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Last Night
Observations from last night’s home game between the Trenton Titans and the Reading Royals of the East Coast Hockey League.
1. There were a few recognizable surnames on Trenton: Corey Syvret is the brother of former Flyer Danny Syvret (Offensive Dynamo). Mitch Versteeg is the brother of former Flyers underachiever Kris Versteeg. Also, longtime Flyers tough guy Todd Fedoruk is a coach there. (At press time, I could not confirm notable connections for players named Ryan, LaBelle or Hayes.)
2. This guy Yannick Tifu of the Royals has moves, and people know it. The Trenton version of the “Sign Man” had a sign made to specifically for the occasion, with Tifu in a tutu. Sigh, man.
3. There couldn’t have been more than 500 people in that arena that could probably hold 5,000+. (The Trentonian today says the “announced crowd” was “2,112.” I did not hear that announcement; maybe it got lost in the echo off all those empty seats.) This meant the players could be interacted with directly. After Tifu scored, he gave a look over to the sign guy like “how you like me now?” Sign guy did not like him then, either.
4. The play was occasionally sloppy, but mostly good solid hockey. Just some blind passes, players out of position, more guys looking down at the puck than up at the net they’re shooting at. There were also some slick moves, once in awhile and fine goaltending.
5. Hardly any penalties and no fights. I’d always heard that the further you go into the minors, the more gladiatorial everything gets. (The ECHL is an "AA" league, one level below the AHL.) Nope. There was plenty of hard checking, but the gloves stayed on.
6. The Royals won 6-3, thanks largely to the agile play of goalie Karel St. Laurent (and the shoddy, momentum killing Titans D). Boo. I guess. But: Good game, good game, good game.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
It starts out quiet as a mouse, fingerplucked acoustic guitar and brush beats on the drums. But as we'll learn, it's best not to let the mellow mood set the bar for your expectations of Andy Cabic and Vetiver. During the nomadic five piece's hour-long, very-sold-out set at Kung Fu Necktie last night, they ever-so-gradually built up the pace, pulling heavily at first from last year's Tight Knit. The ringing triangle on "Sister" was the initial crowd pleaser, a jaunty midtempo rhythm and pretty melody masking melancholic lyrics. Then there was the pepped up '60s pop of "Everyday," the acoustic guitar bouncing and drummer Otto Hauser bringing up the beat. Dude is totally the backbone of this band, going from an understated economy of percussion on the quieter moments, to a more emphatic beat the rousing 12-bar guitar jam "You May Be Blue" from the band's 2006 record To Find Me Gone. By the concluding cover of The Dead's "Don't Ease Me In," the sticks were hitting fast and fierce, Cabic was leaping and strutting, and the crowd seemed to forget that the night started on such a tender, tranquil note.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
A note on the opener, Meg Baird. My friend Dan turned to me during a break between songs and said "Funniest comment I heard from back there," gesturing to the logjam of yapping heads at the bar (Seriously, people? Talking over Meg Baird? WTF.), "Some guy said 'She looks very inexperienced.'" We shared a hearty laugh at this as Baird went into a rendition of "The Pearl," the sensual, surreal love-and-death mediatation from Espers III (and her standout moment on the record). She tours the world, has collaborated with some of the best musicians of the past 50 years, got to sit in on a set at Carnegie Hall ... but yeah, inexperienced, sure. What, good yapper, are you interpreting as inexperience? Is it because Baird sits onstage very erect, clutching the guitar tightly as she nimbly plucks its strings? Is it because her facial expression remains fixed while she plays? You think she's nervous, is that what it is? No, dude. That's called focus. Listen to her — Baird never hits a wrong note. She never plays out of tune. She nails each song, every time.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Even though Holly Otterbein convincingly blew their cover yesterday, I nonetheless showed up at Johnny Brenda's quietly wondering if this mysterious band billed as Meth Beach was actually a freeform ambient drone headtrip. Nope - it was indeed the boys from Dr. Dog, warming up some material from their new Shame, Shame, due out April 6 on Anti- Records. Quite a bit of it, actually; of the forthcoming record's eleven tracks, the band played a generous six of them, intermixed with favorites from 2008's Fate and 2007's We All Belong.
Unsurprisingly, the new tunes don't make any departures or sudden 90-degree turns from the 60s rock foundation that dual songwriters Scott McMicken and Toby Leaman have built on for the past eight years. This is not a bad thing. Rather, it's solid Dr. Dog, a sharpening of their studied classic motifs and intricate structural interplay. Or to put it in less smarty-pants language, the new shit rocks as timeless rock songs should, and the band is tight as ever, riffing off one another with crazy energy.
Standouts were the first and the last of the new offerings (full setlist below). "Mirror Mirror" playfully rides a midtempo groove and supple funk organ into a big chorus. In "Stranger," the bigmuff guitars took center stage, racing across octaves in the verse and refrain to swell into a ebullient coda. Chords slammed loud and bright, then ended cold, the capacity crowd erupting into applause.
That level of reception was definitely a winning point; the Meth / Dog guys bulked up their set with unfamiliar material and never once lost the room's enthusiasm. On the other hand, they were playing to the choir so to speak, and not all of the new material resonated in this same manner ("Later" just kind of unremarkably came and went). It remains to be seen how well it will go over in front of the more general audience they'll face at The Electric Factory on May 13, or nationally once the new album drops on the band's new, heavy-hitting label.
Shame, Shame could end up being an amazing masterstroke, Dr. Dog's breakout, defining work. Or it could merely a fine addition to an increasingly strong catalog. Whichever the case, based on the songs premiered last night, it's no dud. This is going be a collection of music we as a city should collectively anticipate and embrace.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
SETLIST:
Worst Trip
The Way The Lazy Do
Army of Ancients
Mirror Mirror
Station
The Old Days
Later
I Only Wear Blue
The Ark
Where'd All The Time Go
Stranger
The Rabbit, the Bat and the Reindeer
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Eric Slick is in my opinion the single most exciting young drummer out there. Absolutely, ridiculously, amazing.
The new drummer is Eric Slick. He plays in the Adrian Belew Power Trio as well as an awesome side project called Paper Cat. He is a beast. Great addition to the crew.
We miss Juston.. He did the drums on the new cd..and the others. Please come back, Juston?
The new drummers name is Eric Slick.
We miss Juston..
I noticed they have a new drummer and IMHO he took them up to the next level. Someone said he's the kid who plays with King Crimson - Rick something. Anyone know who this guy is?
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Waiting for Espers to take the stage at Johnny Brenda's last night, a buddy and I debated their catalogue. He's a loyalist to the original document, the self-titled debut. Myself, I'm partial to the deep, dark chasms of Espers II. We eventually agreed that it's compelling and commendable how each of their releases ' particularly the brighter, more serene new Espers III ' has its own distinct identity. And then we watched as those identities bended seamlessly with one another when performed live.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
The opener "Mansfield and Cyclops" ' a definitive Espers song if there was one ' comes from their second album, and Meg Baird's haunting intonations in the expansive composition positively dovetailed into harmonies with Greg Weeks on foggy, proggy "Road of Golden Dust" from III. The six-piece ensemble then moved into "Flaming Telepaths," a Blue 'yster Cult tune from their covers album The Weed Tree, which was just as complimentary. Later, they reached back to the first release for "Riding." Kind of an odd selection since it structurally feelt more like a transitionary afterthought than a stand-alone piece of music, but sonically it played right into the cat's cradle of interwoven eras.
The dissonant old songs felt more airy. The sparer new moments had more grounding (credit new bassist to Norm Fetter for beefing up the thinner tones on the record). And the set enraptured the ample crowd, much of which was politely seated on the Johnny Brenda's floor.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Another perk was the comforts-of-home vibe Espers' set gave off. Greg Weeks is a understatedly funny dude, and doesn't always let it show through onstage, but Johnny Brenda's must put him at ease. He cracked wise about the title of The Weed Tree, telling us it was named for an errant tree in guitarist Brooke Sietinsons' backyard, or maybe it was actually "something I dreamed up when I was putting weed in my bong." Awesome. Later, when Baird broke a string (and the band couldn't get together their Durutti Column cover my other buddy was yelling for), Weeks unwittingly found himself filling the space with discursive banter about their recent European tour. He recounted tales of harassment for his recently-trimmed stache at a Dublin dance club ("I don't like your mustache and I don't like you!"), where he was later set upon by a trio of Italian guys "because there was this woman dancing within like three meters of me and I guess I was perceived as a threat." When Meg made it back up on stage, Weeks said his monologue was a learning experience; "we learned we can't play without you." Naw, dude. You did just fine.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Also worth noting were the openers, both of whom were notable in opposite extremes.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Standing at a piano, belting out jazz standards and jazzy derivatives, a laptop flipped open at her side - which I swear was simply decorative as it did not seem to accomplish a damn thing - and taking frequent breaks to sip on, what was that, a Long Island Iced Tea? Seriously??...Chicago songwriter Azita came off like a hot mess. She's clearly an exceptionally skilled pianist; she's clearly got a powerhouse voice. And she clearly is fine with bludgeoning both those strengths to a pulp with sloppy carelessness - over-emoting one moment, underselling a crescendo the next, and at several points apologizing for not being drunk enough. I'm thinking crap, sister, you wanted to be drunker? Although bits of beauty eked through here and there, her set was mostly a train wreck of Cat Power proportions. Part of me wondered what the performance would be like if she had her shit together. Part of me wonders if, a la The Greatest and the Memphis Rhythm Band tour, it wouldn't nearly be as intriguing.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
On the other side of the coin was red headed Canadian Doug Paisley. He played slow, low and striking rootsy folk, the stuff of Jackson Browne and Gram Parsons. He was charming and soft-spoken; the crowd watched in hushed attentiveness. And while his songs tended to drift into subaudible territory (a cover of Roy Orbison's "Candy Man" "Crying" notwithstanding), his worked the neck of his guitar so skillfully it was confounding.
Matterfact, between him and Meg Baird, I'd say I spent a good portion of the evening fixated in amazement at nimble fretting fingers.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Saw them in LA recently and I am amazed that they are more celebrated. This is really one of the most talented and greatest sounding folk bands ever. Few bands from the past and present can really compare with them - if any.
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| Photo | Carolyn Huckabay |
'Would you like to meet a special somebody?'
Three songs into Imogen Heap's hour-plus set at the TLA last night, her equipment's power went dead. 'Everything's fine, I'm just going to do some interpretive dancing now,' she said cheerily, mumbling to herself and pacing around the stage and playing with whatever noisemakers were in arm's reach. (Among them: bird squeezey toy.) To distract us from the technical misstep, Imogen asked us if we'd like to meet Harold. 'Woooo!' we replied.
Harold, turns out, is no sound technician or stage manager, but rather Imogen's stuffed lion, which she brought on stage and clutched lovingly for a moment, until the fuss was settled and she and her backing bandmates launched into a powerful synth-brassy 'Headlock.' By then, of course, the lioness had us hooked.
Equal parts dotty and dominant, Imogen has mastered the art of the lovable space cadet. That, or she really is in outer space. Either way, it's charming to hear her tell little tales between songs, or fill the dead space with snippets of conversation in that delightful British alto. Before 'Aha!' she launched into a story about a friend ' 'well, I'll allow we were more than friends' ' who came over for lunch, claiming to be a vegan and requesting a special meal. When he reached for a definitely-not-vegan biscuit, Imogen reported, she realized that perhaps they wouldn't be 'friends' for much longer. All of this is to say that 'Aha!' is, in part, inspired by the biscuit-eating vegan (which would explain the lyric 'Caught you red-handed in the biscuit tin'). 'But the song isn't entirely about him,' she admitted, 'because it ends up talking about a serial killer.'
Most of the set was dedicated to Imogen's new album, Ellipse (Megaphonic), which finally dropped this summer; of its 13 tracks, she played 12, skipping 'Earth' and peppering in a few numbers from 2005's Speak for Yourself (RCA). There were really lovely moments (sitting uncharacteristically still throughout 'The Walk,' she let her airy, controlled falsetto dominate over electronic embellishments) and intense ones (she danced robotically to 'Bad Body Double,' commanding such stage presence it was hard to imagine that just moments before she'd been distractedly humming arpeggios to herself) and imperfect ones (after finishing the odd, complicated 'Little Bird,' she conceded, 'I haven't quite got that one yet'). Slow bits were infused with enough visual and aural distractions to compensate; from the saw to the hang to the guest cellist she'd just auditioned via vokle.com, there was always something going on to keep our attention.
Imogen couldn't have left last night without giving us 'Hide and Seek,' which she saved for the encore. Keytar strapped across her shoulders, she' blazed through, asking for us to sing along at the end. A totally a cappella "Just for Now," with an audience-induced three-part harmony, followed, and Imogen wrapped things up with one of her favorite songs from Ellipse, "The Moment I Said It." As her last lilting note faded out, she whispered "goodnight, everyone," did a little twirl, and took off.
Set List:
1: 'First Train Home' (Ellipse)
2: 'Wait It out' (Ellipse)
3: 'Between Sheets' (Ellipse)
4: 'Headlock' (Speak for Yourself)
5: 'Bad Body Double' (Ellipse)
6: 'Speeding Cars' (Goodnight and Go)
7: 'Little Bird' (Ellipse)
8: 'Half Life' (Ellipse)
9: 'Aha!' (Ellipse)
10: 'Canvas' (Ellipse)
11: 'The Walk' (Speak for Yourself)
12: 'Swoon' (Ellipse)
13: '2-1' (Ellipse)
14: 'Tidal' (Ellipse)
15: 'Hide and Seek' (Speak for Yourself)
16: 'Just for Now' (Speak for Yourself)
17: 'The Moment I Said It' (Ellipse)
The moment I said it is actually the final track from Speak for Yourself. Was an amazing show!
Great review. She's going to be touring the UK soon dates are up here http://bit.ly/8HHDyA
'I threw flowers in your face on my sister's wedding day.'
We were still waiting in the will-call line when 'The Strangers,' St. Vincent's first track from 2009's Actor (4AD), came blaring through the Electric Factory's walls promptly at 8. Damn. (It didn't help that the bitchiest guy in Philadelphia was ahead of us in line, whining that he shouldn't have to wait in such a long line.)
Opening for Andrew Bird, St. Vincent ' aka Annie Clark, former member of the Polyphonic Spree ' stuck with Actor tracks for the most part of her nine-song set, wavering between the exquisite, ambient swell that's become her signature and a much more dissonant, spazzier sound that I don't think anyone was expecting. As my boyfriend said, 'It's like she goes from Regina Spektor to Sonic Youth in the span of a song.'
Not that there weren't lovely moments amid the madness. 'Save Me from What I Want' started as a slow crescendo of harmonic oohs between lead singer and violinist, slowly building to a wall of perfect sound. By the end, that which had been pleasing to the ear had devolved into a sort of dragged-out, heavy-guitar cacophony with St. Vincent at the center, shaking her head like she'd heard an off note, or she'd fallen into some kind of trance.
But then she was back with 'Actor Out of Work,' thanking Andrew Bird for the opportunity to perform, thanking Philly for listening.
As the set went on, things got a little bit weirder. 'Black Rainbow' featured a white-bandana-clad flutist (who also rocked out on vocals, oboe and sax variously throughout the evening) and major bass notes that shook the floor. And all of a sudden, St. Vincent was tweaking out, like Marty McFly playing 'Johnny B Good' a little too futuristic for the kids of 1955. A strobe light as her background, she jerked and seized, as if to tell us this is what music would be like in another 30 years.
Last and most bizarre, Marry Me's 'Your Lips Are Red' took its time getting started as St. Vincent marched in place as if on a people mover, revving herself up and singing with her eyes closed. In her self-contained groove she might not have even noticed the shirtless, mustachioed guy who came on stage behind her and started dancing ' or, more accurately, thrashing ' with the violinist. The animal in St. Vincent didn't come out till this, the ninth song, where she alternated between Tourette's-inspired jerks and fetal-position squats, and her backing band followed suit, swaying and pulsing till the song reached its limit. With the coo of its final lines, 'Your skin's so fair, it's not fair,' the band came down from its high, morphing into an entirely calmer, more mellow sound, making way for Andrew Bird instead of completely blowing him out of the water.
SET LIST:
1. The Strangers (Actor)
2. Laughing with a Mouthful of Blood (Actor)
3. Save Me from What I Want (Actor)
4. Actor Out of Work (Actor)
5. Now, Now (Marry Me)
6. The Party (Actor)
7. Black Rainbow (Actor)
8. Marrow (Actor)
9. Your Lips Are Red (Marry Me)
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| cirquedusoleil.com |
| C'est magnifreaky! |
There was something extra Frenchy about last night's Cirque du Soleil performance at the Liacouras Center. It seemed like every other group in the audience seemed to be swishing tight, accented syllables out of their thin, pursed lips. My guess is they were friends and family members of the performers, all of whom stayed true to the tasteful traditions of the dramatic circus fused with sideshow and street entertainment. I wasn't allowed to take photos, but I was so close to the stage that I'd have only gotten pictures of their derri'res anyhow.
This French-Canadian show sends you home wondering about things you couldn't even imagine with the help of psychedelics, like contortionists walking on their throats while resting their butts on their heads; a man dance-hovering horizontally inside a giant hula hoop; and a tribal-looking dude juggling fire with his bare hands, feet and mouth. Sacre bleu!
The performers don't just come out and do a few cool tricks that you want to go home and practice on your own. They put on full, 10-minute routines of physical elegance so bizarre that your imagination sits and takes notes while you question everything you've ever learned about gravity and the human body. The best part is they do it all in slippers ' sparkly, magical slippers.
Although there were no motorcycles in cages and not a lot of audience interaction, even the clowns, whose airplane sound effects sounded French, pulled squeals of laughter out of les jeunes enfants in the audience. There really is no ethnicity, age or class of people that wouldn't be fascinated by this show. Just watch out for those ruthless audience members ' they'll steal your seat as soon as you get up to go to la toilette.
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| Photos | Patrick Rapa |
Everybody knows just where she gets her clothes
A watercolor painting in a Renoir pose
Gossip is not the raw, dirty little indie trio you saw at the Khyber all those years ago. They rolled out some deep, rich cuts from the new Music for Men at the TLA last night to prove it. This four-piece Gossip is slick, with synths and guitar and even bigger (and more frequent) choruses for the gracious, bodacious Beth Ditto to show off her amazing voice. Everything was fast, loud and pro. The polish suits them. Ditto still rules the stage like a blues goddess, but she's got a little bit of disco diva/anthem singer, too. It's all rock and roll, of course ' even when she's doing a call and response take on "What's Love Got To Do With It." Oh c'mon, Beth. It'll all about love.
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