Having grown up in Orange County, CA, Karl linked up with DJ Greyboy in San Diego and the duo began fusing together acid jazz grooves and beats.  By 1995, the project had acquired guitarist Elgin Park (aka Michael Andrews), organist/keyboardist Robert Walter, bassist Chris Stillwell, and drummer Zak Najor.  This marked the birth of the now-legendary Greyboy Allstars, as well as their classic album, West Coast Boogaloo (feat. Fred Wesley).

Always prolific and ever evolving, Karl thrived in several more projects, began fronting Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe, and has continuously popped up and found homes with everybody and anybody in the jamband circuit over the years.  His resume is a mile long and, most recently, he’s performed with the likes of such acts as Slightly Stoopid and none other than PUBLIC ENEMY!  Every great festival that I’ve been to has included some incarnation of Karl Denson; whether it’s a late night, post-Phish Halloween show, KDTU set, or just the saxophonist jamming with a seemingly unlikely bluegrass band – he is up to his eyeballs in music!  Through it all, one of the most impressive things about this man is the balance that he maintains between heavy touring and being a father/husband.  He specifically structures his tours to maintain this balance and one can tell from being in his presence that he truly knows how to keep all of his passions equally in check.

Once I heard that Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe was going to be covering the Rolling Stones album, Sticky Fingers in it’s entirety, with additional guitar work by New Orleans slide-guitar extraordinaire, Anders Osborne , I knew that Seattle and the rest of the cities on this tour were in for a treat.  Not only did the band absolutely tear apart the Stones album with deep heart and soul, but the KDTU second set revealed the ever evolving nature of Karl’s own music.  The show was incredible and we even got the rare opportunity to ask Denson a few questions between sets.

-Joel Ott

JOEL OTT: So how’s the tour going?

KARL DENSON: We’re having a great time… It’s going really well, the crowds are loving it.  It’s a great record, you know, it’s fun to play.

JO: How did you choose Sticky Fingers? I mean the Stones have a lot of material…

KD: We were just kind of- we started with Aqualung.  We were gonna do Jethro Tull.  And then we thought, “you know what? A lotta people aren’t gonna know that record… like, really well” .  So, we said, “Ok, let’s go with the Stones” and then, we just started going through all their records and that (Sticky Fingers) had a bunch of tunes that I really liked… You know, “Sway”; I’ve always loved that track.  And then we’d already done ‘Can’t you hear me knocking,” you know, a year ago, and it just seemed like the right one.

JO: Well, it definitely works!

KD: We’re having fun

JO: Anders?  How did that all come about?

KD: We needed somebody to play slide… You know, we needed a slide guy and somebody who could sing, to share the vocal duty.  And he and I have been trying to do stuff together; we sat in on each other’s gigs a couple times in the last couple years, so this is like our first chance to really do something together, so… he was kind of a natural choice.

JO: Brian Jordan has been with the Tiny Universe for quite a while – what happened to him?

KD: He decided he wanted to do his own thing.  And you know, I think with our schedule being kind of broken, as it is-  You know, like I did a lot of this summer with Slightly Stoopid, so we kinda had some nice big breaks in the schedule… I think it gave him enough momentum on his own where he was like,”I think I should stick with my thing.“  So, he’s just doing his thing… and DJ Waynes was a natural choice; we’ve played with him a few times and I’ve always wanted to play with him.  You know, like he sits in and ALWAYS impressed, so it’s kind of a cool thing.

JO: You’ve mentioned before how, early on in Grey Boy Allstars, you’d put ideas out or people would put ideas out there (in the context of grey boy) and they either liked it or not, but it was like real straight and to the point -

KD: With the All Stars? Haha, yeah they’re the style council.

JO: So I was wondering how that’s affected your growth and development.

KD: You know what, it was a really good opportunity and still is; we still do things together.  It’s a great sounding board from the standpoint of… really, kind of fleshing out ideas AND knowing when it’s cool or not.   Sometimes there’s things that you do that might work for this band (but) they don’t work for the All Stars, or there are some things that are just like,”that’s a great idea, but not necessarily applicable to my audience.“  So, that’s the cool thing about having those guys around – they just refuse to play anything.

AMY SALVADENA (recording the interview): Brutally honest?

KD: They refuse to play anything they don’t like. They’ll actually, you can force them to do it, but they’ll realize – this isn’t going to work *laughs*.

JO: You were talking about Jam Cruise and how it gets better and better every year, but you don’t want to have any expectations (“I don’t want to say it’s gonna be better next year, but the way it’s been going…”,) so I was wondering about expectations.  I try not to have expectations myself, because I feel like it sets you up for disappointment, or whatever, and I think it’s a good way to go through life. So, I’m wondering; does that point of view apply at all to your music career or your life?

KD: You know, to a certain extent.  I’m not one to go into a situation and create… I don’t create situations I’m normally one to go in and see what it is and then, you know, try to make the best of it.  I do find that people that have lots of expectations tend to get disappointed and then bum everyone else out around them, so I think it’s a more healthy way to look at life and kind of keep it fresh.  You can have expectations, I think it’s just, you know, there’s that choice of whether or not to be happy.  Along with that, you know people that make a lot of expectations tend to allow themselves to be unhappy when their expectations are let down and I disagree with that philosophically.

JO: Jazz, I want to talk about jazz…when you started playing, it was early on… I mean, how do you feel like jazz was then, how is jazz now, and how does that relate to the whole jam band scene, which has sort of evolved into this big thing now…

KD: You know what, I’ve always been a jazz head, but I think there was a point where I realized that what I really liked about jazz was its connection to dance music… And so, I tend to stay on that path.

*loud laughing in background, we all laugh*

I think that’s led me away from jazz, traditional jazz to a certain extent, where I think that spirit of what it was when it started in New Orleans is maybe more applicable to hip hop right now, than it is to trad(itional) jazz.  You know, I liked John Coltrane as a kid, so I listened to a lot of avante garde jazz and I thought that’s what I wanted to do for a long time.  And so, as a result, it kept me open to a lot of things… and, so what jazz is; I really think it’s a spirit, not a style of music… And, you know, I look at cats like MMW (and) to me is like, I like what they do- I mean, in terms of being jazzy.  And I like what Roy Hargrove does… but, I don’t like the purest element that doesn’t allow for new thought.

JO: What about the connection with jambands?

KD: Well, I think the jamband scene is a scene that’s all about improvisation, which I think very closely connects it to the jazz scene.  I used to always say that I thought High Sierra (music festival) was one of the best jazz festivals of the year, because you would find that bands like MMW would be there, or Skerik would be there, and, you know, all these weird projects… Bela Fleck would be there, Jacob Fred Jazz Odysey would end up there, and it’s all this weird music.  And then, you have a bunch of blues artists and soul artists and bluegrass artists… Bluegrass – to me – is jazzy; it’s all about improvisation.  So, I think the jamband scene -for me- is a natural place to be, in terms of playing jazz music.

JO: Jamcruise.  Convince us.  I mean  -it sounds awesome- tell us why we should go.

KD: Well, I mean… you’re on a boat!

*we all laugh*

You’ve got all the bands you like on a boat.  You’re stuck on a boat with a bunch of bands and it’s pretty amazing and I think that one thing that Jamcruise has done that nobody else does to this extent, is we created the “jam room”.  The after hours jams that go on in the jam room are pretty epic, because you’ve got, you know, 20 bands on a boat, they’re stuck out there.  After everything’s done and it’s 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning, everybody heads to the jam room, and everybody goes on stage and just plays – and it’s pretty insane.  So, I think it’s a really good party, and it’s on a boat!

Our interview was then cut short, because Karl had to return to the stage for a set of KDTU material.  One didn’t really know what to expect after such a powerful cover of the entire Sticky Fingers album.

Anyone familiar with The Stones release would naturally anticipate a stretched-out sax jam towards the end of the classic, “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” and, though they ran through it really well, the jam didn’t stray too far from the original.  What really took me by surprise though, was the next track, “You Gotta Move,” which featured extended slide-guitar work by Anders Osborne over the rest of the band (we’re talking about a full horn section, keys, another guitar, and drums).  At some point, I remember turning to my friend and saying something like, “Wow, this DEFINITELY does not sound exactly like the album.”  Sure enough, upon checking later, the band had taken a two-minute blues tune and jammed the hell out of it with emotion and power, for a screaming seven minutes!  The other truly noteworthy jam, most unexpectedly, popped out of “Sister Morphine”, which is a really slow and mellow song, as the title would imply.  As soon as the lyrics were “out of the way,” the drums kicked into double-time and, all of a sudden, the room was in a funk-infused, trancey dance party that lasted around ten minutes longer than the album version.  We were getting a taste of exactly what solar system the Tiny Universe is jamming in these days.  Of course, they also nailed the classics: “Brown Sugar”, “Wild Horses” and “Dead Flowers”.

I’ve seen Karl many times and, although I’m not familiar enough with his material to really get into the names of the songs, I know that I can always count on a couple of things: the music always sounds fresh and I am always gonna dance my ass off.  This second set was no exception.  While they ran through some of their more composed material, they didn’t waste a lot of time before getting right back into that realm “Sister Morphine” had brought us to, and we had a full on dance party for the entire set.  There was a “synthy” feel that kept coming on in waves and it was something that struck me in particular about their current direction.  As far as I’m aware, this is definitely something new, in terms of their jamming style. The set thrived  with energy and gave each band member their own moment(s) to really shine.

If you have a chance, get up offa your thing and go see Karl D!  After the tour he played a few dates with Fred Wesley and the Greyboy Allstars, covering their original debut in its entirety to wrap up the year in Southern CA -including a stop in the Bay area for NYE- before heading out “on a boat” for Jamcruise 10.  The Sticky Fingers tour “with special guests” (including Anders Osborne) will continue with their East Coast leg launching at the beginning of February.  This is not to be missed folks!

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CLICK HERE for tour dates.

LISTEN TO THE SHOW:

SET ONE (Sticky Fingers)

SET TWO

Gang Gang Dance

Neumos

Seattle, Wa

10.14.11

Let’s get this straight: “I am a total snob, a pseudo intellectual, and an occasional dilettante.”

I know this about myself.  At least I should get some Buddha points for being mindfully (if knowingly) self-aware.  I appreciate most genres of art and music.  I even admire my own openness to various genres when I’m alone with myself in my car.  I may pop in Four Tet, followed by Blossom Dearie, Elvis Perkins, Arvo Part, and Simon & Garfunkel.  Then, sometimes it’s the Black Keys, Joy division, Toumani Diabate, Ukulele Ike, Hello Seahorse, and Jurassic 5, finishing off (haha) with Guns N Roses.  The juxtapositions of my car DJ skills have me liking myself right through my morning commute.

One of my biggest snobby glitches is this: When I first hear about something, after it has already become a little too popular with the local hepsters, a wee switch goes off in my brain which keeps me secretly “above” whatever it is (at least for now).  Let’s call it snob-tourettes.  I bide my time.  I hold off until this brilliant (or not so brilliant) pop group, painter, movie, or writer passes through the imaginary threshold of popularity and into the passé; I subconsciously wait for it to be uncool enough for it to be cool enough for me…and then I sit back and take it in for the first time.  Maybe (probably) I haven’t even really paid attention to it before this.  My snob-tourettes has wrestled my tiny Buddha to the ground.

Lately, I have been openly rooting for my better self.  I do aim to grow to appreciate art on its own merits, god damn it!!  So, when an opportunity to cover the Gang Gang Dance show at Seattle‘s Neumos came, I jumped at it.  I – mostly – missed the slow swell of psychedelia that was Gang Gang Dance’s rise to international notoriety; a fact (sadly) that would usually inhibit me from listening for at least a couple of years.  This was the better-self-test that I needed; a prime opportunity to step willingly on to a popular alternative band wagon, or at least be open to it.

So, then and there, I committed to attending the show.

I prepared myself with a very limited crash course on the Manhattan music/art collective.  Some of the music was familiar to me already, but, previously, I had tried to ignore it.  So, I listened a little more, but not much better.  I watched a few youtubes.  I read the MonsterFresh.com interview.  I listened to a few songs on spotify.  I did not want to learn too much.  I definitely did not want to go to the show as a confirmed hater or a fan.  I was hoping to be genuinely converted from the live event.  I wanted to be convinced that they were worth the hype; alternatively, I wanted to be justified in shunning their popularity.

Here’s what I learned about Gang Gang Dance before the show:  The band has been termed many things: avant-garde, experimental rock, art-punk, world beat, tribal-electro-pop, & electro clash.  They tour with friend/artist/band-member Taka Imamura; he has been described as the band’s “spiritual advisor.”  They have some songs that last 11 minutes.  Okay…so definitely unconventional…and, in my mind (though I was trying not to pass judgment), they started to seem a little gimmicky(?)  I stopped my research there.

When October, 14th came, it was one of the first rainy cold nights of autumn.  It was dark by 6pm and I had trouble with even the thought of leaving my warm little house.  Attending the show didn’t feel like a good idea anymore.  Nobody really cares if I like popular alternative music.  What was I proving exactly?  I wanted to read a book in my bed, not shake it on the dance floor.  I was going, but I was not in the mood.  To top it off, the venue (Neumos) sits in the center of Seattle‘s Pike/Pine Corridor!  The show was in the middle of “Weekend Party Central” and it was Friday night!  I got into my car.  It was so rainy and so cold.  I drove.  I questioned if I’d find parking?  I thought that I might be late, I was tired, and I had limited expectations.

Then, out of nowhere, events aligned.  Is there such a thing as a divine trance-rock-fairy?  Did it give my kvetching inner humbug a smack down?  I don’t know what magic suddenly occurred, but the evening got lovely.  I found parking instantly (unbelievable prime, free, parking).  Then, I met an awesome pair of friends at the door.  I breezed through the photo pass scenario and had a drink bought for me.

Light anxiety turned to contentment.

Woosh, there I was, happy and sharing a cocktail with a friend.  My car was parked for free on a Friday night.  I had missed most of the opening band, but I would catch all of the Prince Rama set before the headliners took the stage.

Prince Rama is a sister act from Brooklyn, NY.  The band is made up of sisters, Taraka & Nimai Larson, friend Michael Collins, glitter, sequins, and an eighties jump suit.  Wikipedia states: “Originally raised on a Hare Krishna commune in Florida, and educated at an art school in Boston.”  This is the most succinct and descriptive wiki statement I have ever read, and sums up Prince Rama perfectly.  They definitely reminded me of the other kids of hippies that I grew up with.  Their performance reminded me of the haunted houses and rituals that I would invent with my childhood girlfriends.  All in all, they played tribal-psychedelia, with an earnestness of pre-teen girls or art school kids.  One of the sisters (Taraka) ended their set by chanting “trust, trust, trust…” and falling into the crowd.  They were young (20’s?) and probably deserving their own little review, but it was getting late and, by the time they left the room, I was ready to fall asleep on my feet.

At last, the members of Gang Gang Dance arrived on the stage.  They didn’t seem like they were in any hurry.  Things were being set up pretty casually. Instruments were getting their final tunings and Lizzi Bougatsos was emptying a leather bag.  Out of the bag came a small wooden, African (?) devil (?) mask.  She put the mask in front of her face all nonchalantly, like… umm… she was just checking to see if the mask still worked and as if no one was watching.  Then she took out a black bustier and tossed that down in the small pile of purse contents.  The pile contained percussion sticks, mallets, and other things that I couldn’t quite make out. “This could go either way” I thought.

The audience pressed closer together.  I stood with my hands on the stage and to Lizzi’s left.  The crowd was diverse.  A guy who was in his mid-forties and was sporting the classic ex-grunge rocker look was pushed up against my right arm.  Standing behind me was a Northwest skinny pants, horned-rims and fedora guy.  To my left a girl (barely of age) was in a new-agey-gypsy get-up swinging her arms in anticipation.

Lizzi said hello to the crowd.  She wore black gladiator heels, a black cat suit with back cut-outs and a sheer black-metallic button up with the giant tags still on it.  She said something about the Occupy Wall Street protests, which I didn’t understand completely.  When she spoke, she sounded a little like Fran Drescher (which was all that I could think of).  Then she thanked to Prince Rama and summed up my feelings about the opening band by asking sincerely, “Aren’t they cute?”  They were cute… exactly.

A series of color saturated video projections began: still, moving, and layered.  The rest of the band took their places.  Brian Degraw placed a drum stick in his mouth and laid into the keyboards.  There was a gradual spacey drone filling the room; like new age wind chimes set to heart beats.  Then the music transitioned into what sounded like traditional Arabic music.  One moment it seemed like a massage therapist soundtrack.  Next it sounded like “We built this City” by Starship.  Suddenly, the percussion kicked in from all directions (Brian Degraw on drum pads, Jesse Lee on the drum kit, and Lizzi drumming along at center stage).  The music morphed in to a tribal rite of passage.

Bougatsos’ voice was like some odd combination of Kate Bush, Cocteau Twins, and Grace Slick; with a hint of Sinead O’ Connor (from “I Am Stretched on your Grave”).  It was spacey.  It was techno.  It was hard core(?)  Wait… hold on… sometimes it was like that scene in Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood (okay, pretend you haven’t watched it, if you’re “too cool”) when the little girls are chanting around the fire with homemade tribal headdresses.  At moments the front-woman wailed, then she cooed, screeched, and sometimes she was barely audible at all.

Brian Degraw ceremoniously placed a scarf over his head like a holy man.  A large white triangle was projected onto the video screen.  The words “positive” and “energy” were visible on two sides of the projected triangle.  The image slowly rotated.  “Was I being inducted into a secret society?”  If this was a cult, then it was kinda okay by me, because the music was extremely danceable.

Taka Imamura swayed around the stage looking for things to do.  Sometimes he danced to the beat.  For a while he held (what looked like) a large tumbleweed.  He carried the tumbleweed/sculpture around the stage, placing it behind the singer’s head, walking it to different odd locations on the stage, or holding it over his own head as he negotiated the crowded stage like a cartoon shaman.  At one point, he and Lizzi held hands and casually danced through the crowd.  How many bands have a spiritual advisor on stage?  He didn’t play an instrument or sing, but it was clear that he was considered an integral component to what the group was doing as a whole.

One song became another, or there were minute pauses in between.  I tried with my limited knowledge to distinguish between them.  My sense was that, aside from the few die hard fan-geeks, it was hard for most attendees to pick out a set list.  It could have been one long song; one uniform experience: visuals, players, audio, costumes, and color palette.  I felt transported.

Taka arranged a white sheet/scrim in front of Jesse Lee’s drum kit so that the drummer’s head was barely visible and so that the projected images (which were getting denser) could take up most of the visual space on the stage.  The visuals shifted from glittery constellation objects to swaths of saturated color blended with layers of metallic video mesh.  Some of the projections were in shades of teal, fuchsia, indigo, apple green, red and white.  Colors and sound flashed together, pulsed to the music, or oozed like a lava lamp.  The room obtained a Willy Wonka ferry boat feeling.

I loved the odd sense of cohesion,  equally combined with the more experimental elements of when they didn’t seem to know what they were doing.  Near the end of the show, Josh Diamond accidently broke a guitar string.  Taka took the opportunity to grandiosely stretch that string out from the instrument; making a new electric screech as diamond played the five others that remained fully attached (I should add Lizzi joined the string pulling, as well).  The whole spectacle was both luscious and silly.  They appeared to ride the line between taking themselves way too seriously and acting as if it was all complete nonsense.  The music was solid, but the stage performance had some looseness to it.  Being goofy, bad ass, approachable, and spiritual -simultaneously- has got to be a fairly difficult task to pull off successfully

I have been trying for days, but it’s really difficult for me to relay the experience.  My mind, just sort of, flits around when I try to pin down the details.  The band’s gestation in the New York art scene might explain some of it.  Certainly, there was a flavor of performance art.  Have you ever seen footage of old Factory happenings; Beuys in his heyday, early CBGB shows, or even the Sound Lab (cultural alchemy) work coming out of the East Village in the late 90’s?  Maybe this comes from a band having spent over a decade together?  Another set of players and these components could have seemed easily like a glib spectacle, but, for Gang Gang Dance, it didn’t come across like that at all.  They seem oddly self-aware, but also raw and honest about what they were doing.

After the spectacle was over, the members of the band cleaned up their gear.  The bustier & African mask (which were never used) were put back into the oversized bag, and Lizzi Bougatsos sat at the edge of the stage.  She spoke to those that waited around.  She invited people to stay and hang out.  She sincerely thanked the fans for coming out and supporting the band.  She hugged and took pictures with those who came close.  This morning I watched an interview in which Bougatsos states that she literally picks a member of the audience, which she feels connected to, and that she sings/performs to them.  In my opinion, the success of the show was built on this sort of communion.

I went home feeling glad that I had the opportunity to attend.  My only wish was that I had spent less time thinking about it and more time letting myself go.

Gang Gang Dance has been playing larger shows and festivals lately.  This year, they performed at both the Animal Collective-curated ATP Festival in Minehead, UK and The Pitchfork Music Festival.  Growing popularity means that there may be fewer opportunities to experience the intimacy that makes this band so special.

The result of my little self-experiment is this: I learned that -yes- I am, in fact, an snob-idiot when it comes to being too concerned about what other people are and are not listening to.  The band’s current release Eye Contact is now in permanent rotation on my morning commute.  But, more than listening, I am looking forward to an opportunity to see Gang Gang Dance live once again.  I am converted and, so it seems, are the masses.  These smaller shows may soon become history and so, I encourage you to jump on this band wagon as soon as possible.  I implore you: “Shake it while you can!”

Click here to view the embedded video.

BORIS

Neumos

Seattle, WA

10.12.11

Boris has intrigued me since the first time that I read about ‘em.  It was in the early 2000s and, while it may have been on a web forum, it was much more likely from a now-defunct post-rock and experimental record review site.  I knew that they took their name from a Melvins tune, I knew that they were Japanese, and I knew they had a hot lady on guitar.  Over time, I further learned that they have put out noise records with Merzbow, had released a handful of rumbling drone records, and that they knew how to pull a cute trick now and again -like when they encased gummy worms in the jewel cased spines of certain special-edition versions of their 1998 album Amplifier Worship.  Everything about Boris sounded interesting and mysterious.  They evoked an intensity and honesty that made them brooding and yet, somehow, not depressing.  Just reading the way others talked and wrote about them convinced me that this was a band that was creating and playing music because they needed to.  Feedback was not an accident, it was an art.  I instinctively knew that this was a band that already meant something to me and I hadn’t heard a single note.

But what finally drew me to Boris and made me a “real” fan was the 2005 stateside release of their album Akuma No Uta on doom/drone label, Southern Lord (the original Japanese release was in 2003).  I had read about this record and I knew that it was a transition for the band way before I’d ever even heard the thing.  It marked a step away from their reputation as the heavy drone band from the Land of the Rising Sun and a step into the pool of stoner-rock and blown-out speaker sex appeal.  Seeing Akuma No Uta’s cover art told me everything that I needed to know: that this band had heart and that this band had humanity.

The cover art for this U.S. version of Akuma No Uta is a play on the cover image from Nick Drake’s 1970 folk album Bryter Layer.  [Feel free to brush up on Nick Drake over on Wikipedia.  It’ll probably be better than any synopsis I’d pen here.]  That a band would do this told me that they had personality, that they were clever, and that they were both okay folks and cool-ass motherfuckers.  I mean, both images looked nearly identical.  There was nothing kitschy about this and nothing cute.  Boris appropriated a depressing folk classic from thirty-plus years ago and, while there was a “nudge-nudge” that the band and fans alike were bonding over our shared recognition of a pop-culture cipher, there was no “wink-wink” that they had anything but respect for the original.  There was no thumbs-up and there was no smirk.

Fortunately, for all of us (and for me, especially), Akuma No Uta turned out to be a fantastic record to boot.  I immediately liked it, because it married the fuzzed-out drone that I sorta liked (but, wanted to love) with the gyrating sexuality and strutting appeal of acts like bass and drums duo, Death From Above 1979.  Prior to this, I had picked up some albums by groups like Growing, Khanate, and Pelican that I really wanted to like, but I didn’t really feel like I had genuinely and sincerely connected to anything that fell under the “drone/doom”  umbrella until I heard parts of Akuma.  The Japanese trio had crafted a release that contained all of the power chord rock riffs that I’d been steeped in since junior high and all of the inebriated joy and ennui that I’d come to learn about in college.  I later came to appreciate the ambient dooooom of Boris’s Amplifier Worship and Altar -their 2006 collaboration with SunnO)))- but those records affected me intellectually, rather than emotionally.  Akuma had something else going for it and, even when I was only listening on earbuds while strolling to work, it never failed to touch me.

So, it may sound strange to you that I hadn’t seen Boris live until now, especially considering how frequently they tour.  I’ve lived in Seattle for five years now and I’m sure that I’ve missed them no less than four times, within that time period.  Something always happened to prevent me from going or something else has always come up.  Maybe I was just too lazy.  Maybe I was simply bummed that I’d have to go to the show alone.  Maybe I didn’t feel like taking the bus across town.  Or,  maybe, I was just going through another one of my “I don’t know if I’m into this heavy metal thing anymore, I’m just going to listen to John Prine” phases.  But now that I have experienced Boris live, I’m sold, and, God willing, the next time that they come around there won’t be another “maybe” to keep me from being there again.

The band’s performance in Seattle last month was fantastic.  Of course, it was fun and they played well, but, for me, the best part about the show was really my own sense of surprise and discovery.  You see, in spite of everything that I just wrote about Akuma No Uta’s somehow sensual stoner-rock, my knee-jerk reaction was still that Boris was a monolithic drone band.  I still had every expectation that I’d walk into Neumos and, once the band hit the stage, they would unleash an hour of fog-machined Orange amp feedback and follow it up with fifteen minutes of 4/4 power chords.  Then they’d politely thank us and head back to the green room.

And, yeah, while Boris’s hour-and-twenty-minute set contained moments and cycles of drooooone, moments where the band let every note feed back for just the right length of time before they slid that half-step up the neck, and, while there were times when they stared into space and dreeeeew out those arpeggios, more often than not, the band rocked.  And that is to say, they RAWKED!  They stretched out the guitar solos and they indulged in effects-pedal-hopping.  The majority of their set was a Kill Rock Stars take on red-hued psychedelia.  It was fuzzed-out and heavy, and yet, still trashy and joyous and fun.  I could hardly believe it when I heard Boris play what I swear were snare drum samples.  Hearing the conflation of a vaguely danceable Dark Wave beat and a basement make-out vibe with doubled up fuzz boxes and guitar hum was something that I hadn’t quite expected.  To manifest an environment where I felt like I could both sway and leer while, simultaneously, grinning and throwing a fist in the air was somehow genius.

This night made me realize that the reason that I had liked Boris all along is because they take chances.  It doesn’t matter if it’s possible that they can’t always quite pull it off ,or if another band out there can do it better – Boris does it because they want to, and you know that because it’s tangible and you can feel it.  And by “you” I mean “all of you,” because, from what I could tell, everyone in the crowd loved this show.  I saw heads nodding and smiles smiling and frantic grabs for iPhones so that we could try to snap pictures of the nimble-fingered guitar solos and the gaffer’s-taped setlist.

However, the one thing that was absent, and the thing that honestly told me that Boris is a great band, was that I didn’t really feel like most of us knew any of these songs.  I mean, of course, I don’t expect anyone to sing along (the lyrics are in Japanese), but I seldom got the feeling that much of the crowd knew the song that was coming from the stage.  I don’t think it was just me.  We all loved that riff that sounded like “Thirsty and Miserable.”  We all felt those washes of guitar fuzz and feedback.  The smoke and red lights enveloped each and every one of us, as we heard the nine-minute finale that was piano plinks and drum fills and shoe(h)aze backdrops.  How much time did we spend wishing that we had a tattooed girlfriend to touch and a window from which we could stare out into the abyss that is our uncertain future?  Hmmm, how about the entire evening’s worth.

I suppose that if I’d been a bigger Boris fan -by which I mean to say a bigger Boris “completist”, – then I might have had a different take.  More likely, I’m sure that I would have been equally as impressed, albeit in a different way.  I’m glad that I didn’t stand there that night and wish that the band had played “this” instead of “that” or that they didn’t lean as heavily on their 2005/2006 record Pink as I would have liked.  The notion that they should have ridden that over-driven bass feedback tone for maybe just thirty seconds more never crossed my mind.

So, I’m glad that I went in exactly as I did.  There was nothing to get in the way of the band and nothing to prevent me from seeing the musicians perform as a band.  Everything that I witnessed was pure and I didn’t have the wherewithal to second-guess any of it.  I saw Orange amps, Matamp heads, and daisy-chained pedal-boards stretched across the stage. Drummer, Atsuo’s Lucite kit was on prominent display.  Because I not only didn’t know what song the band might play next, but also didn’t always know what it would sound like, I could spend Boris’s set concentrating on the band members themselves, on their interaction with each other, and with their music at hand.  I experienced the music for what it was.  It was sustained chords, sincere melodrama, and barely-buttoned black shirts.  I could feel the real joy in those “whoos” that Atsuo called out into headset mic and the exuberance in every one of those dozen times that he hyped us up by banging the gong that hung behind him.  The stage moves of Boris’s double-necked guitarist, Takeshi may have been few, but I never thought they were anything but legitimate and honest.  I had no expectations of anyone’s technical ability and, even if there were a few times when I thought, “Yeah, maybe those fingers coulda pressed just a little bit harder on those strings” I sensed that it didn’t fucking matter, because, together as a group, Boris was a band that did nothing if not communicate themselves, their ambitions, and their hearts to everyone in the audience.  They had the confidence in themselves to write whatever they wanted and they knew and respected their fans enough to know that, when they saw us standing there before them, we’d all understand.

Setlist:

Riot Sugar / 8 / Statement / Attention Please / Party Boy / Flare / Spoon / Missing Pieces / Window Shopping / 1970 / PINK / Alleron

Photos courtesy of  WT DVL ( http://wtdvl.tumblr.com/).

[scroll down to bottom to enter]

The first time that I saw Manhattan‘s GANG GANG DANCE perform was in 2005 at Chop Suey in Seattle.  At the time, they were touring in support of their highly impressive breakout release, God’s Money.  The set culminated in having their sound shut off by the venue and with the band, in turn, piecing out their drumkit to the audience members and encouraging them to take part in an impromptu moment of tribal defiance.  Six cop cars showed up (a bit excessive).  It was labeled a “riot” (a bit of an exaggeration).  Three years later I was emailed a press kit for GGD by their then-label, Social Registry.  The bio included mention of the, now infamous, Chop Suey show.  The myth had grown.  Much of Gang Gang Dance‘s notoriety and legend has snowballed in a similar manner.

When I saw them in 2008, their follow up full-length, Saint Dymphna, had just been released.  They came back to Seattle, but this time it was in a headlining spot over Kill Rock Stars guitar tapping shredder, Marnie Stern and the show was held at the swanky Triple Door jazz club.  It was a very different scene, but their energy was still the same.  They have tons of it and their ability to adapt and shape-shift goes hand in hand with the metamorphic nature of their improv-rooted approach to music and creation.  The release was solid, but it’s taken 4 years for the group to come through with their next -and most recent- follow up, the critically acclaimed, Eye Contact.  A lot has changed.  The band now has 5 members, instead of 4.  Founding member/drummer, Tim Dewitt quit and was replaced.  The group has transferred labels to 4AD.  The album is a hybrid of the more polished sound that they’ve gradually been moving towards, while embracing the long extended build-ups that they explored in their earliest work.  What hasn’t changed is the inability to categorize them.  Electronic, tribal futuristic, experimental, noise jams?  Another thing that’s remained is the constant mystery about what the art/music collective will deliver next.

If you’re a fan of Gang Gang Dance, you need to experience them live.  If you aren’t, seeing them live very well might make you one.  Beyond their work in the music game, the members are all accomplished visual artists; even performing a mixed media live performance as part of the 2008 Whitney Biennial.  When I interviewed keyboardist/founding member, Brian Degraw back in March, he expressed their intention of adding even more stimuli to enhance their live shows: “We really want to incorporate a more visual and theatrical element to the stage when we perform.”

On Friday of next week, GGD returns to Seattle.  This time they will be performing at Neumos and, thanks to the venue, we will be giving away a pair of tickets to attend the show for FREE! Check out the details for the contest after this video of the group performing “Glass Jar“,  the 11.5-minute epic lead off track from the new album.
(or just buy tickets here)

Click here to view the embedded video.

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THE CONTEST / GIVEAWAY:

*One winner will receive a a pair of tickets to see Gang Gang Dance, Prince Rama, and Stephanie perform live @ Neumos in Seattle on Friday October 14, 2011

HOW TO ENTER:

This contest will revolve around the fact that Gang Gang Dance has constantly been deemed as a “cursed” band by the media, despite their constant rejection of that label and a refusal to believe that they are doomed.

#1)

GGD original member, Nathan Maddox, was fatally struck by lightning in 2002.  Former drummer, Tim Dewitt, was maimed by a gunshot wound, while drunk and exiting the bathroom of a bar during a random robbery.  The band was forced to cancel a tour and delay their album after their equipment was destroyed in a fire at a club in Amsterdam.  The closet that their gear was being held in -for safe keeping- was the only room in the whole place to experience any damage.  Rumor has it that the fire was actually, and rather ironically, started by a faulty smoke detector.  These are only a handful of the absurdly tragic scenarios endured by Gang Gang Dance over the years.  Cursed or otherwise, they’ve had some tough breaks.

To enter the contest, all you have to do is come up with a hex or curse of your own that you could place on someone, some place, something, some situation, etc.  Explain what you would do and/or how you would do it, and for what intention.  Make your post as simple or elaborate as you want.   [You're also free to enter by stating that you wouldn't create a hex or curse at all, because you don't want to mess with destiny and the natural state of things, but keep in mind that you probably won't win, because that's a pretty weak cop-out]

#2)

Post your answer in the comment section below.

#3)

There is no part 3.  That’s all there is to the contest.  It’s pretty easy… but you should probably read the fine print.

The Fine Print:

All entries must be received by Wednesday October 12th at 11:59 pm to be eligible.

You can enter as many times as you want but, use a valid email so that we can contact you.
Winner will be chosen arbitrarily, based on our personal “favorite”, so try to be interesting.
If we are unable to contact the winner in a reasonable amount of time, a new winner will be chosen.

[If you have any intentions to post comments asking us to pick you, or asking when the winner will be announced... how about, just don't do it?  It's pretty fucking obnoxious and it won't help your chances.]

[scroll down to bottom to enter]

It wasn’t but 2 days ago that the remarkable Melt Banana came through Seattle to unleash their ridiculous Japanese fury all over the Chop Suey club and now we’re already preparing for a visit from the fellow experimental rock powerhouse from the land of the rising sun known simply as BORIS.  Taking their name from a MELVINS track, BORIS has been pumping out a prolific amount of material since 1996.  A decade and a half into their careers, they’ve released a total of 17 studio efforts, 3 live albums, 4 re-issues, 7 collaborations with noise musician Merzbow, and have teamed up for additional full-lengths with the likes of such artists as Sunn O))), Keiji Haino, Michio Kurihara (aka: White Heaven), and Ian Astbury (The Cult).  These guys are relentless and show no signs of slowing down ever.  In fact, they just dropped 3 new albums, this year alone, not to mention another album with Merzbow (originally intended for release in 2007).  The trio isn’t just pumping out the same album over and over again, either -although they did just release an album with the exact same name and cover design as a previous 2002 effort, save a color change- they blend just as many influences and styles into their sound as they have releases.  Psych, sludge, stoner rock, noise, drone, doom metal… even ambient and pop elements.  The obvious influences like SLEEP and MELVINS are undoubtedly present, but BORIS continues to move forward by focusing on progress and refusing to limit themselves.  They’ve even given nods to inspirations so varied as influential metal pioneers VENOM to sombre 70s singer/songwriter, suicide casualty, Nick Drake (dig that Bryter Layter parody on Akuma No Uta).

An acclaimed live act, BORIS is currently on tour and our friends at NEUMOS have offered us up a pair of tickets to next weeks show so as we can give it away to one of yooz jerk offs, absolutely free.  Check out the details for the giveaway after enjoying this classic BORIS romance groove…
(or just buy tickets here)

Click here to view the embedded video.

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THE CONTEST / GIVEAWAY:

*One winner will receive a a pair of tickets to see Boris, Tera Melos, and Master Musicians of Bukkake perform live @ Neumos in Seattle on Wednesday October 12, 2011

HOW TO ENTER:

This contest will revolve around the amazing name of the BORIS-formed record label, “Fangs Anal Satan” that they released their first album, Absolutego, on.

#1)

Using your “absolute ego“, please explain why you deserve to win the tickets above anyone else.  Your entry can be as short and minimal or as long and detailed as you want, but make sure to use ALL 3 of the following words in your entry somewhere: “Fangs“, “Anal“, and “Satan“.

#2)

Post your answer in the comment section below.

#3)

There is no part 3.  That’s all there is to the contest.  It’s pretty easy… but you should probably read the fine print.

The Fine Print:

All entries must be received by Monday October 10th at 11:59 pm to be eligible.

You can enter as many times as you want but, use a valid email so that we can contact you.
Winner will be chosen arbitrarily, based on our personal “favorite”, so try to be interesting.
If we are unable to contact the winner in a reasonable amount of time, a new winner will be chosen.

[If you have any intentions to post comments asking us to pick you, or asking when the winner will be announced... how about, just don't do it?  It's pretty fucking obnoxious and it won't help your chances.]

But it isn’t a movie.  It’s Daniel Johnston, dressed up as himself, at Neumos in Seattle [August 24, 2011].  By now, in his latter—but not quite as late as you might think—years, Johnston is something of a loving parody of himself.  He looks and sounds just as the crowd expects to see and hear (all except for a surprisingly well-kept beard that defies his characteristic baby-face).  And in its predictability, the evening had the tight and tingly sense of sacrament, which begins at the base of the spine and works its way up with the words that everyone knows they are about to hear.

And with any good liturgy comes call and response.   It’s the first song, and Daniel is playing solo, clumping more than strumming; and of course, no one cares because they all expect it.  That’s part of the ritual, clumping.   He’s half way through the song, “There’s a Sense of Humor Way Beyond Friendship“, a he quietly calls, “You guys still with me?”
“Amen” is heard in frightening unison.

And someone breaks routine.  They shout out, “Speeding Motorcycle!”
and Daniel says, “We’re gunna.”
and then I say, “Rock this town tonight!”
and Daniel says, “Okay.”
and someone else says something I didn’t quite catch
and Daniel says, “I’m gonna kill you…”

Daniel Johnston is his own high priest.  He mediates between himself and his people, and hears their petitions; but on the occasion that his people cross that invisible line–set foot on the holy mountain,–the priest-self is not always great enough to counter his vengeful-god-self.  So a death-threat was made, what’s the big deal?  The priest steps in-between, and mass continues: “Speeding motorcycle, won’t you save me?”

In the end, it comes back on itself: Daniel Johnston’s iconic struggle with the devil takes place in the public arena for all to see.  With openers, Motopony providing a full-band backdrop, he’s no longer playing guitar, but rather, holding onto the microphone as though it were the edge of a cliff.  He selects one of his water bottles, looks it over, and sets it down again, favoring the identical one next to it on the chair.  Daniel begins his semi-last song, “Rock This Town Tonight”.  His battle against evil comes to this: can he get enough sweaty censers swinging to ward off the demons?  Not tonight.  The crowd stands in a religious trance, with the ecstasy of St. Theresa.  Save for a couple of potheads in the back, and the band on stage, the room is totally still.  And that’s fine.  I was really hoping we could beat that devil tonight, but I guess that’s for another time and place.  Ritual, after all, is about maintenance, not expansion.  For this very special evening, Daniel will settle for a show and some fans.  And, as though he is dictating a thank-you card for the Christmas present you sent him, he closes the night, “I’m gonna use the money to buy a lot of comic books”.

-B. Rowe

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Ben Rowe (text & illustrations) also fronts the 8-piece band, Friends and Family.
Find out more at www.friendsandfamilyband.bandcamp.com.

I was never a particularly big Cibo Matto fan, but I have certainly enjoyed their music a great deal over the years.  The first time that I’d ever even heard of the group was at Bumbershoot ’99.  My friend Jacob took us to see them at the Key Arena, explaining that they were this fun band with two cute Japanese girls who sing weird songs about food, and that John Lennon’s son Sean was playing with them.  It was enough to grab my curiosity,  so I went and I was instantly hooked.  I only distinctly remember two of the songs from that day: the one about chicken (“Know Your Chicken“) and the song about monosodium glutamate (Birthday Cake).   I do, however, remember watching them bounce around on stage and I remember seeing Sean Lennon hopping in circles, which seemed particularly silly to me at the time.  Most importantly though, I remember that they made me dance, which is a hugely impressive feat, because at the time, as a young, too-cool-for-school teenager, I pretty much never danced.  It was some of the most fun that I can remember having at a show.  I’d later buy their album Viva! La Woman and listen to it plenty, but my strongest connection to the band was always seeing them live that one time.

So, for the weeks leading up to the show date, I’d waited in anticipation.  But, at the same time, I was finishing up my B.A. at the University of Washington.  A week before the concert, I graduated.  My financial aid ended.  My work-study job was no longer available.  My landlord deposited an old rent check that he’d been sitting on for a month.  I was broke and needed a job, but I graduated with a degree that served no real practical purpose (Philosophy).  I had no idea what I should do, or wanted to do with the rest of my life, and I was paralyzed with the crippling fear of being stuck in customer service forever.  Things started getting weird and my mind sank further and further into a sort of existential dilemma.  I couldn’t think of a good reason to do anything and I had lost my appetite.  It sounds silly, and it is, but it happened nevertheless.  Needless to say, I sort of lost interest in going to the Cibo Matto show – but I went anyway.

CIBO MATTO 

Neumos

Seattle, Wa

June 21, 2011

We arrived right as The Chain Gang of 1974 was starting.  They seemed completely uninteresting and I felt like there was no way in hell that I could endure their entire set, so we promptly left to go roam around the Elliott Bay Book Company.  Let me take this opportunity to mention that the book store’s recent move to Capitol Hill has been a godsend, providing the perfect activity to partake in while skipping out on lackluster bands performing at Neumos and the nearby Comet Tavern.  I looked at some Andy Goldsworthy art books and thought about buying a Slavoj Žižek book.  I tried to use the restroom, but it was occupied.  I also marveled at a book of old Bossa Nova album covers.  After that, we headed back over to the venue.

Before the band came onto the stage, I started to wonder what sort of people show up to a Cibo Matto show.  First, I noticed that a lot of the younger males appeared to be gay, or at least they carried themselves in such a way that might lead one to assume that they might be gay (one guy brought flowers for the band).  This was not much of a surprise, as my friend who first introduced me to Cibo Matto was himself homosexual.  Next, I noticed a lot of Japanese people in the crowd.  Again, this was not much of a surprise.  But the third most prevalent and noticeable category was the large number of older, chubby guys.  Like, definitely on the heavier side and definitely at the end of their 30s, if not hitting the start of their 40s.  I expected to see a few Forty-somethings hanging around towards the back, but not such a large number, and a lot of them seemed to be maneuvering their way up towards the front.  While lost in speculation as to what the connection might be between older Cibo Matto fans and weight gain, the lights dimmed and Yuka (C. Honda) and Miho (Hatori) made their entrance.

Now, I’d been feeling down all day.  I think that I may have had a bagel to eat, at most, though I wasn’t feeling too hungry.  I didn’t really feel like I wanted to be there and I was worried that my bummer mood was gonna ruin the whole evening, but when Cibo Matto started off the set with “Beef Jerky“, things turned around pretty fast.  When the dreamy opening sample started up, my face immediately lit up and, when the beat kicked in, I was already moving.  I don’t care how deep of a depression a person is suffering, it is impossible to feel down when someone is onstage singing “a horses ass is better than yours” through a thick accent.  Yuka and Miho kicked out a series of classic jams as a duo, which they claimed was how they originally did it back in the old days.  The two of them can get funky when they want to and soothing when they need to.  The jazzy hook of “Le Pain Perdu” got the whole crowd moving and the serenity of “Sugar Water” washed over the audience, despite that the bass notes were coming through a little too heavy.

Aside from a handful of recent benefit shows for Japan, this was the first live Cibo Matto performance since 2001.  Miho joked that the decade gap between live performances was due to the fact that they were in prison.  But it turns out that this reunion tour wasn’t completely spontaneous, because the group had new songs to show off and, to help them do that, they brought out two new band members: some dude who plays bass (the Brazilian Girls’ Jesse Murphy) and a fucking awesome shorter woman (Yuko Araki of Cornelius) who played the shit out of the drums.  Songs like “Tenth Floor Ghost Girl” proved that they haven’t lost their zany touch, while a lot of the other newer songs hit me with a surprising fact: Miho can do a lot more than just shout words in broken English, she can actually sing pretty damn well too.  The full band also busted out a few more classics.  “Know Your Chicken” sounds great with a live drummer.  When the group asked the crowd what they wanted to hear, they seemed surprised that “Birthday Cake” was the nearly unanimous response, but they played it and the whole room was stoked.  Everybody bounced along and, when the chorus came along, almost every single person was shouting “Extra sugar, extra salt, extra oil and MSG!”

By the end of the night, I had forgotten all about feeling sorry for myself.  I had been rejuvenated.  Cibo Matto presented a powerful force of upbeat, carefree fun, and I couldn’t resist it.  The magical mix of nostalgia and dancing was all that I needed to take my mind off of my troubles.  On the way home, all that I could think about was making myself an awesome sandwich.  Leave it to a band whose name translates into “Crazy Food” to restore a person’s hunger.

Miho and Yuka are in the process of writing new songs for an upcoming album, which is scheduled for release by early 2012.  To keep updated on the progress, please visit their official sit, YeahBasicallyCiboMatoo.com.

You can catch DJ Knuckle Supper’s “My So Called Radio Show” on Hollow Earth Radio on Tuesdays from 3-5pm.

The winning entry was sent in my “WF” and was comment number 11.  Although it may seem that his entry didn’t provide the exact details that were relayed to him, in regards to how certain events might set about the apolcalypse, the sheer fact that the person that relayed these concepts to him even exists is enough to infer that there is a hair triggered paranoia on the loose which may, in turn, prove to create some self-fulfilling prophecies for our imminent demise.  Plus, the character in his entry reminds us all of our pal GRANT and, if I wasn’t already entirely sure that he was on the other side of the planet right now and that the gun mentioned wasn’t a certain 357 Magnum, then I’d half assume that it was him.  We miss you pal and… congratulations WF.   Our thanks to everyone that entered.

To keep tabs on our future contests, make sure to add us on facebook, by clicking the “LIKE” button on the box in the sidebar to the right  >>>>>>
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Recording under the moniker of “(SMOG)“, throughout the entirety of the 1990‘s and much of the Two-Thousand-Oughts, Bill Callahan eventually began releasing albums under his own name, beginning with 2007′s Woke on a Whaleheart (Drag City).  While his earliest works were much more disjointed and “experimental” lo-fi  home recordings, his music has continued to develop over the years into something quite different.  As his work approached the end of the millennium, he continued to utilize the studios and equipment that he now had available to him with a progressively more polished sound.  After that, his songs seemed to retreat back into a more personal, yet refined, delivery, supported by his somber baritone and delicate but inviting guitar strums.  Still, Callahan isn’t the type of artist that I feel that I could accurately describe as dramatically shifting gears or even taking on overly-challenging new directions from one release to the next.  The songwriter isn’t the sort to concern himself with trying to dip his toes into every genre possible, in a calculated attempt to evoke implications of versatility or because it might come across as risky.  He isn’t Beck or Dangermouse… or even Rick Rubin.  He’s Bill Callahan.  Like the musical equivalent of a Philip Seymour Hoffman, there’s no checklist to cross off for his career milestones such as, “play a homosexual character (taking the job from a homosexual actor), then someone that is mentally disabled, drastic weight shift, next try comedy, do an indie film, aim for a block buster, make a techno album, get Rhianna on this track…etc.”  There’s no need for Callahan to try and make overt statements about trying new and risky approaches, because everything that he delivers emits a sense of inherent risk, already instilled within it’s core.  He presents both fragility and strength.  Every direction that he takes with his music feels like an organic one and, while he continues to grow with his craft, his experimentation comes from the inside out, not vice-versa.  While fucking with tape-decks and exploring alternate recording methods can be interesting and have their place, Callahan somehow presents work that exhibits an exploration of himself and a presentation of what he’s discovered, simultaneously.  He experiments without the effort; taking a gentle peek inside and casually holding the door cracked open to share the view.

Bill Callahan is an anomaly in the music world.  After 2 decades of work, he is not only still creating consistent work, but he’s also getting consistently better and more in touch with his own abilities.  He’s a prime example of why Drag City Records is such an amazing label and he easily draws similarities to fellow label mates as David Berman (Silver Jews), with his deep voice and remarkable lyrical talents, as well as Will Oldham (aka: Bonnie “Prince” Billy) with his consistent growth and prolific output.  His humor is displayed in tracks like “Dress Sexy At My Funeral“, off of his hilariously titled SMOG release, Dongs Of Sevotion (Drag City – 2000), while a song like “Rock Bottom Riser” from A River Ain’t Too Much To Love (2005), is powerful enough to evoke tears.  He’s a musician’s musician and the type of craftsman that makes legends wish that they could have written his songs.  In fact, the title track from the late/great Gil Scott-Heron‘s 2010 highly-acclaimed swan song, I’m New Here, is actually a cover of a Callahan song, also from A River Ain’t Too Much To Love.  With his latest effort, Apocalypse, released in April, Callahan has once again outdone himself by creating what is among the very finest albums to come out this year.  Fortunately for us, he’s decided to embark on a nationwide tour to support it.  Fortunately for you, our friends at NEUMOS Crystal Ball Reading Room are providing us with a pair of tickets to his Seattle stop on June 21st, 2011, that we’ll be giving away to one lucky winner.

Watch his latest video for the track “Riding for the Feeling” off of Apocalypse, now.
Scroll down to see how to enter to win tickets!

Click here to view the embedded video.

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THE CONTEST / GIVEAWAY:

*One winner will receive a a pair of tickets to see Bill Callahan perform live @ Neumos in Seattle on Wednesday June 22, 2011

HOW TO ENTER:

This contest will revolve around the title of Callahan‘s latest album, Apocalypse

#1)

We’ve all heard it said time and time again… every time that something that is beyond reprehensible,  was formerly unimaginable, or is just outright ridiculous goes down, somebody jokingly makes the claim that it must be a sign of the apocalypse.  Your goal is to give us an example of something that you think must be a sign of the apocalypse.  It can be something as simple as the invention of bacon soap and the excessive overuse of auto-tune, a story about how you ran into 2Pac buying a Thirsty-Two Ouncer at a Circle K last week, or something much more elaborate, conspiracy-based, and/or involved.  It’s up to you.  It’s your entry.

#2)

Post your answer in the comment section below.

#3)

There is no part 3.  That’s all there is to the contest.  It’s pretty easy… but you should probably read the fine print.

The Fine Print:

All entries must be received by Saturday June 18th at 11:59 pm to be eligible.

You can enter as many times as you want but, use a valid email so that we can contact you.
Winner will be chosen arbitrarily, based on our personal “favorite”, so try to be interesting.
If we are unable to contact the winner in a reasonable amount of time, a new winner will be chosen.

[If you have any intentions to post comments asking us to pick you, or asking when the winner will be announced... how about, just don't do it?  It's pretty fucking obnoxious and it won't help your chances.]

Australia has given birth to longstanding musical influences like Nick Cave and AC/DC, as well as such dated and short-lived commercial outbreaks as Men At Work.  As a Westerner, however, it feels as one of two commonalities have regularly presented themselves, over the last two decades, in regards to what has yielded the most prominent promotion from the country to us here overseas.  First, there was the young band phenomena of the early Nineties, with teenage acts like SilverChair and Ben Lee‘s first vehicle, Noise Addict, garnering attention after winning Australian talent competitions and being spring-boarded into the international public eye.  Then, beginning in the early 2000‘s, Aussie groups like Wolfmother and Jet adopted the heavier and more straight-forward, distorted, and driving sounds of Seventies classic rock, that gained prominence throughout the new millennium.  Depending on who you ask or what source you get your information from, the latest exports from “the land down under”, TAME IMPALA, might be described as falling under either one -or even both- of those categories.  That is, of course, unless you ask the members of the group themselves.   The truth is that TAME IMPALA is, arguably, better than any of the acts that were spawned from either the teen or throwback hypes of the last twenty years and, if their recent performance in Seattle is any indication of their capabilities and versatility as artists, they may even find themselves falling into the category of longstanding musical influences, as well.

The name “TAME IMPALA” has been slowly gaining traction over the last few years, but a lot of the information available for them is often conflicting.  It’s been stated that the group first garnered recognition through their Myspace account and that they are extremely young musicians who were, subsequently, caught in the middle of a bidding war.   Other information claims that the group was started back in 1999 by frontman, Kevin Parker and current guitarist/synth-player, Dom Simper, who were only 13 at the time; making them approximately 24 or 25, now (not quite as young as is often implied).   I’ve also read that the original name of the group was the DEE DEE DUMS, under which “they” both placed 2nd at AmpFest and 3rd in the state final of The Next Big Thing in 2005.  Don’t forget the information about how Parker is an obsessive control freak that manned all of the instruments and recorded all of the “group’s” critically-acclaimed self-titled debut EP all by himself, or even the simple fact that the album was self-titled, at all (it is often misguidedly referred to as “Antares, Mira, Sun” due to the labeled drawing of an astrological diagram as the cover art).  The truth is that the DEE DEE DUMS were some form of pseudo-swing/jazz duo that featured Parker on drums and a guy by the name of Luke Epstein on guitar, until Epstein left and Parker switched positions to allow for Sam Devenport to take over on drums.  The current lineup doesn’t feature either Epstein or Devenport and, with Simper never even being listed as a member of the DEE DEE DUMS, it hardly makes sense to claim that the duo were even an incarnation of the same group or that TAME IMPALA, in the typical sense of a “group” with Parker and Simper, was formed a full 12 years ago.

From a marketing standpoint, there is a certain logic in retaining the accolades received from his last project but, by all accounts, TAME IMPALA isn’t even a band in the typical sense.  The name, more or less, just represents Parker‘s ongoing solo project and home recordings that he had written and arranged by himself.  Simper is a longtime friend whom Parker had worked with independently since they were young and, after meeting drummer Jay “Gumby” Watson, he was added into the folds as a third member around 2007.  As the hype increased and the EP was getting critical praise, reaching #1 on the Australian Independent Record (A.I.R.) charts, IMPALA began performing live as a trio with Simper on bass.  Opening slots for groups like MGMT, The Black Keys, and Yeasayer helped further increase their profile and last year the first TAME IMPALA full-length, INNER SPEAKER was released to further critical praise.  Parker was still running the show but, this time around, Simper and Watson both contributed by making scattered appearances on the recording throughout.

I didn’t really start paying serious attention to the TAME IMPALA hype until I began hearing rave review about their live performance after the last -and the first- time that they played in Seattle.  From there, I made time to listen to INNER SPEAKER and, while sources like ALL MUSIC make the claim that “their sound was pure late ’60s, but wasn’t the sound of any specific band from the era,” I don’t entirely agree with that assessment.  The album immediately sounded like the current-day Swedish psych-outfit, DUNGEN, to me; only it was coupled with the vocal delivery from the more psychedelic offerings in The BEATLES catalog.  I’m sure that most reviewers are easily comparing Parker‘s processed vocals to that of John Lennon‘s, but the first song that sprung to mind for me was the McCartney-penned, “Paperback Writer“.  The Lennon comparison is unavoidable.   The DUNGEN comparison is equally as apt, yet much more avoidable, only because they are far less recognizable (The Beatles have sold over 1.6 billion records).  Somewhat loosening his grip on the reins, Parker agreed to hand the mixing duties over to the one person that he felt would truly be able to reinforce his vision: Mercury Rev bassist/neo-psych super producer, Dave Fridman (Flaming Lips, MGMT, Mercury Rev, BMSR, Mogwai, Sparklehorse, etc.).  This combination of elements worked to create a surprisingly cohesive sound on Innerspeaker that is expansive and airy, but with melodic elements and moments of heavy driving distortion.  It was an impressive debut and one that prompted me to want to experience them live.  However, the live version of the band that I was about to see is considered -at least, by it’s members- to be a very different entity than the recording “band” altogether.

TAME IMPALA

Neumos

Seattle, Wa

April 22, 2011

After YUCK left the stage (see review here) and we waited for the headliners to come out, I looked around at the all-ages crowd.  The opener’s were a full decade younger than me and their audience, unquestionably, surpassed that gap.  I was up towards the front of the crowd and, although there was a solid turnout for the SOLD OUT show, it wasn’t that tightly packed.  As I reached over to touch the belly of my pregnant lady, who was standing off to the side, I felt a girl try to work her shoulder around the front of me to block my view.  That wasn’t gonna happen, so I worked my arm back around, both preventing access and making sure to expose my camera and pass/wristband in the process.  That shit actually works, because there’s a trigger in most people’s brains that is activated, where all of that ridiculous brainwashing with ideas of “celebrity” and “connections” and “authority” and “passes” and “importance”, still exist.  “What are you taking pictures for?” she asked interestedly.  I was pretty cold, perhaps more than necessary.  “So that I can see the show later.  So that I can look at images and remember what it looked like.“  “No, I mean who are you taking pictures for?“  Great, now I’m talking to my “new friend” the young girl at the show, while my pregnant girlfriend stands off to the side watching and, most likely, burning holes through the back of my head.  Somehow the topic of the “all ages” crowd came up immediately and the girl proceeded to mention how “weird” it was for her to not be drinking at Neumos (you can’t drink on the All Ages floor) because she is old enough to drink and how she is “usually” drinking there and… basically, she can drink!  She’s old enough… she likes drinking at shows!  I got it.  I’m sure that’s true, but she only looked barely old enough to legally drink at all and, if it was really even a topic that mattered to her, I’m sure that was exactly the case.  I thought about how lucky she was that she wasn’t talking to a date-rapey cat with a flask in his pocket and a willingness to exaggerate their position in “journalism.”  I usually find it a lot more rewarding to simply work the angle of simulating that creepy vibe, both as a potential warning and as a source of momentary amusement for myself.  Instead, I simply cut the topic short by saying, “I don’t really drink that much anymore, especially since she’s pregnant now” and I pointed to Kim.  The conversation began to die out at that point and Kevin Parker walked out onto the stage.

Parker‘s appearance didn’t mark the kick-off of their set; he entered alone, taking a hands on approach and checking the entire stage setup personally.  From his own guitar and pedals to the drum kit, he went one by one checking the sound, levels, and their responsiveness to a projector and screen set up in the back of the stage.  It wasn’t an elaborate stage show, but a simple projection that would vary from a  little glowing green dot to vibrating rings to chaotic squiggles, depending on the the volume and shifts in audio.  The frontman sat at the drums, cracking the snare and looking behind him as the dot stretched and morphed into a slanted oval.  The program was little more than a simpler version of the the visuals that come with a Windows Media Player.  He left the stage and returned with the rest of the members.  The band hand grown from a trio into a 4-piece.

Kevin stood shoeless behind a selection of pedals on the left side of the stage.  The lanky, “Gumby” Watson sat at his kit in the back; also shoeless.  Between them was the waif, Nick “Paisley Adams” Allbrook, taking over the bass duties for Dominic Simper, who was positioned on the far right, holding a guitar with a synthesizer behind him.

Once everyone got into position, they eased into the song “Why Won’t You Make Up Your Mind“.  Even on the album, that track has a full minute of instrumentation before any lyrics kick in, so it was a solid choice to pull the set slowly off of the ground.  Now that the they were soaring lightly through a cloudy troposphere of psychedelia, they followed it up with the same song that follows chronologically on Innerspeaker, “Solitude is Bliss.”  It begins as a more straight ahead start/stop rock tune, but about two-thirds of the way through, the leash is dropped to allow it to take off into more adventurous experimentation, before stopping altogether and re-entering with a dreamy psych-jazz ending.

Tame Impala may technically be the project of one guy, but the recordings feature some deceivingly intricate interweaving of sound.  I appreciate complexities in music from YES and King Crimson style Prog-Rock to Miles and Ornette Coleman freak-jazz, insane Venetian Snares and Squarepusher IDM/Drill n Bass, and Zappa‘s schizophrenically structured compositions, but the complexities of Parker‘s work are assembled somewhat differently.  While a lot of elaborately structured pieces expose their cards with such elements as obvious switches in time signature and through exploring a labyrinth of channels, Tame Impala songs have pieces that overlap and meld into each other, bleeding into unified sonic waves, that build and recede like tides and transition as if they were crashing out onto the shore.  There’s a life to the Tame Impala recordings that becomes even more impressive when you consider that the psyched-out jam sections are, for the most part, simply Parker jamming out with himself, one singular channel at a time.  For the live show, my interests revolved more around if the group would be able to adhere the sound collages from the albums together so effortlessly.  In the same way that Parker has managed to create recordings that make him sound as if he were multiple contributors, I wanted to see if the other 3 could synchronize enough with him to unify into that trademark deep-water audio beast and allow it to swim like it does on the albums.  When they kicked into Innerspeaker‘s lead-off track “It’s Not Meant to Be” next, that question was answered successfully.

Unlike such masterminds as Frank Zappa, who would meticulously instruct his backing band like an orchestra conductor, there is nothing in Tame Impala‘s live show that reflects any real direction and control from Parker over the other members.  This feeds right into their statements about Tame Impala only being a band in the live sense, while the recorded versions stem from nothing anywhere close to a bunch of guys jamming out together in a room.  When they are on stage together in their live incarnation, they ride that line of being a very tight band and being completely free and exploratory individual musicians.  It felt like a “band” and the members were all very present; no one was phoning it in.  “Alter Ego” is a steadily advancing number that really accentuated that fact, allowing the rhythm section to truly showcase their abilities.  Sitting behind his kit in his baggy T-shirt and shaggy mop, Watson had a relaxed but fluidly agile attack on the drums, as he aggressively smashed the shit out of the heads, while looking like a 15 year old skateboarder.  Albrook‘s Hofner bass did little to distance the group from the BEATLES comparisons, but his ability to slide the low-end around like playing Q-Bert on a Nordic Track that’s resting on shifting tectonic plates, wasn’t only noticeable, but impressive as well.

Both this track and the followup of their hit, “Expectation” incorporated synth sounds, before the music stopped and the stage went almost entirely dark.  There wasn’t much light at the front of the stage to begin with, but now the only light seemed to come from the projection in the back.  Parker squatted down and began tweaking sound to interact with and bring focus to the screen.  They then segued it into a 6-minute version of “Desire Be, Desire Go“, the one song that appears on both the EP and the Full-Length.  At this point, I was trying to film the song with one hand, while trying to snap photos with my other.

Click here to view the embedded video.

“Jeremy’s Storm” came next and is a track that begins with a very DUNGEN-esque folk-style guitar intro that builds slowly, adding piece by piece and fattening the sound.  There are plenty of soaring moments and gentle free-falls, as well as dark distorted ascensions up a jagged thunder-stricken crag.  The instrumental also showcases a good deal of electronic contributions from both Parker and Simper.  It was about this time that Parker broke it to the audience that they would not be doing an encore that night, because they feel that encore’s are “lame“.  So, after tearing through “Lucidity” and “Runaway Houses City Clouds” they finished the set off with two songs from the self-titled EP.  Beginning with “Skeleton Tiger” they effortless jammed into the track “Half Full Glass of Wine” and it was definitely one of the finest moments of the night.  Being less familiar with the EP, I wasn’t as aware of when the songs switched up, but that’s probably the greatest result that their efforts could have brought.  With swirling mosaics of sound, there was even a part where everything seemed to freeze in mid-air.  The music actually stopped and, although the halt was issued abruptly, it felt more as if the audio was momentarily floating like a tai-chi orb, rather than being cut instantly.  When the sound re-entered, it was almost like the silence had been sucked back out of the room like a vacuum in reverse.  It was as if the guys were giving us a sneak preview of some tricks that they had been working on and their inevitable directional growth for the future.  That ending 2-song block was full of free-for-all improvisation with Watson taking full advantage of the open drum solo in “Half Full“.  After that, it was over.  If some people were still expecting an encore, it was pretty clear that it wasn’t gonna go down.

Unlike my feelings about the openers, YUCK, I feel that Parker has managed to actually find and exhibit his own unique voice through Tame Impala, despite any influences or similarities his sound might bear with any of his predecessors.  There is a focus on using older, more analog equipment in his work, but everything comes through as honest and his own sound isn’t completely drowned out by the nostalgia.  Everything feels natural and nothing seems forced.  Whereas the kids from YUCK were fully dressed in throwback gear and emulating various groups that existed just prior to and/or just after their births, Tame Impala doesn’t seem overly concerned with either appearance or with distinct imitation.  They’d rather shake the comparisons than to embrace them.  They’d rather create music, than become a tribute vessel.  Admittedly, these kids look incredibly young, but it’s a factor that actually works in their favor.  At this point, all 4 members have already been involved in serious musical endeavors for years.  Not only does this add to their technical abilities, but it’s also a testament to the fact that the music and musical exploration is their primary focus.  One of the most impressive things that I noticed during the show was when Parker would maintain and control his seamless introduction and transition of effects by tweaking and turning the pedal knobs with his toes.  Not only are the bare feet more of a necessity than a gimmick, but the numerous effects that he’s operating with them are being incorporated tastefully to build on the overall sound, more than to create a gimmicky moment of focused noise that overshadows the rest of the compositions.

Tame Impala might be a solid enough name for the recorded efforts of Kevin Parker, with it’s restrained beacon-like focuses mixed with wild frenzied and scattered sound.  Then again, maybe it’s a terrible name all around.  Through the various interviews that I’ve seen or read, however, I’ve come to realize that an Impala isn’t a very common term in Australia.  Every interviewer seems to ask the guys the same question, “What’s an Impala?” and the answer usually comes with the added information that everyone is even less familiar with the Chevy than they are the animal.  Whatever the case, the live incarnation of the band is much more comparable to that of an electric dolphin, diving and weaving with aerial maneuvers and oceanic depth.  There’s a reason for the tight mesh that the band seems to have formed between each other; this isn’t “their” only group.  Technically, Kevin was just grabbing up members to help him support a tour of songs that he had crafted by himself, but he didn’t just grab them from anywhere.  What I’m saying is that, they aren’t simply studio musicians.  In fact, Nick and Kevin have another fairly intense psychedelic group called Mink Mussel Creek that features Parker on drums, while Allbrook plays guitar and sings.  Furthermore, Parker has become the latest permanent drummer -and impressively so- for a fellow Perth, Australia group called Pond, which again features Nick Allbrook on vocals, but with Jay Watson on guitar.  These guys are much more of a collective than anything and, as any of them will openly admit to you, Tame Impala is just a collection of Kevin‘s songs and just happens to be the project that got picked up.  This is another similarity that Tame Impala shares with DUNGEN, who originated and is primarily controlled as a project of multi-instrumentalist/frontman Gustav Ejstes.  To unnecessarily compare the Australians to their Swedish counterparts, I would have to say that they don’t quite have the versatility of DUNGEN quite yet, but their live show is still solid and, with that final display of Skeleton/Half Full, they definitely have the chops to get somewhere as equally impressive in time.  At such an early point in their careers, the members of Tame Impala are already incredibly dangerous and, with their technical and production abilities, they should have complete control over which direction they choose to take these talents.

As stated earlier, I immediately liked the Innerspeaker when I first heard it, but I did ask myself why these kids are getting so much hype right now when they immediately draw such obvious comparisons to DUNGEN, a band that seems to have been all but overlooked in recent years.  Then I remembered that the answer to that question -beyond the fact that they sing in Swedish- deals with Gustav‘s disinterest and lack of motivation for feeding into the predetermined system laid out for him by the industry.  After the popularity of his album, Ta De Lungt flung them into the international limelight in 2004, followed by extensive touring, he was spent.  When they returned with the follow up Tio Bitar (3 years later) he didn’t support it with the “proper” tours or continue or even care to deal with press or media attention.  Instead, he disappeared for a while on his parents estate.  He dealt with his own personal life and when the album 4 was released in 2008, it further eschewed much of the garage rock/psych vibe from his previous efforts and began to expand on his penchant for piano-focused jazz infused compositions.  Ejstes lost many with his new direction and has still yet to regain that hype that was built with that break out release.  I wasn’t one of them.  I still love all of the DUNGEN releases and appreciate the constant expansion and risks they take in their sound.  Plus, they are one of the most solid and consistent live acts that I’ve ever seen.  I believe that Tame Impala could have a similar growth.  I don’t see any signs of these guys slowing down or of Parker ceasing to create music.  It seems to be ingrained in who they are as people.  I can, however, see him returning with a Tame Impala album that takes a new direction that might not meet the expectations that people have set for him.  Remember, they gained much of their hype while opening for MGMT, a band who both instantly sprung to fame with their Fridmann-produced debut, only to lose fans and critics alike with their impressively ambitious sophomore effort.  I guess that my point is, although I feel completely sure that Parker is focused on the music, I’m not so sure that he’s overly focused on the industry.  As far as this collective of Perth musicians are concerned, on the other hand, I’m interested to see what comes out of it, regardless of whatever name is plastered across the front of the work that they produce.  They seem to be enjoying themselves and worrying about the one thing that they should be focused on, creating music.  Parker has spoken openly about the fact that he has already put a lot of work into crafting the sequel to Innerspeaker and that he intends to release it later this year.  I’m curious to see what kind of new directions in sound that it will yield but, even if these Australians never release another commercially successful effort again, the idea of them ending their run with a hit track entitled, “Expectation” might be worth the irony.

YUCK

Neumos

Seattle, Wa

April 22, 2011

Last month, the lady and I took our unborn child down to Neumos Crystal Ball reading room to catch a performance by psychedelic upstarts, Tame Impala (read review here).  Seeing as the Australian group has gained attention after being hand-picked as openers by more established headliners, themselves, we made sure to get to the show early enough to catch their own openers and moved up towards the front.

YUCK is a 4-piece out of London, half of which consists of Daniel Blumberg (vox/guitar) and Max Bloom (guitar), both formerly of the UK‘s teenage indie-pop darlings, Cajun Dance Party.  With Bloom playing bass and Blumberg supplying the vocals, their former group went on to sign to XL recordings, have their debut album produced by SUEDE‘s Bernard Butler, and reign in a good amount of critical praise.   Apparently, Thom Yorke was in the mix there somewhere as well, but… basically, there was a solid amount of hype and people were eating it up.  They were hailed by critics, made a run of some festival dates, and then, more or less, disappeared.  While guitarist/founder, Robbie Stern was known as the primary songwriter in Cajun Dance Party, YUCK shows Blumberg and Bloom picking up their own guitars, writing their own tracks, and beginning to reel in just as much hype as their previous project.

They entered the stage with a fairly classic set-up: a drummer, a bassist, and 2-guitarists; one of which doubles as lead vocalist.  Also classic is the employment of female, Mariko Doi on bass duties.   Without taking anything away from her basic skills as a musician, a female bassist seems all too apt for the quartet’s throwback Indie-Rock leanings. Of course, the only person that I would ever feel 100% comfortable with accusing as being methodical and completely obsessed with strictly “collaborating” -and I use that term loosely- with female bassists, is Billy Corgan.   However, when YUCK draws so blatantly from the sound of such predecessors as Sonic Youth and the Pixies, the only real surprise is that the Japanese bassist’s first name isn’t “Kim” and that she wasn’t really in the mix exchanging vocals with frontman, Blumberg.  Instead, she mostly just floated around on the right side of the stage like a member of the backing band in a Robert Palmer video.  She was sporting a denim jacket with a Leather Tuscadero-style neckerchief and had bluntly chopped bangs on her Johnny Ramone hairdo.  Right next to her, on the farthest end of the stage, was Bloom, bearded and resembling James Mercer‘s lanky younger brother.   He appeared to be wearing a button up Jean shirt.  Standing in front of us on the opposite side of the stage was Blumberg with a wild hairdo that was part Simply Red and part young Dylan.  Whether by design or coincidence, he was also wearing denim, but his shirt looked a little bit more like it was of the Cool Hand Luke chain gang variety.  Further adding to his dangerous “plays-by-his-own-rules” appearance, was a dangly cross earring in his left ear.  Come to think of it, he may have modeled his hair and looks on a Patrick Dempsey styled-up for popularity in Can’t Buy Me Love, a film that was easily released a full 4 years before the vocalist was even conceived.  Dead center stage was drummer, Jonny Rogoff.  He was wearing plaid (not denim) and had what is often referred to as a “Jew fro“.  As the story goes, Blumberg was first introduced to the New Jersey drummer while in the Israeli desert on a kibbutz.

I recognized YUCK‘s name from the countless press releases that we’ve received and am already well aware that they have been consistently garnering very solid reviews for their debut release.  The album was only just dropped in February, but buzz spreads incredibly fast in this digital age and Blumberg didn’t have the swagger of someone that was opening a show.  He’d experienced being the center of media/critical hype with Cajun Dance Party, so that likely feeds into his projected confidence, but I’m also willing to bet that being sufficiently rehearsed plays an equal part.  From the first track that they knocked out, it was clear that they were competent musicians that were very well prepared.  My honest and first reaction fell somewhere between, “Hey, this is alright!” and “Cool, these guys aren’t terrible.”   I was standing on the floor amongst the all-ages crowd and something about the vibe in the place screamed “All-Ages“.  What that vibe is exactly, is hard to say, but you know it when you feel it.  Bloom tried to encourage the folks up in the balcony to come down and someone responded with the explanation that they weren’t allowed to bring their drinks onto the floor.  When the guitarist said that he couldn’t hear him, but that it didn’t matter, Blumberg filled him in.   “He said, ‘We’re on Alcohol! I need a drink!‘   Then he grabbed a banana and spoke towards the balcony suggesting that they ate fruit, while further explaining that, since they weren’t allowed to drink on stage, they brought food, instead.  There wasn’t a ton of banter, so a little quip like this stood out.  Plus, it was the first time that I really noticed the British accent through what is often a very American sound.  For the most part, they just tore through the strategically distorted indie-rock tracks that make up their polished self-titled release.  Rogoff supplied a heavy, solid backbeat while the guitar duo floated and wrapped guitar lines around Doi‘s bass grooves like wiry streams beamed from a proton pack.  They are undeniably good at what they do, but the main question is about what exactly it is that they do.

While YUCK brought a welcomed sigh of relief as a fully capable opener that could -and most certainly will- headline well attended tours of their own, I shouldn’t find any conflict with missing any those shows.  Not unlike TAME IMPALA, this 4-piece has created only a limited amount of material, thus far.  I wasn’t as well versed in their album prior to the performance as I am now, so my impression that their live routine varies only minimally to that of the recorded versions, may not be entirely accurate.  That being said, this is equally an album review as it is one of their show, because I’m basically judging the same material.  The lead-off track to their full-length is a song called “Get Away” and it sounds a hell of a lot like a Pixies track, that is, of course, until it sounds more like a Breeders track.   It’s unmistakable and, most definitely, intentional.   The distortion drops out into a stripped down rhythm, complete with Kim Deal bass line/tone before the guitar comes back in with a distorted pluck, growing into a sonic wall of fuzz.  The trick to these guys is that they don’t play off the Pixies angle very long.  In fact, that comparison doesn’t seem to be made very often at all in other reviews I’ve seen.  Instead, YUCK chooses to bounce around, consistently sampling from groups like Dinosaur Jr., Sonic Youth, and Teenage Fanclub – comparisons that are being made every time (who am I to break the streak?).  I feel that a lot of YUCK‘s praise doesn’t come despite the amount of influences that they draw from, but because of them. Instead of imitating one distinct band’s sound, they hop around enough to confuse everyone and come across as well-studied young musicians.  For me, however, it comes across as a compilation CD from SPIN magazine or a local Alternative station in the early 90s.  There’s a little Cure in there, some heavy tracks, some mellower efforts… just enough to feign variety and a sense of taste, but, when the third song on the album, “Shook Down“, sounds like a cross between WHAM!‘s “Last Christmans” and a B-Side to Toad the Wet Sprocket‘s “Walk on the Ocean“, I have to question how discriminating and focused their tastes really are, or if they are just obsessed with an idea and novelty of a rough time period.  For a slightly more recent flavor, there are even songs with tinges of Foo Fighters (“Holing Out”) and THE SHINS (“Suicide Policeman”).  Granted, The Shins could be accurately accused of blatantly swiping vocal elements from Morrissey and The Smiths at times, but Blumberg doesn’t sound as much like his fellow Englishmen as much as he resembles Mercer resembling Morrissey.  This curious aspect actually brings me to my next point; while many of the predecessors that YUCK “borrow” from may have also borrowed quite obviously from their own predecessors, in the past, most of them have still created and retained unique and noticeable voices of their own.  I’m not entirely positive that YUCK is managing to accomplish that same feat for themselves.

Beyond simple song selection, YUCK‘s live set parallels that of their album in areas of consistency and momentum.  In listening to their CD, I had an enthusiastic and hopeful feeling during the first track, but the interest began to trail off as the album continued.  Generally, I would expect myself to feel more and more engaged in a release that drew me in so quickly, or to have it grow on me with each additional listen, but I have found YUCK‘s music to become increasingly boring and that it burns out quickly.   They may grab from a number of sources, but the end result doesn’t feel varied at all.  Instead, it winds up creating a blanket of processed, almost ironically over-produced, generic late-80s to mid-90s radio cuts.  After seeing them live, my girlfriend claimed that too much of it sounded super streamlined, along the lines of acts like Better Than Ezra, which dominated Nineties radio stations with corporate “alternative” tracks.  I disagreed with her, explaining that they were appropriating and riding out more of a Dinosaur Jr. indie guitar rock vibe.  However, after listening to the album a few times, I realize that she was actually right.  Admittedly, the quartet incorporates elements of Shoegaze, Indie, and Noise rock, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say that they “experiment” with those elements.   Instead, they swipe them outright and do little to advance them or to create a unique interpretation in any way.  They deliver somewhat of an indie rock flavor, but with a lingering and decidedly corporate-pop aftertaste.

I also acknowledge that my use of comparisons to bands like Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., and Teenage Fanclub are far from original comparisons and that it might seem like a lazy move on my part to draw them, but I have to wonder how difficult it is to simulate music from another time period or why I should break my skull in an effort to come up with more original comparisons when the band can’t be bothered to come up with new angles for themselves.  They have ballads, and “rockers”.   The song “Rubber” is their grimy, droning, dream-pop, foggy shoegaze track, but even the damp basement aesthetic that they create feels slightly forced and I almost expect one of their mom’s to interrupt them with a knock on the door and a plate full of snacks.  It’s hard to really internalize any of the material on too deep of a level, because the sort of variety that they do provide on the tracks often leaves them sounding like they are going through a check list and canceling out the authenticity of the previous song, not reinforcing it.  Often, the only connection throughout the album feels like it stems from the heavy “throwback” leanings that they rely on.  This results in the type of unifying thread, based on a surface-level gimmick, that one might find on a Weird Al Yankovic release.  To me, the connective tissue feels like a smoothly processed corporate-pop under current.  The main difference between YUCK and the innovators that they are being compared to is simple; they lack the innovation.  Am I claiming that all music should be 100% original, miraculously conceived from no where, and with absolutely no clarity of influence?  No, but what I am saying is that I can’t really hear YUCK‘s own voice over their adopted formula.

For many of the young kids that fall in love with the concept of a time period like the Sixties, it’s been easy to grab up every album of every band from that time period, or search for street cred by claiming a love for anyone and everyone that found a spot on the Woodstock lineup.  If you consider the current festivals that take place now, however, it becomes clearer and clearer that not every single group is equally talented, just because they might be arbitrarily grouped together.  People forget that the The Mamas and the Papas were a band with huge corporate support and that authentic, innovative and timeless groups like the Grateful Dead held a very limited amount of respect for them, at best. Now they’re all lumped into one big “summer of love” package for the kids, complete with tie-dye shirt and a hemp necklace with a glass-blown mushroom pendant.  Blumberg is only about 20 years old. That means that he was born around the time that Nevermind was released and I’m sure that, for some who were born at this time, there is no differentiating between Gavin Rossdale and Kurt Cobain‘s true musical contributions.  1991 was also 10 years after the highly-influential, Thurston Moore curated Noise Fest in NY.  Moore and Sonic Youth have been influences to many, but their voice is also extremely identifiable and strong.  Sure, there are commonalities between musicians; Stephen Malkmus (Pavement), Doug Martsch (Built to Spill), and J. Mascis (Dinosaur Jr.) have all hit random moments in their guitar lines that sound like they could have come from any one of them, but those moments come organically, while they are passing through their unrestrained solos.  Black Francis‘ voice and guitar work have a rough edge that claws into the listener’s gut.  The same is true with Mascis‘ work and that of Moore, etc.  Pavement‘s distortion and cynically apathetic moments have also felt as sincere as their more genuine and heartfelt one’s.  There’s an authenticity that cannot be simulated, regardless of how many guitar solos you study, how many pedals you buy, or how many Value Villages you raid.  With YUCK, it just seems to be missing, and it’s unfortunate.  Song’s like “Milkshake” (played at the show, but not present on the album), with references to “Making a milkshake from my heart” do little to separate them lyrically from acts like Justin Beiber.  The fact that Blumberg and Bloom originally got their boost into the spotlight at the age of 15, does even less.

Their aforementioned predecessors always came across as being fairly cynical of anything other than creating art, often in much less encouraging environments.  YUCK, on the other hand, sounds like what the true meaning of a “tribute band” should be, and I feel that I have no other option but to judge them as such.   As a tribute band, or even an opening act, they’re pretty solid, but as great new hopes for the music industry that will create a resilient catalog of amazing work, I sincerely have my doubts.  If they can step up their mind’s eyes to match their technically abilities, great things should come, but, when the sheen of their first release seems to rub off entirely, two-thirds of the way through, it’s not encouraging.  The release, the band, and, subsequently, their live shows feel way too safe for the type of music that they are paying homage to and it lacks the powerful elements that should make anyone ever care to pay homage to them, in return.  The easiest way to put it would be to say that, if you already love their album and seem to think that YUCK is the greatest fucking thing since Dinosaur Jr. and Sonic Youth and the Pixies…and… Teenage Fanclub, then I would definitely recommend you going to see them.  They are apt musicians and deliver everything that you could ever expect from their recordings.  Then again, you could always go see Dinosaur Jr. and Sonic Youth and the Pixies and Teenage Fanclub.  If YUCK was playing at a festival, I might watch their set again.  What I wouldn’t do is make it a priority over any other act that I’d care to see.

So… I get it, these guys are the “next great thing” and I’m the one guy that’s not on board, all over again.  Feel free to explain to me why my opinions are completely wrong.  Explain away, but try to remember that the experience of art is a lot like a joke: if you have to explain why it’s good, it probably isn’t very good, affective, or even worth it.  I understand that I spend a good deal of time trying to “dissect” or “break things down”myself,  but I feel like, when I do that, I am just trying to relay a feeling in detail, and it’s that honest feeling that I feel is missing from YUCK‘s routine, at this point of their career.  Seeing J Mascis nonchalantly tear through amazing guitar solos and honest acoustic songs a mere week after this show, unfortunately, didn’t help my opinion of their work, either.  To quote a classic Pavement track, I’d like to reiterate the sentiment: “Fight this Generation“.  Ironically enough, this current generation seems to be living in the last one all over again.  The least that they could do is be a little bit more interesting with their interpretation, this time around.   Hey YUCK, now that people are watching you and beginning to listen, figure out what you really have to say and say it.  It doesn’t seem like anyone else wants to tell you this but, if you find it, your unique voice will be your true strength always and, if you provide that unique voice that ONLY YOU posses, it will give people something else to talk about.  Until then, there’s gonna be no other option for anyone than to ceaselessly beat these tired comparisons into the ground.  Whether you view that as a positive or a negative is entirely up to interpretation.

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YUCK will be appearing at the 2011 PITCHFORK MUSIC FESTIVAL (July 15-17) in Chicago
and
a week later at Seattle‘s Capitol Hill Block Party (July 22-24)

Make sure to catch THURSTON MOORE @ both of these events.