Colin Stetson/Sara Neufeld/Gregory Rogove - Mississippi Studios, May 3rd, 2012
Sometimes you find yourself at a show where the roster of artists is barely known to you but, due to what you've heard about them and what you've actually heard - via videos, NPR links, what-have-you - you're fully intrigued by the potential inherent. So it is on a promising spring evening in May I find myself, again, at Mississippi Studios (and how about a quick shout out to the place, a truly neighborhood venue that despite its relatively young age feels as if it's been there for decades). Gregory Rogove is a fully unknown quantity to me, as I would guess he is to many. It is only by the parenthetical association included on the club's handbill - "(Devendra Banhart)" - that I have any context at all. Sarah Neufeld's name, on the other hand, is at least recognizable from Arcade Fire and of course Colin Stetson's work has begun to penetrate the cerebral cortex more steadily over the past year via (invariably glowing) reviews and appearances on facebook threads. Despite my relative ignorance, however, all three, from what I've gleaned pre-show (thank you, youtube) promise a splendid, slightly left field and possibly more classical evening than maybe I'm used to.
With that as pretext, then, it is with some delighted surprise that the visuals accompanying Gregory Rogove's first piece involve monkey sex. Or, more accurately, a primate depiction of the fall of man. Turns out every solo piano piece Rogove plays is backdropped by imagistic videos that were commissioned from various artists ("What does this song look like" was the only instruction) and that run a gamut from allegorical to playful, coy to whimsically disturbing and more besides. The playing itself is stark and declaratively beautiful as only an acoustic piano can be. Neufeld is enlisted as an extra pair of hands for "Conti," a selection that to these ears is driven by the power of loneliness. The next, "Love Cherries," comes back with a kind of demanding hopefulness, what I suppose might more simply be called love. Just impressions, mind, and I could be wildly off, but Rogove's style is explicitly impressionistic, emotional, mysterious, often chilling, a parlor recital mixed with the Whitney Biennial, and it invites such responses. The audio doesn't always sync with the visual yet the effect is no less arresting and possibly more so. Short set, twenty minutes, but the presentation is fresh enough, the music kind of daringly naked enough, it won't be soon forgotten.
If it's just you and a violin up there on stage you best be powerful, compelling, mesmerizing. Sarah Neufeld is, at the very least, these three things. By turns frantic and passionate, gentle and bursting with pathos, she is no less than commanding the entire time. Between pieces, talking, she's sweet and deflective, but with bow in hand she's fiercely present, the playing spellbinding and confident. No doubt these pieces have names attached but never has it mattered less. At time it sounds Cajun, square-dancey and good time, other times contemplative and raw. Mostly, she sounds like a wild child that flew the coop and discovered the fiddle as a means of salvation. Technology fails her at one point - the reverb hasn't kicked in - and she apologizes but we don't care, seeing as what's just gone by was visceral and quite wonderful and pin-drop quiet-making. Few moments later she's playing bass to her own slicing leads and it's as if a hypnotist has stepped on stage but no, wait, the fact is her whole set has been like that and it's been a privilege to hear it, as it's not likely she'll be touring in an intimate solo capacity like this again any time soon.
According to Wikipedia, circular breathing "is used extensively in playing the Australian didgeridoo, the Sardinian launeddas and Egyptian arghul, as well as many traditional oboes and flutes of Asia and the Middle East. A few jazz and classical wind and brass players also utilize some form of circular breathing." A fairly recently developed (20th C.) technique, it allows for almost endlessly sustained playing as the musician breathes in through the nose and always has an extra store of air in the cheeks. It's been used by the likes of Evan Parker, Clark Terry, Roscoe Mitchell, Ian Anderson, Wynton Marsalis and scores of others, a list to which must now be added the name of legend-to-be Colin Stetson.
Bellowing immensely, exquisitely, through a colossal bass saxophone that looks like a relic salvaged from a Welsh colliery band circa 1908, the prowess on display here is simply a deafening wonder. By deafening I don't mean loud per se - though it lacks not for decibels - but deafening in the sense of stopping you in your tracks. It truly is hard to believe so much sound is coming from one person. Sounding at once like a herd of crying pissed-off elephants and the aloneness of a post-bop dude blowing on the Brooklyn Bridge at 4 in the morning, one is simply stupefied by the mastery. Using effects as a rhythm base (often it's his own breath, and/or his own voice murmured from within a complex of sound), he's constantly intense. Opening with a new song called Hurting, which is stunning and no less, then into The Righteous Wrath Of An Honorable Man (off new album "New History Warfare Vol. 2 - Judges" on Constellation), where he repeats similar tricks on a tenor sax, it is ten minutes into his set and his status as a singular phenom is so irrevocably established it's hard to believe he hasn't already been on the cover of Time. The intensity is palpable and there's no turning it down the entire time. How well tuned his own body must be to turn this stuff out night after night is unfathomable. Really, intensity-wise, it's like seeing Battles in the form of a one-man brass band that has just graduated from John Coltrane Summer Camp. This is the kind of music where you marvel at the blood vessels not burst.
Watching him can be, umm, breathtaking, though not just because of the physicality alone but the expressiveness as well. A Dream Of Water is a perfect example, based on the (true) story of a whale forever lost to its pod, and I dare you to hear those unearthly, submarine cries of floating despair and tell me your heartstrings aren't plucked. Such a powerful 'lostness' in there you may not recover. Remarkable.
Not long after that an almost-tuba sound comes 'round the corner - not surprisingly originating from that enormous bass sax - and on it builds a slow, low keen of a groove like a wolf playing back its howl with the tape slowed down. It is sad, is it forlorn, but then it begins to gallop and you think 'Ahh, the genius of Colin Stetson, that animal's gonna run free after all.' Again, one man's interpretation, of course, but you get the idea of the utter gripping primal nature on offer here. Like nothing you've ever heard, it's crazy abandon under the strictest control. And the amazing thing is, it's not so much the virtuosity - though of course there's plenty of that - as it is tone and shading, the place where the emotions are, and there are a lot of them. Forceful, angry, regretful, melancholic, hopeful, dreaming and redemptive, it's all there. Melody may come second but boy does it come, lifting itself out of the middle of cacophonous strands like a moaning wind. The evening's last piece, "A Part Of Me Apart From You" is almost lullaby-like like in its waves of yearning, and is an ideal note to bring an extraordinarily artful night to a close. It's nights like this you're thrilled to be alive, lucky to have ears and the human capacity to interpret sound. I found it difficult to get to sleep once I got home and when it comes down to it, that's what you want, isn't it? You can't really ask much more from a night of live music than that, so thank you, Colin (and Sarah, and Gregory).
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
CLUBLAND!
Doldrums/Blouse/Bear In Heaven - Mississippi Studios, Portland, April 12, 2012
It's 9 o'clock and the lights are doing funny things and the individual on stage is programming eerie synth washes and slow bumping beats that pause long enough for him to begin singing in a classic pop falsetto, androgynous and fetchingly yearning - quite affecting, in other words, quite pretty - then the beats resume, the lights cover him like television snow and now I know, the show's begun.
There's dogged vision at work here, not to mention inextinguishable belief in self. Doldrum co-founder Bill Kellem stands in this violently umber light, twiddling knobs and singing like a heartbroke puppy, which is a compliment. This is rock 'n' roll, with no guitars, no drums, no other band members (yet). Just a bedroom troubadour that sneaks out at night to play gigs. That he sneaks out of Montreal and is appearing here in Portland is no small feat and perhaps testament to the guy's transportive abilities, who knows. (And, again, what the heck is in the water up there in Montreal?) Regardless, if Mann or Weil had been raised in the age of glitchtronica and the i-Everything you can damn well bet they'd be doing exactly this kind of Doldrums-style patchwork, serious pop hooks all mashed into a pulp, pulled apart again then put back together through the spiraling limitless magic of the hard drive as it's seduced by software. BUT, at the heart of it, melody, hook, propulsion, same as always. Not every detour pays dividends but more often than not the two of them (Bill is soon joined by brother Matt to provide actual human percussion) end up stunning. It's No Age meets No Wave meets F**k Buttons, with more than a touch of garage intransigence thrown in, which it seems certain they just can't help. Oh, and a kind of raging hormonal white soul, I'm not kidding. I said "rock 'n' roll" before but let's change that to 'wack 'n' roll.' If this is the doldrums, actual excitement is gonna kill ya.
By the time Portland band Blouse begin, starting, appropriately enough, with "Firestarter" of their self-titled LP (Captured Tracks), the house is at capacity. Guitarist Charlie Hilton and a keyboard player that shall remain unnamed (she's obviously an addition for the tour but I've looked and looked online and can't fine out who she is) look a bit like a couple of rocking Bronte sisters and together they anchor a delicate pop trope, part Passions, part Cocteaus, dreamy but decidedly bass-driven, which is no surprise given it's Jacob Portrait on bass, doubling his workload from his duties in Unknown Mortal Orchestra. Third song "They Always Fly" shimmers with Numanesque swaths of keyboard, insistently rhythmic in a confident, unfussy way, always an effective means of conveying a melodic trance. That Blouse are influenced by the dark lilt of post-punk synth is fairly transparent. If they're not drawing from early Fiction-era Cure (17 Seconds/Pornography/Faith) then I'm Napoleon Bonaparte. This is not a criticism. To inhabit such a timeless sound (and it's by no means slavish, it should be noted) is actually refreshing, there's something guileless and genuine about it. Needless to say, this is not a band draped in cynicism. And besides, sometimes dreaming backward is the only way forward, Retromania be damned.
Mid-set jewel "Videotapes" is drving dream-pop set to stun. It's a classic in waiting and what it's waiting for is for you to discover it, download it, play it for your friends. It's the meme you owe yourself to be infected by. I can hardly wait to see them again, and if you missed them this time around, do yourself a favor, dream-synth-poptronica lover, check them out next chance you get. I'll see you there.
OK, first off, regarding Bear In Heaven: anybody out there know there was such a rabid - and numerous - BIH fanbase in Portland? No, me neither, but in retrospect it's no surprise. As soon as they burst out with "Kiss Me Crazy" off new album I Love You It's Cool - after an affectionate introduction by Doldrums (each of the bands were 'giving it up' for the others on the bill tonight) - it was understandable why. A rhythm section with innate melody, a singer's sense of commitment a la Kevin Barnes only with more charisma (that would be bassist Adam Wills), a woolen-hatted keyboard/guitar player - Jon Philpot - going about his business like a woodsman lost in ecstacy, Bear In Heaven roam that land somewhere between synthy psych and avant-indie, as if their collar tags identified them as the zeitgeisty offspring of some radical 60s hippie sect, transported to the Brooklyn-tinged American outskirts. It is, in this sense, cannibalism of the highest order, appropriating, incorporating and, yes, synthesizing a multitude of predecessor influences until they become this beast (sorry) of extraordinary strength, mashing garage prog with Spectored AM radio melody with a spindrift of Euro-continental undertones. The end result is Animal Collective if they'd been born a soul band. The end result is house music for intellectuals. The end result is heady joyous uninhibited and agreeably difficult synth pop, though no one at Mississippi Studios seemed to be having any trouble being roused by it. Portland loved it, and loved it way more, apparently (according to the band), than sitting-on-their-hands Seattle did. Makes sense though, as BIH appeal to Portland's sharp-but-slightly-messy anarchic spirit. Also doesn't hurt that the band are crowd-pleasers to the end, of course. These lads know how to put on a show.
Every song in BIH's set came from either recently issued (on Dead Oceans) I Love You It's Cool (most recent so most represented) or 2009's breakthrough Beast Rest Forth Mouth. The latter's "You Do You" brought the strobes out, the former's "Noon Moon" exposed the band's taste for the sultry groove, albeit a fast sultry, like being drunk in a hurry before descending into a kind of sweaty, pulsing electronica. Then there was "The Reflection Of You," also off of ILYIC, which was groove-bloody-tastic, Hall & Oates if they were modern merchants of high-sheen, deep-seated indietronica. Highlight still, though, has to be BRFM's "Lovesick Teenagers" with its hypnotic motorik beat, its relentless building melody and which, if there was any justice in this world, would have been a monster hit (how often have you said that over the years? Seems I do once a month), an opinion obviously seconded by all in attendance. At one point toward the close of the evening the band even bring to mind German outfit The Notwist - no small praise, that - before exploding like fireworks in a drum factory (thank you, Joe Stickney, and don't you love it when a musician seems to have been named by kismet) before resuming their march into a commanding trance coda.
Bear In Heaven are at their peak. They're young, they're a bit crazy and they're crazy talented. Show over, we all shuffled out into the cool Thursday night full of rapturous murmers and glow, floating a bit and most happy to have lived through a moment of danceable, head-noddable, feral heaven.
It's 9 o'clock and the lights are doing funny things and the individual on stage is programming eerie synth washes and slow bumping beats that pause long enough for him to begin singing in a classic pop falsetto, androgynous and fetchingly yearning - quite affecting, in other words, quite pretty - then the beats resume, the lights cover him like television snow and now I know, the show's begun.
There's dogged vision at work here, not to mention inextinguishable belief in self. Doldrum co-founder Bill Kellem stands in this violently umber light, twiddling knobs and singing like a heartbroke puppy, which is a compliment. This is rock 'n' roll, with no guitars, no drums, no other band members (yet). Just a bedroom troubadour that sneaks out at night to play gigs. That he sneaks out of Montreal and is appearing here in Portland is no small feat and perhaps testament to the guy's transportive abilities, who knows. (And, again, what the heck is in the water up there in Montreal?) Regardless, if Mann or Weil had been raised in the age of glitchtronica and the i-Everything you can damn well bet they'd be doing exactly this kind of Doldrums-style patchwork, serious pop hooks all mashed into a pulp, pulled apart again then put back together through the spiraling limitless magic of the hard drive as it's seduced by software. BUT, at the heart of it, melody, hook, propulsion, same as always. Not every detour pays dividends but more often than not the two of them (Bill is soon joined by brother Matt to provide actual human percussion) end up stunning. It's No Age meets No Wave meets F**k Buttons, with more than a touch of garage intransigence thrown in, which it seems certain they just can't help. Oh, and a kind of raging hormonal white soul, I'm not kidding. I said "rock 'n' roll" before but let's change that to 'wack 'n' roll.' If this is the doldrums, actual excitement is gonna kill ya.
By the time Portland band Blouse begin, starting, appropriately enough, with "Firestarter" of their self-titled LP (Captured Tracks), the house is at capacity. Guitarist Charlie Hilton and a keyboard player that shall remain unnamed (she's obviously an addition for the tour but I've looked and looked online and can't fine out who she is) look a bit like a couple of rocking Bronte sisters and together they anchor a delicate pop trope, part Passions, part Cocteaus, dreamy but decidedly bass-driven, which is no surprise given it's Jacob Portrait on bass, doubling his workload from his duties in Unknown Mortal Orchestra. Third song "They Always Fly" shimmers with Numanesque swaths of keyboard, insistently rhythmic in a confident, unfussy way, always an effective means of conveying a melodic trance. That Blouse are influenced by the dark lilt of post-punk synth is fairly transparent. If they're not drawing from early Fiction-era Cure (17 Seconds/Pornography/Faith) then I'm Napoleon Bonaparte. This is not a criticism. To inhabit such a timeless sound (and it's by no means slavish, it should be noted) is actually refreshing, there's something guileless and genuine about it. Needless to say, this is not a band draped in cynicism. And besides, sometimes dreaming backward is the only way forward, Retromania be damned.
Mid-set jewel "Videotapes" is drving dream-pop set to stun. It's a classic in waiting and what it's waiting for is for you to discover it, download it, play it for your friends. It's the meme you owe yourself to be infected by. I can hardly wait to see them again, and if you missed them this time around, do yourself a favor, dream-synth-poptronica lover, check them out next chance you get. I'll see you there.
OK, first off, regarding Bear In Heaven: anybody out there know there was such a rabid - and numerous - BIH fanbase in Portland? No, me neither, but in retrospect it's no surprise. As soon as they burst out with "Kiss Me Crazy" off new album I Love You It's Cool - after an affectionate introduction by Doldrums (each of the bands were 'giving it up' for the others on the bill tonight) - it was understandable why. A rhythm section with innate melody, a singer's sense of commitment a la Kevin Barnes only with more charisma (that would be bassist Adam Wills), a woolen-hatted keyboard/guitar player - Jon Philpot - going about his business like a woodsman lost in ecstacy, Bear In Heaven roam that land somewhere between synthy psych and avant-indie, as if their collar tags identified them as the zeitgeisty offspring of some radical 60s hippie sect, transported to the Brooklyn-tinged American outskirts. It is, in this sense, cannibalism of the highest order, appropriating, incorporating and, yes, synthesizing a multitude of predecessor influences until they become this beast (sorry) of extraordinary strength, mashing garage prog with Spectored AM radio melody with a spindrift of Euro-continental undertones. The end result is Animal Collective if they'd been born a soul band. The end result is house music for intellectuals. The end result is heady joyous uninhibited and agreeably difficult synth pop, though no one at Mississippi Studios seemed to be having any trouble being roused by it. Portland loved it, and loved it way more, apparently (according to the band), than sitting-on-their-hands Seattle did. Makes sense though, as BIH appeal to Portland's sharp-but-slightly-messy anarchic spirit. Also doesn't hurt that the band are crowd-pleasers to the end, of course. These lads know how to put on a show.
Every song in BIH's set came from either recently issued (on Dead Oceans) I Love You It's Cool (most recent so most represented) or 2009's breakthrough Beast Rest Forth Mouth. The latter's "You Do You" brought the strobes out, the former's "Noon Moon" exposed the band's taste for the sultry groove, albeit a fast sultry, like being drunk in a hurry before descending into a kind of sweaty, pulsing electronica. Then there was "The Reflection Of You," also off of ILYIC, which was groove-bloody-tastic, Hall & Oates if they were modern merchants of high-sheen, deep-seated indietronica. Highlight still, though, has to be BRFM's "Lovesick Teenagers" with its hypnotic motorik beat, its relentless building melody and which, if there was any justice in this world, would have been a monster hit (how often have you said that over the years? Seems I do once a month), an opinion obviously seconded by all in attendance. At one point toward the close of the evening the band even bring to mind German outfit The Notwist - no small praise, that - before exploding like fireworks in a drum factory (thank you, Joe Stickney, and don't you love it when a musician seems to have been named by kismet) before resuming their march into a commanding trance coda.
Bear In Heaven are at their peak. They're young, they're a bit crazy and they're crazy talented. Show over, we all shuffled out into the cool Thursday night full of rapturous murmers and glow, floating a bit and most happy to have lived through a moment of danceable, head-noddable, feral heaven.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
three7: Neighborhood guests
What's up world!? 2012 has started off with a bunch of new music and I've been blessed to have so many guests on the show. Here is a quick peek at some of the visits to the station many of the artists have made. There are also ways you can get caught up and share with family and friends past episodes of the show via the station web site here, or iTunes here.
Be sure to support the artists you here on the station, and spread the word. Also, consider contributing by clicking on the donate link.
Until next time,
Be blessed.
Klyph
Be sure to support the artists you here on the station, and spread the word. Also, consider contributing by clicking on the donate link.
Until next time,
Be blessed.
Klyph
Saturday, March 31, 2012
CLUBLAND!
Doug Fir, Friday, March 23rd
There I was at home, it's about 8:45 and I'm thinking "I oughta look up who that first band is (Sun Angle), just to see" and holy heck it Northwest stalwart Charlie Salas-Humara (Panther and various other outfits) with Marius Lipman, AKA Copy, erstwhile winner of Willamette Week's band of the year (2006). Add to this Paper/Upper/Cuts Papi Fimbres on drums and flute (sometimes simultaneously) and you've got an intriguing proposition indeed. Trading in a persuasive, engaging brand of droney thrashy prog-psych-pop - let's call it prog-thrash with a mathy precision - bassline-heavy (courtesy Lipman; not a synth in sight), the trio turn in a head-turning set, gaining instant enthusiastic support from what's already a burgeoning crowd, who urged them into an extra song. From what I understand from some minimal follow-up research (thank you, facebook!), Sun Angle played last year's Austin Psych Fest, also to memorable reception. I have no idea whether the members of this band intend to remain in this incarnation but based on what I heard on that Friday night, we all hope so.
Last time I saw Point Juncture WA was PDX Pop Now! in (I believe) 2005. It was one of my then 6-year-old daughter's first live experiences and we both loved them, they were intimate, playful, inveterately tuneful if a bit DIY, charming but in need of maturation (PDX Pop Now! in a nutshell, eh? Why we love it). The intervening years have been very good to them.
If you've seen them recently, you know PJWA have a rather peculiar set-up, with initial/main drummer (they'll switch it up mid-set) Amanda Spring center stage handling or sharing lead vocals, Skyler Norwood on vibes to the left of her. To the left of him Victor Nash sits at a keyboard and with an arrangement like that is it any surprise they're melodic as hell, especially once they dig in to the three-part harmonies.
By such description you might expect something overtly baroque or pastoral but instead we get engaging quirk pop interrupted by bursts of rock wall energy. When Skyler switches to guitar - twinning the attack with Wilson Vediner - that energy amps up exponentially and the band lands in semi-avant pop territory with something close to Thurston Moore-ish shapes getting thrown around up there. Keeping things balanced are the combined voices of Victor and Amanda that, despite coming from opposite ends of the gender divide, share such similar timbres that they meld together wonderfully, thereby winning the harmony-of-the-night award going away.
PJWA are an inventive, restless band, and come mid-set number "When You Wake Up It's Today," Amanda is now at the xylophone, Skyler's on drums while Victor, though still sitting in position and contributing a piano part, is more prominently featured on trumpet, which throughout their performance is a highlight every time he brings that thing to his lips.
It's a short-lived arrangement, however, as for next song "Chronological Order" Amanda has again switched musical hats and now has a guitar strapped on and the song lets loose into a kind of sprawlingly confident Broken Social Scene groove (no wonder Nash has an Expos cap on) and proves to be their strongest song of the night.
PJWA is a band that has grown into their potential, and their hometown audience has grown in kind as they were lauded raucously by a crowd clearly happy to see them.
And speaking of rather peculiar band arrangements, let me just say that it's a bit odd the way that Cleveland band Mr Gnome's drum kit faces sideways, towards the center of the stage. Almost 40 years I've been going to shows and so far as I can recall that's a first. But once they come on and I've been able to crab my way edgewise into the by-now thronging crowd and settle in stage right, the set-up makes perfect sense.
In front of me guitarist Nicole Barille, a phalanx of petals at her feet (which she herself has arranged and tested) and a lone microphone to her right, breaks out a stunning stream of sliced-up, innovative blues-rock riffs and rhythms, serrated, virtuosic. Facing her, husband Sam Meister is a powerful percussive force, a drumming prodigy clearly in proud pounding love with what he does. Often, Nicole will be laying out some lilting, haunting 'oh-oh's that lay like delicate incantations over Sam's furious, almost tribal drumming. It's magic.
On second song "Spain," from 2009's Heave Your Skeleton LP, Sam doubles up on synth keys while Nicole picks away at a, yes, skeletal calliope of a guitar figure which eventually loops into a backing track she sings over. Next song is "Bit Of Tongue" off last year's Madness In Miniature - from which derived the majority of their set, of course - Nicole singing with her warbling self by virtue of those many pedals at her feet and the result is transfixing. Sure, there's only two of them up there but the sonic reality is there's five, sometimes six of them: lead singer, back-up singer, lead and rhythm guitarist, drummer and keyboard player. To make it all work they need to stay in touch with each other - hence the drum kit's unusual placement - and it's clear the two are married more than just legally. Their interplay is intuitive and masterful, the intertwining of their lives inseparable from that one sees and hears on stage.
I've read descriptions of Mr Gnome that have used the phrase 'spastic hard rock.' That first adjective is, by any account, an utter mystery. Driving, staggering, barely-contained-but-precise, yes. Spastic, no. As for the 'hard rock' piece of it, to my ears they really only came close to that on "Pirates" off debut LP Deliver This Creature, which they tackle with their typical, rather relentless take-no-prisoners approach that, despite its all-out assault on our spinal cords, still comes at us wrapped in a blues-based groove.
Central to the band's power is the pure dynamism of the couple involved. Nicole's presence is at once forceful and enigmatic, her hair cascading over her face in a fizz waterfall, her voice somehow plaintive, defiant and desperate all in a single stroke. What you end up with a a tough vulnerability. That she's the guitar aficionado cannot go uncommented upon. Not because she's a woman taking that role but because she's brilliant, commandingly so. Sam, meanwhile, provides an unparalleled body of rhythm, an exacting fury of beats that both hews to classic rock templates and strays from them (or stomps all over them) with equal authority and dexterity, all the while maintaining a laconic demeanor in which it's impossible not to understand his full devotion to the task at hand (and feet - which were bare like a Shaolin monk's or something - punishing the bass drum pedal all set long).
What this all adds up to - the dual intuitive onstage communication, the mastery of multiple strands all at once, the instinctual rock 'n' roll dynamism (which includes, perhaps most crucially, their obvious innate familiarity with what's come before them), the charge and gritty urban sparkle, is a band that demands your attention and has every right to get it. Those qualities and that attention-getting were evident the whole time but especially on two tracks off Madness.. "Outsiders," a younger speedier and altogether more curious cousin to House Of The Rising Sun, and pre-encore set closer "Capsize," which barrels into your head like "Train Kept A-Rollin'" before blaring off the track and into those places where hell runs loose. Both were examples of a band that so transcends the limitations of a 2-person band as to make a mockery of that whole numbers game.
On a night that had Sharon Van Etten with War On Drugs at the Aladdin and Of Montreal with Deerhoof at the Crystal, both extraordinary shows I'd rather not have missed, I walked out knowing, without a doubt, that I'd been right where I should have been, right where I wanted to be.
There I was at home, it's about 8:45 and I'm thinking "I oughta look up who that first band is (Sun Angle), just to see" and holy heck it Northwest stalwart Charlie Salas-Humara (Panther and various other outfits) with Marius Lipman, AKA Copy, erstwhile winner of Willamette Week's band of the year (2006). Add to this Paper/Upper/Cuts Papi Fimbres on drums and flute (sometimes simultaneously) and you've got an intriguing proposition indeed. Trading in a persuasive, engaging brand of droney thrashy prog-psych-pop - let's call it prog-thrash with a mathy precision - bassline-heavy (courtesy Lipman; not a synth in sight), the trio turn in a head-turning set, gaining instant enthusiastic support from what's already a burgeoning crowd, who urged them into an extra song. From what I understand from some minimal follow-up research (thank you, facebook!), Sun Angle played last year's Austin Psych Fest, also to memorable reception. I have no idea whether the members of this band intend to remain in this incarnation but based on what I heard on that Friday night, we all hope so.
Last time I saw Point Juncture WA was PDX Pop Now! in (I believe) 2005. It was one of my then 6-year-old daughter's first live experiences and we both loved them, they were intimate, playful, inveterately tuneful if a bit DIY, charming but in need of maturation (PDX Pop Now! in a nutshell, eh? Why we love it). The intervening years have been very good to them.
If you've seen them recently, you know PJWA have a rather peculiar set-up, with initial/main drummer (they'll switch it up mid-set) Amanda Spring center stage handling or sharing lead vocals, Skyler Norwood on vibes to the left of her. To the left of him Victor Nash sits at a keyboard and with an arrangement like that is it any surprise they're melodic as hell, especially once they dig in to the three-part harmonies.
By such description you might expect something overtly baroque or pastoral but instead we get engaging quirk pop interrupted by bursts of rock wall energy. When Skyler switches to guitar - twinning the attack with Wilson Vediner - that energy amps up exponentially and the band lands in semi-avant pop territory with something close to Thurston Moore-ish shapes getting thrown around up there. Keeping things balanced are the combined voices of Victor and Amanda that, despite coming from opposite ends of the gender divide, share such similar timbres that they meld together wonderfully, thereby winning the harmony-of-the-night award going away.
PJWA are an inventive, restless band, and come mid-set number "When You Wake Up It's Today," Amanda is now at the xylophone, Skyler's on drums while Victor, though still sitting in position and contributing a piano part, is more prominently featured on trumpet, which throughout their performance is a highlight every time he brings that thing to his lips.
It's a short-lived arrangement, however, as for next song "Chronological Order" Amanda has again switched musical hats and now has a guitar strapped on and the song lets loose into a kind of sprawlingly confident Broken Social Scene groove (no wonder Nash has an Expos cap on) and proves to be their strongest song of the night.
PJWA is a band that has grown into their potential, and their hometown audience has grown in kind as they were lauded raucously by a crowd clearly happy to see them.
And speaking of rather peculiar band arrangements, let me just say that it's a bit odd the way that Cleveland band Mr Gnome's drum kit faces sideways, towards the center of the stage. Almost 40 years I've been going to shows and so far as I can recall that's a first. But once they come on and I've been able to crab my way edgewise into the by-now thronging crowd and settle in stage right, the set-up makes perfect sense.
In front of me guitarist Nicole Barille, a phalanx of petals at her feet (which she herself has arranged and tested) and a lone microphone to her right, breaks out a stunning stream of sliced-up, innovative blues-rock riffs and rhythms, serrated, virtuosic. Facing her, husband Sam Meister is a powerful percussive force, a drumming prodigy clearly in proud pounding love with what he does. Often, Nicole will be laying out some lilting, haunting 'oh-oh's that lay like delicate incantations over Sam's furious, almost tribal drumming. It's magic.
On second song "Spain," from 2009's Heave Your Skeleton LP, Sam doubles up on synth keys while Nicole picks away at a, yes, skeletal calliope of a guitar figure which eventually loops into a backing track she sings over. Next song is "Bit Of Tongue" off last year's Madness In Miniature - from which derived the majority of their set, of course - Nicole singing with her warbling self by virtue of those many pedals at her feet and the result is transfixing. Sure, there's only two of them up there but the sonic reality is there's five, sometimes six of them: lead singer, back-up singer, lead and rhythm guitarist, drummer and keyboard player. To make it all work they need to stay in touch with each other - hence the drum kit's unusual placement - and it's clear the two are married more than just legally. Their interplay is intuitive and masterful, the intertwining of their lives inseparable from that one sees and hears on stage.
I've read descriptions of Mr Gnome that have used the phrase 'spastic hard rock.' That first adjective is, by any account, an utter mystery. Driving, staggering, barely-contained-but-precise, yes. Spastic, no. As for the 'hard rock' piece of it, to my ears they really only came close to that on "Pirates" off debut LP Deliver This Creature, which they tackle with their typical, rather relentless take-no-prisoners approach that, despite its all-out assault on our spinal cords, still comes at us wrapped in a blues-based groove.
Central to the band's power is the pure dynamism of the couple involved. Nicole's presence is at once forceful and enigmatic, her hair cascading over her face in a fizz waterfall, her voice somehow plaintive, defiant and desperate all in a single stroke. What you end up with a a tough vulnerability. That she's the guitar aficionado cannot go uncommented upon. Not because she's a woman taking that role but because she's brilliant, commandingly so. Sam, meanwhile, provides an unparalleled body of rhythm, an exacting fury of beats that both hews to classic rock templates and strays from them (or stomps all over them) with equal authority and dexterity, all the while maintaining a laconic demeanor in which it's impossible not to understand his full devotion to the task at hand (and feet - which were bare like a Shaolin monk's or something - punishing the bass drum pedal all set long).
What this all adds up to - the dual intuitive onstage communication, the mastery of multiple strands all at once, the instinctual rock 'n' roll dynamism (which includes, perhaps most crucially, their obvious innate familiarity with what's come before them), the charge and gritty urban sparkle, is a band that demands your attention and has every right to get it. Those qualities and that attention-getting were evident the whole time but especially on two tracks off Madness.. "Outsiders," a younger speedier and altogether more curious cousin to House Of The Rising Sun, and pre-encore set closer "Capsize," which barrels into your head like "Train Kept A-Rollin'" before blaring off the track and into those places where hell runs loose. Both were examples of a band that so transcends the limitations of a 2-person band as to make a mockery of that whole numbers game.
On a night that had Sharon Van Etten with War On Drugs at the Aladdin and Of Montreal with Deerhoof at the Crystal, both extraordinary shows I'd rather not have missed, I walked out knowing, without a doubt, that I'd been right where I should have been, right where I wanted to be.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Music Break
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James Low and the Western Front-
Recently, I saw James Low and the Western Front at the Laurelthirst Public House. I have to admit that I'm not that familiar with country music, so I didn't really know what to expect. The show was a record release party for their new album, Whiskey Farmer. The band was founded in 2010, and this is their first album together, but James has put out several on his own including Blackheart in 2002 and The Blackgaurd's Waltz in 2008.
The place was packed by the time we arrived. A good sign, I thought to myself, but I still wasn't sure of what to expect from a country show. I was surprised when the band took the stage. They owned the venue and made the place come alive. The steel pedal guitar gave the music the country flavor the band is known for, but I was really stunned by the drummer. He played as fast and heavy as I would expect from any rock show. OK, so this wasn't going to be just country music. With James Low's emotional voice, they seemed to take a page from the classic heartland rock bands. The working man, blue collar vibe came out in songs like the title track, Whiskey Farmer. You also got the feeling of Neil Young in some of the slower songs. But my favorites were the upbeat, fast paced songs like How Much Do You Love Me? and Back in the Saddle. If you like southern rock, such as Drive by Truckers or Lucinda Williams, you need to check out James Low and the Western Front.Saturday, March 17, 2012
CLUBLAND (addendum againdum)
Next up in CLUBLAND, pop surrealists from Cleveland Mr Gnome, supported, most ably I should think, by local stalwarts Point Juncture WA, who ALWAYS promise a good show. That's on Friday, March 23rd, and again I urge you, COME ON DOWN!! I like talking about these shows and all, and I hope you enjoy hearing about them, but really, the true, boundless and abiding joy would be to BE there. Live music where you live...
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