Off the Record

A couple nights ago, I was watching POV on PBS. One of the short films that aired was based on record collector Paul Mawhinney, who has been trying (unsuccessfully thus far) to sell his collection of 2.5 million vinyl records. The 7-minute-feature (shot two years ago) can also be seen here, and I highly recommend it, as the direction is top-notch, and the lighting of Mawhinney's cramped archive is truly gorgeous.



Judging from the majority of responses on the POV site, people see Paul Mawhinney as a martyr who spent his life devoted to collecting an artform that society has deemed basically worthless.  People see him as an ultimate victim who has sought after and cared for these items, yet now in his time of need he's unable to sell them for even pennies on the dollar.

I'm clearly in the minority, because I see him as kind of an asshole.

Obviously, Mawhinney's health concerns inspire a large part of the emotional response, and indeed it's sad to see these ailments taking hold of his body, understanding that he could no doubt use the money this sale would bring. But a significant amount of Mawhinney's own commentary raises some red flags as to A) his status as a "collector" vs. "dealer," and B) His understanding of the marketplace.

My issues started literally within the first 20 seconds of the video, with Mawhinney showing off this supposedly priceless artifact by pawing at it, slapping his entire palm over it like a gorilla ready to toss its own feces. And he doesn't say anything along the lines of "Imagine the history of what I'm holding, etc..." He just mentions (twice!) that it must be worth a boatload.

Throughout the rest of the video, I have a hard time seeing this guy as someone who's truly in love with what he possesses. The way he talks about records is the exact same way that show dealers at Eastgate Mall talked about baseball cards when I was 11 years old. They enjoy what makes them money, and they are always in sell mode when showing off what they've got.  When he shows off The Rolling Stones crown jewel of this collection, he doesn't make mention of how many copies were printed, or whether it's a UK or US edition, or any of those music nerd details. But he sure as shit knows the price range for it. Of course, his range of $6k-$10k is pretty wide, and a copy sold on Ebay last month for less than $1,800, so perhaps he sould take it easy with throwing that 10 grand figure around. By that same token, Mawhinney's dealer-enhanced claim of the collection being worth $50 million means nothing without a buyer. Shit, how about if I hereby appraise the entire collection of Ken Griffey Jr. Starting Lineup figures through the years at 15 grand! Do I hear a bidder?  Act now and I'll throw in every Dante Bichette model from 1995-97!

I'm highly skeptical of his claim that 83% of the music in his collection isn't available through other media formats. We live in a time where releasing reissues with a built-in and known demand is a far safer business proposition for labels than bankrolling new bands, so it would seem a safe assumption that most of the music in his collection that legitimately won't be re-released to the public is most likely not that valuable to being with.

Granted, Mawhinney's commentary about people "not giving a damn" about vinyl have been disproven in the time since the video was made, so he can't be chastised for not knowing that in the time since he made those comments, vinyl sales would be the ONLY media form of the record industry actually thriving. But Mawhinney's insistence to sell the collection as one lump all-or-nothing transaction seems...well...stupid. If these albums truly mean something sentimental, why not keep them and pass them down when death comes knocking? If they don't hold that attachment, sell what people are willing to buy.  Either way, Mawhinney's act of martyrdom seems played out at this point, nearly a decade after he first had a deal fall through with the U.S. Library of Congress.  I'm guessing that deal (which he rejected) was for more than $3 million.  That small plot point wasn't mentioned in this feature, but I'm guessing it just didn't fit the narrative.

Bad Idea Show Review: Evan Dando at Double Door

 Today is Kurt Cobain's 43rd birthday.  The thought of a 43-year-old Kurt Cobain makes no logical sense.  It's impossible to create an image of what type of music or existence Cobain would be creating were he alive today, as no genre seems particularly viable.

Evan Dando's 43rd birthday is less than two weeks away.  Like Cobain, he spent the early portion of the 1990s appearing on magazine covers and consuming a ridiculous amount of heroin and cocaine.  Unlike Cobain, Dando avoided killing himself, and it appears that his artistic reward for still being alive to to try and figure out how to navigate the waters of his past, his future, and pop music as a genre.  There's a misconception that Elliott Smith's songs were sad and miserable because people thought of Smith himself being sad and miserable.  This is not the case, but listening to the  It's a Shame About Ray or Come on Feel the Lemonheads today reveals something obvious in retrospect: Evan Dando was a pretty miserable junkie in his heyday, albeit a junkie whose talent for composing hooks loomed even larger than his habit.  The songs and arrangements were so catchy that few has any incentive to delve into the actual lyrical content.  After all, who wants to spend time examining layers of the guy who writes "Bit Part" or covers "Mrs. Robinson."  It's much more fun to keep the critiques simple, and revel in the eternally adorable backing vocals of Juliana Hatfield.

At the Double Door last night, Dando seemed like a man at a crossroads.  He seemingly no longer relates on any level to the songs that made him a twee Gen X poster boy.  He sings them like a busker on the subway, literally sounding like he's doing a cover version of a song he wrote himself.  Examine the following sequence, where he soullessly shuffles through trimmed down offerings of "Into Your Arms" and "It's About Time," before segueing into "No Backbone," an excellent song off The Lemonheads' 2006 self-titled album (and one that actually seems to carry some emotional weight in the performance.)

Bad Idea Show Review: Fleet Foxes at Metro

photo via Flickr

Last year's Lollapalooza was basically perfect, lineup-wise as well as weather-wise. This year's lineup left me wholeheartedly underwhlemed, so instead of dealing with Friday's rain and the sweltering humidity of Saturday and Sunday, I opted for two shows at the Metro instead: The Decemberists on Thursday and Fleet Foxes on Saturday. As the Indy Decemberists review below points out, they're swinging for the fences these days (and they opened with the 18-minute epic The Tain on Thursday.) Also, I would like to publicly petition that the "Diamond" duo vocalists be present as much as possible, and perhaps turn this band into America's supergroup answer to the New Pornographers.

But on to Saturday night. We walked in just before 11pm as openers Dungen were taking the stage. Dungen are from Sweden, and as such, all their lyrics are sung in Swedish. This makes for an enjoyable time of guessing what their lyrics are about. I'm guessing most revolve around fun bike rides, or any activity related to fjords. But then again, they could just as likely be anti-semitic screeds. Who knows? They vacillated between airy pop melodies and full-blown psychedlia, and I believe they are the first rock band I've ever seen incorporate the flute so heavily.

It should be pointed out that the Metro felt like a damn oven Saturday night. The fans were on, but made no difference. The air was humid, stagnant, and unrelenting, leaving all in attendance sweltering to a particularly uncomfortable degree. By the time Fleet Foxes took the stage a bit after midnight, My clothes felt at least five pounds heavier. One could easily surmise that if I was that sweaty, it had to be much worse for the flannel-clad, hirsute band on stage.

Robin Pecknold has apparently been quite sick with a nasty fever lately, and mentioned a couple songs into the set that he had been ingesting an Advil/Dayquil cocktail that he discouraged anyone else from attempting. Despite the fact that he looked like a man constantly on the verge of passing out, he never removed his flannel shirt. That's dedication to the image my friend.

Fortunately the fever had no bearing whatsoever on the vocals, which of course is the staple of the band's short, but quickly growing, legend. The four-parts soared through the set without ever hitting a stray note. The crowd that started off subdued at the beginning of the set got progressively louder in sing-a-longs throughout the set, feeding off the energy of the bearded harmonizers sweating their asses off while belting through an 80-minute set. I don't have the setlist, but suffice it to say they played everything you would want to hear from their album and EP, as well as a couple excellent-sounding new songs.

Last year's Fleet Foxes set at Pitchfork impressed in respect to their ability to match the pristine performance created in the studio. But the band's growth from last year to this one cannot be ignored. The performances sound fuller, with an energy and confidence that goes above and beyond what they've laid down on tape. The vocals are belted out with more passion and they're that much more engaging as a result. The natural assumption would be that a year on the road had simply given them the confidence to take chances and experiment with a solid foundation. But I attribute it to Robin Pecknold completely abandoning the whole "sitting down on stage" act. Technicians can sit, but rock stars have to stand. Even when the potential for heat stroke is staring them in the face.

The Heart of Rock and Roll

Upon first seeing the trailer for Anvil! The Story of Anvil, I knew it was a must-see film.



The immediate thought is that Anvil seemed to be a perfect hybrid of American Movie and This is Spinal Tap. Indeed, Spinal Tap references are peppered throughout the film. The band Anvil visits Stonehenge at one point. Lead singer "Lips" slyly shouts "Hello Cleveland!" while they wind their way to the stage. Hell, the drummer of Anvil is named Robb Reiner! And of course, an amp is turned to 11. The similarities can't be ignored, but perception is often turned 180 degrees because these guys are real. It's justifiably hilarious when Spinal Tap are upstaged by a puppet show or denied hotel rooms, but watching Anvil left on a European train platform, gear spread out behind them, with no way to get to their next tour stop, is something completely different.

The direction of this film is a bit clunky. We're told Anvil was on the verge of stardom in 1984, but never really given a reason why they didn't break though as Slayer or Anthrax did (Bad management? Bad record label? It's a mystery.) Some seemingly key plot points are glossed over way too quickly, or not at all. But despite the storytelling shortcomings, the film works because every moment Lips and Reiner are on screen, they're beyond compelling. They've been best friends since they were teenagers, and now in their 50's, they've fully accepted their day jobs delivering meals and working construction, but have never stopped believing (Lips, especially) that the big is still there for the taking.

We're conditioned to view the act of relentlessly chasing one's dream as something to be proud of, but that's not always the case. The first half of the film, Lips seems almost ridiculously naive in accepting a European tour offer from a "promoter" who he seemingly only knows through a few e-mails. It's not a surprise that the tour is less than successful, but you find yourself actually rooting for Lips when he shows a backbone for the first time in the film and threatens to beat down a bar manager for withholding payment. At the end of the disastrous tour, the blinding optimism still exists, with Lips qualifying that "things went dramatically wrong, but at least there was a tour for things to go wrong on."

From there, the ups and downs continue as Anvil goes back into the studio with the producer who crafted their best early albums. Excruciating attempts at telemarketing for income, family fund raising, painfully tense recording sessions, and uncomfortable record label pitches follow, all leading up to a festival invitation that surprises in several unexpected ways. The biggest surprise is the degree to which you root for a band you had no opinion of 90 minutes prior.

Teenage Lobotomy

During my last visit to my parents home, I picked up 2 crates of CDs in the basement. They had been there for over a year and I realized that at this point, I might as well add them together with the 2 crates currently in my apartment and sell off whatever I can though half.com. I have come to realize that I don't really have any attachment to CDs over music on my iPod. I can understand why those who grew up in an age of only vinyl find comfort in the physical product, but I've come to accept that such sentimentality no longer exists for me within CD liner notes.

This apathy was confirmed when, within 4 days of entering my inventory into Half's database, my resolve was tested with the order indicated on the right side of the column. One person taking all 6 Elliott Smith studio albums. This had to be a test of resolve! I felt nothing packing them up and taking my $43 and change in return.

That said, it's obvious that when going through a music collection you learn about your past and present self. This is even more so the case when going through music you don't listen to anymore. You remember old guilty pleasures which now seem embarrassing, pleasures which probably should seem embarrassing but don't, and my favorite reaction, "How did I even end up with this album?" Among the things I learned while liquidating:

1. I stole a LOT of CDs in college
We would get so much music sent to the radio station, and about 90% of it was horrible. But often when receiving something worth playing or heavily anticipated, we'd get a few copies sent to us. A professional way to handle this would have been to put one copy of the album into rotation and give the other copies away as call-in promotions, but ethics have no place at a college radio station when your entire GM salary is $350 a semester.* Plus CD burners were just coming onto the scene, so how else was I supposed to get Built To Spill albums? Go buy it in a store with money I didn't have, or take the free one that's literally sitting in my lap a month before release? You do the math. In any event, a healthy portion of my CD selling descriptions include the phrase "Promotional stamp on front cover."

*Ethical sidenote: We once submitted our weekly playlist to CMJ and included a band that did not really exist. It was simply a name we came up with for when we played in our basement, and we thought it would be funny to see the name published in a magazine. It wasn't really that funny.

2. The Unmentioned Reason that record labels can't make money anymore
When entering album info, you have to input the UPC code from the back of the CD case. However, this UPC code is missing from all albums bought through the BMG music service or Columbia House - the companies that flooded every newspaper/magazine/mailbox with their "12 CD's for a penny" promotions in the hey day of CD sales. BMG's website indicates that they no longer accept new members, though apparently they're still serving current members? There are STILL current members of the BMG service? Columbia House has moved their racket into DVD sales (5 for 49 cents!) The majority of these CDs in my possession seem to come from the "default BMG starter kit collection." Eric Clapton Unplugged? Check. Automatic For the People? Check. The Division Bell? Hilariously, yes, though it falls under the "I don't ever remember acquiring this" banner. And of course, the banner album of the BMG service: Bat Out of Hell, which must owe 40% of copies sold to the power of mail-order.

The fact that this service came of age right as I was starting to finally buy my own music made for some solid binging.* As I recall, with BMG or Columbia House, you could place your initial order of 12 CDs without giving any credit card info (this policy changed pretty quickly as I recall) and then could simply send back the default album that they would send you every month at a cost of $19 each. I don't know how the services ever made money unless they just assumed people would be A) lazy enough to routinely buy albums at a markup instead of driving to a music store, or B) absentminded enough to forget to cancel or send offering back. As a 13-year-old who fell into column B, I forgot to send any music back until my parents received a bill of $40 for 2 months worth of music. The two albums I was sent in that time: The Best of Elvis Costello, and Johnny Gill's self-titled album. Guess which one I kept?

*Related: Up until this time, the only music (tapes, of course) that I received were from my mom on Christmas or birthdays, and usually any tape that I asked for would be accompanied by 2 or 3 that my mom would "give" me, even though I never asked for them, and they would conveniently end up in her car. I vividly recall unwrapping a package that included tapes of Billy Ocean and Peter Cetera. I requested neither of these, but in the long run they're probably each more respectable than the tape I DID ask for: Milli Vanilli.

3. Unsurprisingly, I've owned some awful albums
Here are the five worst albums I ever bought. The list is not numbered as they all tie for #1. This list is based solely on the album itself, or the band at the time of the album. For example, Smash by The Offspring - a still decent album of the genre - doesn't apply simply because that band later became a complete joke, but owning any Offspring album that is NOT Smash WOULD apply because every other album (and that band in general) is awful.

• August and Everything After - Hootie and the Blowfish are the cultural punchline of 1990's pop chart dominators, but Hootie is nowhere near as embarrassing as Counting Crows. I would have a hard time compiling a list of friends who did NOT own this album, but history has taught us that will of the masses is no excuse for deplorable behavior. I tried to look up just how many copies this album sold, but hilariously I can't find any sales info past 1996. It's as if everyone just agreed after a couple years that we'd all be better served to stop counting our mistakes.
• Rage Against the Machine - I may never be able to reconcile this. A major-label marketing stunt parading under the charade of anti-establishment "revolutionaries". The less said about them the better.
  
• We Can't Be Stopped - This Geto Boys offering actually probably doesn't qualify as awful as much as simply bizarre. Toward the end of 8th grade when my entire class developed an affinity for rap, David Collins sold me this CD for $5. Within a week, he offered to buy it back for the same amount. That's how grade school business gets done apparently. I still love this Geto Boys video, especially the last 70 seconds which feature midget Bushwick Bill trick-or-treating, LEAPING to punch a guy in the face, and tossed onto a stretcher.
  
• Kiss My Ass: Classic Kiss Regrooved - I've never owned a KISS album, but at one time I felt it necessary to buy a KISS tribute album. And why not? Who wouldn't want to hear Toad the Wet Sprocket's take of "Rock and Roll All Nite," performed in all it's mellow Toad the Wet Sprocket-ness? Evan Dando sleeping his way through "Plaster Caster" and Lenny Kravitz dropping a deuce on "Deuce" are among other highlights. Garth Brooks actually pulls off an excellent version of "Hard Luck Woman," but that high point cannot make up for...
• Chris Gaines' Greatest Hits - This falls into the category of albums sent to the station that obviously would never be played, but I took it, so I will swallow my pride in the same fashion that Garth Brooks seemingly swallowed Trent Reznor's 1991 look. That said, we can't really treat songs like this as a complete joke if we're not going to do the same regarding the catalog of Babyface. Call it both way, America! Also it's worth noting that the wikipedia page for Chris Gaines A) exists! and B) has an entire biography on it! That someone took the time to write and edit! And it's more comprehensive than bios of Nobel Prize winners! You win again, internet.
  

"I won a damn Nobel Prize and my wikipedia page is a joke."

"Ask me about my fictional 1992 car crash!"

Bad Idea Show Review: Iron & Wine at Lakeshore Theater

Sam Beam does not look like a particularly humorous gentleman. Then again, he doesn't particularly have the look of a teacher either, which he was before be started writing songs in the vein of an outdoorsy Nick Drake/Elliott Smith. Despite physical impressions though, Beam is a funny guy, and comedic chatter was on display throughout a solo request-based acoustic show at Lakeshore Tuesday night. At one point when the theater sound system disagreed with Beam's guitar, he killed time by asking if anyone had any questions. Naturally, this prompted the nerdiest question asked at a concert ever. "What have you been reading?" came the request from the middle of the 300 packed seats. Without missing a beat, Beam responded, "Twilight." Perfect. But his literate admirer would not be denied. "No, seriously," he implored. "Seriously? New Moon." Outstanding stuff.

Despite the technical difficulties and dalliances into open mic comedy, the concert itself was powerful stuff. I saw Iron and Wine last year at Lollapalooza, but the time of day and cumulative effect of the weekend kept me from enjoying the set too much. But with the arrangements stripped down to Beam's guitar and voice, along with the setting of playing in an absurdly small and intimate theater, all the lyrical imagery is heightened and as a spectator you don't want to move a muscle.

The fact that the setlist was open to internet voting before the tour started ensured a healthy mix of newer tracks (Boy With a Coin, Song of the Shepherd's Dog) and more obscure older cuts (Upward Over the Mountain), along with a cover of New Order's Love Vigilantes. The spontaneity factor was high while Beam tried to remember lyrics of songs he hadn't played in years, and also remarked on the age old concert-going tradition of cheering upon immediate recognition of a song (Beam: "I always wonder if that means people just really love that first chord, as opposed to the actual song. Give it up for C!")

There are many songs on my iPod that I wish lasted twice as long, but "The Trapeze Swinger" is the only song that clocks in at 9 1/2 minutes, yet still always seems too short when it ends. This was again the case last night when he closed his main set with an epic version of the non-album classic. If you don't already own this track, you should download it from SubPop for free HERE and make your life complete.

The setlist:
Sodom South Georgia
He Lays In The Reins
Woman King
Swans And The Swimming
Wolves (Song of the Shepherd's Dog)
Mary Ann
Evening On The Ground (Lilith's Song)
Friends, They Are Jewels
Upward Over The Mountain
Loss Vigilantes (New Order cover)
Carousel
Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car
Jezebel
Beauty And A Family
Boy With The Coin
The Trapeze Swinger
Resurrection Fern (encore)

An open letter to the management of the Music Mill

Dear new management of the Music Mill,

I'm pleased to hear that you're reopening the Music Mill. While I no longer live in Indianapolis, I still feel an attachment to music venues and the overall art culture in the city. To this day, I always feel a twinge of sadness when walking past the rotating name adorning the rotting corpse of the Patio, and when the Music Mill announced its closing in January, I was disappointed. While the venue's location is less than ideal, it was one of the best-sounding rooms in the city, and the fact that it was a non-smoking venue was an added bonus.

I'm sure that in deciding to reopen the venue, there has been no shortage of conversations centered on what can be done to help the Music Mill be more financially viable than it was when it originally shut it's doors. There are several factors to debate. Should there be an age restriction on concert admissions? 21 and over or 18 and over? Should the scheduling cater more toward national or local acts? Should we focus more on private parties and band events?

The answers to these questions don't matter nearly as much as following one credo.

Schedule new artists. Stop booking the same goddamn bands over and over.

Seriously. It's the worst. So many times when I'm coming back ton Indy to visit, I check and see if anyone remotely worthwhile might be playing. And do you know who I find rolling through time and time again? Guster. The Samples. The Reverend Horton Heat. Rusted Root. Cowboy Mouth. Cowboy Junkies. Other bands with "Cowboy" in their name. Enough! It's all I can do to not open fire upon hearing the name "BoDeans!" And it has to end! In my final three years living in Indianapolis, I had reason to go to the Music Mill exactly twice - once for The Hold Steady and once for Hairbanger's Ball. This is a problem.

Understand, this is not an argument against shitty music. That discussion can occur at another place and time. This is about the same shitty music showing up time and time again. That is not a sustainable business model, and I for one would like to see this business succeed. The Music Mill as a venue is unique enough that it can create a comfortable niche in the city. There are plenty of talented people in Indianapolis who routinely book different high-level shows at smaller venues (coughRADIORADIOcough). Expand on this method and please, no more Edwin McCain. Honestly, that fucking guy...

Hail to the Thiefs

Pop music for the most part is a redundant art these days. There are only so many chord progressions you can go through before you start repeating something that likely was done many times before by many other artists. The smaller nuances and melody variations are what allow G-Em-C-D to be used literally thousands to times on commercial singles without many accusations of plagiarism.

Yet from time to time, the charge of being a copycat is leveled against an artist, usually on the basis of similarities within the melody more so than chord progressions or rhythmic similarities. And for the most part, it seems that the public reaction to such a claim has more to do with the parties involved than with the actual work at hand. For example, take these three recent cases into consideration.

Coldplay vs Joe Satriani:

Satriani sued in December, but what's interesting here is that most people's opinion on the musical similarities has less to do with the melody at hand, and more to do with their opinion of Coldplay. That is to say, those who love Coldplay think a claim of plagiarism is absurd, but those who hate Coldplay couldn't be happier to have another reason to find their music abhorrent. The fact that a respected musician is going after them adds to the intrigue. Everyone knows Satriani is one of the most amazing guitarists living, and yet nobody actually likes his music. He just seems like someone with credibility to music critics and middle-aged cover bands. Expect a similar reaction should Steve Vai ever sue anyone.


U2 vs Escape Club:

Some have compared the new U2 single to Elvis Costello's "Pump It Up" or Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire," but these comparisons don't hold water, because both those songs are far better than this. Remember four years ago when "Vertigo" was being shoved down America's collective throat? It was awful, but it was a semi-original kind of awful (or at least as original as U2 gets anymore.) This song is awful, but is also derivative of a song that was universally regarded as terrible when it was first released twenty-five years ago, when Escape Club themselves were accused of ripping off Elvis Costello. There has been no lawsuit filed as of yet, presumably because the members of Escape Club figure that any monetary gains will be outweighed by reminding the public that they are in fact members of Escape Club.

It should be pointed out however that not all plagiarism is worthy of ridicule. In many ways, judgment of stylistic rip-offs is dependent on whose style is being ripped off in the first place. It's not just the case when it comes to music. Critics of Paul Thomas Anderson would point out that his ambitious tracking shots are derivative of Martin Scorsese, but that doesn't make them less impressive. There are fewer ways to re-invent the wheel, so if you have to imitate, you might as well imitate the best, right?

This was on my mind as I recently heard the title track from the new Kelly Clarkson album:


That bass riff sounds downright Spoon-tastic, does it not?! And yet ultimately, it's a killer pop song. When I heard this, I didn't think "She's totally ripping off Spoon." What I thought was "I wish more bands and singers had more songs that sounded like Spoon." FM radio/MTV/ABC dramas would be enhanced if their soundtracks consisted of better music, so if that happens as a direct result of co-opting aspects of better bands, then we come out ahead, don't we? Ultimately, perhaps that's the key with pop music. Everything is going to be lifted in some way from something that came before it. But who it's being lifted from makes a difference.

Bad Idea Show Review: Len and Bob Bash at House of Blues

On a Thursday night when the Chicago windchill descends to 40 degrees BELOW ZERO, it's nice to think about baseball. And in this day and age when everyone is bleeding cash, it's a positive experience to attend a charity event and give yourself a nice ego boost to balance the depression on viewing your checking account balance. With that in mind, the sold out benefit at the House of Blues benefiting Cubs kids charities had all bases covered.

Opening the show was Cubs fan Tom Morello, which seemed fitting. When it comes to putting together a children's' charity event, I've always claimed that the main ingredient is vitriolic political rock, especially when the inspiring anger solely revolves around a President who has less than a week left in office. Within Morello's set, he ripped through an cover of AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, but replaced the lyrics with new ones all about the Bush administration. My show-going colleague hit the nail on the head when she called it "The worst Weird Al song ever." Morello did better off ripping through an inspired version of Bruce Springsteen's "Ghost of Tom Joad," then closed his set shouting through an angry 10-minute diatribe over "This Land Is Your Land," while an increasingly bored crowd waited it out.

With that unevenness behind, the giant novelty check was wheeled out claiming a donation of over $41,000 for the night. The applause was quickly drowned out by the Cubs rep remarking to the crowd that in the previous two years of this benefit, the Cubs have won two straight division titles. Surprisingly, this did not go over well with Cubs fans - it's almost like they want more than a division title! Another thing that's great about events like this in Chicago is that any time somebody mentions the Cubs at all, the Sox fans (about 1/3 of the crowd) vehemently boo. It's all very entertaining for a charity event.

Spirits were due for a pick up. Enter The Hold Steady. Not only is their most recent album title a constant motto for Cubs fans, but the band took to the stage and represented with flying colors for the children. Having seen this band five times in the last couple years, their evolution as stage musicians has been intriguing to see. When I saw them at the Music Mill in 2007, I dubbed them the heir apparent to Guided By Voices based on their sheer enjoyment of playing live, combined with the copious amounts of booze they consumed throughout the set. At each show since then, they've been drinking less, and sounding better. Who knew those two factors might be related?

As Andy Kindler accurately noted on the Late Show, it always seems odd that one of the most engaging frontmen in rock looks like he should be doing your taxes. Nobody leaves unaffected by Craig Finn's manic shuffling, including my show-going colleague who was inspired to buy their first two albums from the merch table after the show. The mundane stories of boys and girls in America consistently are transformed into epic tales of spirituality and self discovery, with sweeping guitar hooks and an almost embarrassingly optimistic view that "We can all be something bigger." The pure earnestness of the redemptive powers of music strip away even the most jaded cynicism, and it's a mesmerizing experience.

If that wasn't enough to get everyone on the same page, Finn proved he can unify through other methods. After kicking off the set by ripping through eight straight songs without a spare moment, Finn naturally took time to talk up the Twins, eventually reaching a truce with Cubs and Sox fans alike by pointing out that "at least we all hate the Yankees."


The Hold Steady - Constructive Summer (fan video)

Vacant patriotism no longer just for country singers!

Attention America,

Beyonce must be stopped. The sooner, the better.





There are obviously hundreds of points to be made here, but I'll limit it to three for the sake of sanity.

1. I have an uneasy feeling that this will be sung in Washington D.C. on January 20, but I hope I'm wrong. Think of your cooler musician friends, Obama! Exhibit A:

2. I was wondering how she would handle the "children and my wife" reference at the beginning. I expected a lame cop out, and my expectations were met. Jack White maintains his stranglehold on faithful covers with no fear of gender bending.

3. I've said several times over that David Cross has the best interpretation of the original recording. Memorize the rant below, repeat it word for word to your colleagues, and watch your small talk change permanently!

Nuclear War

While watching the trendy Dayton Flyers fall from the ranks of the unbeaten this evening, I checked out Pitchfork for the first time this week and read the predictably uneven review of the predictably uneven Grampall Jookabox album. This review unexpectedly led to a savvy quick marketing scheme by label Asthmatic Kitty, and sparked a (relatively) thoughtful discussion on Musical Family Tree on the merits of the review, and of Pitchfork's review system as a whole. As I read the Pitchfork review, framed in the author's context of being a Hoosier himself, this final passage seemed most irritating (even more so than a normal P4k missive):

Ropechain isn't going to displace Margot & the Nuclear So-and-Sos as the standard-bearers for Indie-ana any time soon (though please, someone hurry up and do it), but the album can stake a claim to represent that ever-underrepresented subculture that the nineteenth state owns as well as the other 49: Fidgety suburban druggies.

Swish. Why just review the album itself when you can also take a pot-shot at a completely unrelated band?

Perhaps my sentimentality gets the best of me at times - this can happen when you live in a state preparing to send it's second straight governor to jail. But I don't get the point of ripping on a hometown band for no apparent reason in a review of someone else's album. Perhaps it has to do with where I now live. One of the biggest surprises I've found since moving to Chicago is that while this city obviously is a destination spot for national touring bands, the local band scene in Chicago is not supported anywhere near the extent that the same scene is appreciated in Indianapolis. Maybe that's a direct result of national bands being much more readily available, but as a whole, there's very little enthusiasm for local bands playing live within Chicago. Neither does there seem to be the same sense of camaraderie among bands supporting each other that is evident in Indy. This mentality no doubt further colors my disdain for watching a hometown band get thrown under the bus.

But the fun doesn't end there. The discussion continued on the reviewer's personal blog, where the comments section included this highly dubious claim:

I've talked to more people around Indy and Bloomington that resent them [Margot] than like them, that's for sure.

If true, then the people you've talked to are assholes. I know many people in Indy who find the band to not particularly be their cup of tea, but even those who don't necessarily like the band's music think it's cool that a band from Indy is making a name for itself. Who from Indianapolis wouldn't have been excited to see the Melody Inn t-shirt or shout out to Marmoset on national television? Shit man, I'm happy just hearing Conan say the word "Indianapolis." The very few people I know who actually resent them (I can think of 2 people total) are jealous musicians or wannabes, upset that they haven't gotten the well-deserved breaks Margot has.

That notion is crystallized further later in the comments:

it's easiest to understand where i'm coming from if you're from indianapolis, have been attending shows in the area for about half your life, have seen hundreds of great bands come and go, and still, the only band ever mentioned is the one which gets popular because they sound like arcade fire and cop a wes anderson reference. it's frustrating, and a lot of people i talk to admit it. i don't hate that band, and i don't want to bully them out of existence. i'm just expressing frustration, again from an "insider" perspective, that it's got to be *them.* point granted, though. i know it seems shitty.

Welcome to the real world, friend. I fit every one of your listed stipulations there, and yes, until the day I die, my inner 14-year-old will be outraged that SuperFatFlyBoy never went on to headline Lollapalooza. We've all seen bands galore that deserve that big break but never quite get it because in the end, success is a lottery. Most bands will never get that notoriety, but this bullshit about "that band doesn't deserve it" is a joke. Should more bands from Indy have broken through? Of course they should have. But trying your best to throw rocks at the one band who is doing things the right way while finding a measured amount of success is lazy and more than a little disappointing. This is not a band who has earned notoriety through easily optioning their songs to air on "The Hills" or "Grey's Anatomy." This is not a band that has shamed it's hometown the way Nickelback has shamed all of Canada. This is a band that has consistently praised other local acts in interviews and on stage, much more than they've needed to.

Luckily, the majority of people supporting music in Indianapolis aren't doing so while talking with others about how much they hate one band in particular. Most fall in line with Dodge, praising the local acts that more people should know about, and simultaneously refusing to take cheap shots at one of the successes of a scene that means a lot to many people. This my friends, is true Hoosier hospitality.

Bad Idea Show Review: Lollapalooza at Grant Park

Please tell me that isn't Cat Power murdering "Fortunate Son."

This was the first thought that entered my mind when I initially heard distinct sounds coming from Grant Park Friday. Thanks to getting stuck working downtown most of the day, I missed a big chunk of Friday bands, as I feared I would, and I entered hearing Cat Power ramble her way through a depressingly plodding cover of Creedence. Upon realizing that it was 5:30pm, I had no time to mess around. I entered the giant beast that is Grant Park (which had SOLD OUT somewhere between 75,000 and 80,000 tickets for night 1) and made my way to the south end, stopping to listen to Grizzly Bear on one of the smaller stages. Much like Fleet Foxes delivered at Pitchfork, Grizzly Bear had the layered harmonies pitch-perfect. They're a band whose tunes are clearly more suited to an intimate setting, but they delivered here, and the sound quality was remarkably clear for a festival setup, which gave me high hopes about the rest of the weekend.

From there, I moved down to the main south stage and met up with friends to watch Bloc Party. I LOVED the first Bloc Party album, and thought the second album was good as well, but the live show does nothing to enhance their music. It's rarely a good sign for a band when the drummer has the most stage presence, as was the case here. The bassist and guitarist barely moved, and for a band who has so much energy on their albums, you just didn't see it in the performance. It made me wish I had gone to see the Raconteurs instead, but on the plus side, I was already in place for Radiohead here on the same stage.


I had once heard that festivals are a great place to see bands you like, but an awful place to see bands you love. I can somewhat see the reasoning behind this logic after seeing Radiohead. The band sounded as good as they've ever been - every song of In Rainbows was played, with a decent mix of older stuff (including "The Bends" which made my jaw drop.) But I'm not really sure that Radiohead are a "festival" band. They've shown before that they could easily take the U2 (and now Coldplay) route and crank out mindless stadium-ready rock anthems one after another, but obviously they want to do something else and continually explore new directions. This aspect is one of the things that makes them my favorite band; it's also what makes them maddening to a large number of people, and I totally understand why that is. When 80,000 people are in attendance though, most fall in between these two demos. They're there to hear "Karma Police", and when instead they get an outstanding reworking of "The Gloaming" (maybe my least favorite track on Hail to the Thief, but a true highlight of the show) they tune out. The following pattern happened several times:

• Radiohead play one of their more nuanced songs
• Casual Lolla-goers who don't know the song start chatting amongst themselves
  
• Radiohead fans start yelling "Shh!" at the casual fans (It's never a rock festival if you're not Shh-ing someone!)
  
• Casual fans seem shocked that someone is telling them to be quiet
  
• Everyone seems pissed
  

One person who was never pissed though, was this girl:
This chick climbed up a speaker tower 30 feet high during the 3rd song of the set and rocked out for most of the show. Every once in a while a security guard would venture halfway up the tower and then decide they weren't risking their ass to get this loon down. Seriously, it took them until the encore to get her off! She was fun. While I was shooting unreasonably snotty glares at people around me who dared to chat during "All I Need," there were several highlights. Fireworks started going off during an epic run through "Fake Plastic Trees," the crescendo of which had chills running through me. "Everything in It's Right Place" is quickly becoming a staple of their live show. It's drastically re-worked from the version recorded for Kid A and is turned into a flat out dance-rock song. As the final encore ended with a blistering rendition of "Idioteque," I left day 1 thinking that Radiohead were as excellent as I had hoped, but wishing that the rumored secret show at the Chicago Theatre hadn't been called off the night before.

DAY 2

By Friday, day 2 of Lolla had sold out as well. I can't remember ANY day of Lollapalooza selling out before, but the weather was not as hot as forecasted, which made the crowd more bearable. I arrived bright and early Saturday, strolling in the gate around Noon to see Margot and the Nuclear So and So's. Indy represent! I can't fully articulate how bizarre it was to see them play on this massive stage, but they sounded great, especially on "Skeleton Key." I'm on the fence about the newer material I've heard, but one can never be on the fence about the joy from watching Casey Tennis' percussion dances.

After Margot's quick set, I met some friends to watch The Ting Tings. Aside from finding couple songs charmingly disposable, I can't get into this duo, but they had a HUGE crowd there even playing so early, so maybe it's just me. One band I can get into, however, is Dr. Dog, who played as the Ting Tings wrapped. I'd only heard a couple of their songs before, but they had some heavy buzz, and they were fantastic. There's a heavy dose of The Band along with Beach Boys harmonies, and it all worked. Everything worked as well for The Gutter Twins. I can get behind pretty much everything Greg Dulli has done, but I never got into The Afghan Whigs until they broke up, and I was late jumping on board The Twilight Singers as well. Dulli and Mark Lanegan showcase a brooding disturbing swagger meant to be heard late at night in a smoke-filled room, but they sounded just as great at 3pm. I spent the walk over to the North stage debating the name of the alt-hit that Mark Lanegan had in the mid-90's when he was with Screaming Trees. The answer: "Nearly Lost You," which I mistakenly had pegged a Jesus Jones song. Upon being proven wrong by a feisty friend of a friend, I walked in shame toward the other side of the park.

We strolled through the merchandising aisle, which contained your standard festival fair along with this booth:
Wow - it's almost like he's a rock star or something! By the time the festival had ended on Sunday, I never quite found where the Official McCain store was on the premises.

While I was still coming to grips with my failures in Seattle grunge music trivia, the band providing the uplifting score was Explosions In The Sky. Like many people, I first heard EITS on the score for Friday Night Lights. The lack of a singer, alongside the layered arrangements make it sound like they're cranking out rock-based symphonic movements rather than standard songs. They were the best band of the day thus far - it's hard to crank out emotion without lyrics, but these guys left everything on the stage and it was exciting to watch. Under normal circumstances, they would have been difficult to follow, but Broken Social Scene was up to the challenge. I wrote in my preview that something about them hasn't translated for me on their albums, but it all clicked on the live show. While Feist was not in attendance, the other members held everything down. BSS ripped through an inspired set that made for the quickest hour of the day. And at one point five different people were playing guitars, which has to count for something, no? Good things were happening on this stage, and although everyone else I knew at Lolla (and probably 2/3 of the entire audience) was going to see Rage Against the Machine, I stayed to wait for Wilco. I was in a prime location 20 yards from the stage, and knew Wilco could be counted on for a solid night. I realized my expectations needed to be re-evaluated before a single note was played.


Look at those suits! Every member of the band had a different colored nudie suit. I am telling everyone who reads this blog - these suits are better than anything you will ever see on Project Runway. EVER. No Contest. Jeff Tweedy claimed that the band had spent the last month sewing their suits, and while I'm skeptical, no one could argue when Tweedy remarked, "Radiohead were awesome last night, but they haven't been doing any sewing. They're all about the 21st century and beyond."

As for the music, I realized that Wilco is a band I largely take for granted, probably because they seem to tour all the time. I initially wasn't that excited to see them since I'd seen them before, but they quickly reminded me why they're the best band in America. Everything they do is great. When I last saw them at Rock For Riley, Glenn Kotche's insane drumming stood out, but guitarist Nels Cline was the star tonight. His 2 1/2-minute solo during "Impossible Germany" pretty much had me losing my shit:

Bonus points to Wilco as well for playing literally up to 10pm, and not wasting time with a stupid encore break when the clock was ticking. (Radiohead did 2 encores Friday night, and while I understand the process behind it, they could have used the time spent leaving and returning twice to play another song. We're up against the clock here guys!)

One other note on Wilco - apparently this is some sort of regular occurrence at Lolla, but I never noticed until the Wilco set that there was a dancing woman just in front of the stage performing the lyrics via sign language. This baffled me - are there deaf people coming to Lollapalooza? Or deaf people viewing online? Who knows, but my favorite part of the sign language lady's repertoire was that when the band was jamming out, and there were no lyrics that needed to be signed, she would often play the air bass, which is perhaps the most underutilized of all air instruments.

DAY 3

I was skeptical that Sunday could live up to Saturday's highlights, and early on, that seemed to be the case. I arhrived around 1pm, met a friend, and headed down to catch The Whigs. On our way there, we stopped and checked out about 20 minutes of What Made Milwaukee Famous. Both bands were good, not great. The Whigs grew on me more as their set went on, but I had a feeling that perhaps I had a musical hangover from the night before, as neither band quite seemed to be doing it for me.

I did want to check out the stars of Paul Green's School of Rock who were playing at the Kidzapalooza stage. If anything could rip through my cynicism, it had to be kids covering classic rock anthems, right? Approaching the stage, I heard the kids tearing throw a faithful version of Steve Wonder's "Superstition," with the lead singer sounding remarkably familiar and grown up. Once I got close enough to see, I realized that not only was Perry Farrell singing with the School of Rock, but playing guitar with them was Slash! The drummer and bass player (each of whom were probably 12 years old) kept their cool remarkably well as the foursome ripped through "Knockin on Heaven's Door," "Mountain Song," and "Jane Says." ("This is a song about a girl who was very nice, but then got confused one day," Farrell explained to the kids.) It was an awesome scene. The kids were pumped, and Slash is better than Dave Navarro even during Jane's Addiction songs!

With renewed vigor, I made my way to see Iron and Wine and over the next 20 minutes, nearly passed out. I really like Iron and Wine's albums, but the set wasn't clicking for me today. The sun was in full force, and the mood just wasn't there for them in this particular setting. It really just made me sleepy and in need of a swift kick in the ass.

Right on cue, enter Flogging Molly.

Best band of the day in my opinion. Mix The Clash with The Pogues and add more booze, and this is what you get. Brilliant performance from these guys, and they provided the funniest stage banter of the day with the following exchange:

Singer Dave King: "This next song is about Oliver Cromwell."
Crowd: "BOOOOO!"

Yeah, suck on that Cromwell!

Re-energized after Molly's set, I hauled ass down to the other end of the park. (It should be mentioned that the two main stages are about a mile away from each other, which takes it's toll on tubby bastards like myself.) I made it down to catch most of Gnarls Barkley's set. The band was good, although a bit lacking in energy. Also, you could tell the pitfalls of being an assembled band who doesn't tour much as a group. Gaps between songs were frequent and overall the set just wasn't that tight. On the plus side though, Cee-Lo's voice is stunning in a live environment - the guy has better pipes than 90% of the singers at Lollapalooza. And Gnarls also did an outstanding cover of Radiohead's "Reckoner." I left there to see some of Girl Talk on one of the smaller stages, with an obscene crowd overflowing. Girl Talk is a weird live act. On one hand, I love the pop/hip-hop hybrids that the guy mashes up on his albums (The Elton John/Notorious BIG mash being the best). But it's not all that compelling to just see a guy hop around and play with a laptop. That said, the crowd was going nuts and the stage was FULL of people dancing their asses off, so even if the performance itself wasn't as good as the albums, the atmosphere didn't suffer. And there were some sweet Journey mashes, which always pleases me.

Things were winding down so I decided to again head to the north end and meet a friend. We picked a spot right inbetween the 2 main stages on the north end to watch The National first and then just turn around for Nine Inch Nails. The National have really grown on me. They opened for R.E.M. a couple months ago and were rock solid here once again. But I was all about Nine Inch Nails. I've been really excited to see them since they were announced, and I'm not exactly sure why, as I was never hugely . I really wished I could have seen Kanye West as well, but the moment that Trent Reznor literally sprinted on stage and launched into "1,000,000," I was validated in making the right call. I was surprised when "Closer" was unleashed just 30 minutes into the set. (A guy next to me had brought his son, who couldn't have been older than 6 years old. With the son sitting on his dad's shoulders, the dad offered a half-hearted "Cover your ears" to the kid before the chorus, but I doubt the effectiveness of his command.) About halfway through the set, Reznor spent about 20 minutes or so on tracks from the instrumental "Ghosts" set. This didn't go over all that well with most people around me. It spurred a reaction similar to that of Radiohead in similar circumstances on Friday, but I actually liked it. I think most people were expecting the pure nostalgia act they had seen with Rage the night before. The other benefit was that it gave people a chance to catch their breath, and eliminated the possibility of people getting crushed as they had the night before. The mellow mood didn't last, and the intensity ratcheted up with highlights of "Only," "The Hand That Feeds," "Head Like a Hole," and a haunting encore of "Hurt" that served as a perfect ending for a full weekend.

Top 5 Lolla '08 performances:
1. Wilco
2. Radiohead
3. Flogging Molly
4. Broken Social Scene
5. Nine Inch Nails

Bad Idea Show Preview: Lollapalooza at Grant Park

I talked to a few friends yesterday who are attending Lollapalooza next weekend. While mentioning the probability of meeting up with them at some point during the festival, I was reminded why I don't particularly enjoy group outings at events like Lolla. This is an event that thrives due to the eclectic mix of artists. The appeal to the concert-goer is the ability to map out your own path through the weekend, so inevitably, there will be debates within a group on who to see at any given time. This was not an issue at the Pitchfork Festival, as our group was small and largely uniform in our preferred agenda. Not to mention the choices were much easier (i.e. Do we want to watch The Hold Steady rock our collective asses, or watch the guy in !!! imitate Terry from Reno 911?) Plus with only three stages (as opposed to eight at Lolla) and the giant video screen, the number of choices were smaller and it was pretty easy to navigate the terrain quickly. But Grant Park is a sprawling beast, so there is more of a commitment to be made when choosing once band over another. In a situation like this, a group mentality cannot thrive. The more likely scenario should be that I touch base with friends from time to time while executing my own plan. Does this make me selfish or unnecessarily pessimistic of the possibilities that I can work in harmony with my friends over a common itinerary? Perhaps. But to maximize personal enjoyment at an even that, by it's nature is this over the top, sometimes one must be a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

And yet, even when venturing solo, there is an still internal struggle on who to see when. With that in mind, these are some of the tough decisions to be made over the weekend:

FRIDAY: Mates of State vs Grizzly Bear
There are several downsides to massive festivals like Lollapalooza, but bands like these are ultimately what make them worthwhile, because while I like both, I would would probably be on the fence about seeing either a standalone show. They both are masters at the art of pop harmonies.
EXPECTED CHOICE: Grizzly Bear. I'm always skeptical about bands whose albums feature harmonies that dynamic, and their subsequent ability to translate that delivery to the live setting. Fleet Foxes did this with stunning ease at Pitchfork, so I'm hoping Grizzly Bear can bring the goods as well.

FRIDAY: The Raconteurs vs Bloc Party
A classic confrontation here - 2 bands with outstanding debut albums and not as great but still quite good follow-ups. This may be the toughest call of the weekend for me, as I would easily pay to see either band at their own show. Based on live performances that I've seen on TV or online, The Raconteurs seems to have a more energetic stage show, whereas Bloc Party always kinda seems like they're going through the motions - although those motions still move.
EXPECTED CHOICE: This will be a game-time decision, but I'm slightly leaning toward Bloc Party, if for no other reason than to be closer when Radiohead follows them on the same stage afterward.

SATURDAY: Broken Social Scene vs Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco's catalogue would seem to translate well to the summer setting, but hip-hop shows all too often result in guys with mics in front of a turntable, and the presentation rarely adds more than the recorded versions. For whatever reason, I've always had a really tough time getting into Broken Social Scene. I find them interesting more than I actually find them enjoyable; there's just something about them I can't explain that leaves me a bit cold. That said, I've heard raves about their live show, and that chick from the Apple ads is in their band!
EXPECTED CHOICE: Broken Social Scene, to see if they finally make me a believer. Their set at Lolla '06 supposedly stole the weekend, so maybe the stars are aligned for a repeat performance.

SATURDAY: Wilco vs Rage Against the Machine
Oh, Rage...who played the game in the early 90's better than these guys? Their first album was the driving soundtrack to every soccer game I played my sophomore year in high school. I didn't know any 14-year-old boy (myself included) who didn't get a visceral thrill from screaming "Fuck you! I won't do what you tell me!" ad nauseum. Somehow they cloaked their empty lyrics in social consiousness, while never acknowledging that the fans they preaching to were comprised almost entirely of kids who had absolutely no idea who Che Guevara was, and really just liked screaming over and over while Tom Morello ripped shit up. Needless to say, their catalog has not aged well, and they paved the way for Korn and Limp Bizkit, so thanks for that guys! But hey - they've reunited, so I suppose we're expected to give a shit or something.
EXPECTED CHOICE: Wilco, I suppose. I really wish someone else was playing opposite Wilco, because although I love them, I've seen them multiple times in far better settings and would like to see someone new. That said, I can't get into Rage's novelty reunion charade. Somebody take notes and tell me if Zach De La Rocha does anything bold and revolutionary, like criticize the President.

SUNDAY: Black Kids vs School of Rock All-Stars
I really liked the Black Kids first EP, but haven't listened to their new album yet (though the Pitchfork review of said album seemingly made the blogosphere implode.) Those kids do battle with the youngsters from Paul Green's School of Rock who make me insanely jealous. They get to spend their youth learning how to shred through the history of rock from from Radiohead to Journey in front of thousands, while my formative years were spent cranking out the damn theme from "Newhart" at CYO contests. You win, kids.
EXPECTED CHOICE: School of Rock. False advertising alert: everyone in the Black Kids is over the age of 22!

SUNDAY: Nine Inch Nails vs Kanye West
The final slot of the weekend features a heavyweight matchup. The man who begs for every album sale he gets taking on the man who asks people to steal his CDs. Kanye's "Glow in the Dark" tour set-up displays an ambition never before seen from a hip-hop act. He's taking a page from the U2 book of calculated theatrics, and I'm a total sucker because I've fallen into the trap and my curiosity is piqued.

In 1992, I looked at Nine Inch Nails the same way I looked at Rage Against the Machine - interesting soundscapes and heavy lyrics that included swearing. Of course I thought The Offspring had staying power back in those days as well, so perhaps I wasn't the best judge of talent. Reznor's stuff still holds up today though - he's survived the flurry of imitators that flourished in the 1990's, and his current DIY ethic of working without a record label and releasing music through unconventional means has given his music a much needed shot of energy. Based on their tour rehearsal footage, NIN looks ready to slay.

EXPECTED CHOICE: Nine Inch Nails. In a perfect world, I could watch NIN perform, Kanye would pull a Bonnaroo and run late, and I could see both acts. But I don't live in a perfect world. I live in Chicago, where they threaten to open fire if open-air concerts in the city run past 10pm.

My Confused Jacket

The latest track I've heard from My Morning Jacket's new album Evil Urges blows my mind.

But not in the "I've discovered the future of indie-meets-hippie-meets-psychedelic-meets Skynyrd" way. My mind has been blown in the "what the hell is going on? Someone must have linked to the wrong mp3" way.

I really can't come up with any concrete praise, criticism, suggestions, or insults for the track. I'm at a loss. So I leave it up to you, the reader, to comment on the song. It's called "Highly Suspicious," which is appropriate, because I'm highly suspicious of My Morning Jacket's new direction, which is obviously influenced by these two:

Weezer, I Wish I Knew How to Quit You

Just when I think I'm out, they bring me back in.


Weezer is about to release an album (their 3rd eponymous album - which completes the primary color trilogy - , but the first with a cowboy-hatted and mustachioed Rivers Cuomo), and the past three have beaten out of me all hope of their return to greatness. And then they decided to attempt the "Bohemian Rhapsody" of the 2000's.

It's called "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)" (Rivers is so humble).

A Shaker hymn is a variation of a work/dance song called "Simple Gifts" from 1840's Maine (they knew how to rock). Many will recognize it as "Lord of the Dance" from Bible school.

HERE'S THE SONG (yes, I'm linking to Perezhilton...I don't know how to quit that either):

I took the liberty of identifying the various musical styles they breeze through about a dozen different takes on the classical melody.

Rivers is so cultured.

0:00 - 0:10 - live album
0:11 - 0:33 - 3rd grade piano recital
0:34 - 0:40 - an episode of COPS
0:35 - 1:25 - Limp Bizkit
1:26 - 1:51 - Jason Mraz (I admit I don't know if this actually sounds like Jason Mraz...he was just the 1st tool with a guitar that came to mind)
1:52 - 2:17 - military pledges of allegiance
2:18 - 2:43 - Al Green
2:44 - 3:07 - Blue Album-era Weezer:-)
3:08 - 3:33 - Muppet music video-era Weezer :-(
3:34 - 4:05 - The Rentals
4:06 - 4:37 - Shakespearean "Beverly Hills"-era Weezer
4:38 - 5:10 - Rockapella as a church choir
5:11 - 5:48 - back to Blue album-era Weezer!!


And somehow, this recipe spells musical genius. At least that's what my 17-year-old soul that's stuck in 1997 tells me.

Bad Idea Show Review: Colin Meloy at Park West

photo via Spin

I've yet to see The Decemberists in person, but if I were to choose any band's fan base as "most likely to be reading before the concert," I can't think of any other followers who would even compete. So perhaps it should not have come as a surprise Monday night when I noticed four different people literally reading books while waiting for the opening act. When Colin Meloy took to the stage for a solo acoustic set, the books went away but storytime continued, with plenty of light-hearted stage banter to spare. Meloy introduced a new song as "based on star-crossed lovers, as is 90% of The Decemberists' catalog. But if it's good enough for Shakespeare..." He also repeatedly referred to Chicago as "Chi-town," but pronounced it similar to "Sh*t-town," delighting his inner 12-year-old repeatedly.

It's an interesting concept to take the bombast of Decemberists songs and strip them down to simply a singer and guitar. On "O Valencia," the acoustic version feels a bit lacking without any accents or harmonies. But on the flipside, the stark bare version of "Shankill Butchers" is chilling. It becomes the kind of thing that would keep kids up all night, repeatedly checking window locks.

But for the most part, the missing accompaniments throughout the songs simply allowed for audience participation, as when they delivered a vocal impression of the guitar solo during "The Perfect Crime #2," or gave a ghostly defiant background plea during "The Engine Driver" ["And if you don't love me let me go!"] By the time the show closed with the overly ambitious "The Mariners Revenge Song" all bets were off. It became a free for all consisting of high-pitched pleads from a scorned mother (mostly delivered by females in the crowd,) audience-wide swaying back and forth while mimicking a whale, and at one point, Meloy ordering everyone to the ground to symbolize the mother's death. It was like a wedding reception gone awry during "Shout," if "Shout" ended with a sea-faring womanizer being murdered. It was a beautiful mess.

Setlist (more or less):
Leslie Ann Levine
We Both Go Down Together
Come Hell [New Song]
The Perfect Crime #2
O Valencia + Dracula's Daughter
Apology Song
Kingdom of Spain
Cupid (with Laura Gibson) [Sam Cooke cover]
Shankill Butchers
Night/Rake [New Song]
Oceanside
A Cautionary Song

Encore:
The Engine Driver
The Mariner's Revenge Song

Bad Idea Show Review: Bon Iver at Lakeshore Theater

photo via Flickr

On Thursday evening in Chicago, you could pay $10.50 to see a first run movie (Superhero Movie, anyone?) or, for 50 cents less, see Bon Iver perform at the Lakeshore Theater. While I cannot weigh in one way or another on the quality of Leatherheads, I can tell you that option 2 was clearly the winner.

Bon Iver is the end result of Justin Vernon spending three months alone in a Wisconsin cabin. When he emerged, he had created "For Emma, Forever Ago," an album that draws influences from the melancholy subdued pop of Elliott Smith or Nick Drake, combined with the falsetto vocals of Jeff Buckley or TV on the Radio. Thursday evening, Bon Iver played the album in sequential order (impressively armed with a different guitar for each song.) The vocal harmonies soared throughout a theater otherwise rendered completely silent. The silence magnified the spaces inbetween the vocal phrasings or strumming patterns. It created an atmosphere where you didn't want to move a muscle - you were simply locked in the moment. Powerful stuff indeed.

The entire album is streaming free online and is thus far my favorite album I've heard this year. And it's well worth the price of whatever other movie is playing this weekend

Back in Gear

Album release day is a holiday of sorts. For music fans it's a culmination of a journey, beginning when you first hear that one of your favorite bands are back in the studio. The waiting game begins... New songs are being written! They're moving to another studio! The demos are adventurous and edgy! The song list has been finalized! Sequencing and mixing are complete! Artwork! We have artwork! When release day finally comes (and you've gone through the self-discipline of refusing to listen to leaked versions on torrent sites) it can be like getting an extra birthday - and one that sometimes can even come several times a year. The quality of that gift can vary of course. Sometimes the gift takes a band that you had a middling interest in, and launches them into the stratosphere of musical giants (see: Z.) Sometimes it treats you like an out of touch aunt, taking something you once held sacred and making you now feel like a fool (see: Make Believe.)

Or sometimes, like today, the gift simply offers a reminder about how we are drawn to bands in the first place.

For the past decade or so, R.E.M. fans have watched the band ceremoniously fall from grace. The commercial failures haven't been that important, although it never went without notice that suddenly their 1980's counterpart U2 was suddenly once again the "biggest band in the world," after two inexplicably sub par albums. But U2 could get away with that. When you're as desperate to remain famous as Bono, you can convince people that you're still relevant, whether the music backs your point or not. R.E.M. did not have that luxury. They never wanted to be rock stars, they just wanted to be a band. The flaw with this mindset, however, is that when the music is uneven (as Reveal was) or just adult-contemporary swill (Around the Sun), you have nothing to fall back on. They couldn't keep shoving a horrible single down people's throats via iPod ads because they had always been a band selling music above image, so when the music doesn't hold up, you just have four normal looking guys from Athens, not..well...this guy.

But the R.E.M. resurgence begins with Accelerate, and thus far reviews seem to be solid. It's not an earth-shattering sonic overhaul, but neither is following the lead of resting on past laurels. It's simply a welcome reminder that the band actually can make a great album without Bill Berry (something that since 1999, I've thought would probably never happen again.)

My all-time favorite R.E.M. clip is from 25 years ago, and it's my favorite for several reasons.

• It shows how different late night shows are today when compared to 1983. This was their 2nd song of the broadcast, which you would never see today, especially with the host interviewing the band in between songs.
• On that same thread, what band plays an untitled, not yet recorded song on their national TV debut? This is what happens when bands decide what they should play, as opposed to record execs.
• It's a reminder that Michael Stipe was once actually camera shy, as he hides behind Peter Buck, piping up only to name drop Herschel Walker.
• The awkward banter is nothing less than compelling. Letterman really wants to get to the bottom of what's going on in Athens, and will not accept "Nothing" as an answer.
• A young Mike Mills still has "rock star" written all over him, doesn't he?