LIVE REVIEW: First City Music Festival, Monterey CA

FYF Fest

The weekend of August 23 and 24th was a big weekend for music in California. LA’s FYF fest garnered most of the attention with its headliners The Strokes and Phoenix, along with other acts like HAIM and Built to Spill. In the eleventh year since its conception, the festival has grown to be one of the go-to fests of the summer and is obviously the most talked about. But Goldenvoice has another fest cooking up interest on the same weekend. First City Festival is the Northern California counterpart to FYF, featuring Beck and The National as its headliners in only its second year running. While First City doesn’t quite have the recognition of FYF just yet, it very much has some momentum after this year’s events.

First City Festival is held in the city of Monterey, for which it earns its namesake. Monterey, CA is unofficially the state’s first capital, boasting a lot of California’s “firsts,” such as the establishment of California’s first library, public school and printing press. From a musical standpoint, Monterey is somewhat of a musical mecca, having hosted the iconic Monterey Pop Festival of 1967, the first most widely attended rock festival of its kind and, arguably, the festival that ushered in the beginning of “the summer of love.” With 55,000 people in attendance, Jimi Hendrix, The Who and Janis Joplin gave some of the most iconic performances of all time on the stage at the Monterey County Fairgrounds. Considering that it is being hosted at the very same fairgrounds as its memorable predecessor, First City Festival has a lot to prove.

First City planners face the task of defining First City’s sound, and many festivals, such as Coachella, are being criticized for lacking luster in the overall defining sound and feel of the festival. FYF very much has its feel for L.A. bands and markets itself on that very characteristic. So how did First City fare in that department? Most of the artists featured at First City were of the acoustic and indie rock vein, each with a unique sound. There were no hip hop or rap acts, and EDM was noticeably, and thankfully, absent. This eliminated a lot of that teenage partier crowd, therefore a lot of rowdiness. Between the vast marketplace of artisan goods, and the artists booked at First city, there definitely was a Monterey vibe floating around. It’s hard to describe what that means; as a California native I have vacationed in Monterey countless times and can tell you it’s not your average beach town. Its appeal comes, obviously, from its history (think John Steinbeck and Cannery Row) but also its eclecticism. It’s an artist town, with its fair share of hippies and hipsters. So yes, there was some patchouli lingering, but more importantly the vibe was definitely that of music connoisseurship. It wasn’t a party festival remotely; it was a festival for people that really enjoy experiencing live music and who appreciate true artistry.

The fairgrounds were quaint but beautiful, with three stages and, oddly, a carnival. At first I thought that this was an attempt on Goldenvoice’s behalf to ride the coattails of Coachella’s popularity (Coachella’s most prominent image is its ferris wheel). But then I realized it was more about practicality – the Monterey County Fair is right after First City (how convenient!). The atmosphere of First City was vastly different from my experiences at Coachella, and this has a lot to do with the lineup. I was open to seeing just about anyone. First on my list was Speedy Ortiz, a Massachusetts four-piece that sounds like it time warped directly from the underground indie music scene circa 1995. Their gritty guitar licks range from clear and concise picking, to fuzzed-out strumming. Paired with Sadie Dupuis’ sing-talky vocals, you’ve got a band with a refined, unrefined sound. Very grungy at times, the band experiments with moments of mellow, hypnotic, verses relying heavily on subtle background guitar feedback and lulling bass lines.

Speedy Ortiz

Survival Guide was next on my list. This was one of the few artists that I had listened to quite a bit beforehand, so I knew I was sure to enjoy. To my surprise, it’s actually a one-woman band. The lady behind the music, Emily Whitehurst, manned, or should I say woman-ed, a complex musical setup of a laptop, keyboards, looping machines, and strangely, a telephone. Her sound features a lot of instrumentation that I would never have guessed was created as a solo endeavor. That the music came mostly from machines rather than a full band didn’t detract from the performance in the slightest. Though she was confined to a small spot on the stage, she commanded the attention from the growing crowds of the day as she breezed through an upbeat set of electronic indie pop tunes.

Survival Guide

By the time Miniature Tigers hit Cypress stage, the day was picking up and so were the crowds. Though their earlier releases had more acoustic guitar, the set was heavier on the dreamy synth pop of the material from their latest release, Cruel Runnings. The band’s energy was incredible and they garnered a rather large crowd, no doubt lured by their 80’s new wave appeal with a modern dance edge.

Miniature Tigers

One of my favorite parts about First City is the minimal amount of overlap between bands early in the day. It makes for an easy way to discover all of the smaller artists that the event was featuring. By the time Miniature Tigers ended, we were able to head to the Manzanita stage to catch most of Doe Eye’s set. Doe Eye is a San Francisco based artist featuring sultry singer Maryam Qudus. This moody orchestral rock garnered a lot of attention considering CocoRosie was playing the main stage at the same time. The songs never really achieve a high energetic tempo, but tracks like “I Hate You” carry enough lyrical weight to make for an interesting performance underpinned with irony at times, due to Qudus’ saccharine-sweet singing.

Doe Eyes

Following up Doe Eye on the same stage was one of my favorite acts of the entire weekend, The Lonely Wild. They consider themselves “spaghetti western influenced americana,”  and it must be said that there are elements of that description that are absolutely true of this LA group. Their sound explodes the idea of classical folk into climatic and often times cinematic sounds, which makes sense considering Andrew Carroll, the band’s brainchild, studied film before forming The Lonely Wild. “Everything You Need” was the song that hooked me immediately; it embodies the band’s overall sound, with dual male-female vocals, a constant foot pounding rhythm and a horn section that conjures up that desolate old west image. Not only were they a personal favorite of mine for the entire weekend, they’re the type of band that I feel exemplifies First City’s sound best.

The Lonely Wild

After checking out the end of Tokyo Police Club’s set (never a disappointment there), I stuck around at the main Redwood Stage for Best Coast. Like a more well-kempt and much more jovial Courtney Love, Bethany Cosentino proved to be a strong female front with an air of nonchalance and bad-assery. Though Best Coast’s  lo-fi sound from the “Boyfriend” era doesn’t do a thing for me, in a live setting I found myself enjoying all of it, and the newer material was great. It was the perfect afternoon set to kickstart the evening hours of the festival.

Best Coast

I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see Phantogram yet again, although it was at the expense of seeing Unknown Mortal Orchestra (the festival struggle is real). But, Phantogram never disappoints and I can’t urge people enough to see them live! Between Sarah Barthel’s general air of natural coolness and Josh “Motherfucking” Carter’s  reverb-laden guitar licks, they blew the crowd away with their “fuckin’ beats” (Barthel’s words). With a performance only to be followed up by Beck, day one at First City was fulfilled.

Phantogram

Sunday was a bit more of a wild card for me, with little else besides Naked and The Famous really on my radar. The festival opened with a band called Midi Matilda and was such a good move on the part of the curators; their electro pop sound was not too sugary sweet and their instrumentation was impressive. Singer Skyler Kilborn is a solid front man, with his Misa Kitara style guitar (with a MIDI screen that echoes their name). But drummer Logan Grime is the powerhouse behind this duo. He reminded me of Dave Grohl on drums: precise, intense, and hard to take your eyes off of. “Day Dreams,” from their album Red Light District, was the powerful sing-along of the set, and concluded their performance on a strong note.

Midi Matilda

The Family Crest was another band to make my top shows of the weekend. With a core of seven band members – a cellist, a violinist, a tenor trombone player, a flutist, and a solid drummer – creating epic orchestral pop, I still find it hard to believe they all fit on the smallest stage at the fairgrounds. Frontman Liam McCormick has the vocal chops to carry them far in the industry, rivaling the ranges of Matthew Bellamy. They began their set with a song called “Beneath the Brine,” a ballsy opener that left jaws dropped and set the tone for the rest of the performance. Their musical grandeur is a sight to see, and their sound is really unlike anything that’s going on right now in music.

The Family Crest

Next up was Future Islands, a band I’d regrettably turned down the opportunity to see at Coachella. Admittedly, that oversight was due to the fact that I’ve always been slightly confused by their sound. Their synth-heavy pop paired with Samuel Herring’s, erm, unclassifiable vocals were off-putting for me initially. But the beauty of live music, however, is that a performance can really change one’s perspective on a given band. What were unusual, inconsistent vocals on record, became booming and immense right before my eyes. He is a powerhouse of a vocalist, ranging from a deep rumbling voice, to flat out death metal growls. What I thought was the most strange music and vocal pairing became oh-so-right in every single possible way. He’s also an incredible and unexpected dancer. I never would have pegged this guy for theatrical but man, he was all over the place, kicking his feet into the air, Tarzan pounding his chest, and, gettin’ low. They made my top performance of the weekend hands-down to my complete surprise, mostly because I went from being uncertain about their sound to being smitten by it. Future Islands is a must see in any situation, ya hear?

Future Islands

Though Beck and The National obviously had the biggest sets, Naked and The Famous utilized theirs the best with what I think was the most exuberant stage production of the weekend. At the very same time slot as Phantogram the night before, Naked and The Famous ushered in the night with smoke machines and epilepsy-inducing  light shows. Their unique electronic sound is only enhanced in the live performance of their songs, adding a profundity to tracks like “Rolling Waves” and “I Kill Giants.” In their last performance of the year, The New Zealand group put on an endearing show. Singer Alisa Xayalist was humbled by the dozens of birthday roses unexpectedly thrown on stage early in the set, and was almost brought to tears when the crowd later sang “Happy Birthday.”

Naked and The Famous

The festival was quickly coming to a close, but there was one more act I really wanted to squeeze in before The National’s finale. Cults surprisingly drew in the largest crowd I had yet to see at the Cypress Stage, and deservedly so. Clad in a baby doll dress Madeline Follin was just adorable in her stage presence, but the band has just enough edge to make them an enjoyable listen.

Cults

So how did First City fest fare in the scope of California music festivals? Overall, I’d say it’s unique; it not only hearkens back to vaudeville days with its carnival appeal and old time-y ethos, but its purpose is to bring new music to the forefront. Sure, using Beck and The National was a way to draw in the crowds, but for the most part, there was never an empty pit at any performance, and the crowd was pretty solid throughout, which can only mean that people really were there to see all of the acts, not just the big ones. Critics complain that there wasn’t much to take in beyond the headliners and sub headliners, but I found myself enjoying every single act that I saw, even ones that I wouldn’t normally gravitate toward and ones that I hadn’t even listened to prior to First City. In its second year, I think First City has accomplished something special; it has established a niche of artists and festival-goers that will more than likely frequent the fest for years to come, a true feat given the proliferation of music festivals in general. It certainly has the momentum after this year to carry on and can hopefully serve as an alternative festival to the grit and grime of LA’s FYF.

AudioFemme’s Best of 2013

Best of 2013 Graphic

From elaborate roll-outs to surprise releases, 2013 was a banner year for comebacks, break-outs, break-ups, and overnight sensations.  The fact that the most oblique content could cause rampant controversy to reverberate through the blogosphere turned every song into a story and made every story seem epic.  At the heart of it all are the sounds that defined this particular calendar year, from electronic pop to punk rock  to hip-hop to hardcore and everything in between.

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After much debate, we’re proud of our little list and believe it represents releases that are among the best and most important of the year.  Here are our top 50 LPs in two parts: 50-26 // 25-1

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And check out our Top Albums of 2013 Playlist on Spotify.
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In a given year, thousands of records are released, many of them having upwards of ten tracks apiece.  So it’s actually physically impossible to hear them all, and can be downright daunting to wrangle them into some kind of intelligible countdown.  But we certainly have done our best, here cataloging the tunes we just couldn’t stop playing, and stuck fast in our heads when we finally managed to turn them off.

Here’s our Top Tracks of 2013 Playlist on Spotify.

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Staff Lists:

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Not only are we as a culture stepping up to finally examine sexism and exploitation and appropriation within the industry, there are more acts than ever completely unafraid to do their own thing – be it overtly political (see: Priests) or revolutionary in its emotional candidness (looking at you, Waxahatchee).
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Let’s all just agree to agree that hip hop as a genre won the album cover contest this year, okay?
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Music has the ability to make or break a cinematic moment.  Would Jaws be as scary if it weren’t for the theme song? Or would we cry as hard when Leo Dicaprio sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean if Celine Dion didn’t belt “My Heart Will Go On” every five minutes? Probably not.
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[/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][fusion_testimonial company=”Lindsey Rhoades” author=”2013: The Year in Music Controversies” image=”http://www.audiofemme.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/musicthoughts.jpg”]In the age of the ubiquitous think-piece, here’s another, and this time, it’s about think-pieces.  In 2013 what think-pieces mean is that no one is about to get away with anything.[/fusion_testimonial]

[/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][fusion_testimonial company=”Kelly Tunney” author=”Top 10 Unexplainable Kanye Moments” image=”http://www.audiofemme.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Kanye.jpg”]
Mr. West has built up quite a reputation for himself. His musical talent has remained impressive throughout his 6-album career (Yeezus easily made several of this year’s “best of” lists, including our own) but Kanye’s persona has been the subject of parody and scandal for a long time now. This year, though, held several moments of Kanye-crazy that stood out among the plethora of examples from his memorable past.
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At the beginning of 2013, adventure felt overdue — something about going to new places, with no routine or expectations, opens you up to hear music you’d never think to listen to otherwise.
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Between the exciting festival rumors and anticipated album releases, 2014 is already shaping up to be a pretty amazing year (at least musically speaking).
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LOUD & TASTELESS: Cults

Every Thursday, AF profiles a style icon from the music world. This week, we’re highlighting Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion of Cults. Piles of black clothing compliment the duo’s haunting sound.

 

Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion tend to have slight variations of the same outfits almost every time I see pictures of them or videos of their performances. And that’s OK with me. Follin sticks to either a skater dress/shirt and pleated skirt combo, usually in dark colors. If it’s summer, bare legs and sneakers are involved. In winter, she warms up with black tights. Oblivion sports various button-down shirts (usually a crisp white), frequently buttoned to the top and paired with either jeans or suit pants. Sometimes he’ll throw on a tie, other times he’ll throw on a cardigan. Regardless, he always looks polished and she always looks cute in a not-to-be-messed-with way. Together, they make a great duo, musically and stylistically. We’ve picked out some pieces from Urban Outfitters that are likely to be in their closets or packed away for tours. Listen to their song “High Road” from their most recent release, Static, via Soundcloud while you check out our Cults-inspired Pinterest board, linked below.

 

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ROADTRIP: Moonface and My Bloody Valentine in Philly

Part mix-tape, part choose-your-own-adventure, AudioFemme leaves the confines of NYC to bring you long-form accounts of the crazy things we do for the love of live-music.  In this installment, Lindsey travels to Philly for Moonface and My Bloody Valentine, with plenty of pit-stops along the way. – Eds.

In February I lay on my couch with headphones on, slow tears streaming from the corners of my eyes and into my hair.  I was listening to m b v, the first record by Dublin shoegazers My Bloody Valentine to be released in over twenty years and I felt as though my blood was running backwards.  I’d discovered them long after their seminal Loveless had been released, unearthing the quintessential record as a high schooler at the dawn of digital downloading.  In college, I dated a guy who introduced me to their earlier releases, and I fell in love with those songs as hard as I fell for him.  They were a band that I considered mostly inactive, even as Kevin Shields involved himself in side projects here and there, even as Lost In Translation brought the band’s music to larger masses.  Even when they “reunited” for shows in far-off places like Indio and London and Niigata (places it seemed impossible to get to) I thought of My Bloody Valentine as a completed project from which new music would never really come.  And I’d pretty much given up hope of ever seeing them live.  But then out of nowhere came m b v, with its gliding, grinding guitar on “who sees you” which felt like an extension of Loveless, its punishing flanger on “wonder 2” sounding not just like the end of the record, but the end of the fucking world…

My pulse quickened not only to hear these new compositions, but also because I knew there’d be a tour behind them.  And I could already picture myself in the audience with more tears streaming down my face.

*     *     *

Months later when My Bloody Valentine tour dates were announced, I could already see that the NY dates at Hammerstein would be prohibitively expensive.  But they were playing Philly, too – at The Electric Factory – and ticket prices were literally half the cost of those here.  A good friend of mine who’d been begging me to come down all summer offered to host me for the weekend and the decision was made.  So last Friday, I stood shivering on 6th Avenue, waiting for a Bolt bus.

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My Bloody Valentine tickets
seeing these made my heart leap.

I felt almost melancholy; it had been a strange week.  I’d lost my wallet after getting wasted at my ex boyfriend’s birthday bash on Tuesday, gone home with him, and burst into tears mid-makeout.  It was no secret that I’d had flings with this Philly friend off and on for the last eight years of my life, and my ex didn’t really want me to go, sometimes saying it was only because he felt left out, other times admitting that he didn’t want things to be over between us.  Philly friend had come down with strep throat and though he claimed to no longer be contagious that pretty much ruled out any hook-ups anyway.  So my weekend of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll seemed doomed from the get-go.  But the thought of missing My Bloody Valentine filled me with a dread so excruciating that all I could do was shuffle onto that bus, find a seat, and watch the skyline fade behind me.

On the way down I listened to She’s Gone, the debut of supergroup Upset.  Vocalist Ali Koehler and guitarist Jenn Prince are contemporaries of what can be described most simply as the Vivian Girls scene (both played in the band at one time or another, as well as several of its satellite projects) but what blew my mind most was that Patty Schemel (as in, Patty Schemel of fucking HOLE) was drummer of the band.  My anxieties started to fade in a wash of bubblegum-snapping, toe-tapping pop punk.  The little details took me back to my youth, from the disaffected chuckle at the beginning of semi-snotty “About Me” through the brazen “I just want to take you under the covers” coo on “Game Over”.  All the songs stay short and sweet and two minutes at a time, my heart lightened.

And then “Let It Go” summed up my exact position in the universe at that moment:

i kissed the bottle when i coulda been kissin you / i know that i shouldn’t be missin you / so i’ll try / but how will i let this one go / i wish the subtle things i say to you / would read the way i want them to / but i know i should try and / just let this one go / you can call this an obsession or an indiscretion but i just dunno if / i can let this one go / you wanted romance well here it is / i just wanna love you from afar / and keep you just the way you are / safely distant from my heart / but close enough still / to keep that spark

…caught geographically and emotionally between two boys, neither really a viable option at this point.

I was so nostalgic for the days I’d spend driving around with my high-school punk rock partner-in-crime Patti that I actually sent her a facebook message though we haven’t spoken in two years.

There are so many albums coming out lately that I really wish I could listen to driving around Northeast Ohio with you. You have to check out Swearin’ and Upset and Perfect Pussy and Priests and Joanna Gruesome and Waxahatchee and Hunters and Tweens!!!! It’s a golden age of girl-fronted pop punk and a GREAT time to start up our band 73 Cents (or the Vanities as I wanted to call us). Hope you’re well!

No response yet.  I tweeted:

Then I actually put on that dog. and melted into wistful reverie until my phone warned me my battery was at 20%.  So not punk.

*     *     *

Philly friend fed me grilled cheeses and spicy tomato soup and meatloaf sandwiches and tater tots from his favorite bar as soon as I got in.  We dropped my things off at his house and I met his cats and his roommate and her pug who has a licking-things compulsion.  Spencer Krug was playing at Underground Arts that night under his solo moniker Moonface to support his new record Julia With Blue Jeans On and I insisted we go; I’d been lucky enough to see him at Littlefield in Brooklyn the spring prior when he’d debuted a lot of the material that wound up on the record and the set was just gorgeous.  In the bar earlier while I was shoving food in my face they were playing Wolf Parade’s flawless 2005 record Apologies to the Queen Mary so I was already primed for Krug’s crooning.

Underground Arts is a new venue in Philly with a lot of big plans. After Moonface they were hosting an Afrobeat dance party in the back room, which was actually larger than the one where Krug was set to play.  I glanced at a poster on the column we’d committed to lean against and noticed that Thee Oh Sees had played there at the end of October and if I’d known how great this venue was I would’ve come down for that, too.  Their beers on tap were legit, the sound was perfect, the floor plan pretty open (they’d set up chairs in clusters around the stage for the night’s performance that could easily be reconfigured or removed depending on the performer).

Saltland, a.k.a. musician Rebecca Foon, was already playing when we arrived.  Foon is best known for stints in Esmerine and A Silver Mt. Zion and her solo project, while hinging on her very skilled cello compositions, also features some loops, backing tracks, and powerful if occasional vocals.  She gave shout-outs to her mother’s charity organization, repped Montreal, thanked Krug and called his audiences “beautiful” and kicked her right leg like a marionette with a charley horse as she sawed her bow across the cello’s strings in more urgent passages.  The songs took turns as dramatic and expansive as the imagery inherent in Foon’s nom-de-plume would suggest.

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Krug and Foon have been friends for a while, coming from the same city and sharing a music scene, and they both display the trademark humility Canadians are stereotypically known for.  Krug’s long hair obscured his face anytime he leaned over to play piano, but he would conscientiously tuck it behind his ear when he turned to address the audience with anecdote or gratitude, casually flashing a million-watt smile.  He explained that he’d mainly planned to play through the material from his latest record before opening with album stunner “Love The House You’re In” .  Even from the get-go, his voice was emotive and intense, needing no build-up or practice to slip into its full-bodied range.  His piano playing was deliberate and complex and though he complained of some broken keys and out-of-tune-ness it sounded perfect with or without the supposed flaws.

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Spencer Krug Moonface live Philly Underground Arts
Spencer Krug, a.k.a. Moonface @ Underground Arts, Philly

True to his word, he stuck to material from Julia, moving through powerful renditions of the title track, singles “Barbarians” and “Everyone is Noah, Everyone Is The Ark”, as well as “Black Is Back In Style”, “First Violin” and “Your Chariot Awaits”.  There was one song with the line we both know that we’re both crazy that had really stuck with me from the show I caught in May and was particularly delighted to find on the record.  Krug introduced this song, “November 2011”, as his most straightforward love song.  “If you’re thinking of proposing to someone now would be the time” he laughed.  Someone in the back of the audience shouted “Marry ME!” but Krug politely declined before launching into the relatively bright, sweet melody.

It’s hard to know how personal to get here, how much to reveal.  I can tell you that the first time I heard that song I was standing next to my ex and we were in the midst of a doomed reconciliation, but he looked down at me and took my arm and held my hand and I’ll never not think of that moment when I hear the song.  I can also tell you that in 2005, a few months after I met Philly friend, I invited him to come visit me in Ohio and we had a time that very closely follows the narrative of the song.  I can tell you that when Krug was one verse in, a lady near the bar fell off of a table she was sitting on and it clattered and it broke some of the gravity of all those memories, just a little.  I don’t know how many details it’s appropriate to share, ever.

*    *    *

phillywhiskey

We went to a whiskey and go-go bar after the show that made me wish New York didn’t have weird cabaret laws.  I drank Willet on the rocks and an elderberry cider and I can’t remember any music we might have heard in the bar or otherwise discussed.  We went to another bar and got late night snacks (duck confit potato skins and pineapple habanero chicken wings) and he confessed he was kind of involved with another girl who sort of wanted to get serious and I confessed that I had no idea what was even going on with my love life and we laughed all the way to his place where I immediately fell asleep under an electric blanket trying to watch movie trailers on the Carnosaur DVD I’d found on his shelf earlier that day and had been making fun of him for owning since.

*     *     *

The next morning we drove to a Tex-Mex brunch place where I got a breakfast quesadilla filled with eggs and smokey pulled pork and something called a Cowboy Coffee which had Kahlúa and Bulleit in it.  They were playing a pretty decent punk mix which is so different from the Michael Bublé bullshit I’m used to hearing at brunch that I got really wound up when Thee Oh Sees came on.  We checked out a couple junk stores and I insisted on listening to the new Swearin’ record as we drove around because they’re from Philly and I’m an obsessed creep.

When I lived in the Midwest the place I listened to music most was in my car.  Now I’m on a bike constantly (at least before the winter winds turn me into a wimp) or taking public transportation from Point A to Point B either lacking headphones or with my only mechanism for playing mp3s threatening a swift death if I open Spotify.  So these days, it’s a bit weird to find myself in the front seat of a car cruising down highways and side streets and everything in between.  Swearin’s first single from Surfing Strange puts me right back in the driver’s seat, if not literally.

We picked up my friend’s roommate and headed to the Trenton Punk Rock Flea Market.  She has this wry sense of humor, not wholly unblemished by the bitterness that goes along with sticking close to the same music scene your whole life.  Having grown up in the Trenton area, it seemed like she knew everyone.  The flea was filled with hand-made jewelry and record crates almost too overwhelming to dig through and the softest thrifted tees in bins labeled 4 for 10$ and lots of horror-movie paraphernalia and vintagey goodness.  We drove back to Jersey with No Age blasting and the sun setting against Philly’s approaching skyline.  We refueled with food and beer flights at Johnny Brenda’s where Tim Kasher was playing later that night.  But we’d be at My Bloody Valentine, of course.

*     *     *

As showtime drew nearer I felt an excitement growing that I rarely feel about shows anymore.  Most of the time I’m attending shows to check a new band out, or sometimes just because it’s something to do instead of staying home.  Even with bigger bands whose catalogues I cherish I don’t feel jittery and I knew it was more than the Cowboy Coffee.  I really felt poised to have a moment with Kevin Shields & Co., to be cleansed by intense volume and lose myself in guitar haze.

We got to the venue after Dumb Numbers had played.  It took almost an hour for My Bloody Valentine to set up, a ring of monitors and amps poised to surround Shields like a sonic Stonehenge.  I’m normally pretty good about weaving my tiny self politely toward the front of a crowd  but the way Electric Factory was set up it bottlenecked between the impenetrable bar and the sound booth and a wall of the tallest people I’ve ever encountered had already posted up shoulder-to-shoulder between the two.  I thought the crowd might shift a little and open up but nothing moved so we decamped to a balcony.  The sightlines were great but it certainly wasn’t as excruciatingly loud as I’d wanted it to be, and the psychedelic light show couldn’t quite penetrate the darkness up there in the rafters in any retina-scorching way.  Still, I was pretty pumped for things to get started.

They opened with “Sometimes” before I even felt prepared for it and it oddly felt like they were just trying to get it out of the way.  As the show went on it felt more and more like the band didn’t even want to play with each other.  Like chewing pot roast in silence at an awkward family dinner after mom and dad have been fighting, the quartet plodded through “I Only Said” and “When You Sleep” before appropriately introducing their most recent material with “new you”.  By then, some worrisome sound issues were cropping up.  I’d expected the mix to be a little muddy, especially as they visited works from Isn’t Anything, Tremelo, and You Made Me Realise – that is, after all, part of the allure of My Bloody Valentine’s oeuvre.  But it wasn’t that the vocals were buried under fuzz – it was like the fuzz was flat.  It all felt sloppily executed; the layers of distortion feeling disparate instead of layering gracefully on top of one another.  Several times, Shields stopped songs a few bars in and restarted them.  It was unclear whether these technical difficulties were occurring due to fault of the venue, but even from so far away I could see Shields point an accusatory finger at the audio engineer present on stage.  Worried techs rushed out here and there in a desperate attempt to try to alleviate some of the problems but the whole thing seemed like a train wreck.

In the purest, most unsullied moments I felt a sort of dizziness, and though part of that was true exhilaration, I think it also happened because I had to hold my breath lest the magic dissolve in some tragic technical difficulty.  “To Here Knows When” went off without a hitch and exuded an incredible warmth, “wonder 2” was almost as assaulting as I’d wanted it to be but I couldn’t help feeling like it should have been bumped way up in the set instead of buried near the end.  The squall of closer “You Made Me Realise” almost approached bliss but the so-called “Holocaust” section felt like little more than an “Off-handed Anti-Semitic Remark” section.  Which, referring to the jam session you tack on the end of your set as one of the most tragic genocides in human history probably is.  And then Shields, who said little all night in terms of between-song banter except to apologize here and there for the technical difficulties, said what I could have sworn was “Fuck” but I guess could have been “Thanks” in heavy Brogue.  Either way, he stomped offstage like a petulant child, the lights came up, and there was no encore.

The roughly 80-minute set was about as long as it had been in other cities, other venues, and the list pretty much identical.  But I felt so jilted by the experience it was all I could do to not immediately buy tickets to the $70 Hammerstein shows I had been trying to avoid in the first place.  I was stunned and crushed and not in the way I had expected to be at all.  I didn’t want to believe that it had gone so badly, that what would likely be my only experience with a band so beloved would be utter rubbish.  And almost everyone tweeting about the show had only glowing remarks with almost no mention of the sound issues, which made me feel as if I was going crazy.  Other attendees were saying it was the best show they’d ever seen (do you even go to any shows ever actually?) and using pretentious phrases about “angelic drone” and all I could feel was total jealousy of their ability to suspend disbelief and make delusional snap judgments.  I wanted to love that show more than anything and instead it was one of the hugest let-downs in terms of concert-going that I’ve experienced  in my life.

*     *     *

I get that sometimes things aren’t the way you expect them to be.  That often, disappointment goes hand-in-hand with any expectation at all.  That you might imagine one scenario and have the reality end up completely opposite from the fantasy.

I spent the rest of my evening stress-eating cheesesteaks (from Pat’s – far superior to Geno’s in my opinion) and decompressing in front of a pinball machine.  In the morning over cream-cheese filled Pumpkin French Toast and Chicken N’ Waffles Benedict I apologized to Philly friend for being so emotionally detached and physically hands-off, citing weird feelings I was having about my ex in NYC and my resent lack of self-esteem as factors contributing to why I’d been less than present.  He shrugged and said he’d just assumed I was worried about catching Strep.  Then he asked me why I’d been feeling so bad about myself.  “I’m just tired and I feel old” I said, “and I haven’t been going to yoga.”

I am searching for a balance right now, but the ease I long for has been elusive.  Weighty memories and distorted renderings are fine when it comes to a live music experience but there’s been too much of both in my personal life lately and it’s really complicating my ability to make decisions about the future of my relationships.

Back on a Bolt bus and headed home, I listened through Static, the newest from Brooklyn-based dream-poppers Cults.  Vocalist Madeline Follin and guitarist Brian Oblivion had formed the band as couple but split up after a grueling tour in support of their critically acclaimed self-titled debut.  No one wanted to make a big deal about the break-up, worried that the focus would shift from the music to the personal lives of the duo behind it.

For what it’s worth, the record stands alone without that back-story; it’s a bit grittier and fuzzier than the last collection of songs we heard from the group but is still akin to that material in its updated 60’s girl-group pop vibe.  Follin and Oblivion are joined by members of the touring band they enlisted to help flesh out the material live, and that synergy and practice shows on Static.  While there aren’t as many standout singles on the record, the dark undertones that the band typically bury in sunny melody here have their moments in the forefront, allowing for greater depth.  Cults has grown up.

That being said, the fact that Static was written and recorded by former lovers lends another kind of weight to tracks more outwardly breezy.  Follin is known for her impish vocals but lyrically she displays a no-nonsense bravado.  She comes across as disappointed in the turn of events despite knowing that things are over and is determined to move on, castigating her former lover and her former self  on “Were Before” and then delivering healthy doses of inspiration in the soaring “Keep Your Head Up”.

Follin and Oblivion could have chosen to break up the band when their relationship ended, of course.  Instead, we have Static, because there was too much there to walk away entirely.  The force behind their creative collaboration was all the glue that was needed to pull everything back together, and it’s a permanent fixture in the group’s trajectory.  “Always and Forever” highlights and celebrates the remnants of that relationship and the form that it’s now taken on, with Follin unleashing her sky-high falsetto.

I suppose there are just feelings that endure no matter the circumstance, no matter the disappointment involved as time marches forward.  I’m not going to throw my copy of Loveless in the trash based on one lackluster live performance.  And even though I wish I possessed the strength to whip my personal life into shape, I’m more in a position to be bandied by unpredictable whims than I am to take control.  At the root of all it is true sentiment unraveling endlessly from my sensitive heart, drowning out everything else like so much noise.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

LIVE REVIEW: Cults @ Brooklyn Bowl

 

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Cults
Cults

If someone had predicted Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion of Cults were a one-hit-wonder, or perhaps a one-album-wonder, then the pair’s second album disproves this prediction. Cults is back, and I have to say they’re even better than before. The sophomore album, Static, released Oct. 15, continues the hard-rocking, synth-and-guitar-heavy ballads featured on the New York based band’s debut album, but kicked up a notch.

Following their album release earlier that day, the band took to Brooklyn Bowl for the Conflict of Interest showcase. There, they debuted many of their new songs for the first time live. Many times when a band first debuts new songs, the focus of the crowd is on only the old songs, to which they can sing along. Despite the newness of the album, however, the crowd was eager to hear new songs along with the old. And Follin and Oblivion delivered, giving attendees a high-power performance of a good chunk of their discography, complete with hits from their debut album such as “Go Outside,” “You Know What I Mean” and “Abducted,” mixed with new hits like “I Can Hardly Make You Mine,” “High Road,” “Always Forever” and “Were Before.”

Keeping with the theme of the new album’s title, Static, TV static was projected onto a huge, white ball floating behind the band, as well as the band itself. This image paired nicely with the feel of Static — not that the songs or performance were shaky in any way, but that there was an air of dreamy melancholy or the feeling of getting lost in the static of a TV.

The songs themselves do not require an extravagant performance, but are rather driven by the passion behind them — something that is evident in the band’s approach. They don’t need to run around the stage or do anything crazy, their music is enough to keep everyone happy.

Listen to “High Road”, off Static, Here:

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Follin
Follin
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Baby’s First SXSW: Thursday

Tucked between the bustle of E 6th and some seemingly deserted train tracks was the South by Southwest nexus of Fader Fort and a converted warehouse identified only by its address at 1100 E. 5th, which would host an array of bands under the daring header “Mess With Texas”.  I was especially grateful for the stellar lineup sponsored by a slew of vendors, since I’d somehow tragically forgotten to RSVP for Fader Fort.  The Mess With Texas showcases were set to span three days and featured impressive rosters in both their day parties and their nighttime extravaganzas, with the venue shutting down midday.  There was an outdoor space buffeting the huge warehouse floor which was equipped with massive, pounding amps.  I don’t know if it’s just the necessity of drowning out all the bands other than the one you’re actually seeing, but I want to take a moment to note how extremely loud every single showcase I saw was.  I mean, I could feel my hair follicles vibrating at some of these shows.

I felt guilty for missing Tycho’s set the night before so I planted myself beneath the awning of the outdoor stage, determined not to miss these boys this time.  I was slightly disappointed, however, that due to the stage configuration the songs would not be accompanied by Scott Hansen’s gorgeous projections, which I’d been looking forward to seeing firsthand.  Even without the visuals, Tycho bathed the crowd in a lush soundscape.  Just as we settled into the dense, intoxicating layers, the speakers blew and silence fell.  Apparently this had  happened to Tycho earlier in the week, which only proves my assertion that no eardrum in Austin was safe from the incredible volume SXSW venues unleashed.  It didn’t take long for the band to get it together and the encouraging crowd didn’t seem to mind the temporary snafu, falling right back into the sway.  Despite the blazing sun beating on our shoulders, watching Tycho felt like being cleansed.  Atmospheric, breezy guitar tones moved across my skin, anchored in Zac Brown’s elastic bass chords and the sensual beats provided by drummer Rory O’Connor.  I let my vision blur out of focus, tilted my head back to the sky, and let the serene sounds saturate my senses.
Once Tycho’s set ended, I moved inside to escape the sun and (more importantly) to catch a few songs from indie darlings Girls.  The incredible stage set-up included four band members as well as a coterie of boisterous back-up singers who did double-duty hyping up the audience.  Flowers adorned the mic stands, reminiscent of so many altars and therefore drawing parallels between the players on stage and religious deities.  I’d never seen Girls play live, and quite honestly never understood all the hype behind what I considered to be pretty run-of-the-mill garage rock.  I know everyone is constantly losing their shit over the latest Girls releases, but for some reason none of the material ever really resonated with me.  I can’t say that a venue this cavernous and filled with questionably shirtless bros was the ideal introduction, but in terms of their playing I can at least begin to see what all the fuss is about.  There’s a compelling, vulnerable nature to the way Christopher Owens sings; this is true even at moments where the guitars burst explosively and the theatrics reach their greatest heights.  “Vomit”, the band’s signature single, was a perfect example of this phenomenon, as it erupted with particular ferocity and brought the adoring crowd to its knees.
At some point (the point at which I tried to buy an overpriced Heinekin) I realized I’d left my ID in the pocket of last night’s outfit.  Worried I would be denied entrance to any other showcases I tried to attend, I actually braved the crazy traffic to drive across town and retrieve it, hoping I’d make it back to the warehouse in time to see Cults.  I arrived about halfway through their set but was absolutely tickled with what I saw.  I’ve followed Cults since they began anonymously posting demos on bandcamp in the spring of 2010, but had somehow missed every single performance the Brooklyn-based band had played.  The set lived up to all my expectations.  It was sweltering inside the warehouse, the midday heat having turned it into an oven.  So it was hard to imagine how Brian Oblivion and Madeline Follin, both sporting hairdos that would made Cousin It look positively bald, held up under such intense temperatures.  But they seemed unfazed, running through favorites such as “Oh My God” “You Know What I Mean” and “Go Outside” with smiling faces and cutesy bopping.  Madeline’s vocals sounded sublime and the band perfectly replicated the 60’s girl group vibe that made their 2011 self-titled debut such a standout.
There was plenty on the menu in terms of shows that evening; Of Montreal and Deerhoof made one of a handful of what were probably noteworthy and fun appearances.  I would have loved to see Das Racist, Dirty Beaches, or Zola Jesus, for a second (or third) time, and I was dying to catch Cleveland noise pop outfit Cloud Nothings.  While all provided great options for ways to spend my second night in Austin, I could think of nothing but this: at the Belmont that evening, Jesus and Mary Chain were slated to perform around midnight.  In my obsession with getting into this packed, badge/wristband/ticket only show, I committed one of the cardinal sins of SXSW.  No band, no matter how rare or epic the appearance, no matter how important to you in terms of influence or admiration, should cause you to wait around in a huge line with no hope of entry into the venue, thus forgoing the chance to see any one of a number of other of bands; even if your secondary choices don’t compare to the actual experience of seeing the prolific band in question, almost anything is better than standing around waiting for nothing to happen and missing out on a host of other opportunities.  I did put in a brief appearance at 512 for Young Magic’s rooftop set, which was thrillingly luxurious.  A sumptuous rendition of “Night In The Ocean” featured reverb drenched male and female vocals twining around its incantatory chorus.  But I couldn’t get my mind off the possibility of seeing Jesus & Mary Chain.

After a few frantic texts, the idea of watching the show from the parking garage across the street was bandied about and that’s eventually where we found ourselves.  In all honesty, I was content with the set-up, as we had a perfect view of the stage and again, thanks to the punishing volume at which all venues set their amps, could hear Titus Andronicus’s set perfectly.  If I didn’t hold that band in such disdain I would have been nearly ecstatic, but I do totally think they’re overblown and pretentious and I was tired and still a little bummed, knowing that this was all a fool’s paradise.

Jesus & Mary Chain ripped through their first few numbers in a sonic blast that would have reached us even if our little perch had been blocks away rather than across the street.  Unfortunately, we saw all of about three songs before a group of crusty idiots totally blew our cover and got us promptly kicked out by a surly security guard.

Defeated and dejected, we trudged back to the Mess With Texas warehouse, where turntable.fm was hosting a slew of DJs in an elaborate promotion for the site, which allows users to DJ for their friends and random strangers alike in private chatrooms loosely based around a genre or theme.  When turntable.fm first launched I spent an amusing evening in one of these chat rooms with my roommates and some of their coworkers, as well as some friends of ours back in Ohio.  It seemed a novel way to share new tunes with old buddies, though my interest in doing so had since tapered off.  I wasn’t a high school sophomore anymore, you know?  I spend enough time in front of a computer as it is without haunting chat rooms, waiting for my chance to blow minds with some new Clams Casino track.  I decided to start a blog instead.
I’m not sure if many of the other attendees had had similar experiences with turntable.fm but if they had not, they were certainly introduced to its interface that evening.  Diplo stood center stage but was flanked by dancers shuffling around in over-sized Japanime-style animal heads meant to mimic the avatars available to users on turntable.fm.  There was also a table full of paper avatar masks right at the door, presumably for guests to wear as a means of creeping each other the fuck out.  Huge screens showed a cute little animated version of Diplo spinning.  It was kitschy and sort of fun, but also kind of over-the-top.  At SXSW you’re constantly being marketed to, and sometimes its nice to have things like the music to focus on to forget that.  Turntable.fm was not going to let you be distracted by a silly-old real-life DJ like Diplo.  Actually, I’m pretty sure the man has some kind of investment in the whole project, but still.
Diplo spun classics like MIA and Ginuwine and spent a lot of time getting an already rowdy crowd pumped up into a delirious craze.  I saw some truly raunchy dance moves and if I’d been a little drunker probably would have joined in, but I was still feeling like an idiot over the whole Jesus & Mary Chain debacle.  I vowed that Friday would be a day of redemption; I’d see so many bands my eyeballs would fall out of my skull.  I’d shake my tail feather furiously to Star Slinger and Neon Indian’s Hype Hotel DJ sets.  I’d reserve my energy tonight and tomorrow collapse from exhaustion if that was what it came down to.  Who was I kidding?  I’m getting older and was already a bit exhausted; I could feel a sore throat coming on.  No matter! I shouted bravely to myself.  These shows will go on, and I’m gonna try to see damn near all of them.