Now that I've sweet-talked my office's I.T. guy, Dale, into installing contraband (read: Adobe Flash player) on my work computer, I make it through the workdays a little easier with the soothing sounds of Pandora. This has revolutionized my daytime life, as you can imagine, starkly contrasting with what I've been listening to every day for the past year-and-a-half, which is my radio stations' Top 40, mainstream rock, or conservative news/talk-- respectively-- depending on the day. During a good moment I can pick from Matchbox 20 (on the Top 40) or the Rolling Stones (on the rock station) at any given time. On a bad day it's possible to roast on a spit of three concurrent flames torture (on the three-station cluster, I've heard us play a Ke$ha/ Nickleback/ Rush Limbaugh combo; not good; not good at all).
But these days I find myself energized by listening to music I actually like, since Pandora requires no download (not allowed-- even Dale has his limits; The Man rules all in Corporate Hell). Today it's the Black Crowes. And on this Crowes station I come across a live album of a show they did with Jimmy Page (Live at the Greek) and get so lost in the jam that I briefly retreat on a mind adventure about a tribute band that covers only this album, a band which I would call ZoCrowes. This band was increasingly appealing to me as I developed an expanding setlist of Black Crowes and Led Zeppelin covers (because, inside, I am a 45-year-old man). I became increasingly convinced that this was a band I would have to start. And front, since both Chris Robinson and Robert Plant look like chicks anyway.
So anyway, naturally, it wasn't long before the first epic guitar solo and I was mortified when I couldn't immediately determine if it was Rich or Jimmy. Eek-- had my ear for stylistic nuance that I had so relied on when writing about music deafened THIS severely? I knew it was bad, but come on. I can't pick out a Jimmy Page guitar solo? What kind of music writer am I?
It was just then that the riff split into a harmony, and I realized that they had been playing in a tone-matched, decidedly-undetectable unison. A-ha.
After an epic riff-off and my resulting transcendence to a new state of mind, the jam was complete and I was lulled back into complacency by the Crowes classic "Thorn in My Pride," the warm, sexy, feel-good jam with its chill subtlety that even Page probably couldn't nail, and it set in that greatness is all relative. There is no greatest guitarist; there is no best type of music and no good (or bad) type of person. You don't even have a favorite song. There is no way you can truly love "Wish You Were Here" and "Communication Breakdown" the same amount, because you are two completely different people in the moments when you need to hear those songs the most. Everything is what we make it; every moment is heaven and hell and chaos and zen all in one unbroken wholeness.
Continue to live your life from jam to jam; enjoy every solo and every harmony and do your best to just stop asking yourself questions about it already.
Peace and love,
Meg
Showing posts with label jam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jam. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Monday, November 08, 2010
EOTO: a force of nature
When my best friend, Nick, and I showed up to the Intersection around 8 on Sunday, I had a brief moment of panic that we had the wrong place or the wrong time. Could it be that EOTO had canceled? What other explanation could there be for the handful of hardcore kids and the excruciatingly long sound-check of the amateurish hard-rock band warming up the front stage of the Intersection? Where were all the hippies? Where was everyone-— didn’t they know this was EOTO?
Known for their killer, 100% improvised live show, “jamtronica” legends EOTO—made up of String Cheese Incident drummer and percussion player (respectively) Jason Hann and Mike Travis—almost always attract a mob scene, and we were expecting the venue to be packed to the seams; we were surprised and kind of appalled to see the venue nearly empty. Still, it was early, and I still had faith in my fellow jam-band warriors-— after all, this was EOTO. And if you’re crunchy, they will come.
Alas, the empty house and our earliness paid off in spades: as Nick and I were meandering back outside for a smoke break, out of nowhere, EOTO drummer Jason Hann strolled by, apparently looking for something, or someone. Having seen him approaching in my peripheral vision, recognizing at once his unruly curly coiffure, I knew I had to say hi. “What’s up, dude?” I said, extending my hand. His face warmed into a gracious smile as he grasped my hand and pulled me in for a bro-hug. I introduced myself and we chatted for a brief moment; I was proud of myself for containing my fan-geekiness, and refraining from reminiscing about his set with String Cheese at Rothbury ’09 (to this day, one of the best shows I’ve seen). After exchanging a moment’s worth of the typical pleasantries, Jason uttered a simple, offhand and, to me, totally amazing phrase, “We’ll throw down for ya!”
Eventually, openers Gargantua took the stage, facing off against a crowd of about 15, their faces obscured by their signature Star Trek shades. I’ve seen Gargantua throw down before (most recently, about a week ago at one of Papa Petes’ now-standard Dubstep Wednesdays) but they really didn’t bring it this time; I blame the almost total lack of an audience and general low energy of the situation (but that’s just me). Still, the crowd had increased in numbers and was even dancing a little bit by the end of the set, and it was increasingly clear that we were just getting started.
Around 10:30 (!) EOTO finally stepped up; Jason pumped his fists in the air before settling behind his drum kit, while Mike strode, in his classic silver-fox manner, to his place behind a fortress of synth and percussion equipment that towered like a steampunk time machine. I looked around me and realized that the house was now packed with jamtronica pilgrims: this stage their mecca, Mike and Jason their willing deities.
In no time at all, EOTO had the whole house raging, our glowsticks in the air like we just didn’t care. EOTO is the perfect live show for the musically- A.D.D.; their sets are a continuous and always-morphing blend of sound, borrowing from metal, reggae and “world” beats, and straight-up rock, all built on a foundation of dubsteppy techno. And even if electronica isn’t really your thing, EOTO on a technical level is truly an amazing thing to behold, their improvised sets propelled by what appears to be a twin-like ESP between Mike and Jason. Mike is a machine all his own; his drum kit, and attached mic and loop stations (with which he records the vocal parts of the songs, both original/ improvised and “borrowed:” at this show, from the likes of Steve Miller Band, Bob Marley, and Lauryn Hill, among others) are eerily like appendages; even during the requisite chaos of an EOTO set, he plays with a fluent and seemingly effortless demeanor that can only come from years (and years) of hard-won experience. To his left, Jason works his cage of keyboards, guitars, basses and drums with literally every limb, even working MIDI controllers on the floor with his bare toes; from the very front row, I watched in awe when they would make eye contact or exchange hand signals and bring the music to climactic highs, and Jason would drop a killer beat, festooned with the signature dubstep “womp,” majestically spreading his arms to the manic crowd like a techno Jesus.
And if you’ve never seen EOTO before, you might not understand that it is truly a transcendent experience. There is something about their music that seems to transports the listener through time and space; reminiscing about the times we had seen EOTO before, and anticipating them next summer at Wakarusa, Nick said it best: “It’s crazy to think that EOTO is blowing our minds in the past, present, and future!”
After their whirlwind of a set, Mike and Jason took to the crowd, lovingly exchanging hugs and high-fives with the sweaty and starry-eyed crowd; out of nowhere, Mike floated up on a cloud of silver-foxiness and all I could do was give him a big hug and thank him for throwing down for all us sinners out there.
And then it was over; Nick and I returned to the night after a dream-come-true show: having not only raged to one of the most mindblowing and inspiring live bands out there, but meeting two of the most talented (and unbelievably nice) dudes on tour right now. And though we all had a magical time dancing the night away, make no mistake: this ain’t no disco; EOTO is more than dance music, it’s a force of nature.
[run by the greatest and best site in the world, West Michigan Noise, on 11/08/10]
Known for their killer, 100% improvised live show, “jamtronica” legends EOTO—made up of String Cheese Incident drummer and percussion player (respectively) Jason Hann and Mike Travis—almost always attract a mob scene, and we were expecting the venue to be packed to the seams; we were surprised and kind of appalled to see the venue nearly empty. Still, it was early, and I still had faith in my fellow jam-band warriors-— after all, this was EOTO. And if you’re crunchy, they will come.
Alas, the empty house and our earliness paid off in spades: as Nick and I were meandering back outside for a smoke break, out of nowhere, EOTO drummer Jason Hann strolled by, apparently looking for something, or someone. Having seen him approaching in my peripheral vision, recognizing at once his unruly curly coiffure, I knew I had to say hi. “What’s up, dude?” I said, extending my hand. His face warmed into a gracious smile as he grasped my hand and pulled me in for a bro-hug. I introduced myself and we chatted for a brief moment; I was proud of myself for containing my fan-geekiness, and refraining from reminiscing about his set with String Cheese at Rothbury ’09 (to this day, one of the best shows I’ve seen). After exchanging a moment’s worth of the typical pleasantries, Jason uttered a simple, offhand and, to me, totally amazing phrase, “We’ll throw down for ya!”
Eventually, openers Gargantua took the stage, facing off against a crowd of about 15, their faces obscured by their signature Star Trek shades. I’ve seen Gargantua throw down before (most recently, about a week ago at one of Papa Petes’ now-standard Dubstep Wednesdays) but they really didn’t bring it this time; I blame the almost total lack of an audience and general low energy of the situation (but that’s just me). Still, the crowd had increased in numbers and was even dancing a little bit by the end of the set, and it was increasingly clear that we were just getting started.
Around 10:30 (!) EOTO finally stepped up; Jason pumped his fists in the air before settling behind his drum kit, while Mike strode, in his classic silver-fox manner, to his place behind a fortress of synth and percussion equipment that towered like a steampunk time machine. I looked around me and realized that the house was now packed with jamtronica pilgrims: this stage their mecca, Mike and Jason their willing deities.
In no time at all, EOTO had the whole house raging, our glowsticks in the air like we just didn’t care. EOTO is the perfect live show for the musically- A.D.D.; their sets are a continuous and always-morphing blend of sound, borrowing from metal, reggae and “world” beats, and straight-up rock, all built on a foundation of dubsteppy techno. And even if electronica isn’t really your thing, EOTO on a technical level is truly an amazing thing to behold, their improvised sets propelled by what appears to be a twin-like ESP between Mike and Jason. Mike is a machine all his own; his drum kit, and attached mic and loop stations (with which he records the vocal parts of the songs, both original/ improvised and “borrowed:” at this show, from the likes of Steve Miller Band, Bob Marley, and Lauryn Hill, among others) are eerily like appendages; even during the requisite chaos of an EOTO set, he plays with a fluent and seemingly effortless demeanor that can only come from years (and years) of hard-won experience. To his left, Jason works his cage of keyboards, guitars, basses and drums with literally every limb, even working MIDI controllers on the floor with his bare toes; from the very front row, I watched in awe when they would make eye contact or exchange hand signals and bring the music to climactic highs, and Jason would drop a killer beat, festooned with the signature dubstep “womp,” majestically spreading his arms to the manic crowd like a techno Jesus.
And if you’ve never seen EOTO before, you might not understand that it is truly a transcendent experience. There is something about their music that seems to transports the listener through time and space; reminiscing about the times we had seen EOTO before, and anticipating them next summer at Wakarusa, Nick said it best: “It’s crazy to think that EOTO is blowing our minds in the past, present, and future!”
After their whirlwind of a set, Mike and Jason took to the crowd, lovingly exchanging hugs and high-fives with the sweaty and starry-eyed crowd; out of nowhere, Mike floated up on a cloud of silver-foxiness and all I could do was give him a big hug and thank him for throwing down for all us sinners out there.
And then it was over; Nick and I returned to the night after a dream-come-true show: having not only raged to one of the most mindblowing and inspiring live bands out there, but meeting two of the most talented (and unbelievably nice) dudes on tour right now. And though we all had a magical time dancing the night away, make no mistake: this ain’t no disco; EOTO is more than dance music, it’s a force of nature.
[run by the greatest and best site in the world, West Michigan Noise, on 11/08/10]
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Saturday Night (Non-Bay-City-Roller-Related)
I have this habit of making plans for the night, starting to get ready and getting distracted by... writing this blog. I'm not one of those girls who takes great amounts of time or care in "getting ready;" (I never get it when I see girls post entire photo albums of themselves on Facebook "getting ready" with their roommates...and then like four pictures from the party) "getting ready" for me is having a beer and listening to music while I make myself somewhat more presentable. So tonight, as an homage to last night (you don't even want to know), I threw on a Phish album: the highly-psychedelic hippie classic "A Picture of Nectar."
I didn't make it halfway through "Llama" before I got distracted by my laptop, coming dangerously close to answering that little "What's on your mind?" box on Facebook with, "sometimes rocking out at home alone to Phish sounds more fun than going out." I literally typed that the box before I realized how sad that sounded, and brought that confession to a place where I know I can say stuff like that. And, here we are.
So, for a long time, I didn't like Phish. I remember throwing the word "hate" around about Phish from time to time. I used to think that they were a less-exciting reincarnation of the Dead-- I now feel like if I go to hell for anything I say about music (and I might) it will probably be that. Luckily, I got past that, and with an open heart and mind I accepted Phish in all their crunchy magnificence.
Please don't make my mistake: the Phish mistake. I know that there are a lot of hippie jokes and negative hippie stereotypes that start and end with Phish. But you can't always just like what's cool to your crew. Lesson one.
Lesson two: get "A Picture of Nectar." This album is exactly what any album should be, and what not a lot of albums are: a complete journey through the artist's/ artists' state of mind. Phish's ungodly musicianship allows them to weave that sought-after sound of every instrument as its own instrument, and not just part of a sound, acting autonomously and at the same time as part of the machine. This is what makes jam bands click, and Phish emulate it with an almost unnatural perfection.
So, you could say this record is like Jam 101. If you are one of the people-- as I was-- who don't like jam because they don't get it, and if you're even a little bit curious about it (you must figure there's got to be something to it; if you need proof, look at the army of Gen X hippies they singlehandedly created) but you don't know where to start: go for the archetypal jam album: "A Picture of Nectar." Just go for it. It's like a prerequisite course (and finals will be at a festie somewhere) in jam. This album has all the smooth jazz, quirky bluegrass, and tantric hippie freefalls that make the genre what it is: a hypnotizing, transformative and nearly metaphysical music experience. 50 million potheads can't be wrong...
Phish, I saulte you.
And now... time to go out. (Ah, damn! "Mango Song" just came on! Maybe later.)
-thejunkie
I didn't make it halfway through "Llama" before I got distracted by my laptop, coming dangerously close to answering that little "What's on your mind?" box on Facebook with, "sometimes rocking out at home alone to Phish sounds more fun than going out." I literally typed that the box before I realized how sad that sounded, and brought that confession to a place where I know I can say stuff like that. And, here we are.
So, for a long time, I didn't like Phish. I remember throwing the word "hate" around about Phish from time to time. I used to think that they were a less-exciting reincarnation of the Dead-- I now feel like if I go to hell for anything I say about music (and I might) it will probably be that. Luckily, I got past that, and with an open heart and mind I accepted Phish in all their crunchy magnificence.
Please don't make my mistake: the Phish mistake. I know that there are a lot of hippie jokes and negative hippie stereotypes that start and end with Phish. But you can't always just like what's cool to your crew. Lesson one.
Lesson two: get "A Picture of Nectar." This album is exactly what any album should be, and what not a lot of albums are: a complete journey through the artist's/ artists' state of mind. Phish's ungodly musicianship allows them to weave that sought-after sound of every instrument as its own instrument, and not just part of a sound, acting autonomously and at the same time as part of the machine. This is what makes jam bands click, and Phish emulate it with an almost unnatural perfection.
So, you could say this record is like Jam 101. If you are one of the people-- as I was-- who don't like jam because they don't get it, and if you're even a little bit curious about it (you must figure there's got to be something to it; if you need proof, look at the army of Gen X hippies they singlehandedly created) but you don't know where to start: go for the archetypal jam album: "A Picture of Nectar." Just go for it. It's like a prerequisite course (and finals will be at a festie somewhere) in jam. This album has all the smooth jazz, quirky bluegrass, and tantric hippie freefalls that make the genre what it is: a hypnotizing, transformative and nearly metaphysical music experience. 50 million potheads can't be wrong...
Phish, I saulte you.
And now... time to go out. (Ah, damn! "Mango Song" just came on! Maybe later.)
-thejunkie
Sunday, November 01, 2009
UFOs! The Re-Appearance of Angel! Severed toes! MUST BE HALLOWEEN!
I hope you've all slept off your respective Halloween hangovers. I know I have. If by "slept off" I mean MOVED. TODAY. Like moving doesn't suck enough.
But let's just say I had a Halloween blast. Which is rare, and also ironic, because I HATE HALLOWEEN. That's right. I said it. But, suffice it to say, Halloween: 21; Meg: 0. I always say I'm not going to do anything for Halloween because it is just a dangerous, awkward waste of time, an appalling capitalist mechanism, etc, etc, etc-- but I always go.
But, it all started on the actual night of Halloween, when I was meeting my folks for a very low-key, very Mexican, very anti-Halloween dinner. But, as I was getting in my car, it dawned on me that this is the first year that I have not heard "The Monster Mash!" Anywhere! At all! Its hard to admit, but as a lifelong Midwesterner, I felt a secret pang of guilt for my blatant ignoring of our collective favorite nod to the occult. For some reason, this year I went off-the-rails crazy Halloween-Scrooge to a level that even I have not yet reached. So maybe I did hear it and just repressed it. But I don't think so. So anyway, I get to Mi Ranchito, and then there is this bartender (who, I regret to say, knows me and everyone in my family by name) dressed like Charlie Brown who pours me a shot on the house, a "Dirty Girl Scout" (hey-oh), and after that, I was a lot more in the Halloween spirit (and couldn't stop saying "hey-oh!" for some reason). And then, at one point, I realize I'm texting everyone I know asking what they are doing tonight, and although I was recovering from a cold, some Halloween miracle stipulated that the duration of my moonlight as Nastycough McSleepsallday was over (or something to that effect).
I wanted to see some music. So, one perpetually-grouchy doorman and a $7 cover charge later, I found myself at the Covert Operations show at Papa Pete's. After nearly an hour of watery drinks and almost-crunchy jams, I found my faith in Halloween yet unrestored.
Usually, I probably would have just settled for the usual drunken stumble around the student ghetto as a vacuous legionnaire of a pathetic college alcoholiday. But, I was in the jam band spirit. You see, I had gone to:
DISCO BISCUITS AT STATE THEATRE 10/28 (did you like what I did there? Segway into a heading?)
Ok, you're right, it's one of my cardinal Blog Rules of Thumb* that I don't write about shows I see not-sober. So I'm not going to go on and on about this vibe and this mechanical flawlessness and this meticulous execution and whatever else I talk about in this strange forum I've vainly and inexplicably created.
--I digress; the show. Um-- I haven't seen a jam band since Rothbury. And that was Umphrey's McGee, just after the Dead, backlit by an amazing display of 4th of July fireworks (and accompanied by a legit, widely-reported UFO sighting**). So, I wasn't trying to compare it to that.
Regardless, it was incredible-- 2 sets and over three hours of insatiable jams, a combo of electro/trance and straight-up rock.
Although at one point, the cops-- real, live, legit COPS; lots of them-- showed up and it got... not necessarily scary but real awkward.
But anyway. Before any "hippie" accusations are made, let me just say-- I have never purchased a recording of a jam I was at to listen to later; I NEVER LISTEN TO ANY RECORDED JAM. I am live-only with jam, as I am with jazz. I think listening to recorded jam, jazz and a few couple other things is kind of like watching Jurassic Park on mute: not quite worth what's lost in translation. So I just won't do it. But I looooove, love going to a good jam show.
This was the second time I've seen Biscoes; the first time was on the very first night of Rothbury. And, believe it, they wailed. Of course, in that context, they were completely in their element; jam and festies go together like peas 'n' carrots. And though it was certainly no Rothbury-- no half-a-million hippies, no men in skirts, no $9 beers (close, though) and no filthy porta-potties either-- the psychedelic lighting scheme, grotesque statues and general craziness of K-zoo's State Theatre definitely make a great backdrop for a jam band. I had a KILLER time and so did everyone I saw who didn't get dragged out by cops. (special "good luck" shoutouts go to the guy I nicknamed Hunter S. Thompson, hotdog suit guy, and white-jacket-and-no shirt-guy; don't drop the soap.)
WOAH! Speaking of my fellow stage-rushers, GUESS WHO I RAN INTO?
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!
You might remember Angel from Rootstand at Bell's sometime last month! HE WAS THERE! Equal parts flamboyant, fabulous, shirtless and sweaty. Angel, if you're reading this-- you are my favorite fixture in the Kalamazoo music scene, officially. (Sorry, Rock and the Hive-- second place will have to do. Even though I lost a chunk of my left "index" toe at your last show. Oh, read on!)
HOUSE SHOW MONDAY 10/26
Ask "who parties on a Monday?" in the student ghetto and the answer will be a resounding "We do! Fuck class tomorrow-- fuck my future! Let's get wasted and watch music!"
Yeah, boi! I love this town. (Or, this part of town.)
Soooo... there I was, in a dark, extremely crowded basement, trying desperately to not think of Great White. I don't remember who the first band was, but I don't think they were good. So, anyway, the Rock and the Hive played-- awesome-- and the requisite crowd-at-a-show chaos commenced; at one point, it vaguely occurred to me that my toe hurt; after TRATH, we were heading upstairs, and I notice my foot feels sticky. I assume someone spilled beer on it-- which they may have-- but as we come into the light, I realize my left foot is completely covered in blood. I'm spare you the (literally) gory details, but a small chunk of the tip of my toe is literally gone as we speak. Sorry, Girls Whose House That Was; I'm hoping you didn't go downstairs to clean up after the show and find a floor covered in blood; that would have been unsettling.
Sorry for the gross toe story. I'm just saying. A good show is sometimes worth losing a piece of one of your appendages. I'm also saying, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE you are NOT going to a show later, don't wear sandals, even if it is unseasonably warm.
So... where do we go from here?
Oh!
The best part of that show! KOJI!!!
So, I walk into the house, and my friend introduces me to a soft-spoken Asian kid with glasses; fast-forward three hours later: I'm watching this kid; he is standing on a barstool in the middle of a crowd playing songs, singing his heart out. This was a good "expect the unexpected" moment in my life. I'm not entirely sure why he chose this particular way to exhibit his (amazing) musical talents, or even if it was entirely by choice (word on the street was there was some sort of gear malfunction). Because of this, I'm not really sure what form his music "usually" takes, but I would be fine if it sounded just like it sounded in that crowded living room: literally, completely organic acoustic-and-voice-only emo (hate that word!!! ugh). But, I tried to find some of his music so I could get a link to you guys and I can't find right anything now; I will let you know ASAP when I get a hold of something.
Ah. Those those were the Halloween-week festivities! It's over!!! In related news; they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at Macy's! (just kidding, but seriously, they probably are).
*1.) any recorded album gets no fewer than 5 listens before a review 2.) never review a show when you are drunk; you will take shitty notes 3.) keep it as real as possible and always maintain your swagger. 4.) no excuses, play like a champion
** this is true, documented and literally had nothing to do with psychedelics. (not sarcastic).
But let's just say I had a Halloween blast. Which is rare, and also ironic, because I HATE HALLOWEEN. That's right. I said it. But, suffice it to say, Halloween: 21; Meg: 0. I always say I'm not going to do anything for Halloween because it is just a dangerous, awkward waste of time, an appalling capitalist mechanism, etc, etc, etc-- but I always go.
But, it all started on the actual night of Halloween, when I was meeting my folks for a very low-key, very Mexican, very anti-Halloween dinner. But, as I was getting in my car, it dawned on me that this is the first year that I have not heard "The Monster Mash!" Anywhere! At all! Its hard to admit, but as a lifelong Midwesterner, I felt a secret pang of guilt for my blatant ignoring of our collective favorite nod to the occult. For some reason, this year I went off-the-rails crazy Halloween-Scrooge to a level that even I have not yet reached. So maybe I did hear it and just repressed it. But I don't think so. So anyway, I get to Mi Ranchito, and then there is this bartender (who, I regret to say, knows me and everyone in my family by name) dressed like Charlie Brown who pours me a shot on the house, a "Dirty Girl Scout" (hey-oh), and after that, I was a lot more in the Halloween spirit (and couldn't stop saying "hey-oh!" for some reason). And then, at one point, I realize I'm texting everyone I know asking what they are doing tonight, and although I was recovering from a cold, some Halloween miracle stipulated that the duration of my moonlight as Nastycough McSleepsallday was over (or something to that effect).
I wanted to see some music. So, one perpetually-grouchy doorman and a $7 cover charge later, I found myself at the Covert Operations show at Papa Pete's. After nearly an hour of watery drinks and almost-crunchy jams, I found my faith in Halloween yet unrestored.
Usually, I probably would have just settled for the usual drunken stumble around the student ghetto as a vacuous legionnaire of a pathetic college alcoholiday. But, I was in the jam band spirit. You see, I had gone to:
DISCO BISCUITS AT STATE THEATRE 10/28 (did you like what I did there? Segway into a heading?)
Ok, you're right, it's one of my cardinal Blog Rules of Thumb* that I don't write about shows I see not-sober. So I'm not going to go on and on about this vibe and this mechanical flawlessness and this meticulous execution and whatever else I talk about in this strange forum I've vainly and inexplicably created.
--I digress; the show. Um-- I haven't seen a jam band since Rothbury. And that was Umphrey's McGee, just after the Dead, backlit by an amazing display of 4th of July fireworks (and accompanied by a legit, widely-reported UFO sighting**). So, I wasn't trying to compare it to that.
Regardless, it was incredible-- 2 sets and over three hours of insatiable jams, a combo of electro/trance and straight-up rock.
Although at one point, the cops-- real, live, legit COPS; lots of them-- showed up and it got... not necessarily scary but real awkward.
But anyway. Before any "hippie" accusations are made, let me just say-- I have never purchased a recording of a jam I was at to listen to later; I NEVER LISTEN TO ANY RECORDED JAM. I am live-only with jam, as I am with jazz. I think listening to recorded jam, jazz and a few couple other things is kind of like watching Jurassic Park on mute: not quite worth what's lost in translation. So I just won't do it. But I looooove, love going to a good jam show.
This was the second time I've seen Biscoes; the first time was on the very first night of Rothbury. And, believe it, they wailed. Of course, in that context, they were completely in their element; jam and festies go together like peas 'n' carrots. And though it was certainly no Rothbury-- no half-a-million hippies, no men in skirts, no $9 beers (close, though) and no filthy porta-potties either-- the psychedelic lighting scheme, grotesque statues and general craziness of K-zoo's State Theatre definitely make a great backdrop for a jam band. I had a KILLER time and so did everyone I saw who didn't get dragged out by cops. (special "good luck" shoutouts go to the guy I nicknamed Hunter S. Thompson, hotdog suit guy, and white-jacket-and-no shirt-guy; don't drop the soap.)
WOAH! Speaking of my fellow stage-rushers, GUESS WHO I RAN INTO?
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!
You might remember Angel from Rootstand at Bell's sometime last month! HE WAS THERE! Equal parts flamboyant, fabulous, shirtless and sweaty. Angel, if you're reading this-- you are my favorite fixture in the Kalamazoo music scene, officially. (Sorry, Rock and the Hive-- second place will have to do. Even though I lost a chunk of my left "index" toe at your last show. Oh, read on!)
HOUSE SHOW MONDAY 10/26
Ask "who parties on a Monday?" in the student ghetto and the answer will be a resounding "We do! Fuck class tomorrow-- fuck my future! Let's get wasted and watch music!"
Yeah, boi! I love this town. (Or, this part of town.)
Soooo... there I was, in a dark, extremely crowded basement, trying desperately to not think of Great White. I don't remember who the first band was, but I don't think they were good. So, anyway, the Rock and the Hive played-- awesome-- and the requisite crowd-at-a-show chaos commenced; at one point, it vaguely occurred to me that my toe hurt; after TRATH, we were heading upstairs, and I notice my foot feels sticky. I assume someone spilled beer on it-- which they may have-- but as we come into the light, I realize my left foot is completely covered in blood. I'm spare you the (literally) gory details, but a small chunk of the tip of my toe is literally gone as we speak. Sorry, Girls Whose House That Was; I'm hoping you didn't go downstairs to clean up after the show and find a floor covered in blood; that would have been unsettling.
Sorry for the gross toe story. I'm just saying. A good show is sometimes worth losing a piece of one of your appendages. I'm also saying, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE you are NOT going to a show later, don't wear sandals, even if it is unseasonably warm.
So... where do we go from here?
Oh!
The best part of that show! KOJI!!!
So, I walk into the house, and my friend introduces me to a soft-spoken Asian kid with glasses; fast-forward three hours later: I'm watching this kid; he is standing on a barstool in the middle of a crowd playing songs, singing his heart out. This was a good "expect the unexpected" moment in my life. I'm not entirely sure why he chose this particular way to exhibit his (amazing) musical talents, or even if it was entirely by choice (word on the street was there was some sort of gear malfunction). Because of this, I'm not really sure what form his music "usually" takes, but I would be fine if it sounded just like it sounded in that crowded living room: literally, completely organic acoustic-and-voice-only emo (hate that word!!! ugh). But, I tried to find some of his music so I could get a link to you guys and I can't find right anything now; I will let you know ASAP when I get a hold of something.
Ah. Those those were the Halloween-week festivities! It's over!!! In related news; they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at Macy's! (just kidding, but seriously, they probably are).
*1.) any recorded album gets no fewer than 5 listens before a review 2.) never review a show when you are drunk; you will take shitty notes 3.) keep it as real as possible and always maintain your swagger. 4.) no excuses, play like a champion
** this is true, documented and literally had nothing to do with psychedelics. (not sarcastic).
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Barking Tuna 2009 NIGHT ONE PREVIEW!
I'm hoping everyone is ready for Kalamazoo's music event of the year: WIDR's Barking Tuna Festival. While a 3-night pass for $25 is pretty reasonable (available at WIDR and Corner Record Shop [which is awesome by the way]), you're probably just going to want to scope out what you're into and check out a few bands, because 9 in three nights is a lot... lucky you've got me.
So any way, what I'm going to do is post a preview of each night detailing who is playing and (vaguely) what to expect. Here's night one!
Night One: Thurs 10/08/09 at the Strutt
Airborne or Aquatic (Northern MI) {jam} [http://www.myspace.com/airborneoraquatic]
After one listen to Airborne or Aquatic, a semi- experimental jam band, you might write them off as yet another faux-Southern-trad (roots/folk/bluegrass) band like the legion of others that keep cropping up in the Midwest. And that response is half-right; songs like "Moose Man" had the effect of (as Butthead brilliantly said in response to a Nine Inch Nails video) "great, but, frankly... it's been done." But, on other tracks, you'll find AOA with a more organic sound and an appealingly melancholy vibe, (check out the spoken-word interlude on "Smoke in the Rain") and you might find that they bring a little something different to the table. Their accessibility and political/ social consciousness go together like thrift-shop tshirts and Urban Outfitters jeans... different, uncanny, mismatched and completely harmonious. I can't help but feel like they will probably go over extremely well tonight... this is Kalamazoo, after all.
The Daredevil Christopher Wright (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) {indie} [http://www.myspace.com/thedaredevilchristopherwright]
I hate to say this so soon, but I am already impressed with this act. The Wisconsin 3-piece has upcoming shows all over the country-- in the midwest, Colorado, Washington, California-- one of which is with Bon Iver (!). This band possesses such an unbelievable musical awareness and aptitude, weaving pop-indie with classical instruments (notably on the breathtaking "Hospital/ The East Coast). While, at times, they adhere to the monolithic indie status quo, they are still incredibly fresh and innovative (check out the ironically blithe "Bury You Alive"). I can. not. wait. to see this band tonight.
Boy In Static (San Francisco, California) {indie} [http://www.myspace.com/boyinstatic]
Somewhere between The Postal Service and My Bloody Valentine lies the sound of Boy In Static: wispy, melodic shoegazer driven by a quiet passion. There is a gentle intensity to their music-- a surreal synth-viola duo with intimate, close-sounding vocals-- with an effect that resounds inside you like the beating of your own heart. While I'm wondering how this 2-piece is going to pull off live what can be done fairly easily in the studio, I am nonetheless looking forward to this.
So, needless to say, tonight's gonna be a good night. Hope to see you guys at the Strutt.
So any way, what I'm going to do is post a preview of each night detailing who is playing and (vaguely) what to expect. Here's night one!
Night One: Thurs 10/08/09 at the Strutt
Airborne or Aquatic (Northern MI) {jam} [http://www.myspace.com/airborneoraquatic]
After one listen to Airborne or Aquatic, a semi- experimental jam band, you might write them off as yet another faux-Southern-trad (roots/folk/bluegrass) band like the legion of others that keep cropping up in the Midwest. And that response is half-right; songs like "Moose Man" had the effect of (as Butthead brilliantly said in response to a Nine Inch Nails video) "great, but, frankly... it's been done." But, on other tracks, you'll find AOA with a more organic sound and an appealingly melancholy vibe, (check out the spoken-word interlude on "Smoke in the Rain") and you might find that they bring a little something different to the table. Their accessibility and political/ social consciousness go together like thrift-shop tshirts and Urban Outfitters jeans... different, uncanny, mismatched and completely harmonious. I can't help but feel like they will probably go over extremely well tonight... this is Kalamazoo, after all.
The Daredevil Christopher Wright (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) {indie} [http://www.myspace.com/thedaredevilchristopherwright]
I hate to say this so soon, but I am already impressed with this act. The Wisconsin 3-piece has upcoming shows all over the country-- in the midwest, Colorado, Washington, California-- one of which is with Bon Iver (!). This band possesses such an unbelievable musical awareness and aptitude, weaving pop-indie with classical instruments (notably on the breathtaking "Hospital/ The East Coast). While, at times, they adhere to the monolithic indie status quo, they are still incredibly fresh and innovative (check out the ironically blithe "Bury You Alive"). I can. not. wait. to see this band tonight.
Boy In Static (San Francisco, California) {indie} [http://www.myspace.com/boyinstatic]
Somewhere between The Postal Service and My Bloody Valentine lies the sound of Boy In Static: wispy, melodic shoegazer driven by a quiet passion. There is a gentle intensity to their music-- a surreal synth-viola duo with intimate, close-sounding vocals-- with an effect that resounds inside you like the beating of your own heart. While I'm wondering how this 2-piece is going to pull off live what can be done fairly easily in the studio, I am nonetheless looking forward to this.
So, needless to say, tonight's gonna be a good night. Hope to see you guys at the Strutt.
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