Impressions

I am continuously so impressed by Merge Records. Today I was perusing the site (because their website is awesome), and stumbled on the blog. First up was a mix made by Stuart McLamb of The Love Language (a favorite band of mine!) that is damn good. It's 45 minutes of all NC bands, most of whom I have never heard of, which for me is such a treasure. Hearing more and more new tunes through artists I know and love is something I often forget to be thankful for.

Speaking of  being thankful, while I often groan about living in DC, I must admit that it has certainly allowed me to see so much good music. And for cheap! This year alone I have seen the following:

Frightened Rabbit
Brendan Benson
The Dead Weather
Arcade Fire
Spoon
El Ten Eleven
Telekinesis
The Love Language
The Walkmen
Bear Hands
Freelance Whales
Bowerbirds
Floating Action
Guided By Voices
Delta Spirit
The Pixies
Tokyo Police Club
Wye Oak

I'm likely forgetting something. Also, some of these folks I saw twice. 2010 was a good year for music!

For You Blue

Because.
Because he made us all feel like there was just the Two of Us.
Because I never had to say "Don't Let Me Down".
Because I truly believe he has nothing to hide when Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and Monkey.
Because It's Only Love and he's no Mean Mr. Mustard.
Because even when I'm So Tired,
or when I'm Only Sleeping,
or had A Hard Day's Night,
Happiness is (still) a Warm Gun.
and you will always be Here, There and Everywhere.
Because Baby It's You.

Most Amazing Thing Ever

Otherwise known as hilarious. Especially if you've ever had a group on tour stay with you...

"How to Tour in a Band or Whatever." by Thor Harris.

Dare to Compare

I hung up the phone after a nearly two-hour catch up with one of my besties, sipped my wine, and weighed the pros and cons of going to see Brendan Benson at the 930 Club. I've seen him before, at the same venue in fact, and it was a great show. I had no real reason not to go, I just didn't really feel like heading out again, so I said to myself, shut up already and ride up there. 

The house was sparse, but not empty, unlike last time when it was over-crowded even on the top level. Maybe last year he was able draw a bigger crowd from riding the coattails of The Raconteurs fame. Not that it matters, but I knew of Brendan Benson long before he paired up with Jack White. Which is more of the reason why I finally showed up on Wednesday night. When he played the 930 Club in December 2009 with Cory Chisel and others, the show was fun, exciting, happy even (considering all Mr. Benson ever sings about is heart ache). Hell, they even closed with a cover of American Girl! This time, backed by The Posies, I dare say, they seemed sluggish, sad, heavy-ended even. What is usually a poptastic set, was genuinely somber. It even seemed like the band was bored. It came as quite a surprise to me when halfway through the show Benson announced that it was being recorded live. 

Could have fooled me...

That's not to say I didn't have a good time, I did. And Brendan played most of my favorites like "Garbage Day" and "Tiny Spark". There was just something significantly not-rocking about the vibe of the whole night - personal state of mind aside. Perhaps it was the addition of The Posies as the opening band and back up. I never have been enough of a Posies listener to call myself a fan, but I know they are a talented bunch (that much shines through the assortment of black clothing). Core members John Auer and Ken Stringfellow seemed to be having more fun playing Benson's songs than the lead himself was. Auer is a heavier rocker, and his sound seemed to overshadow Benson's to the point of distraction. Stringfellow is a great bass player, and a decent keyboardist, but during "Feel Like Taking You Home Now" he looked like a little kid learning to play the keyboard for the first time. Fingers jammed the keys in hefty strokes and his face looked down at the keys like some bad secretary. 

Which is ironic because as a whole, they are a bunch of goof balls. I watched this terrible interview of them (only terrible because the girl asking questions was an idiot) in which they just joked around and seemed really comfortable together. When the interviewer asked them if they had anything else to say, Auers suggested she try the hummus. I mean, The Posies have been around for like 35 years and Benson seems like the kind of guy you'd just really like, despite his rigid outer shell. This kind of brotherly banter streamed through the show, which likely made the crowd feel more like they should have fun then sit and stare blankly through the melancholy. At one point as the round of band introductions took place, Stringfellow pointed out the tech guy who had been mightily handling the stage all night and said, 

"And the tattooed fellow running around is Trent. Say hello Trent! Trent is the guy who plugs things in. Yeah,  he's the plug-in guy." I was about three rows back at this point, feeling pretty good, so I smirked and shouted out into the expanse of the crowd, "That's what she said!" Whether or not the band heard me is neither here nor there, as I thought it was funny, and I got a few chuckles from the folks around me, and a hearty laugh from the gentleman directly to my right. 

All in all, not my favorite performance, but like I said, I had a good time. I'd say 3 out of 5 stars. Actually, make that a 3.5... they did close the show with a cover of "September Gurls". RIP Alex Chiton. 

Don't Tell Me What To Do

Accidental Great Show

The day started off with a certain air to it that I could tell would be hard to shake. By 5pm I wasn't sure if it would spiral towards the hell it seemed to be clamoring for, or if it might actually make an upswing and help a sister out. By 8:30 I was on my way to have a cocktail (always helpful in a purgatory situation) and starting to feel pretty good, all things considered. Just as I mounted my bike to meet my drink date, I got an ominous text, "There's some good bands playing tonight at Black Cat, you should come". Usually a Monday night doesn't warrant such insalubrious behavior, but I knew that if I caught a quick buzz in Mount Pleasant before heading down to the Cat, I'd not only be in for an assuredly good show, but probably an orgasm to boot. So I decided I wouldn't check the web for who might be playing and just say, "I might see you there".

TMI? Probably, but come on! What's rock n' roll without all the gritty details? The invitation came from a friend who only shares two interests with me - good tunes and great sex. Seriously. That being known, I figured if I went I could at the very least count on some pretty decent music and if not that, then something decent to make up for it. I arrived at the Black Cat just as the third and final band, El Ten Eleven, started their set. I sat calmly at the bar, recovering from my ride down the hill, and waited to see if I should make my way inward to the Backstage. I sipped my draught Pabst and listened to both the bar fly next to me ramble on about his flooded basement and the increasingly interesting sound emerging from the back. Being as I knew none of the details of the show, I assumed the make up of band were at least a quad if not sextuplet. From what I could make out, my mental check list heard a keyboardist, a bass player, one or possibly two guitar players, a drummer and probably some kind of trickster sound engineer or DJ. I could have built this up in my head because maybe I've just seen too many bands like the Freelance Whales and can't be counted on for what to expect anymore. Curiosity killed the conversation at the bar and I quickly made my way to investigate. Getting in free was a breeze, it was by then the end of the night and the chick at the door recognizes my face. I entered the little dark room and saw a sparse but intimate crowd excitedly watching a large projector screen positioned just-so behind the stage.  

Hmm, I thought and begin to weave closer to the stage to find my friend and see what the hell was going on. What I found was amazement. This was no grand scale group but merely a duo! The footage displayed on the aforementioned projector screen consisted of the foot path of guitarist Kristian Dunn, who appeared to be entrapped by effects pedal kicks and various mixing toys. I began to realize what I was witnessing, that what I thought was several musicians seamlessly meshing their talent was in fact one man looping the sounds coming from a 1977 DB630 Double Neck bass/guitar (much like the ones Jimmy Page and Slash have been known to rip) and drummer, Tim Fogarty, who sat outside the swell of pedals furiously beating the drums as if at any point they might decide to get up and walk off stage beneath his tight grasp. 

It was as if U2 had wrecked head on into Beck on the way to meet R2DJ and The Polyphonic Spree and the aftermath had exploded all over the stage into a massive instrument battle of the wits. 

Did that just blow your mind? Good, now you know how I felt. 

At some point I quit expecting lyrics and excepted that my usual claims to dislike instrumental music were obviously too narrow in scope. El Ten Eleven, dubbed by some as "Post-rock", sound like a marriage between experimental, pure rock, electronica and unadulterated raw talent. The double neck guitar/bass is officially one of the most awesome inventions ever. The man plays other instruments too while composing this symphony of sound, most notably several varieties of Fretless bass guitars and Whammy pedals. Fogarty sticks to well known drum-basics, though dresses them up real nice with his own set of looping tools and kick pedals. 





This California duo is really something you should see to fully understand the complex and invigorating intonation that pours off the stage. To come full circle with both the reason I found myself in this place, imagine, if you will, describing an orgasm. All at once intimate and intense, humbling and holy, somehow static and yet totally surreal. To experience that full scale set of emotions in two completely different settings in one evening makes me feel one lucky girl. I hope to see them again because knowing that kind of talent is available reminds me why I will almost always say yes to an invitation to a show (or an invitation from this friend).

Mixed Up

I used to adore making a mix tape. Hell, who am I kidding, I haven't made a "tape" since I was still recording Top 10's off the radio. Let me rephrase... I used to adore making a mix. Pulsing with theme, alive with sound, ahh, those were such proud days. I'd fill in the lines on the smooth, square matte paper  with permanent marker to make sure the mix stayed tight and deliver with such a sense of satisfaction. Often the recipient was the reason the mix got made in the first place. An inspired introduction to my taste and style, all in just shy of an hour and 20 minutes. I even used to shrink the time between songs to make sure all 22 or so made it. Like some mad agent out to sell a greatest hits, I chopped off the last 3 seconds here, made the lag time 1 second there, stopped Pink Floyd mid-chant in "Fearless" just to squeak it all in.

Nowadays I start a mix, make another five more just like it in some iPod On-the-Go frenzy, and never quite make it to blow dry the Sharpie label illuminating the compact disk. Fucking repeat. This whole thought began with a repeat. I was in the bath, and decided to revisit this mix I made called "DC or Bust" for the U-Haul ride with my mom on the drive from Asheville to Washington. It's actually a pretty prefect bath mix. It's totally me, but with nothing on there my Mom would switch off suddenly in a nervous moment on the road like she used to do to the dial on 93.5FM back home when we found ourselves stuck in traffic and she needed a little quiet. Not unlike her required silence, I guess this mix is calming in a way, yet at the same time, completely sad, a little ridiculous and, in this case, all-out hopelessly romantic. If that doesn't also manage to fit the theme of a move, I don't know what does. Especially one in which you pack your feelings all up with your luggage too.

Truth? "DC or Bust" reeks of my ex. It's littered with lyrical asides and songs stolen right off some other mix we made together. I left Asheville in such a fucking hurry the bust part was bound to happen - musical support or not. A song comes on and I can't help but snicker again at what I found funny earlier (as I sat in the so-not-warm-anymore bath water). Beck is on every single one of these damn mixes from the Summer of 2007. Maybe even farther back. "Missing" no less. If I could've picked a theme song for our relationship, it would have been this one, so it fits just fine. I must have ignored the glaring symbolism back then when we were still mixed up making mixes. But it doesn't matter now. The mix made it and he did not.

I think the static choices I made back then where my way of trying to control the chaos of my heart. And maybe that's the whole point of a mix tape. Finding a place to stand still in the middle of your mood. Making that Cat Stevens song from Harold & Maude flow right into "Sweet Black Angel". Picking something because it mentions the part of your past you are leaving behind but still manages to make you hopeful for the future; where you might eventually be sitting in a dress - ironically covered in pink mix tapes - listening to that very song, wondering what happened to that girl but being so glad you're not her anymore.

Oh, don't worry, I'll still make a new mix. In fact, I have one right now that needs a little tweaking. It's too long, and something just doesn't sound right, and well, life's too short for a crappy mix tape.