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Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tegan & Sara (Variety Playhouse, Atlanta 2/23/10)
When Tegan and Sara first stepped out onto Variety Playhouse’s vividly lit stage Tuesday evening, I was reminded of that iconic Diane Arbus shot of those creepy little twins standing side by side. With matching oversized gray button-downs, skinny black jeans, and brown pixie-mullets, the duo initially seemed somewhat mechanical, if not a little gimmicky. In an, “ah, the lesbian twins from Canada have arrived” kind of way. Nevertheless, the crowd—picture Lillith Fair gone hipster, with a sprinkling of enlightened teenyboppers and middle-aged Grey’s Anatomy fans—went wild. I, on the other hand, sandwiched between a particularly boisterous Lillith contingent and what appeared to be some kind of specially designated area for couples to make out, was alone, sleep-deprived, and slightly grumpy.
So there I stood, a lone sourpuss in a sea of amped-up superfans, wishing the individual behind me would aim her catcalling slightly away from my eardrum, when Tegan and Sarah strapped on their guitars and suddenly launched into an eclectic series of vibrant tracks from their new album Sainthood. Between the sparkly synth-driven electro-pop of “Alligator,” the pre-Blitz Yeah Yeah Yeahs vigor of “Northshore” and the delightfully volatile lyricism of “Sentimental Tune” (“Hard-hearted, don't worry, I'm ready for a fight/Unnerved, the nerve, you're nervous/Nervous that I'm right”), the new tracks were well-received and got the show off to a lively start. The band then moved into a stretch of older favorites, such as “Walking with a Ghost,” “I Bet It Stung,” and their biggest hit, “Where Does the Good Go,” inciting a surprisingly melodic audience sing-a-long that demonstrated the ardor of Tegan and Sara’s loyal fan base without alienating any of their more cursory supporters.
Tegan and Sara keep their songs short and sweet—nothing on Sainthood lasts more than 3½ minutes—allowing them to power through quite a few tracks in their 2-odd hours of stage time. Then again, a good chunk of that time transpired in their supposedly notorious banter. While the initial between-track comedy routines were of the lame “So this is Hotlanta? Feels more like COLD-lanta” variety, they eventually established with the audience a sense of mutual appreciation and affection deep enough to make the spacious venue feel intimate. The sisters took turns sharing youthful anecdotes and cultural musings, from stories about adolescent relationships (“a slippery slope to gaydom”) to anti-middle school tirades (“my best friend became a middle school teacher, and I asked her, ‘are you out of your fucking mind?’”) to ruminations on the apparent extinction of the slow dance (“now all the kids just want to, like… grind up on it”).
Like their repartee, Tegan and Sara’s sound remained highly accessible and all about blending, whether through their incongruent mix of crunchy guitar riffs and bubbly synth hooks or the uniquely familial harmonies of their almost-but-not-quite-identical intonations. Likewise, their lyrics—which they write independently, each singing lead on her own songs—managed to sound at once beseeching and authoritative, heartbroken yet sensible, passionate yet guarded. They were constantly whipping out new instruments: a series of different guitars, keyboards, tambourines, even a maraca.
I’ll admit it, I was impressed; especially during their stripped-down encore set, when the duo managed to pull off a gorgeously layered, sans-Tiësto acoustic version of their deviant trance hit, “Feel It In My Bones.” In fact, Tegan and Sara kept me engaged enough to withstand not one, not two, but five near-tramplings via 300-lb security guard inexplicably hurling himself down the aisle, and that, my friends, is saying something.
Review & Photos by Hilary Cadigan
So there I stood, a lone sourpuss in a sea of amped-up superfans, wishing the individual behind me would aim her catcalling slightly away from my eardrum, when Tegan and Sarah strapped on their guitars and suddenly launched into an eclectic series of vibrant tracks from their new album Sainthood. Between the sparkly synth-driven electro-pop of “Alligator,” the pre-Blitz Yeah Yeah Yeahs vigor of “Northshore” and the delightfully volatile lyricism of “Sentimental Tune” (“Hard-hearted, don't worry, I'm ready for a fight/Unnerved, the nerve, you're nervous/Nervous that I'm right”), the new tracks were well-received and got the show off to a lively start. The band then moved into a stretch of older favorites, such as “Walking with a Ghost,” “I Bet It Stung,” and their biggest hit, “Where Does the Good Go,” inciting a surprisingly melodic audience sing-a-long that demonstrated the ardor of Tegan and Sara’s loyal fan base without alienating any of their more cursory supporters.
Tegan and Sara keep their songs short and sweet—nothing on Sainthood lasts more than 3½ minutes—allowing them to power through quite a few tracks in their 2-odd hours of stage time. Then again, a good chunk of that time transpired in their supposedly notorious banter. While the initial between-track comedy routines were of the lame “So this is Hotlanta? Feels more like COLD-lanta” variety, they eventually established with the audience a sense of mutual appreciation and affection deep enough to make the spacious venue feel intimate. The sisters took turns sharing youthful anecdotes and cultural musings, from stories about adolescent relationships (“a slippery slope to gaydom”) to anti-middle school tirades (“my best friend became a middle school teacher, and I asked her, ‘are you out of your fucking mind?’”) to ruminations on the apparent extinction of the slow dance (“now all the kids just want to, like… grind up on it”).
Like their repartee, Tegan and Sara’s sound remained highly accessible and all about blending, whether through their incongruent mix of crunchy guitar riffs and bubbly synth hooks or the uniquely familial harmonies of their almost-but-not-quite-identical intonations. Likewise, their lyrics—which they write independently, each singing lead on her own songs—managed to sound at once beseeching and authoritative, heartbroken yet sensible, passionate yet guarded. They were constantly whipping out new instruments: a series of different guitars, keyboards, tambourines, even a maraca.
I’ll admit it, I was impressed; especially during their stripped-down encore set, when the duo managed to pull off a gorgeously layered, sans-Tiësto acoustic version of their deviant trance hit, “Feel It In My Bones.” In fact, Tegan and Sara kept me engaged enough to withstand not one, not two, but five near-tramplings via 300-lb security guard inexplicably hurling himself down the aisle, and that, my friends, is saying something.
Review & Photos by Hilary Cadigan
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
BONNAROO 2010 line-up revealed today!!
...with one new artist ceremoniously added every 6 minutes... Really Bonnaroo? This was the best way to do it?
http://www.myspace.com/bonnaroo
*Update: Chromeo playing with Daryl Hall from Hall & Oates? This could be epic...
Check it out:
http://www.livefromdarylshouse.com/index.php?page=ep10
**Update: initial line-up posted:
Dave Matthews Band Kings of Leon Stevie Wonder Jay-Z Tenacious D Weezer The Flaming Lips with Stardeath and White Dwarfs perform “Dark Side of the Moon” The Dead Weather Damian Marley and Nas Phoenix Norah Jones Michael Franti and Spearhead John Fogerty Regina Spektor Jimmy Cliff LCD Soundsystem The Avett Brothers Thievery Corporation Rise Against Tori Amos The National Zac Brown Band Les Claypool John Prine The Black Keys Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers Jeff Beck Dropkick Murphys She & Him Against Me! The Disco Biscuits Daryl Hall & Chromeo Jamey Johnson Clutch Bassnectar Kid Cudi Baaba Maal Kris Kristofferson Medeski Martin & Wood The xx GWAR Dan Deacon Ensemble Tinariwen Wale Deadmau5 The Melvins The Gaslight Anthem Miike Snow The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Dr. Dog They Might Be Giants Punch Brothers Isis Blitzen Trapper Blues Traveler Miranda Lambert Calexico OK Go Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue Martin Sexton Lotus Baroness Dave Rawlings Machine Mayer Hawthorne and the County Japandroids Jay Electronica Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros Ingrid Michaelson The Dodos Manchester Orchestra The Temper Trap Cross Canadian Ragweed Big Sam's Funky Nation Carolina Chocolate Drops NEEDTOBREATHE Tokyo Police Club The Entrance Band Local Natives Brandi Carlile Mumford & Sons Rebelution Diane Birch Monte Montgomery Julia Nunes The Postelles Lucero Here We Go Magic Hot Rize Neon Indian B.O.B More Artists to Be Announced!
This is solid so far (assuming more will be added in the upcoming weeks... slash more better be added in the upcoming weeks...) but wtf is Dave Matthews Band doing at the top??? And where is mmj??? Spoon?? Hot Chip?? Yeasayer?? They're all touring the southeast this spring and i was expecting that they'd all turn out for the Roo... Keeping my fingers crossed for at LEAST one or two of them...
http://www.myspace.com/bonnaroo
*Update: Chromeo playing with Daryl Hall from Hall & Oates? This could be epic...
Check it out:
http://www.livefromdarylshouse.com/index.php?page=ep10
**Update: initial line-up posted:
Dave Matthews Band Kings of Leon Stevie Wonder Jay-Z Tenacious D Weezer The Flaming Lips with Stardeath and White Dwarfs perform “Dark Side of the Moon” The Dead Weather Damian Marley and Nas Phoenix Norah Jones Michael Franti and Spearhead John Fogerty Regina Spektor Jimmy Cliff LCD Soundsystem The Avett Brothers Thievery Corporation Rise Against Tori Amos The National Zac Brown Band Les Claypool John Prine The Black Keys Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers Jeff Beck Dropkick Murphys She & Him Against Me! The Disco Biscuits Daryl Hall & Chromeo Jamey Johnson Clutch Bassnectar Kid Cudi Baaba Maal Kris Kristofferson Medeski Martin & Wood The xx GWAR Dan Deacon Ensemble Tinariwen Wale Deadmau5 The Melvins The Gaslight Anthem Miike Snow The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Dr. Dog They Might Be Giants Punch Brothers Isis Blitzen Trapper Blues Traveler Miranda Lambert Calexico OK Go Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue Martin Sexton Lotus Baroness Dave Rawlings Machine Mayer Hawthorne and the County Japandroids Jay Electronica Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros Ingrid Michaelson The Dodos Manchester Orchestra The Temper Trap Cross Canadian Ragweed Big Sam's Funky Nation Carolina Chocolate Drops NEEDTOBREATHE Tokyo Police Club The Entrance Band Local Natives Brandi Carlile Mumford & Sons Rebelution Diane Birch Monte Montgomery Julia Nunes The Postelles Lucero Here We Go Magic Hot Rize Neon Indian B.O.B More Artists to Be Announced!
This is solid so far (assuming more will be added in the upcoming weeks... slash more better be added in the upcoming weeks...) but wtf is Dave Matthews Band doing at the top??? And where is mmj??? Spoon?? Hot Chip?? Yeasayer?? They're all touring the southeast this spring and i was expecting that they'd all turn out for the Roo... Keeping my fingers crossed for at LEAST one or two of them...
Monday, February 8, 2010
Hot Chip - One Life Stand (2/9/10)
Hot Chip has always been a band with a deep-seated penchant for contrast. The most obvious example can be found in their 2005 album Coming On Strong, where the disparity between lyrics like “Give up all you suckers/We the tightest motherfuckers/And you never seen us talking shit before now” and the skinny white British guy in horn-rimmed glasses who sings them makes for a pretty amusing study in sarcasm. Newest album One Life Stand offers more proof of Hot Chip’s ability to find triumph in disparity, but it does so in a very different way.
Ultimately, One Life Stand prevails as a huge swirling musical embrace about love in all its various forms. With a notable shift toward a soulful house-influenced sound, the album blossoms with a slew of highly romantic dance-ballads that nimbly fuse the acoustic with the electronic. From the piano-driven live drums and techno-manipulations of “Hand Me Down Your Love,” to the majestic string arrangements and Kanye-worthy auto-tune of “I Feel Better,” nearly every song is a paradigm of brilliantly rendered contrast. Reigning supreme is lead singer Alexis Taylor’s chimerical falsetto, which soars lithely over everything, occasionally complemented by the cavernous undertones of co-vocalist Joe Goddard. These vocal collaborations are most notable in the songs that explore alternative figurations of love, such as the fraternal harmonizing of “Brothers” and the spindly little maternally-minded gem “Alley Cats”—a song about “when you're feeling something that you really love is coming to an end, and saying that's not really possible.”
The album hits its stride with the pulsating title track. "One Life Stand" opens with a ridiculously catchy beat and some ominous-sounding electronic noise. Lyrically, it evolves from rather trivializing opening verses (“Tell me what you're playing”) into an intensely heartfelt and downright cuddly chorus (“I only wanna be your one life stand/ Tell me do you stand by your whole man?”) that showcases the best of Taylor’s vocal abilities and encapsulates the album’s overarching theme. As Taylor explained in a November 2009 interview with Pitchfork, “I'm talking about turning a one night stand into someone's whole life…and I think that's quite a nice thing to say.” And he’s right; it is quite nice, and a refreshing sentiment in today’s cynical world. Like that now-infamous YouTube video of the wedding where everybody dances up the aisle in sunglasses, “One Life Stand” manages to sound simultaneously classic and fresh while still giving you that old warm fuzzy feeling.
The most dubious turn comes with “Slush,” in which This Heat drummer Charles Hayward plays and sings harmony. Taylor describes Hayward’s role as “one of the most special things about the album… because he's someone that I really look up to and love,” but the song drags and vacillates in its redundant lack of beats, becoming the kind of track that most will end up skipping after a listen or two. However, its ultimate value is revealed around the 4:30 mark with a belated transition into the profound repetition of “Don’t I know there is a God?” which serves to round out the album’s trifecta of love—romantic, familial, and divine.
In light of past endeavors, the unexpected seriousness of this album paired with the often-saccharine lyrics (“I only want one want night/ Together in our arms/ This is the longest night/ We’re meeting arms to arms”) may tempt some to write it off as simply Hot Chip’s latest bout of sarcasm. And yet, amidst such earnest delivery and luminous cohesion, doing so would feel just plain wrong. Rather, One Life Stand reveals how the band has mellowed out without selling out, matured without losing what makes them unique. There’s really something for everybody here, but the overall message seems to be that love is all around, even here, even now, and Hot Chip’s ability to express this sentiment without sounding completely lame stands as a testament to both their inherent coolness and their expectation-defying talent.
Grade: A-
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Ultimately, One Life Stand prevails as a huge swirling musical embrace about love in all its various forms. With a notable shift toward a soulful house-influenced sound, the album blossoms with a slew of highly romantic dance-ballads that nimbly fuse the acoustic with the electronic. From the piano-driven live drums and techno-manipulations of “Hand Me Down Your Love,” to the majestic string arrangements and Kanye-worthy auto-tune of “I Feel Better,” nearly every song is a paradigm of brilliantly rendered contrast. Reigning supreme is lead singer Alexis Taylor’s chimerical falsetto, which soars lithely over everything, occasionally complemented by the cavernous undertones of co-vocalist Joe Goddard. These vocal collaborations are most notable in the songs that explore alternative figurations of love, such as the fraternal harmonizing of “Brothers” and the spindly little maternally-minded gem “Alley Cats”—a song about “when you're feeling something that you really love is coming to an end, and saying that's not really possible.”
The album hits its stride with the pulsating title track. "One Life Stand" opens with a ridiculously catchy beat and some ominous-sounding electronic noise. Lyrically, it evolves from rather trivializing opening verses (“Tell me what you're playing”) into an intensely heartfelt and downright cuddly chorus (“I only wanna be your one life stand/ Tell me do you stand by your whole man?”) that showcases the best of Taylor’s vocal abilities and encapsulates the album’s overarching theme. As Taylor explained in a November 2009 interview with Pitchfork, “I'm talking about turning a one night stand into someone's whole life…and I think that's quite a nice thing to say.” And he’s right; it is quite nice, and a refreshing sentiment in today’s cynical world. Like that now-infamous YouTube video of the wedding where everybody dances up the aisle in sunglasses, “One Life Stand” manages to sound simultaneously classic and fresh while still giving you that old warm fuzzy feeling.
The most dubious turn comes with “Slush,” in which This Heat drummer Charles Hayward plays and sings harmony. Taylor describes Hayward’s role as “one of the most special things about the album… because he's someone that I really look up to and love,” but the song drags and vacillates in its redundant lack of beats, becoming the kind of track that most will end up skipping after a listen or two. However, its ultimate value is revealed around the 4:30 mark with a belated transition into the profound repetition of “Don’t I know there is a God?” which serves to round out the album’s trifecta of love—romantic, familial, and divine.
In light of past endeavors, the unexpected seriousness of this album paired with the often-saccharine lyrics (“I only want one want night/ Together in our arms/ This is the longest night/ We’re meeting arms to arms”) may tempt some to write it off as simply Hot Chip’s latest bout of sarcasm. And yet, amidst such earnest delivery and luminous cohesion, doing so would feel just plain wrong. Rather, One Life Stand reveals how the band has mellowed out without selling out, matured without losing what makes them unique. There’s really something for everybody here, but the overall message seems to be that love is all around, even here, even now, and Hot Chip’s ability to express this sentiment without sounding completely lame stands as a testament to both their inherent coolness and their expectation-defying talent.
Grade: A-
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Girls - Concert Review (The Earl, Atlanta 2/5/10)
How’s this for a new twist on the old coming-of-age narrative? Christopher Owens was raised in a 60’s-spawned pseudo-Christian sex-crime-promoting cult called the Children of God by a globetrotting mom so brainwashed that she let one of her own sons die of pneumonia because the cult didn’t believe in hospitals. At 16, Owens escaped to Texas, where he worked for minimum wage and got into the local punk scene before a local millionaire took a liking and brought him out to San Francisco. While living there, Owens teamed up with guitarist Chet “JR” White, started a band called Girls, and released their debut record Album (2009)—an LP that caught both critics and fans by storm, earning them a spot among last year’s breakout indie darlings.
This stranger-than-fiction saga is no gimmick, but seeing Owens perform live—this little grungy guy in his red sweater and skinny jeans, long matted hair gleaming greasily in the colored lights—you immediately get the impression that there’s something going on beneath his slipshod veneer. While his comparatively clean-cut bandmates smile and seem to enjoy the jangly, often buoyant melodies they’re generating, Owens grasps the mic tightly, eyes closed and face screwed up like somebody who just got his finger slammed in the car door. Or like somebody who’s dealt with a lot of pain in his 30 years of life.
The sold-out show illustrated how quickly Girls have gained popularity in the past few months. The Earl does not usually sell out. People are excited about Girls, and at a small venue usually reserved for lesser-known up-and-comers, the audience felt particularly eager to engage with the artists. Following two opening bands that Owens dubbed his “myspace dream team”—prepubescent garage-rockers Smith Westerns and exuberant hipster-glam indie-poppers Magic Kids—Girls kicked off their set with a nice true-to-form delivery of jaunty post-break-up apology single “Laura.”
Owens’ maintained a rather visceral reserve throughout his performance. Each song was followed by a meekly humble “thank you,” as he crooned his way through the characteristically convivial dysphoria of Album. The eager audience sang along with a notably stirring rendition of “Hellhole Ratrace” and attempted to start a mosh pit in the throes of giddy pre-encore closer “Lust for Life.”
Girls deftly bulked up their small but potent catalogue with new track “Heartbreaker” (“a song about how people suck”), and B-sides “Life in San Francisco” (“when all your friends are self-centered eccentric weirdo junkies”) and “Substance” (“this song is about drugs, which, if anyone has any, please give them to us”).
Overall, the show did not set off any fireworks, but it was moving and enjoyable, and well played for a band that is more prone to individual emotions than theatrics. Girls proved that they’ve earned their credibility, not through gimmicks or showmanship or even Owens’ ubiquitous back-story, but through a rare ability to meld opposites, to create an authentically rendered contrast between the bright and the broken, the harmonious and the dissonant, the good times and the suck-fests. And who can’t relate to that?
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Photos by Max Blau
This stranger-than-fiction saga is no gimmick, but seeing Owens perform live—this little grungy guy in his red sweater and skinny jeans, long matted hair gleaming greasily in the colored lights—you immediately get the impression that there’s something going on beneath his slipshod veneer. While his comparatively clean-cut bandmates smile and seem to enjoy the jangly, often buoyant melodies they’re generating, Owens grasps the mic tightly, eyes closed and face screwed up like somebody who just got his finger slammed in the car door. Or like somebody who’s dealt with a lot of pain in his 30 years of life.
The sold-out show illustrated how quickly Girls have gained popularity in the past few months. The Earl does not usually sell out. People are excited about Girls, and at a small venue usually reserved for lesser-known up-and-comers, the audience felt particularly eager to engage with the artists. Following two opening bands that Owens dubbed his “myspace dream team”—prepubescent garage-rockers Smith Westerns and exuberant hipster-glam indie-poppers Magic Kids—Girls kicked off their set with a nice true-to-form delivery of jaunty post-break-up apology single “Laura.”
Owens’ maintained a rather visceral reserve throughout his performance. Each song was followed by a meekly humble “thank you,” as he crooned his way through the characteristically convivial dysphoria of Album. The eager audience sang along with a notably stirring rendition of “Hellhole Ratrace” and attempted to start a mosh pit in the throes of giddy pre-encore closer “Lust for Life.”
Girls deftly bulked up their small but potent catalogue with new track “Heartbreaker” (“a song about how people suck”), and B-sides “Life in San Francisco” (“when all your friends are self-centered eccentric weirdo junkies”) and “Substance” (“this song is about drugs, which, if anyone has any, please give them to us”).
Overall, the show did not set off any fireworks, but it was moving and enjoyable, and well played for a band that is more prone to individual emotions than theatrics. Girls proved that they’ve earned their credibility, not through gimmicks or showmanship or even Owens’ ubiquitous back-story, but through a rare ability to meld opposites, to create an authentically rendered contrast between the bright and the broken, the harmonious and the dissonant, the good times and the suck-fests. And who can’t relate to that?
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Photos by Max Blau
Monsters of Folk - Album Review (9/22/09)
Monsters of Folk sets up an exciting premise—Jim James (My Morning Jacket), M. Ward, Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) and Mike Mogis (Bright Eyes drummer and Saddle Creek producer) come together Traveling Wilburys-style in fits and bursts over a 5 year period, after first touring together in 2004. While the eponymous album certainly doesn’t defy any of their respective methodologies, it does generate enjoyable results.
The atmosphere is egalitarian rather than narcissistic; in fact, the mathematical division of lead vocals is almost comical in its precision, with each of the three vocalists getting almost exactly equal time in the spotlight. However, there is a laid-back organic quality that keeps the record from becoming too formulaic. “One of our only rules was that we would only be the four of us playing everything. So that was kind of the one rule, if there was a rule,” said Oberst in a recent interview. Especially on tracks like “Baby Boomer” and “Whole Lotta Losin,” there is a very pleasant “hanging out in the barn laying down jams and drinking PBR” vibe—nothing too striking, just fun, laid-back music made between friends. Ultimately, Monsters of Folk is just that. And it works, especially when these friends happen to be some of the most influential musicians of the decade.
That being said, the album is certainly not without its flaws. Cohesion between tracks is ostensibly sacrificed in favor of cohesion between group members—despite, or perhaps because the communal vibes are so palpable, the result is a loose and rambling record. The album peaks early (as in, first track early) with “Dear God (Sincerely M.O.F.),” which provides a nice abstract and a thematic focus—“if your love’s still around why do we suffer?” asks the poignant chorus, harmonizing over rippling harp and rather unexpected trip-hop beat. The track strikes a meticulous balance between poignant and playful that could be the aim of the record as a whole, though it is never again crystallized in such a way. Consequently, “Dear God” sets a high musical precedent that gets a little lost as the album ambles on for 14 more countrified tracks, thus setting us up for a bit of a letdown.
The particular style of each artist emerges immediately continues to build as the record plays on. Oberst comes across as he always does—overwrought and slightly exasperating, though he is clearly trying to fit in here. Ward on the other hand may come off a bit lazy, adhering to his typically simplistic though certainly not unlikable folk style. He hits his stride however in the gorgeous “Slow Down Jo,” a soothing lullaby that almost sounds like Brightblack Morning Light. Mogis holds it down with smooth production and a winning guitar solo or two, smartly allowing the album to develop with its own natural progression rather than forcing it to be something it’s not.
In the end, despite his egalitarian intentions, this album has Jim James written all over it—he seems to be channeling a recent George Harrison fixation with August’s tribute album and now this, if we’re going to run with the oft-mentioned Traveling Wilburys association. Regardless, everything he’s been doing lately has been infused with a sense of fearless experimentation, and for his part, this album is no exception. He glides humbly from the upbeat pop beats of “Losin Your Head” to the mournful seep of “His Master’s Voice,” and often saves his cohorts from themselves by layering that characteristic swooning falsetto under their ramblings, as in the Oberst-driven “Temazcal.” Jim James is everything we want and need in a musician in this day and age—wildly talented but delightfully unpretentious, a Renaissance man rather than an egotistical rock star. And he puts on a fantastic show.
Grade: B+
Review by Hilary Cadigan
The atmosphere is egalitarian rather than narcissistic; in fact, the mathematical division of lead vocals is almost comical in its precision, with each of the three vocalists getting almost exactly equal time in the spotlight. However, there is a laid-back organic quality that keeps the record from becoming too formulaic. “One of our only rules was that we would only be the four of us playing everything. So that was kind of the one rule, if there was a rule,” said Oberst in a recent interview. Especially on tracks like “Baby Boomer” and “Whole Lotta Losin,” there is a very pleasant “hanging out in the barn laying down jams and drinking PBR” vibe—nothing too striking, just fun, laid-back music made between friends. Ultimately, Monsters of Folk is just that. And it works, especially when these friends happen to be some of the most influential musicians of the decade.
That being said, the album is certainly not without its flaws. Cohesion between tracks is ostensibly sacrificed in favor of cohesion between group members—despite, or perhaps because the communal vibes are so palpable, the result is a loose and rambling record. The album peaks early (as in, first track early) with “Dear God (Sincerely M.O.F.),” which provides a nice abstract and a thematic focus—“if your love’s still around why do we suffer?” asks the poignant chorus, harmonizing over rippling harp and rather unexpected trip-hop beat. The track strikes a meticulous balance between poignant and playful that could be the aim of the record as a whole, though it is never again crystallized in such a way. Consequently, “Dear God” sets a high musical precedent that gets a little lost as the album ambles on for 14 more countrified tracks, thus setting us up for a bit of a letdown.
The particular style of each artist emerges immediately continues to build as the record plays on. Oberst comes across as he always does—overwrought and slightly exasperating, though he is clearly trying to fit in here. Ward on the other hand may come off a bit lazy, adhering to his typically simplistic though certainly not unlikable folk style. He hits his stride however in the gorgeous “Slow Down Jo,” a soothing lullaby that almost sounds like Brightblack Morning Light. Mogis holds it down with smooth production and a winning guitar solo or two, smartly allowing the album to develop with its own natural progression rather than forcing it to be something it’s not.
In the end, despite his egalitarian intentions, this album has Jim James written all over it—he seems to be channeling a recent George Harrison fixation with August’s tribute album and now this, if we’re going to run with the oft-mentioned Traveling Wilburys association. Regardless, everything he’s been doing lately has been infused with a sense of fearless experimentation, and for his part, this album is no exception. He glides humbly from the upbeat pop beats of “Losin Your Head” to the mournful seep of “His Master’s Voice,” and often saves his cohorts from themselves by layering that characteristic swooning falsetto under their ramblings, as in the Oberst-driven “Temazcal.” Jim James is everything we want and need in a musician in this day and age—wildly talented but delightfully unpretentious, a Renaissance man rather than an egotistical rock star. And he puts on a fantastic show.
Grade: B+
Review by Hilary Cadigan
All Points West - Music Festival Review (7/31/09-8/2/09)
All Points West is a three-day music festival at Liberty State Park in New Jersey, right across the river from New York City. The venue was beautiful and the line-up fantastic, but the weather did not cooperate—turning the venue into a rain-soaked mud pit for most of the weekend. The population was an interesting mix of hipsters, hippies, and confused citizens. One of the best sightings was a girl in stilettos trying to wade through about 3 feet of stanky mud.
There is a major difference to be noted between the kind of music festival where you camp out and live there, and the kind where everybody goes home at the end of the day. All Points West really illustrates this disparity. At a festival like Bonnaroo or Rothbury, there is a sense of community that comes out of actually creating a temporary home, centered around the things that the temporary citizens hold most dear: music, freedom, and good times.
APW had two out of the three, music and good times were definitely there. Friday got its momentum going with a gorgeous Fleet Foxes set, enhanced by a gentle rainfall that seemed almost perfectly synched with Robin Pecknold’s haunting falsetto rising like smoke from the stage. And then it poured. Later in the day, Karen O made me forget that I was soaking wet and freezing, wearing a tank top in the middle of a 50 degree rainstorm when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs took the stage. Jay-Z wrapped up the night in top form with an awesome “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” tribute to the Beastie Boys, for whom he was standing in due to MCA’s cancer scare.
The single greatest show of the weekend, in my humble opinion, was Sunday evening’s Ghostland Observatory. They played on the smallest of the three stages, a sparsely populated tent that harbored comedy acts by day and dance-heavy electronica by night. Their infamous light show was everything I’d heard about and more, and paired with the invigorating beats of Thomas Turner and hilarious stage antics of cross-dressing frontman Aaron Behrens, this show was definitely the most fun I had all weekend. Crystal Castles provided a similar counterpart for Saturday—Alice Glass is a maniac in the very best way.
Other notable winners were The Black Keys, who may be the single coolest straight-up rock band playing today, The Pharcyde, who proved that old-school hip-hop is the best hip-hop, and the back to back sets of St. Vincent and Neko Case, who beautifully illustrated the range of talented female indie musicians on the scene today.
And then there was MGMT, with their usual bullshit. Now don’t get me wrong, I love MGMT. But that’s the very thing—usually when I love a band that much, when songs make me feel that fucking great every time I hear them, I’m willing to cut some slack on their live performance flaws. But this is the second time I’ve seen them and felt like Andrew and Ben were taking a giant shit on my excited little face—at Bonnaroo the crowd was so amped up that I barely noticed the lack of energy onstage, but at APW the lackluster nature of the performance became painfully clear. In the audience, the jaded youth were out in full-force, pumped up and ready to be blown away, and while it’s quite possible that the band is trying to make some kind of statement on the very jaded-ness I speak of, honestly, MGMT, I’m not in the mood. Give me something I can feel. Apparently they were rushing off to see Coldplay which is why they ended their set early (a move that everyone and their mom knows is very uncool at a music festival). The song they played from their upcoming album “Celebration”was nothing to write home about, and they completely slaughtered “Kids”—it sounds better on my car speakers and one of them is busted. I don’t know if this is a calculated downfall or just the result of too many hit singles in too short a time, but something is awry.
I was far more impressed by Tool—while a lot of people wondered what they were doing at the festival at all, they are an example of a band that is truly passionate about its work, and it showed. The gorgeously mind-bending, stomach-turningly bizarre Alex Gray visuals on the screens were epic and the music was real and true and the fans were doing their thing in ways you’ve seen no fans do their thing before. It’s kind of inexplicable, and I wouldn’t believe me if I hadn’t witnessed it either, but there was just something about it, man.
Ultimately, despite the music and good times, there was a frustrating disconnect between what the festival seemed to stand for and the reality of the situation. There was the annoying multi-vehicle trek to get there each day, the Azkaban-worthy pat-down crew at the entrance gates, the cage-like beer tent where attempting to go in through the out door would bring the full wrath of Jersey bureaucracy down upon you… These things didn’t ruin the overall experience for me, but they kept it from reaching that Utopian state of wholeness that the best festivals seem to create. I enjoyed APW, but at $239.00 for a three-day pass, in addition to $15 a day for the ferry, I wouldn’t pay to go there again.
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Photos by Tracy Mayer & Hilary Cadigan
There is a major difference to be noted between the kind of music festival where you camp out and live there, and the kind where everybody goes home at the end of the day. All Points West really illustrates this disparity. At a festival like Bonnaroo or Rothbury, there is a sense of community that comes out of actually creating a temporary home, centered around the things that the temporary citizens hold most dear: music, freedom, and good times.
APW had two out of the three, music and good times were definitely there. Friday got its momentum going with a gorgeous Fleet Foxes set, enhanced by a gentle rainfall that seemed almost perfectly synched with Robin Pecknold’s haunting falsetto rising like smoke from the stage. And then it poured. Later in the day, Karen O made me forget that I was soaking wet and freezing, wearing a tank top in the middle of a 50 degree rainstorm when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs took the stage. Jay-Z wrapped up the night in top form with an awesome “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” tribute to the Beastie Boys, for whom he was standing in due to MCA’s cancer scare.
The single greatest show of the weekend, in my humble opinion, was Sunday evening’s Ghostland Observatory. They played on the smallest of the three stages, a sparsely populated tent that harbored comedy acts by day and dance-heavy electronica by night. Their infamous light show was everything I’d heard about and more, and paired with the invigorating beats of Thomas Turner and hilarious stage antics of cross-dressing frontman Aaron Behrens, this show was definitely the most fun I had all weekend. Crystal Castles provided a similar counterpart for Saturday—Alice Glass is a maniac in the very best way.
Other notable winners were The Black Keys, who may be the single coolest straight-up rock band playing today, The Pharcyde, who proved that old-school hip-hop is the best hip-hop, and the back to back sets of St. Vincent and Neko Case, who beautifully illustrated the range of talented female indie musicians on the scene today.
And then there was MGMT, with their usual bullshit. Now don’t get me wrong, I love MGMT. But that’s the very thing—usually when I love a band that much, when songs make me feel that fucking great every time I hear them, I’m willing to cut some slack on their live performance flaws. But this is the second time I’ve seen them and felt like Andrew and Ben were taking a giant shit on my excited little face—at Bonnaroo the crowd was so amped up that I barely noticed the lack of energy onstage, but at APW the lackluster nature of the performance became painfully clear. In the audience, the jaded youth were out in full-force, pumped up and ready to be blown away, and while it’s quite possible that the band is trying to make some kind of statement on the very jaded-ness I speak of, honestly, MGMT, I’m not in the mood. Give me something I can feel. Apparently they were rushing off to see Coldplay which is why they ended their set early (a move that everyone and their mom knows is very uncool at a music festival). The song they played from their upcoming album “Celebration”was nothing to write home about, and they completely slaughtered “Kids”—it sounds better on my car speakers and one of them is busted. I don’t know if this is a calculated downfall or just the result of too many hit singles in too short a time, but something is awry.
I was far more impressed by Tool—while a lot of people wondered what they were doing at the festival at all, they are an example of a band that is truly passionate about its work, and it showed. The gorgeously mind-bending, stomach-turningly bizarre Alex Gray visuals on the screens were epic and the music was real and true and the fans were doing their thing in ways you’ve seen no fans do their thing before. It’s kind of inexplicable, and I wouldn’t believe me if I hadn’t witnessed it either, but there was just something about it, man.
Ultimately, despite the music and good times, there was a frustrating disconnect between what the festival seemed to stand for and the reality of the situation. There was the annoying multi-vehicle trek to get there each day, the Azkaban-worthy pat-down crew at the entrance gates, the cage-like beer tent where attempting to go in through the out door would bring the full wrath of Jersey bureaucracy down upon you… These things didn’t ruin the overall experience for me, but they kept it from reaching that Utopian state of wholeness that the best festivals seem to create. I enjoyed APW, but at $239.00 for a three-day pass, in addition to $15 a day for the ferry, I wouldn’t pay to go there again.
Review by Hilary Cadigan
Photos by Tracy Mayer & Hilary Cadigan
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