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Archive: October, 2007
Easily the goofiest-looking rock band since Supergrass, the Glasgow band 1990s display a similar knack for irrepressibly energetic bursts of melody. Playing second on a three-band bill at the First Unitarian Church on Sunday, the three-piece sailed through the highlights of their debut Cookies (Rough Trade/World’s Fair), plus two fine new songs. Cookies isn’t a consistent listen, but its three singles -- “You Made Me Like It,” “You’re Supposed to Be My Friend” and “See You At the Lights” – are near-perfect pop. All three songs received spirited readings on Sunday, with Kinks-size riffs and cheerfully irreverent lyrics at the forefront.
Speaking of forefront, all three band members performed in line on stage. Singer-guitarist Jackie McKeown – he of the floppy hair and sizable incisors – was an amiable frontman. But Michael McGaughrin, sitting to McKeown’s left, nearly stole the show, playing drums, singing harmonies, and never once standing still. He wasn’t quite Keith Moon; more like a stick-wielding Angus Young. (1990s are currently without a full-time bass player; Dino Bardot is handling the low-end for the U.S. tour.)
| Photos | Michael T. Regan |
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| Photo | Michael T. Regan |
Woke up this morning with a notion, a notion deep inside, that it ain’t really a sin to be glad I’m alive. Not that I wake up any morning wishing I hadn’t done so, of course. But life’s always a good thing made just that much better when a Jersey boy gets to see Bruce live. Last night's was my third show now: one outside at the Linc with the full-band (stellar), one Bruce solo acoustic set at the Tower (good, but long) and last night’s full band inside the new Spectrum (Wachovia Center). And while it made me pain a little bit to see the Big Man walking around with a bit of a 60-something-year-old man's gimp (though he still makes that sax sing like no one else), and Bruce himself pulling away from the mic to let the crowd handle a few more of the vocals than I recall in the past, there’s something tribal about these shows. Bruce’s middle-aged imperfect army if you will and when they threw the lights up for a sick Badlands, one of the whitest gatherings I’ve ever been a part of.
Musically, there was a good mix of old and new. Bruce and the E Street Band opened with recent single Radio Nowhere – no worries Bruce; you still got some people out there - and went into No Surrender, Lonesome Day and Gypsy Biker en route to an 18-song set followed by a 5-song encore.
My highlights: (inexplicably, as I’d never been a big fan of it elsewhere) Brilliant Disguise, a mellow My Hometown, a having-grown-on-me The Rising and set closer Badlands which is anthemic as it gets, to this day. (In introducing the title track of his their new album, laden with political undertones, Bruce said it’s “not about magic; it’s about tricks.) The encore: Girls in Their Summer Clothes, Thundercrack, a still-in-my-head Born to Run, Waitin’ on a Sunny Day and closer American Land which brought in the vibe from their Live in Dublin double-CD, one of my favorite recordings of the past few years. (I know there was a cover thrown in there somewhere but, still groggy, I can’t put my ear on it.)
This having been the second show of the new tour, they were certainly still working out some kinks – a mid-show lull, for instance – but the band (Stevie in particular) still knows how to work the crowd (There was an upper stage for those stuck behind, and a smaller one down front on which Bruce pounced a few times, letting people strum his gee-tar even. If you’re going down tonight, you’re in for standard Bruce fare: Happy crowd, good tunes and a glad-to-be-alive band that’s more than the sum of its parts.
If you do, as Bruce noted at the end of the show, see him tomorrow night (as in tonight), just don’t expect one of his epic 4-hour gigs. All told, I think this one clocked in at roughly two-and-a-half.
Johnette Napolitano seemed a little tired when she took the Tin Angel’s stage for Friday night’s late show. See, two weeks ago, she turned half a century, and she celebrated by partying every single night in September and into October. No matter. Dressed in a black leotard, Chucks, and a sheer gold skirt that kept threatening to fall off, Napolitano held forth on Burning Man, Miss South Carolina’s geography gaffe and Halliburton’s infiltration of New Orleans. Then she went a couple rounds with a rose-bearing female fan who seemed to be pimping out her husband. Of course, what Napolitano does best is belt, and in such a small room, the microphone was superfluous. She dipped into her new solo album, Scarred, but the lion’s share of songs came from her work with Concrete Blonde, including “Little Conversations,” “Joey” and “Mexican Moon.” But nothing topped “I Don’t Need a Hero,” when she ripped into the chorus: “I don’t need a hero / I don’t need a soldier / I did when I was younger / But now I’m so much older.” When it first came out, on 1987’s Bloodletting, Napolitano probably didn’t envision singing those lines two decades later, but she drew out the last word and dunked it with “I’m 50, bitch!” She set fire to “Ghost Riders in the Sky” and made herself choke up on the a cappella AIDS lament “Tomorrow, Wendy,” which she turned into a vigil for Iraqi children and senior citizens before spazzing out on President Bush and abruptly ending the show. The lights came up, the house music came on and someone filched her setlist, but much of the adoring audience stuck around waiting for an encore that never materialized. She was gracious, funny and most likely toasted. And when she was done, she was done. Fuck 30. If this is what middle age looks like, 50’s the new 20.
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| Photo | Brian Howard |
| City Rain (left) and Rudy Solo. |
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| Photo | Brian Howard |
| The winner, again, Jason Carr. |
Last night nine local laptop DJs squared off at the North Star for Philadelphia Laptop Battle 8. What is a laptop battle, you ask? Essentially DJs with their digital music libraries stored squarely on their hard drives and all manner of gadgets, switches, knobs, faders, etc., get on stage and get five (or in later rounds, 10) minutes each to rock the crowd. A panel of three judges (of which I was part) rates each DJ and his performance on a scale of 20, with 10 points awarded for sound quality/song selection, 5 points for liveness (essentially, how much fun/not fun is it to watch this dj tweak out his tracks) and 5 points for crowd response.
The first round of 9 five-minute sets weeded out Darrel Ashbury, Freqs, Gaubie and Moths, leaving Ayahuasca, City Rain, last year's Philly champ Jason Carr, Rekall and Rudy Solo. In round two, the uneliminated got 10 minutes to stretch out, display a little more range and chops, and build that energy.
As the evening wore on, City Rain and Jason Carr emerged as the crowd and judge favorites (Rudy Solo advanced to the final round as well). City Rain's swelling, melodic, at-times a little anthemic downtempo was a stark contrast to Carr's tweaky-deaky minimal techno. City Rain used his effects with flair, looking at times as if he were leaning into a fader like a guitarist leans into a solo; Carr was relaxed and fluid, bobbing around to the pop-pop-pop of his tracks. In the end, Carr emerged the repeat victor, though in this judge's mind it was a little too close to call, and, what the hell, I had City Rain on my scorecard.
Things got hot and heated throught the evening. Several "posse" members of ousted DJs approached the judges and accused us of cronyism and all-around poor judgment. Tempers flared. At least one guy in overalls talked a lot of shit. Let it be known that not only did I not know any of the DJs involved, when the evening started, the only guy I knew in the whole club was co-host Dev79 (CP's DJNights guy).
To close the evening, Carr squared off against Baltimore's k-rai, the winner of March's Laptop Battle 7, for the right to compete in the next round in Seattle.
More photos | Video from the event after the jump.
| Jason Carr works the room. |
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| City Rain works the, um, keyboard. (Video of Jason Carr forthcoming). |
City Rain Rocks!
for once, i felt among peers. looking forward to the next one!
City Rain got robbed - that was the best presentation!
Thanks you guys!
So Diamond Dave is back in the Van Halen family once again. The true fans have been waiting for this one since the 52-year-old singer split for a less-than-spectacular solo career in '85. It certainly wasn't 1979 last night, even though the set list was solely focused on influential music from '78-'84. The crowd was unexpectedly tranquil, especially compared to the fire in the streets after the Phils swiped the division from the Mets. The over-40 crowd came out in droves. The young frat kid in front of me, hammered out of his mind and dancing the whole time, sang every word of every song. "This is as serious as I'm going to get tonight ladies and gentleman," announced David Lee Roth with a wide grin. "It is an honor to be here tonight."
The crowd went nuts when Dave came over and gave Eddie a hug, the long-time divide seems to be patched up. While meandering back to my car after my 3 song limit expired, I passed a lonesome scalper trying to get rid of 4 tickets with a face value of $85. There was nobody in sight. I offered him $20. He countered with $30, then accepted my $20. As I strolled to the lower level side stage seat that wasn't mine, they broke into "Dance The Night Away." Eddie was tight and in his element, Dave was hitting the high notes, Alex was drumming on beat all night, and Michael Anthony? MIA, no Jack Daniels bass. Hardly a reunion without the charismatic bass player and backing vocalist. Sixteen-year-old Wolfgang did a fine job and his dad (Eddie Van Halen) had a blast with the young one, but Anthony's absence was evident. Dude was the backbone. They covered every album recorded between the release of Van Halen ('78) to 1984.
The highlight was a surprise spoken-word performance by David Lee Roth, acoustic guitar in hand. He recalled the days of early rehearsals at the Van Halen house, Alex being called to work at 6 p.m. every day to play drums for his dad, a love that lasted three years, growing up in the burbs, and coming of age with the Van Halen family. "We passed joints to the right and to the left." "Pot," he reminisced, "had seeds back then." No word on whether or not the band will continue on after the 25-date tour, but Diamond Dave seems to think this is a start to the new era.
Devendra Banhart lovers, we are one and the same. However, I won’t lie: my first twenty-or-so impressions of Smokey Rolls Down the Thunder Canyon did not make me want to touch my freak-folk geek self. But when Banhart and his six-man band harmonized like bearded Diana Rosses and Mary Wilsons on “Rosa” and synched up various percussion instruments like a perfect giant organism in “So Long Old Bean,” I was a believer. Did I mention Banhart dubbed his band “Spiritual Boner” for the night? And called Philly a mecca for magicians? Shit, now I’m downright obsessed with the man. Other gems: Banhart’s waa-waa-waas in “Bad Girl” were giddy and made every lady in the room shimmy. Then he ripped off his Renaissance Faire vest for the encore, “Little Yellow Spider,” and squealed, groaned and grunted one last time. Smokey is a man’s musical evolution so far into time that I literally had to wait until the future to fall in love with it. But Banhart’s shirtlessness during the last song helped with that, too.
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| Photo | Kim Black |
Iron and Wine’s eight-piece band set up on stage to the sound of thunderous applause. It was the most enthusiastic response they would get out of the crowd until the traditional begging-for-an-encore cheering at the end. Once the first chord was played, the audience fell into an eerie silence, hypnotized by the soothing strumming and soft percussion of the band. The ambiance of the show felt more like a session in meditation than a rock show, with red-orange lighting that for any other band would feel tacky but here was a tastefully appropriate complement to the soothing music. And while Sam Beam’s whispery voice could as easily lull you to sleep as it could inspire you, he held the fans in captive attention through the entire set and the encore, “A History of Lovers” from the collaborative In the Reins EP with Calexico.
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