamole? You get Guac Rock. Months before the Guac Rock event, The Bell House hosted a competition called Guactacular, in which avocado aficionados could whip up a batch of their best recipes and submit them to be judged by a panel of guacamole professionals while bystanders can nibble on the entries while enjoying tequila during the festive Cinco de Mayo-themed event. The winners of this event would then go on to showcase their foodstuffs for the revelers at Guac Rock, part of the Rocks Off concert cruise series.
There isn't much better than a boat ride down the scenic Hudson River (camera shutters went crazy as we passed the Statue of Liberty and a picturesque thunderstorm in the distance). The organizers made sure to continue the Cinco de Mayo theme (despite it being July) as much as possible by selling t-shirts, some of which cutely read "I (Nacho) NY" and giving away thick black I-look-like-I'm-in-an-old-timey-shootout mustaches, which I suppose was to help us get into a character one needs to fully enjoy one's guacamole.
The first band up was scruffy punk band Dry Feet. It felt a bit awkward seeing them perform because, at that point, the audience was more interested in the guacamole than the live music. After they finished thrashing about, The Beets were up next. Their sound was a bit mellower and easier to take, drawing a bigger audience of guacamole-sated fans. Finally, the headlining act, North Highlands, took the stage (or, at least, the best makeshift stage a small ship could have). The Brooklyn-based band let loose with their catchy synth-poppy music, a bit surprising as the two previous bands had been a bit harder edged. Led by keyboardist and singer Brenda Malvini, the songstress sweetly crooned while taking swigs of beer in between songs. Guacamole be damned, nearly the whole ship stood around to watch them, and the show even got a bit rowdy towards the end when a seemly inebriated fan (or a possible friend of the band), drunk on either life or nachos, ran up and put her arms around Malvini mid-song, causing the two to fall over a time or two while the rest of the band continued without a hitch. The crowd enjoyed North Highlands enough to merit a second encore, which the band obliged. I knew I was gonna have a good time with just guacamole alone, but North Highlands made for a night more fun than I expected. While I was there, I heard rumors of a possible Salsa Rock. I know I'll be in line for that.
There isn't much better than a boat ride down the scenic Hudson River (camera shutters went crazy as we passed the Statue of Liberty and a picturesque thunderstorm in the distance). The organizers made sure to continue the Cinco de Mayo theme (despite it being July) as much as possible by selling t-shirts, some of which cutely read "I (Nacho) NY" and giving away thick black I-look-like-I'm-in-an-old-timey-shootout mustaches, which I suppose was to help us get into a character one needs to fully enjoy one's guacamole.
The first band up was scruffy punk band Dry Feet. It felt a bit awkward seeing them perform because, at that point, the audience was more interested in the guacamole than the live music. After they finished thrashing about, The Beets were up next. Their sound was a bit mellower and easier to take, drawing a bigger audience of guacamole-sated fans. Finally, the headlining act, North Highlands, took the stage (or, at least, the best makeshift stage a small ship could have). The Brooklyn-based band let loose with their catchy synth-poppy music, a bit surprising as the two previous bands had been a bit harder edged. Led by keyboardist and singer Brenda Malvini, the songstress sweetly crooned while taking swigs of beer in between songs. Guacamole be damned, nearly the whole ship stood around to watch them, and the show even got a bit rowdy towards the end when a seemly inebriated fan (or a possible friend of the band), drunk on either life or nachos, ran up and put her arms around Malvini mid-song, causing the two to fall over a time or two while the rest of the band continued without a hitch. The crowd enjoyed North Highlands enough to merit a second encore, which the band obliged. I knew I was gonna have a good time with just guacamole alone, but North Highlands made for a night more fun than I expected. While I was there, I heard rumors of a possible Salsa Rock. I know I'll be in line for that.
Emphasis On the "Cut"
Despite weeks of anticipation after which Cut Copy was announced to be playing one of Williamsburg Waterfront's All Saints Jelly pool parties, I walked away from this past Sunday's show fairly disappointed. Much of my disappointment lies in the fact that their setlist focused entirely on their previous release, In Ghost Colours, and ignoring their brilliant Bright Like Neon Love (don't you just love that title? It's one of my favorites!) and some songs from their upcoming album. I managed to take a picture of Cut Copy's setlist before their show started. Actually, they had two setlists, one listing BLNL's "That Was Just a Dream" and one without. So they were at least considering playing their old stuff.
I had the privilege of seeing Cut Copy perform at Studio B a couple of years ago, not long before In Ghost Colours came out. It's a really small venue (does it still exist? I read that its owners put it up on the market) which made it easy to see what energetic performers they were and how contagious that energy was. One of the best concert moments I've had was bouncing around while they played "Zap Zap." Everybody was just bugging out. It's always so much fun to see guitarist Tim Hoey spaz out on his guitar (and the spaz was back in fine form at Jelly); the song is so great, you just lose control.
I hate to think that I'm becoming one of those concert-goers who complains about an artist selling out because they no longer play their older catalogue and instead choose to only perform their newer, more commercial songs. But I did notice a difference in Cut Copy's performance from their Studio B appearance and their Jelly show. And yeah, I expect to see a difference, seeing as that was several years and albums ago, and they're more grown up and experienced, having worked with DFA producers and just coming off a giant Lollapalooza performance this past Saturday. But they seemed much more controlled this time around. Frontman Dan Whitford doesn't have much of a singing voice. It's quite monotonous, which kind of works with their electronic melodies. But at Jelly, he came off as rather robotic, wearing a button-up shirt and a pair of slacks which seemed fairly ridiculous for an concert advertised as A POOL PARTY. His onstage gestures to try to inspire the crowd just seemed stiff and he did have moments where he got away from himself and lost in the music towards the end-- he even attempted jumping into the audience, but the microphone just got all feedback-y and he had to be rescued by a roadie. Awkward.-- but it seems Cut Copy's lost its sense of fun. At least I can still count on Tim and his spazziness.
I had the privilege of seeing Cut Copy perform at Studio B a couple of years ago, not long before In Ghost Colours came out. It's a really small venue (does it still exist? I read that its owners put it up on the market) which made it easy to see what energetic performers they were and how contagious that energy was. One of the best concert moments I've had was bouncing around while they played "Zap Zap." Everybody was just bugging out. It's always so much fun to see guitarist Tim Hoey spaz out on his guitar (and the spaz was back in fine form at Jelly); the song is so great, you just lose control.
I hate to think that I'm becoming one of those concert-goers who complains about an artist selling out because they no longer play their older catalogue and instead choose to only perform their newer, more commercial songs. But I did notice a difference in Cut Copy's performance from their Studio B appearance and their Jelly show. And yeah, I expect to see a difference, seeing as that was several years and albums ago, and they're more grown up and experienced, having worked with DFA producers and just coming off a giant Lollapalooza performance this past Saturday. But they seemed much more controlled this time around. Frontman Dan Whitford doesn't have much of a singing voice. It's quite monotonous, which kind of works with their electronic melodies. But at Jelly, he came off as rather robotic, wearing a button-up shirt and a pair of slacks which seemed fairly ridiculous for an concert advertised as A POOL PARTY. His onstage gestures to try to inspire the crowd just seemed stiff and he did have moments where he got away from himself and lost in the music towards the end-- he even attempted jumping into the audience, but the microphone just got all feedback-y and he had to be rescued by a roadie. Awkward.-- but it seems Cut Copy's lost its sense of fun. At least I can still count on Tim and his spazziness.
Friday, August 6, 2010
"Tell Your Neighbors To Give You Some Personal Space... It's a F*cking Rock Show!"
So, the biggest music event of the year rolls around, and I had no tickets. Who would have thought Arcade Fire would be playing Madison Square Garden, and who would've thought they'd actually play sold out shows? I had a chance to see them back in 2007 at Randall's Island. I bought the tickets because I specifically wanted to see LCD Soundsystem, so Arcade Fire was just a bonus. But still living in New Jersey at the time, the commute to the island was HORRENDOUS: there was NJ Transit to the subway to the bus to some walking to another shuttle until I finally arrived at Randall. At the end of the two-hour trip, I was left tired and paranoid that the trip home would be just as awful. So as soon as LCD was over, I high-tailed off the island before Arcade's headlining act. I never regretted that until yesterday.
Being a concert junkie in New York with little money is no easy feat, and as badly as I wanted to go, there is no practical way I can afford MSG ticket prices (and ticket fees too, Ticketbastard) these days. But in an incredible stroke of luck, the AMAZING people at Partners In Health awarded me a pair of tickets to see them. (Partners In Health work to help disadvantaged people around the world, but are right now focused on disaster relief in Haiti. Arcade Fire partnered with them to raise awareness and is also donating a percentage of their ticket sales to Haiti.)
I was beyond thrilled at having the opportunity to attend the show. I had already had the pleasure of having seen both Owen Pallett AND Spoon twice already this year. My boyfriend is a big Final Fantasy fan and I was eager to formally introduce to him the wonders of Spoon. (Seriously, Spoon's semi-secret show at Mercury Lounge is one of the best shows I've ever been to, and there have been many. I feel like nowadays there are so few shows that people can attend where you can drop your guard and gush about how much you love a band to complete strangers instead of trying so hard to seem detached and above it all. Also? Waiting on line for my ticket, I caught a glimpse of the band arriving via cab (BADASS!) and Britt walked so close past me he was within slapping distance. EEEEEEE!!!!)
The day of the Arcade Fire show arrives and I'm jittery with excitement. I'm also anxious because, although I was told my tickets would be held at will call, very often signals get crossed and somebody misses the memo and OOPS! Somebody's shit out of luck. I would've felt much better had the tickets been securely in my hands, but there was nothing I could do but wait. Since we had a bit of time to kill before the show, my boyfriend suggested we head down to MSG early to pick up the tickets and just hang out and read until the show started. Arriving a bit before 5, I head to the will call booth at Madison Square Garden only to be told my tickets were not yet available nor was my name even in the system and to check back in about an hour. An hour passes, still no tickets. I'm trying hard to stay calm, but these are ARCADE FIRE TICKETS hanging in the balance. I didn't know if the woman I had spoken to about the contest would be available, or, being in Boston, if there was anything she could do to help in case my tickets didn't come through. I keep checking at will call only to be rebuffed and told to come back. I was even recommended to speak to the folks at the Partners In Health booth, whom I was sure probably couldn't help me.
Finally, it's 7:55. Showtime's in five minutes. I head to the booth with a heavy heart, expecting the worst news. Against all my sense of pessimism, my tickets are FINALLY here! The cashier, handing over the goods, explains that we're general admission and we'll have to use a different entrance. I thanked him and walked away. Perusing the tickets, I realize that we've got floor tickets. FLOOR TICKETS. TO ARCADE FIRE. I honestly couldn't believe it. My first concert ever was Michael Jackson at Madison Square Garden in 1988 and we were way up in the nosebleed seats. My life has never been this good. My boyfriend and I take off running to get to the general admission entrance outside and around the corner.
Just as we arrive, we heard plucks of Owen Pallett's violin. Unfortunately, his set was really short, and instead of his usual clever onstage banter, he just seemed really in awe of the experience. He humbly thanked the audience for coming early to see him, noting that "it's the quality of the fans, not the quantity." Some time later, Britt Daniel takes to the dark stage on his own with nothing but Christmas lights strung around him. Spoon's set starts off with Me and the Bean, then the rest of the band joins him for their cover of The Damned's Love Song. I'll accept that I'll probably never hear Finer Feelings, my favorite Spoon song, live, but I'm in disbelief they didn't even play Don't You Evah. I think Spoon is best suited for more intimate venues, but they knew they had to bring their A-game and put on a great, lively show.
I didn't know what to expect of Arcade Fire before they came on stage. I kind of thought they'd be all stoic and light on the crowd banter and just do a straightforward performance (kind of like Interpol at the Creator's Project: technically great but emotionally boring) because they come off as rather self-serious. Win Butler comes out on stage with a kind of hillbilly farmer haircut and Regine Chassagne wears a glittery dress and dances around like a precocious kid, kind of like those dead-eyed toddlers you see on reality shows about kiddie beauty pageants. But I knew it was serious business when right before (I believe) Neighborhood (Power Out) Win exclaims, "turn around and tell your neighbor to give you some personal space. This is a fucking rock show!" At that point, the audience went completely bonkers, especially in the general admission area, where the threat of a mosh pit is always eminent. My favorite moment of their set had to be Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) for the sheer whimsical quality with which Regine sings. She somehow never manages to be over the top, probably because she earns a lot of respect playing multiple instruments during the show and the song reminded me a bit of the theme song to Neverending Story, which always makes for great nostalgia. The show of the year definitely lived up to the hype, and to those who missed it? Sorry, suckers.
Being a concert junkie in New York with little money is no easy feat, and as badly as I wanted to go, there is no practical way I can afford MSG ticket prices (and ticket fees too, Ticketbastard) these days. But in an incredible stroke of luck, the AMAZING people at Partners In Health awarded me a pair of tickets to see them. (Partners In Health work to help disadvantaged people around the world, but are right now focused on disaster relief in Haiti. Arcade Fire partnered with them to raise awareness and is also donating a percentage of their ticket sales to Haiti.)
I was beyond thrilled at having the opportunity to attend the show. I had already had the pleasure of having seen both Owen Pallett AND Spoon twice already this year. My boyfriend is a big Final Fantasy fan and I was eager to formally introduce to him the wonders of Spoon. (Seriously, Spoon's semi-secret show at Mercury Lounge is one of the best shows I've ever been to, and there have been many. I feel like nowadays there are so few shows that people can attend where you can drop your guard and gush about how much you love a band to complete strangers instead of trying so hard to seem detached and above it all. Also? Waiting on line for my ticket, I caught a glimpse of the band arriving via cab (BADASS!) and Britt walked so close past me he was within slapping distance. EEEEEEE!!!!)
The day of the Arcade Fire show arrives and I'm jittery with excitement. I'm also anxious because, although I was told my tickets would be held at will call, very often signals get crossed and somebody misses the memo and OOPS! Somebody's shit out of luck. I would've felt much better had the tickets been securely in my hands, but there was nothing I could do but wait. Since we had a bit of time to kill before the show, my boyfriend suggested we head down to MSG early to pick up the tickets and just hang out and read until the show started. Arriving a bit before 5, I head to the will call booth at Madison Square Garden only to be told my tickets were not yet available nor was my name even in the system and to check back in about an hour. An hour passes, still no tickets. I'm trying hard to stay calm, but these are ARCADE FIRE TICKETS hanging in the balance. I didn't know if the woman I had spoken to about the contest would be available, or, being in Boston, if there was anything she could do to help in case my tickets didn't come through. I keep checking at will call only to be rebuffed and told to come back. I was even recommended to speak to the folks at the Partners In Health booth, whom I was sure probably couldn't help me.
Finally, it's 7:55. Showtime's in five minutes. I head to the booth with a heavy heart, expecting the worst news. Against all my sense of pessimism, my tickets are FINALLY here! The cashier, handing over the goods, explains that we're general admission and we'll have to use a different entrance. I thanked him and walked away. Perusing the tickets, I realize that we've got floor tickets. FLOOR TICKETS. TO ARCADE FIRE. I honestly couldn't believe it. My first concert ever was Michael Jackson at Madison Square Garden in 1988 and we were way up in the nosebleed seats. My life has never been this good. My boyfriend and I take off running to get to the general admission entrance outside and around the corner.
Just as we arrive, we heard plucks of Owen Pallett's violin. Unfortunately, his set was really short, and instead of his usual clever onstage banter, he just seemed really in awe of the experience. He humbly thanked the audience for coming early to see him, noting that "it's the quality of the fans, not the quantity." Some time later, Britt Daniel takes to the dark stage on his own with nothing but Christmas lights strung around him. Spoon's set starts off with Me and the Bean, then the rest of the band joins him for their cover of The Damned's Love Song. I'll accept that I'll probably never hear Finer Feelings, my favorite Spoon song, live, but I'm in disbelief they didn't even play Don't You Evah. I think Spoon is best suited for more intimate venues, but they knew they had to bring their A-game and put on a great, lively show.
I didn't know what to expect of Arcade Fire before they came on stage. I kind of thought they'd be all stoic and light on the crowd banter and just do a straightforward performance (kind of like Interpol at the Creator's Project: technically great but emotionally boring) because they come off as rather self-serious. Win Butler comes out on stage with a kind of hillbilly farmer haircut and Regine Chassagne wears a glittery dress and dances around like a precocious kid, kind of like those dead-eyed toddlers you see on reality shows about kiddie beauty pageants. But I knew it was serious business when right before (I believe) Neighborhood (Power Out) Win exclaims, "turn around and tell your neighbor to give you some personal space. This is a fucking rock show!" At that point, the audience went completely bonkers, especially in the general admission area, where the threat of a mosh pit is always eminent. My favorite moment of their set had to be Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) for the sheer whimsical quality with which Regine sings. She somehow never manages to be over the top, probably because she earns a lot of respect playing multiple instruments during the show and the song reminded me a bit of the theme song to Neverending Story, which always makes for great nostalgia. The show of the year definitely lived up to the hype, and to those who missed it? Sorry, suckers.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
How I Ended Up at a Woody Guthrie Tribute Concert
In a desperate attempt to get out of my apartment on a lovely Tuesday evening, I consulted my trusty Time Out New York magazine to see which free concerts were happening. Scanning the listings, I quickly come across an item about The Robert Glasper Experiment featuring Q-Tip and Bilal at Damrosch Park on the Upper West Side. The show was supposed to start at 7:30, and having come across this information at 6:45 didn't leave me much time to get ready and head down there. I packed a little picnic dinner and ran out the door.
The ride to Damrosch is quick. The outdoor show had already started, and stepping through the back entrance I see the venue is packed. I manage to carefully sidestep my way through the rows and rows of patrons to grab a seat atop the stone wall lining the Lincoln Center venue. When I finally settled, I noticed the band onstage wasn't quite what I was expecting: there was a full brass band with some orchestra pieces mixed in, with a choir singing. Huh. Not quite what I was expecting from Q-Tip. Maybe he's doing some kind unexpected collaboration/experiment like Talib Kweli's Revive Da Big Band? Looking around, I notice that the median age of the audience members must have been about 75, to be generous. Strange things were afoot at this Circle K.
Not long after, the band left the stage. Okay, I tell myself, that must've just been the warm-up act. Q-Tip and Bilal should be up next; don't let all these old people throw you off. Then a man takes the stage, making a similar, but no less valid speech I've heard at many free shows, urging patrons to donate so that the free entertainment at Damrosch. Then he continues, "...I hope you've all been enjoying the Woody Guthrie tribute concert tonight!" Say what now? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Not that I have anything against Mr. Guthrie, it's just not the kind of place I would've expected to find myself on purpose. But I figured since it was a nice night and I had shrimp wonton soup I really wanted to dig into before it got cold, I might as well stay.
The emcee announces the next band as The Klezmatics, who were going to take a Klezmer take on Guthrie's music. For those not in the know, klezmer is a traditional style of music defined by its expressive melodies mimicking the human voice originating from the Yiddish, or so Wikipedia tells me. The band performed many of Guthrie's songs with vigor and energy, and it was a wonder the power the music had to spur the old patrons to dance like they were young men and women again. The band introduced a few of the songs with a story, and I was struck most by the song that was apparently written by Guthrie's young daughter Cathy Ann, who perished in a fire at five years old. The band also klezmerized several holiday songs, bringing members of the audience to their feet. One of their final songs a lullaby of sorts, which the Klezmatics noted was requested by one of the Lincoln Center patrons, who stated was a song they played for their children before they went to sleep. The band soon left the stage and many of the audience lined up for the exits, but not before the Klezmatics returned to the stage for an encore. Deliberating if I should stay or not, I decided that while I enjoyed the show, I was going to call it a night. "You're not going to stay for the encore?" a man asked me on my way out. "No, but you have fun!" I responded. I was all Guthried out.
The ride to Damrosch is quick. The outdoor show had already started, and stepping through the back entrance I see the venue is packed. I manage to carefully sidestep my way through the rows and rows of patrons to grab a seat atop the stone wall lining the Lincoln Center venue. When I finally settled, I noticed the band onstage wasn't quite what I was expecting: there was a full brass band with some orchestra pieces mixed in, with a choir singing. Huh. Not quite what I was expecting from Q-Tip. Maybe he's doing some kind unexpected collaboration/experiment like Talib Kweli's Revive Da Big Band? Looking around, I notice that the median age of the audience members must have been about 75, to be generous. Strange things were afoot at this Circle K.
Not long after, the band left the stage. Okay, I tell myself, that must've just been the warm-up act. Q-Tip and Bilal should be up next; don't let all these old people throw you off. Then a man takes the stage, making a similar, but no less valid speech I've heard at many free shows, urging patrons to donate so that the free entertainment at Damrosch. Then he continues, "...I hope you've all been enjoying the Woody Guthrie tribute concert tonight!" Say what now? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Not that I have anything against Mr. Guthrie, it's just not the kind of place I would've expected to find myself on purpose. But I figured since it was a nice night and I had shrimp wonton soup I really wanted to dig into before it got cold, I might as well stay.
The emcee announces the next band as The Klezmatics, who were going to take a Klezmer take on Guthrie's music. For those not in the know, klezmer is a traditional style of music defined by its expressive melodies mimicking the human voice originating from the Yiddish, or so Wikipedia tells me. The band performed many of Guthrie's songs with vigor and energy, and it was a wonder the power the music had to spur the old patrons to dance like they were young men and women again. The band introduced a few of the songs with a story, and I was struck most by the song that was apparently written by Guthrie's young daughter Cathy Ann, who perished in a fire at five years old. The band also klezmerized several holiday songs, bringing members of the audience to their feet. One of their final songs a lullaby of sorts, which the Klezmatics noted was requested by one of the Lincoln Center patrons, who stated was a song they played for their children before they went to sleep. The band soon left the stage and many of the audience lined up for the exits, but not before the Klezmatics returned to the stage for an encore. Deliberating if I should stay or not, I decided that while I enjoyed the show, I was going to call it a night. "You're not going to stay for the encore?" a man asked me on my way out. "No, but you have fun!" I responded. I was all Guthried out.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Necessary Silhouettes: St. Vincent Plays Summerstage
Necessary Silhouettes: St. Vincent Plays Summerstage: "Check it: St. Vincent played Central Park's summerstage this afternoon, a sort of homecoming for the Dallas-bred indie queen who has now ado..."
St. Vincent Plays Summerstage
Check it: St. Vincent played Central Park's summerstage this afternoon, a sort of homecoming for the Dallas-bred indie queen who has now adopted Brooklyn as her home. Along with openers Basia Bulat and tUnE-YarDs, many critics were more or less dubbing the lineup "Lil' Lilith Fair," (a fair assessment with a reasonable amount of lesbians and hair-braiding happening in the audience) urging concert-goers to see today's show instead of the actual festival, which, at this point, just sounds like an exercise in futility. Anyways, been a fan of St. Vincent since her first album Marry Me, but last year's Actor was what really blew me away.
I arrive at Rumsey Playfield around 2:30, freaking out that there'd be no more spots near the front or I'd be shut out completely because of Summerstage's twitter insisting everyone get there by 1:30 (there was PLENTY of room, Summerstage Twitter, you lying liar-pants.) I take a spot near a guy sitting by himself holding a bouquet of flowers. I'm really tempted to ask him if they're for St. Vincent, but I decide to mind my business. Not long after, the first of the opening acts, Canada's Basia Bulat, takes the stage. I went in knowing nothing about either opener. The first thing that strikes me about Basia is that she looks just like Analeigh, the ex-figure skater from America's Next Top Model (yes, I'm weird). I was a bit nervous at the beginning of the set when I noticed a couple of birds perched in the rafters above the stage, and was afraid the whole show would be Kings of Leon'd. The Canadian singer played a multitude of instruments onstage, ranging from your typical guitar and keyboard to the autoharp, while her band members strummed the ukulele and rattled a maracas. Basia's standout song titled, I believe, In a Green Zoo, sung in Polish about, what she explained, humans viewing animals in a zoo, but the "twist" at the end is that it's unclear whether it's the humans or the animals that are caged. Not knowing Polish, I don't know if this twist was of The Sixth Sense or of The Lady In the Water variety. Basia chirped in a syrupy voice that her music has a dark edge to it.
Next up is tUnE-yARDs. Merrill Garbus walks on stage, blue makeup smeared all over her face, barefoot, and wearing an '80s-ladies-who-lunch dress armed with power-bitch shoulderpads. I'm not gonna lie, she made me nervous. And with the wonky spelling of her stage name, what with the lowercase T, uppercase U, et cetera, et cetera, et-goddamn-cetera, I was kinda predisposed not to like her. I really dislike quirky-for-the-sake-of-being-quirky people who've got no real personality. Anyways, she gets on stage, and with her first song, emits what I can only describe as some kind of tribal yodel call, which she then loops and it serves as the song's backbone. This is pretty much her M.O.: grunt out some gibberish for a melody. She even mimics a siren in one song, calling it her "NY special." But I have to say, it was pretty awesome! "Do you want to live?!" she implores with her first song. "YEAH!" the crowd shouts back. Clearly I'm the only one in the audience who has no idea what she's in for. Many times, her singing style is reminiscent of Janis Joplin: aggressive and gravelly with a hint of the blues. But there is a definite sweet side, with both her personality and her music. On a track named Fiya, tUne-YarDs borrows the chorus from Willie Nelson's You Were Always On My Mind, and the song is like the sonic interpretation of walk through the park, hand-in-hand with a loved one, one a bright sunny day. She also takes time to shoutout her 93-year-old photographer hosting a show at that very same time, and to her parents, whom she points out have been pogoing right along with the audience to her music. She bounces around stage with an electric ukulele in front of her band (also be-makeuped with blue smears across their faces) looking as though she's having the time of her life. The look on Merrill's face the whole time is of a mischievous kid up to no good, but in a lovable, Dennis the Menace kind of way. Rounding out her set, she sang new song Business, pleading to the crowd, "don't take my life away!" a striking contrast to her first song.
I first saw St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark) at the Bell House June of last year, super lucky to have snatched up tickets to the small show. I had been wary having read reviews of her tour; critics couldn't deny her talent but it was noted that she lacked in stage presence and her banter was stilted and mumbled. She's alive when she plays the guitar. I recall her falling to her knees during one guitar solo, completely engrossed, as her backup singers danced and grooved alongside. She was perfectly chatty, if a bit nervous, but it took her a while to find her comfort zone.
As the crew builds up for the headlining set, St. Vincent quietly stalks out on stage, and it isn't until a few cheers in the audience that we are even alerted she is near. She doesn't acknowledge the audience, only coming out to speak briefly to a crew member. A stark difference from The Flaming Lips-- who I was lucky to catch at Terminal 5 this past Tuesday. Wayne Coyne, who is not only very hands-on with the setup of his band's equipment, even goes as far to speak to the audience before the show to issue a warning to those in the very front, who have his well-known man-in-a-hamster-ball stage gimmick in store. Annie leaves the stage as quietly as she comes, only returning to the stage before she is announced by Summerstage's emcee. She almost tiptoes out to her place on the stage, avoiding eye contact with the audience. How odd that someone who seems so powerful on stage could be so shy. But Annie doesn't need to speak; her guitar does it for her, and her stylings sometimes have a Hendrix feel. You can tell her single Marrow is a favorite to play. She's consumed by the song, almost spazzing out a little. She reminds me a bit of David Byrne, who I almost expected to see perform with her today with the recent news of their upcoming collaboration/performance at Lincoln Center later this year. She ends her set with encore The Party, after which she waves to the audience and practically runs off stage, kind of like a little girl after her first dance recital. It's a shame St. Vincent still seems ill-at-ease with performing; with her looks, talent and friends in high places, she's got it made.
I arrive at Rumsey Playfield around 2:30, freaking out that there'd be no more spots near the front or I'd be shut out completely because of Summerstage's twitter insisting everyone get there by 1:30 (there was PLENTY of room, Summerstage Twitter, you lying liar-pants.) I take a spot near a guy sitting by himself holding a bouquet of flowers. I'm really tempted to ask him if they're for St. Vincent, but I decide to mind my business. Not long after, the first of the opening acts, Canada's Basia Bulat, takes the stage. I went in knowing nothing about either opener. The first thing that strikes me about Basia is that she looks just like Analeigh, the ex-figure skater from America's Next Top Model (yes, I'm weird). I was a bit nervous at the beginning of the set when I noticed a couple of birds perched in the rafters above the stage, and was afraid the whole show would be Kings of Leon'd. The Canadian singer played a multitude of instruments onstage, ranging from your typical guitar and keyboard to the autoharp, while her band members strummed the ukulele and rattled a maracas. Basia's standout song titled, I believe, In a Green Zoo, sung in Polish about, what she explained, humans viewing animals in a zoo, but the "twist" at the end is that it's unclear whether it's the humans or the animals that are caged. Not knowing Polish, I don't know if this twist was of The Sixth Sense or of The Lady In the Water variety. Basia chirped in a syrupy voice that her music has a dark edge to it.
Next up is tUnE-yARDs. Merrill Garbus walks on stage, blue makeup smeared all over her face, barefoot, and wearing an '80s-ladies-who-lunch dress armed with power-bitch shoulderpads. I'm not gonna lie, she made me nervous. And with the wonky spelling of her stage name, what with the lowercase T, uppercase U, et cetera, et cetera, et-goddamn-cetera, I was kinda predisposed not to like her. I really dislike quirky-for-the-sake-of-being-quirky people who've got no real personality. Anyways, she gets on stage, and with her first song, emits what I can only describe as some kind of tribal yodel call, which she then loops and it serves as the song's backbone. This is pretty much her M.O.: grunt out some gibberish for a melody. She even mimics a siren in one song, calling it her "NY special." But I have to say, it was pretty awesome! "Do you want to live?!" she implores with her first song. "YEAH!" the crowd shouts back. Clearly I'm the only one in the audience who has no idea what she's in for. Many times, her singing style is reminiscent of Janis Joplin: aggressive and gravelly with a hint of the blues. But there is a definite sweet side, with both her personality and her music. On a track named Fiya, tUne-YarDs borrows the chorus from Willie Nelson's You Were Always On My Mind, and the song is like the sonic interpretation of walk through the park, hand-in-hand with a loved one, one a bright sunny day. She also takes time to shoutout her 93-year-old photographer hosting a show at that very same time, and to her parents, whom she points out have been pogoing right along with the audience to her music. She bounces around stage with an electric ukulele in front of her band (also be-makeuped with blue smears across their faces) looking as though she's having the time of her life. The look on Merrill's face the whole time is of a mischievous kid up to no good, but in a lovable, Dennis the Menace kind of way. Rounding out her set, she sang new song Business, pleading to the crowd, "don't take my life away!" a striking contrast to her first song.
I first saw St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark) at the Bell House June of last year, super lucky to have snatched up tickets to the small show. I had been wary having read reviews of her tour; critics couldn't deny her talent but it was noted that she lacked in stage presence and her banter was stilted and mumbled. She's alive when she plays the guitar. I recall her falling to her knees during one guitar solo, completely engrossed, as her backup singers danced and grooved alongside. She was perfectly chatty, if a bit nervous, but it took her a while to find her comfort zone.
As the crew builds up for the headlining set, St. Vincent quietly stalks out on stage, and it isn't until a few cheers in the audience that we are even alerted she is near. She doesn't acknowledge the audience, only coming out to speak briefly to a crew member. A stark difference from The Flaming Lips-- who I was lucky to catch at Terminal 5 this past Tuesday. Wayne Coyne, who is not only very hands-on with the setup of his band's equipment, even goes as far to speak to the audience before the show to issue a warning to those in the very front, who have his well-known man-in-a-hamster-ball stage gimmick in store. Annie leaves the stage as quietly as she comes, only returning to the stage before she is announced by Summerstage's emcee. She almost tiptoes out to her place on the stage, avoiding eye contact with the audience. How odd that someone who seems so powerful on stage could be so shy. But Annie doesn't need to speak; her guitar does it for her, and her stylings sometimes have a Hendrix feel. You can tell her single Marrow is a favorite to play. She's consumed by the song, almost spazzing out a little. She reminds me a bit of David Byrne, who I almost expected to see perform with her today with the recent news of their upcoming collaboration/performance at Lincoln Center later this year. She ends her set with encore The Party, after which she waves to the audience and practically runs off stage, kind of like a little girl after her first dance recital. It's a shame St. Vincent still seems ill-at-ease with performing; with her looks, talent and friends in high places, she's got it made.
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