And so, follow me low/ You are what you lean on. --Trey Anastasio
I've been waking up in the mornings with T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alred Prufrock" in my head like a song, the words streaming like lyrics monotonously read in the voice I've fabricated for Eliot, having accidentally memorized the lines from my old Norton anthology. And indeed there will be time/ To wonder Do I dare? And do I dare? floating sleepily through my own vacant expression as I straighten my unruly brown hair. It's abundantly clear to me that I am not ready to face this day. The murky post-Thanksgiving semi-Seasonal depression has set in, the way it does every year for me and nearly everyone else at this latitude. The warm, sleepy sense of nostalgia faded with the cooking-smells from the corn-yellow kitchens of Michigan and we're left with nothing but the sullen pressure of The Holidays. I grow old, I grow old...
Last weekend, after the last of the leftovers were wrapped I had long since had my fill of my family's signature Thanksgiving dish (read: double Kahlua and Coffee), I headed West to Chicago to catch two nights of my favorite band, Umphrey's McGee. The epic two-night run loosely replaced a New Years tradition, which, this year, is being held in St. Louis. While I love my boys more than life, the trek to ol' St. Louie is a long one and I, alas, will not make it-- not to mention Umphrey's in Chicago is always must-see anyway, so this weekend was a no-brainer. Meeting up with fellow Umphreak Steph, who I happened to meet in the bathroom at this show, I hit I94 running, and we rocked into the Central Time Zone at about seven on Friday, ready to rage. And rage we did, hitting the run like a 2-woman storm of musical bliss and nerdery. From classic Umphrey's staples to soaring jams backed by the Chicago Mass Choir, the two nights of music left stars in my eyes and I can still feel the resounding amazement in my soul...
Still, as I sped back toward home on Sunday morning, wolfing down my requisite hangover Sausage McMuffin, the warm, fuzzy memories of the shows faded with every mile past the Windy City. The memories echoing through my head from the weekend-- the smooth bump of "Booth Love," the sought-after ecstasy of "All in Time's" climactic end, and the kaleidoscopic swirl of the stagelights melted into the horizon of the putty-gray Indiana turnpike, and it was increasingly hard to deny that we were truly headed back to real life.
So, increasingly clear to me was something I hadn't bothered to tell Stephanie, or anyone else, all weekend: on the following day was my first appointment with a therapist. Having stubbornly fought therapy my whole life, I had decided it was time to reckon with some issues I had noticed lurking from my dad's passing when I was a child. The only thing stronger than my stubbornness to talk to anyone about what had been on my mind for years was my staunch vow of secrecy I had taken towards the whole thing; I lived under a strong facade I had created over the years to convince everyone that I had somehow escaped the pain altogether (There will be time, there will be time/ To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.). I was determined to have triumphed over my dad's death, and the rest of my past, without a single scar; like the Blues Brothers in that scene where they survive Carrie Fischer's flamethrower, standing up and merely brushing the dust from the wreckage off of their shoulders.
But the truth is, I didn't. And I've spent every year since filling the void created by my father's absence with everything I could find that brought me the smallest amount of happiness or joy. Most of all: music. I'm coming to the strange conclusion that maybe every song I've ever liked, every band I've ever loved, was-- at least in part-- replacing a small part of what I lost when I lost my dad. Maybe that relief I felt from that soothing shelter of the most amazing pieces of music was a replacement of those times I wasn't able to curl up in my dad's lap as a little girl, and let him tell me everything would be ok. Maybe those gentle words of wisdom from my favorite rock stars and poets replaced the lessons I knew I should have learned from my father.
I guess that's what I'm trying to reconcile. And I guess getting a little older, and a little wiser (ideally) is going to help me sort out all of this... because I guess sixteen years isn't long enough to reconcile the excruciating pain of losing someone you love. Regardless, I'm back in the real world (post-therapy sesh, and by the way, it went great!) and the view from here isn't so bad.
Hope is an amazing thing.
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Writing "Spots"
Sitting in my office of the radio station cluster where I work, I'm tuned in to one of our stations during an ad break, wincing at a commercial advertising a "Diva"-themed holiday party at Wayside (for you out-of-towners, the most notorious BroHo bar in Kalamazoo).
My face is contorted as though I've actually just eaten something sour, my left eye squeezed shut and lips and nose pursed into one big wrinkle; against the dull hum of the office in the late afternoon, the morning DJ's nasally chirp sounds especially shrill, reaching stratospheric pitches with each and every fun, frilly, and oft alliterative verb. So while I'm wincing for an ostensibly very good reason, it might not be the reason or reasons you're thinking.
The truth is, I wrote this commercial. I wrote this commercial and a ton just like it, hawking everything from theme parties to air quality control to trailer repair to gourmet pizza. This is what I do: market research, commercial copywriting and a plethora of related sellout, ex-writer tasks.
A genuine queasiness set in as I listened to the rest of the commercial for the diva party, and I came to the sick conclusion that this is my life not only as a professional, but as a writer now. I guess the reasons for this are sundry. Looking back, my creative volume had decreased significantly as my blog neared its second birthday, and to make matters worse, West Michigan Noise-- not only a creative stimulus, but a network of friends and readers that create a huge support system-- scaled back from obscure print 'zine to its Internet roots and eventually withered to nonexistence. And I'm continually haunted by the fact that I've all but completely deserted my blog; not on an "ego" level, or out of a sense of any sort of obligation (as I've long since accepted that no one cares anymore, if they ever did [ed. note: not a cry for help or attention! A simple statement of facts.]) But the fact that I simply don't care anymore is what's truly disturbing.
So what does this mean? Is it simply that I'm almost 24, and I simply can't reconcile my current self, who gets paid to write public broadcasts (no matter how low-quality), with my twenty-year-old self, who struggled financially while pouring hours into a blog for no pay and next to no recognition, for no reason other than passion?
I guess that's the trouble with blogging. Blogs are started by people with nothing but time and passion. Those people are, more often than not, kids. Kids grow up into adults, whose supplies of time and passion are inversely proportionate with their practical needs. Like paying rent. And so it goes: the "I have to pay my rent" creative alibi. The groovy thing about it is that no one can shut it down. We all grow up, and reach the only thing more cliche than being a starving, hated artist: being a sellout ex-artist content with paying rent and a marginal amount of professional recognition.
So it's after five on the day before the Thanksgiving holiday; my boss and I are the last ones in our half-dark office and all this has got me thinking. He's in a band and as soon as part of me wonders if he gave up his dream to work here, I realize that he must have. If you're an artist, if you've ever known what it means to create anything, part of you truly wants to do that, and only that, every day for the rest of time. I'm reminded of something I read in a Martin Scorcese interview recently; he'd said that, realistically, anyone who creates anything just wants to be remembered. And I think that's why I'm weirdly fulfilled by writing radio spots. Because I know that even if people remember my clients' businesses, or if they remember having a good time at some event I planned or a silly party I promoted, part of me-- at least a small part-- is satisfied.
So I'm still here. Working. With the boss. And with every click of the clock past five, all I can think about is wondering what I'm waiting for... What I'm hiding from.
But at least I'm writing.
My face is contorted as though I've actually just eaten something sour, my left eye squeezed shut and lips and nose pursed into one big wrinkle; against the dull hum of the office in the late afternoon, the morning DJ's nasally chirp sounds especially shrill, reaching stratospheric pitches with each and every fun, frilly, and oft alliterative verb. So while I'm wincing for an ostensibly very good reason, it might not be the reason or reasons you're thinking.
The truth is, I wrote this commercial. I wrote this commercial and a ton just like it, hawking everything from theme parties to air quality control to trailer repair to gourmet pizza. This is what I do: market research, commercial copywriting and a plethora of related sellout, ex-writer tasks.
A genuine queasiness set in as I listened to the rest of the commercial for the diva party, and I came to the sick conclusion that this is my life not only as a professional, but as a writer now. I guess the reasons for this are sundry. Looking back, my creative volume had decreased significantly as my blog neared its second birthday, and to make matters worse, West Michigan Noise-- not only a creative stimulus, but a network of friends and readers that create a huge support system-- scaled back from obscure print 'zine to its Internet roots and eventually withered to nonexistence. And I'm continually haunted by the fact that I've all but completely deserted my blog; not on an "ego" level, or out of a sense of any sort of obligation (as I've long since accepted that no one cares anymore, if they ever did [ed. note: not a cry for help or attention! A simple statement of facts.]) But the fact that I simply don't care anymore is what's truly disturbing.
So what does this mean? Is it simply that I'm almost 24, and I simply can't reconcile my current self, who gets paid to write public broadcasts (no matter how low-quality), with my twenty-year-old self, who struggled financially while pouring hours into a blog for no pay and next to no recognition, for no reason other than passion?
I guess that's the trouble with blogging. Blogs are started by people with nothing but time and passion. Those people are, more often than not, kids. Kids grow up into adults, whose supplies of time and passion are inversely proportionate with their practical needs. Like paying rent. And so it goes: the "I have to pay my rent" creative alibi. The groovy thing about it is that no one can shut it down. We all grow up, and reach the only thing more cliche than being a starving, hated artist: being a sellout ex-artist content with paying rent and a marginal amount of professional recognition.
So it's after five on the day before the Thanksgiving holiday; my boss and I are the last ones in our half-dark office and all this has got me thinking. He's in a band and as soon as part of me wonders if he gave up his dream to work here, I realize that he must have. If you're an artist, if you've ever known what it means to create anything, part of you truly wants to do that, and only that, every day for the rest of time. I'm reminded of something I read in a Martin Scorcese interview recently; he'd said that, realistically, anyone who creates anything just wants to be remembered. And I think that's why I'm weirdly fulfilled by writing radio spots. Because I know that even if people remember my clients' businesses, or if they remember having a good time at some event I planned or a silly party I promoted, part of me-- at least a small part-- is satisfied.
So I'm still here. Working. With the boss. And with every click of the clock past five, all I can think about is wondering what I'm waiting for... What I'm hiding from.
But at least I'm writing.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The 5 Best Things About Festivals
Spring has sprung in Michigan, and while we in the Midwest can never be too sure when we’re going to get a freak hailstorm or other one of nature’s bitch-slaps, most of us are breathing that deep sigh of relief that means that summer is finally on its way.
For me personally, the agitated energy built up over the course of a long, gray winter is morphing from restlessness into giddy excitement as my favorite time of year—festival season—bears down on us. With the rise of McFestivals like Bonnaroo, attendance at music festivals has skyrocketed in the past few years (Coachella sold out in a record-breaking three days this year) and more and more music fans representing all tastes and age groups are coming out to enjoy weekends full of nothing but sunshine, friends, and music.
So, basically, this month, all I have to say is May, schmay. Bring on the summertime. Until then: let’s get stoked.
5.) The drive.
You’ve finally crossed the seemingly innumerable days until today off your calendar, and now, it’s time to leave. The van is packed with a weekend’s worth of supplies (read: beer and sunscreen. Mostly beer) and your best friends are fighting over shotgun.
Is there a better moment than this? Magically, yes; the drive is only the first of many excruciatingly blissful moments that you are about to experience, but there is nothing quite like the anticipation of loading up the car and setting out on those first few miles of highway standing between you and three days of pure, unadulterated happiness. And while your mind might be on nothing but the festival itself, it’s true what they say: it really is the journey, not the destination. And if you’ve never been cruising down the freeway, watching the sun set over a sea of cornfields, knowing that soon you’ll be seeing all the bands you’ve been blasting full-volume for the whole drive, you’re yet to learn that there really is only one kind of road trip: a festie road trip.
4.) The “vibe.”
The word utopia is a Latin joke on the English-speaking world. My fellow nerds know what I’m talking about: the word ‘utopia,’ meaning a perfect society, actually translates from Latin to a word meaning “nowhere,” which is to say, someone seems to think that the perfect society can not exist.
Wrong. With an economy of perfectly-balanced microcapitalism, a culture based on shared learning experiences and support of the arts, and an abounding spirit of sharing, community, and helping one’s fellow (wo)man, festivalgoers comprise the most perfect nation conceivable. This atmosphere of support and camaraderie creates an almost-palpable “vibe” of oneness that one can really get used to; it is absolutely possible to experience “culture shock” upon re-entering the “real” world. You might say that festivals are the world that the world should strive to be.
3.) Stuff falling on you at shows.
It’s Saturday Night at the festival and the whole field is rockin’; you’ve got your scummy little hands in the air like you just don’t care. And over the course of a night, you find yourself bestowed with a bevy of new gear: volleyballs, glowsticks, blow-up dolls, stuffed animals, dance toys, crowdsurfers… you name it. At late-night shows, it is not at all uncommon for random objects to come your way when you least expect it. And while festie etiquette stipulates that you should probably keep it moving, it’s alright to sneak yourself a little souvenir once in awhile.
Also, the festival world is enjoying yet another wonder of the social networking world: mass organizations of glowstick wars, which are, if you’ve never experienced one, exactly how they sound… fun to participate in; more fun to watch… Just watch your head.
2.) Hearing the song you came to hear.
For me, it’s Umphrey’s McGee’s “Gulf Stream,” whose refrain, to me, sums up everything beautiful about a festival: “All my friends are here now/ this is what we came to do.”
Enough said.
1.) Flying your freak flag.
The increasing popularity of festivals is noticeably shaping counterculture as a whole: the festie scene in recent years has seen an unlikely melding of two seemingly opposing groups: jam band-following hippies, and electronica-loving ravers. While, in 90s, most kids would probably never check out Phish and Paul Oakenfold in the same summer, festival kids nowadays are blurring the “scene”-based lines that sometimes dictate live music culture.
Perhaps it’s that we weirdoes are feeling more and more out-of-place with every season of Jersey Shore and the various barrages of quarreling housewives, but the safe “bubble” of a festival provides the perfect environment for everyone to be as weird as possible… and love it. A festival is one of the few places where the weirdest guy at the show is the coolest guy at a show. Weird clothes? No worries. No clothes? No problem! Feathers in your hair: power to you. Paint on your face; goddess circlet; ubiquitous hula-hoop? Done; done; and done.
So basically, the way things are shaping up, 2011 could be the next Summer of Love. And we in the festival world have one thing to say: hell yeah.
(run in the May issue of West Michigan Noise)
For me personally, the agitated energy built up over the course of a long, gray winter is morphing from restlessness into giddy excitement as my favorite time of year—festival season—bears down on us. With the rise of McFestivals like Bonnaroo, attendance at music festivals has skyrocketed in the past few years (Coachella sold out in a record-breaking three days this year) and more and more music fans representing all tastes and age groups are coming out to enjoy weekends full of nothing but sunshine, friends, and music.
So, basically, this month, all I have to say is May, schmay. Bring on the summertime. Until then: let’s get stoked.
5.) The drive.
You’ve finally crossed the seemingly innumerable days until today off your calendar, and now, it’s time to leave. The van is packed with a weekend’s worth of supplies (read: beer and sunscreen. Mostly beer) and your best friends are fighting over shotgun.
Is there a better moment than this? Magically, yes; the drive is only the first of many excruciatingly blissful moments that you are about to experience, but there is nothing quite like the anticipation of loading up the car and setting out on those first few miles of highway standing between you and three days of pure, unadulterated happiness. And while your mind might be on nothing but the festival itself, it’s true what they say: it really is the journey, not the destination. And if you’ve never been cruising down the freeway, watching the sun set over a sea of cornfields, knowing that soon you’ll be seeing all the bands you’ve been blasting full-volume for the whole drive, you’re yet to learn that there really is only one kind of road trip: a festie road trip.
4.) The “vibe.”
The word utopia is a Latin joke on the English-speaking world. My fellow nerds know what I’m talking about: the word ‘utopia,’ meaning a perfect society, actually translates from Latin to a word meaning “nowhere,” which is to say, someone seems to think that the perfect society can not exist.
Wrong. With an economy of perfectly-balanced microcapitalism, a culture based on shared learning experiences and support of the arts, and an abounding spirit of sharing, community, and helping one’s fellow (wo)man, festivalgoers comprise the most perfect nation conceivable. This atmosphere of support and camaraderie creates an almost-palpable “vibe” of oneness that one can really get used to; it is absolutely possible to experience “culture shock” upon re-entering the “real” world. You might say that festivals are the world that the world should strive to be.
3.) Stuff falling on you at shows.
It’s Saturday Night at the festival and the whole field is rockin’; you’ve got your scummy little hands in the air like you just don’t care. And over the course of a night, you find yourself bestowed with a bevy of new gear: volleyballs, glowsticks, blow-up dolls, stuffed animals, dance toys, crowdsurfers… you name it. At late-night shows, it is not at all uncommon for random objects to come your way when you least expect it. And while festie etiquette stipulates that you should probably keep it moving, it’s alright to sneak yourself a little souvenir once in awhile.
Also, the festival world is enjoying yet another wonder of the social networking world: mass organizations of glowstick wars, which are, if you’ve never experienced one, exactly how they sound… fun to participate in; more fun to watch… Just watch your head.
2.) Hearing the song you came to hear.
For me, it’s Umphrey’s McGee’s “Gulf Stream,” whose refrain, to me, sums up everything beautiful about a festival: “All my friends are here now/ this is what we came to do.”
Enough said.
1.) Flying your freak flag.
The increasing popularity of festivals is noticeably shaping counterculture as a whole: the festie scene in recent years has seen an unlikely melding of two seemingly opposing groups: jam band-following hippies, and electronica-loving ravers. While, in 90s, most kids would probably never check out Phish and Paul Oakenfold in the same summer, festival kids nowadays are blurring the “scene”-based lines that sometimes dictate live music culture.
Perhaps it’s that we weirdoes are feeling more and more out-of-place with every season of Jersey Shore and the various barrages of quarreling housewives, but the safe “bubble” of a festival provides the perfect environment for everyone to be as weird as possible… and love it. A festival is one of the few places where the weirdest guy at the show is the coolest guy at a show. Weird clothes? No worries. No clothes? No problem! Feathers in your hair: power to you. Paint on your face; goddess circlet; ubiquitous hula-hoop? Done; done; and done.
So basically, the way things are shaping up, 2011 could be the next Summer of Love. And we in the festival world have one thing to say: hell yeah.
(run in the May issue of West Michigan Noise)
Friday, March 18, 2011
On the Enduring Popularity of Hootie and the Blowfish in West Michigan
This morning I was enjoying a mug of Water Street coffee at a quintessentially Kalamazooian breakfast nook. This the kind of place that namedrops a specific grandmother for her sausage-gravy recipe on the menu, and has historic photos of prominent local buildings tacked onto the exposed-brick walls; the kind of place where the employees know nearly everyone who comes in, including myself and my breakfast companion, by name; the kind of place where the mailman strolls in to leave the mail by the register and you hear a disembodied (but sincere) "THANK YOU!" emanate from across the restaurant.
After Manfred Mann's cover of "Blinded by the Light," (which plays, inexplicably, at some point during every single visit to said breakfast establishment) we hear the first jingly chords of Hootie and the Blowfish's "Only Wanna Be With You." There's a palpable buzz in the air and I overhear a waitress singing along; looking across to the opposite row of booths, I see a hippie couple smile, nod, and begin to jam.
Fun fact: Hootie and the Blowfish's 1994 debut Cracked Rear View is currently the 15th best-selling album of all time in the United States. It went platinum a mind-boggling 16 times. So, chalk it up, if you will, to this: that Cracked Rear View was a 90s phenomenon, filled with laid-back, singalong-ready singles designed to not only appeal to the masses but to allow Yuppie white-collar types a chance to fulfill, if only for the 45-minute duration of the album, the hippie fantasies that abounded so readily in the 90s, when late-60s-style counterculture was experiencing a revitalizing gasp of fresh air (thanks, Phish). The 90s Yuppie patted himself on the back for digging such breezy tunes, as it felt for him that this was his way of getting in touch with his Earthy, soulful side, and his way of exorcising the specific brand of mania that only 9-to-5 office rats experience. This phenomenon would later reach new heights with the release of Dave Matthews' Crash.
Somewhere in between the shimmering major-chord progression and one of Ruckers' infamously non-enunciated choruses ("Ah-onleh-wanna-be-wi' YOUUUUU") the waitress returns to take our order: for me, a veggie "Smothered and Covered"-- a delicious dish including a glorious hash of veggies, eggs, and potatoes, and perhaps an allusion to to HATB's compilation of almost the exact same name? Very provocative indeed.
So, not unlike the many, many albums just like it (in terms of popularity), Cracked Rear View-- and its signature singles, still in fairly regular rotation on pop stations today (like my personal favorite, the innocuous "Hold My Hand")-- is just another boom-and-bust pop album that most people don't even know by name, and HATB, as a band, is all but forgotten by music lovers, and music likers, everywhere. Right? Right.
Well, clearly, except for West Michigan.
You may or may not have noticed that an unusual number of people in the greater Kalamazoo-Grand Rapids have an unusual fondness for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have been lucky enough to have lived a couple of places overseas, have done a little bit of traveling, and can be, at times, a known talker-to-strangers. And while the subject of Hootie and the Blowfish doesn't always come up, it is an observable fact that, although a couple of the singles from HATB's debut album are still a part of the mainstream pop canon, most of the 'outside' world has forgotten HATB and, as a result, all but completely forsaken Darius Rucker's solo career. Still, here we are in Kalamazoo, still diggin' HATB and keeping their singles in the rotation just as strongly as any new single. But why?
I've spoken with many people since I first began noticing this trend, and the theories are sundry. First and foremost is the obvious explanation that Michiganders are notoriously unhip: why shouldn't we cling to Hootie's wholesale pop skylarkings? We are a very "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" culture, after all. Isn't it still 1995 in Michigan anyway?
Less snarky explanations also abound among some theorists, and many simply don't even believe that we are the last culture who still thoroughly enjoys Hootie.
Another theory, popular among many studying the Hootie/Kzoo correlation phenomenon is that a female host of the 90s morning show from Kalamazoo's Top 40 Station, WKFR, was rumored to have had a fling of sorts with Darius Rucker himself. Subscribers to this theory maintain that because of her affinity for Rucker, HATB received even more air time in the Kalamazoo area than he did in other parts of the country; in time, it became so ingrained within us that we began to crave Hootie's charming ditties hourly. Supposedly this claim is rooted in truth, but I am yet to discover any indisputable evidence to support this claim.
Whatever the case, this is a phenomenon that, had you not noticed it before, you will probably observe yourself from time to time. Regardless of how crazy I may or may not sound, I still maintain that at any point in time in Kalamazoo, there is at least one public establishment somewhere in the city in which you can hear one of Hootie's blissfully noncontroversial tunes that we Kalamazooians will probably argue shaped the entire 90s pop-music paradigm.
After Manfred Mann's cover of "Blinded by the Light," (which plays, inexplicably, at some point during every single visit to said breakfast establishment) we hear the first jingly chords of Hootie and the Blowfish's "Only Wanna Be With You." There's a palpable buzz in the air and I overhear a waitress singing along; looking across to the opposite row of booths, I see a hippie couple smile, nod, and begin to jam.
Fun fact: Hootie and the Blowfish's 1994 debut Cracked Rear View is currently the 15th best-selling album of all time in the United States. It went platinum a mind-boggling 16 times. So, chalk it up, if you will, to this: that Cracked Rear View was a 90s phenomenon, filled with laid-back, singalong-ready singles designed to not only appeal to the masses but to allow Yuppie white-collar types a chance to fulfill, if only for the 45-minute duration of the album, the hippie fantasies that abounded so readily in the 90s, when late-60s-style counterculture was experiencing a revitalizing gasp of fresh air (thanks, Phish). The 90s Yuppie patted himself on the back for digging such breezy tunes, as it felt for him that this was his way of getting in touch with his Earthy, soulful side, and his way of exorcising the specific brand of mania that only 9-to-5 office rats experience. This phenomenon would later reach new heights with the release of Dave Matthews' Crash.
Somewhere in between the shimmering major-chord progression and one of Ruckers' infamously non-enunciated choruses ("Ah-onleh-wanna-be-wi' YOUUUUU") the waitress returns to take our order: for me, a veggie "Smothered and Covered"-- a delicious dish including a glorious hash of veggies, eggs, and potatoes, and perhaps an allusion to to HATB's compilation of almost the exact same name? Very provocative indeed.
So, not unlike the many, many albums just like it (in terms of popularity), Cracked Rear View-- and its signature singles, still in fairly regular rotation on pop stations today (like my personal favorite, the innocuous "Hold My Hand")-- is just another boom-and-bust pop album that most people don't even know by name, and HATB, as a band, is all but forgotten by music lovers, and music likers, everywhere. Right? Right.
Well, clearly, except for West Michigan.
You may or may not have noticed that an unusual number of people in the greater Kalamazoo-Grand Rapids have an unusual fondness for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have been lucky enough to have lived a couple of places overseas, have done a little bit of traveling, and can be, at times, a known talker-to-strangers. And while the subject of Hootie and the Blowfish doesn't always come up, it is an observable fact that, although a couple of the singles from HATB's debut album are still a part of the mainstream pop canon, most of the 'outside' world has forgotten HATB and, as a result, all but completely forsaken Darius Rucker's solo career. Still, here we are in Kalamazoo, still diggin' HATB and keeping their singles in the rotation just as strongly as any new single. But why?
I've spoken with many people since I first began noticing this trend, and the theories are sundry. First and foremost is the obvious explanation that Michiganders are notoriously unhip: why shouldn't we cling to Hootie's wholesale pop skylarkings? We are a very "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" culture, after all. Isn't it still 1995 in Michigan anyway?
Less snarky explanations also abound among some theorists, and many simply don't even believe that we are the last culture who still thoroughly enjoys Hootie.
Another theory, popular among many studying the Hootie/Kzoo correlation phenomenon is that a female host of the 90s morning show from Kalamazoo's Top 40 Station, WKFR, was rumored to have had a fling of sorts with Darius Rucker himself. Subscribers to this theory maintain that because of her affinity for Rucker, HATB received even more air time in the Kalamazoo area than he did in other parts of the country; in time, it became so ingrained within us that we began to crave Hootie's charming ditties hourly. Supposedly this claim is rooted in truth, but I am yet to discover any indisputable evidence to support this claim.
Whatever the case, this is a phenomenon that, had you not noticed it before, you will probably observe yourself from time to time. Regardless of how crazy I may or may not sound, I still maintain that at any point in time in Kalamazoo, there is at least one public establishment somewhere in the city in which you can hear one of Hootie's blissfully noncontroversial tunes that we Kalamazooians will probably argue shaped the entire 90s pop-music paradigm.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Kalamazoo Destruct: the 'Alternative' Alternative
[Ed. note: a version of this story ran in the Feb issue of West Michigan NOISE!; here is the full story, and a reminder that KD is still throwing parties/ shows almost every week... so get out and shake that moneymakah]
“I just wanna dance. Is that a crime?” –J.Lo (2002)
I admit: I thought I knew the Kalamazoo scene. But after an in-depth interview with some of the folks behind Kalamazoo Destruct—a new event series sweeping Kalamazoo, featuring a kaleidoscopic array of dance-oriented music—I discovered not only an entire enclave of music in Kalamazoo’s past and present, but the passion of the artists who make it happen.
It would be easy to call it “electronica” or even “techno,” but the deejays I spoke with, the brains of the Kalamazoo Destruct operation—Alexander Roelandt (Mr. Shed), Dustin Alexander (Baby D), and Tahif Attiek (Nunca Duerma)—are not your stereotypical “techno deejays:” the white sunglasses; the flashy outfits; the frosted hair. These are not only professional, but truly smart dudes—and not just about music. They ruminated on the history of electronica in the Kalamazoo scene and abroad; they’ve organized a series of hugely successful events that not only create an alternative party scenario to the average, rock-dominated “bar scene,” and used these events to give back to the community (the guys of KD recently discounted cover charges at a show in exchange for canned goods, which they donated to the Food Bank). They schooled me on everything from Kzoo’s warehouse-rave days to their methods of onstage mixing, and in the end, Roelandt, Alexander, and Attiek gave me an entirely new perspective on a scene I thought I knew.
On behalf of the Kalamazoo Destruct crew, Roelandt prefaced the interview by making sure we were on the same page with term usage: “When asking questions just for clarification purposes, we would rather you use the words ‘electronic music’ or ‘EDM’ instead of words like ‘electro.’ That usually refers to a specific type of electronic music and we want people to know that our shows contain all types of electronic music.” It became immediately clear to me that these guys meant business.
As well they should. All three of these guys have studied the art of mixing and have a rich array of influences—between the three of them, they list a staggering variety of artists from Detroit and Chicago house artists to P-funk to Claude Von Stroke and J Dilla—that make the Kalamazoo Destruct shows not only unique, but truly entertaining. “My grandfather gave me a large collection of music he used to listen to when he was my age,” said Attiek. “He gave me his crate of vinyl that he never listens to and I’ve been slowly working through that.” Alexander notes that
his musical career began when he played violin, guitar, and upright bass as a kid.
“Kalamazoo Destruct, as a reoccurring event, really took off in June of 2010,” explains Roelandt. “From there, Tahif and I agreed we worked well together and had the resources to throw quality events in our city. Fortunately for us, we had a lot of support from the start. It can be said that many people were waiting for this to happen in Kalamazoo. After the first couple of shows, we brought in our third member, Dustin Alexander who recently moved here from the Detroit Metro Area. Having three members [who were] into different types of music has helped us achieve our initial goal of creating a multi-genre electronic music night that appeals to a lot of people in Kalamazoo that would normally only be involved with their own cliques.”
As a result of the shows’ popularity with both fans and artists, the Kalamazoo Destruct series has fostered a growth within the local electronic “scene” which no one had anticipated. “Our initial goal was to bring a successful electronic music night to Kalamazoo, not the whole scene. Not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t think we had the ability to. Now we see that we can act as a catalyst to keep the scene alive with everyone’s help. It’s our future goal to keep this night alive and well as long as possible, and our even bigger goal [is] to keep the scene alive and well as long as possible,” says Alexander.
As it turns out, Kalamazoo is actually the perfect place for a thriving electronic music scene. “Kalamazoo is right in the middle [of] Detroit and Chicago, the two most important cities for electronic music,” explains Roelandt. “It’s the perfect place to combine the influences of house and techno. The thing most people don’t realize is that Kalamazoo has a rich history of electronic music. In fact, to many record collectors, ‘Kalamazoo Techno’ is known as a subgenre in its own right.
Roelandt then dives into an impressively detailed history lesson about a record label established in Kalamazoo, Black Nation Records, which would become an important part of techno history. “Black Nation Records was established in 1992 in Kalamazoo by Jay Denham after completing several original productions and remixes for Detroit’s Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May,” Roelandt said. “The records released on this Kalamazoo label gained worldwide attention, and allowed some of Black Nation’s artists to tour over the world.”
“Black Nation… spearheaded the scene, but many extremely reputable artists have come and gone through the underground scene here in Kalamazoo,” added Alexander. “Many people have tried to throw parties in Kalamazoo with some really great artists and great intentions, but they didn’t quite take off because of the volatile and ever-changing vibe of the music community here. We would really like to see a more reciprocal approach to the electronic music party scene; we’d
like to see a lot of cross influencing going on and less competition, and I think Kalamazoo is really on its way to exactly that.”
Alexander, who opened for legendary hip-hop deejay Afrika Bambaataa in January, performs on an analog system, spinning actual vinyl as opposed to a digital setup. He notes the importance of recognizing that the purpose of Kalamazoo Destruct is to unify a wide variety of artists and sounds for which “electronic music” is too broad a term: “It’s like saying ‘I like rock.’ The next question would be ‘what kind of rock?’ The same goes for electronic music… you probably wouldn’t see the same crowd at a Death Cab for Cutie show as you would for a band like Poison
or Nickelback. So what usually happens is that there are many different factions of electronic music that are just as divided as in any other broad musical form.
What Kalamazoo Destruct is trying to do is bring them all together to highlight the one thing that really does set them apart from fans of other music. They dance more, fight less, and party harder.”
“I just wanna dance. Is that a crime?” –J.Lo (2002)
I admit: I thought I knew the Kalamazoo scene. But after an in-depth interview with some of the folks behind Kalamazoo Destruct—a new event series sweeping Kalamazoo, featuring a kaleidoscopic array of dance-oriented music—I discovered not only an entire enclave of music in Kalamazoo’s past and present, but the passion of the artists who make it happen.
It would be easy to call it “electronica” or even “techno,” but the deejays I spoke with, the brains of the Kalamazoo Destruct operation—Alexander Roelandt (Mr. Shed), Dustin Alexander (Baby D), and Tahif Attiek (Nunca Duerma)—are not your stereotypical “techno deejays:” the white sunglasses; the flashy outfits; the frosted hair. These are not only professional, but truly smart dudes—and not just about music. They ruminated on the history of electronica in the Kalamazoo scene and abroad; they’ve organized a series of hugely successful events that not only create an alternative party scenario to the average, rock-dominated “bar scene,” and used these events to give back to the community (the guys of KD recently discounted cover charges at a show in exchange for canned goods, which they donated to the Food Bank). They schooled me on everything from Kzoo’s warehouse-rave days to their methods of onstage mixing, and in the end, Roelandt, Alexander, and Attiek gave me an entirely new perspective on a scene I thought I knew.
On behalf of the Kalamazoo Destruct crew, Roelandt prefaced the interview by making sure we were on the same page with term usage: “When asking questions just for clarification purposes, we would rather you use the words ‘electronic music’ or ‘EDM’ instead of words like ‘electro.’ That usually refers to a specific type of electronic music and we want people to know that our shows contain all types of electronic music.” It became immediately clear to me that these guys meant business.
As well they should. All three of these guys have studied the art of mixing and have a rich array of influences—between the three of them, they list a staggering variety of artists from Detroit and Chicago house artists to P-funk to Claude Von Stroke and J Dilla—that make the Kalamazoo Destruct shows not only unique, but truly entertaining. “My grandfather gave me a large collection of music he used to listen to when he was my age,” said Attiek. “He gave me his crate of vinyl that he never listens to and I’ve been slowly working through that.” Alexander notes that
his musical career began when he played violin, guitar, and upright bass as a kid.
“Kalamazoo Destruct, as a reoccurring event, really took off in June of 2010,” explains Roelandt. “From there, Tahif and I agreed we worked well together and had the resources to throw quality events in our city. Fortunately for us, we had a lot of support from the start. It can be said that many people were waiting for this to happen in Kalamazoo. After the first couple of shows, we brought in our third member, Dustin Alexander who recently moved here from the Detroit Metro Area. Having three members [who were] into different types of music has helped us achieve our initial goal of creating a multi-genre electronic music night that appeals to a lot of people in Kalamazoo that would normally only be involved with their own cliques.”
As a result of the shows’ popularity with both fans and artists, the Kalamazoo Destruct series has fostered a growth within the local electronic “scene” which no one had anticipated. “Our initial goal was to bring a successful electronic music night to Kalamazoo, not the whole scene. Not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t think we had the ability to. Now we see that we can act as a catalyst to keep the scene alive with everyone’s help. It’s our future goal to keep this night alive and well as long as possible, and our even bigger goal [is] to keep the scene alive and well as long as possible,” says Alexander.
As it turns out, Kalamazoo is actually the perfect place for a thriving electronic music scene. “Kalamazoo is right in the middle [of] Detroit and Chicago, the two most important cities for electronic music,” explains Roelandt. “It’s the perfect place to combine the influences of house and techno. The thing most people don’t realize is that Kalamazoo has a rich history of electronic music. In fact, to many record collectors, ‘Kalamazoo Techno’ is known as a subgenre in its own right.
Roelandt then dives into an impressively detailed history lesson about a record label established in Kalamazoo, Black Nation Records, which would become an important part of techno history. “Black Nation Records was established in 1992 in Kalamazoo by Jay Denham after completing several original productions and remixes for Detroit’s Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May,” Roelandt said. “The records released on this Kalamazoo label gained worldwide attention, and allowed some of Black Nation’s artists to tour over the world.”
“Black Nation… spearheaded the scene, but many extremely reputable artists have come and gone through the underground scene here in Kalamazoo,” added Alexander. “Many people have tried to throw parties in Kalamazoo with some really great artists and great intentions, but they didn’t quite take off because of the volatile and ever-changing vibe of the music community here. We would really like to see a more reciprocal approach to the electronic music party scene; we’d
like to see a lot of cross influencing going on and less competition, and I think Kalamazoo is really on its way to exactly that.”
Alexander, who opened for legendary hip-hop deejay Afrika Bambaataa in January, performs on an analog system, spinning actual vinyl as opposed to a digital setup. He notes the importance of recognizing that the purpose of Kalamazoo Destruct is to unify a wide variety of artists and sounds for which “electronic music” is too broad a term: “It’s like saying ‘I like rock.’ The next question would be ‘what kind of rock?’ The same goes for electronic music… you probably wouldn’t see the same crowd at a Death Cab for Cutie show as you would for a band like Poison
or Nickelback. So what usually happens is that there are many different factions of electronic music that are just as divided as in any other broad musical form.
What Kalamazoo Destruct is trying to do is bring them all together to highlight the one thing that really does set them apart from fans of other music. They dance more, fight less, and party harder.”
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
On Blowing My Interview With SPIN Magazine.
"…that’s what Einstein said, if it has a flaw and its irreparable turn it into a feature. If you’re always burning the pancakes, put it on the marquee. Burnt Pancakes, 99 Cents." --Tom Waits
“…That’d be like staking my entire career on rolling a six right now.”
I imagined my expression, like a 6-year-old kid amazed at some mundane but no less miraculous wonder of life. I had rolled a six. I had been calculating my odds aloud, slouched over my friend’s ash-covered coffee table and nervously toggling the stray objects with my fingertips.
When the six hit the table I met his expression, which was slightly less exuberant than mine. I believed in superstition and, above all things, I believed in signs. He, always the realist, just saw a six.
I’ve always believed that if there is a hell, each person perceives it specifically to his or her own worst possible scenario. And I discovered on the night of my phone interview with SPIN magazine that my own personal “hell scenario” will be the following: Groundhog’s Day-style, I will be perpetually stuck on the snowy evening of Friday, January 14th ; on which I will leave my terrible and cruelly-located office job, sliding through the hazardous sludge and the even more hazardous winter drivers, sick with the weight of my entire future in the pit of my stomach. My dream job. A music editorial writer with SPIN magazine.
The cool Rolling Stone.
The phone call to determine whether or not I would get the job I had been dreaming of since I had seen Almost Famous when I was fifteen.
I fishtailed up my icy driveway and scurried up the slumping wooden stairs to my bedroom, checking the time on my phone. He was late-- the ‘associate editor’ with whom I would interview-- and I spent the last remaining minutes ratting off cool albums that I’d need to say that I liked; reasons why I liked them; my ‘impressive’ interview and editorial history.
The truth was I had only been writing for a couple of years. I started my blog as an anonymous and somewhat sharp-tongued shock-critic who hid behind not only my anonymity, but the harsh honesty for which I would come to be known. This made me fewer friends than enemies in my small local scene, and I had paid for it on more than one occasion. But in that time, I had not only started cultivating a narrative voice on which I hope(d) to build a career, but soothed the scathing rhetoric that I had hoped would come off as wit, and the result was a body of work of which I was fairly proud.
So, for some reason, I had felt that I was ready. I had sent my SPIN Internship Application pack (clips; cover letter; resume; etc etc) several months before and, truth be told, I had completely forgotten about it when I got the e-mail that I was a finalist for the internship. The editor said that we, the finalists (seventeen, including myself), were to be issued a “test” within the next three days, which we would have “a couple days” to complete. It was a simple test: three story pitches; one of which we had to actually write.
After much deliberation, I chose the following three pitches: one, a retrospective photo gallery of the life and times of Dr. Dre in celebration of his February album debut; two, coverage of Social Distortion’s new release “Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes;” and three, a tour photo gallery of the then-touring indie quasi-supergroup Bad Books. Naturally, the piece I wrote was the Dr. Dre one.
Miraculously, SPIN loved it and, a couple of e-mails later, set up an interview with me.
I had been streetviewing NYC apartments on Google for about a week, calculating feasible bus-and-subway commuter routes to downtown Manhattan from nearly all corners of the city, when William called me for the first time. I kept it surprisingly cool for the first half or so of the interview. I had been thinking endlessly about angles to take (I work in marketing, after all) for days and, weighing the options (should I be the “I’m cool enough to be in New York” Midwesterner, or the “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life” Midwesterner?) decided to play it cool-- “just be yourself” was the only winning argument in every self-debate, in that frustratingly rational and yet impossible way.
After a few predictable questions, my decidedly “natural” and, yet, awkwardly formal responses (“Well, I like to think that many of my story ideas are not just focused on the subject itself, but more ruminating on the larger ideas of…”) I felt my words palpably slipping off of my tongue and had a sort of out-of-body experience. What was I doing? I was on the phone with fucking SPIN magazine. This was it. I was rolling the dice.
And that’s when I lost it. I think I blacked out a little bit, because I don’t remember most of the conversation. I remember him asking me the question that was my undoing. “What were your favorite albums of 2010?”
Truth was, it was a simple enough question. And the truth was that I not only had legitimate answers-- I really did listen to music! I really did like it, too!-- but I had backup answers too, just in case. Still, all that came out was, “Uhhh… um…..” and after several seconds I managed to begin to talk about Gorillaz’ “Plastic Beach,” and, just in the nick of time, uttered “Broken Bells… you know, that project with (gulp) Danger Mouse and…”--what the fuck was that guy’s name?!-- “James Mercer…”
The rest of the interview was excruciating, and the truth was I came off like a pathetic fucking townie. After my pathetically trite namedrops and mumbling something about local bands, I knew it was over; I could see New York in the distance, Lady Liberty waving goodbye from deep within a cloud of smog.
So even if I had rolled a six, it was still just a six-- just a number like the other five... not the right one. And yet I was somewhat hopeful. Those I had told about the possibility of my employment with SPIN (very few, “just in case”) were supportive and lent a million much-appreciated “their loss” hugs, sentiment, empathic proverbial claps on the back. All the same, I sunk into a deep creative depression which affected every aspect of my artistic life-- my music writing, my poetry, prose, and music itself took the brunt of the pain of my rejection, and, though I brushed it off with that same prescribed disaffected attitude that I had hoped would land me the job, I couldn’t help but feel like I was nothing more or less than the pathetic fucking townie that SPIN Magazine didn’t want to hire.
But it’s been a couple of months, and I’m fine. I took a step to renew the lapsing domain on TVJ and that simple act has given me a new lease on life: I’m finally ready to accept that, townie or not, I had a shot at my dream. I missed-- fuck, I blew it; no way around it-- but I’ve finally taken the steps to move on, to brush myself off and really-- actually-- be myself. No… just be. The rest will come as it may.
Burnt pancakes. 99 cents.
“…That’d be like staking my entire career on rolling a six right now.”
I imagined my expression, like a 6-year-old kid amazed at some mundane but no less miraculous wonder of life. I had rolled a six. I had been calculating my odds aloud, slouched over my friend’s ash-covered coffee table and nervously toggling the stray objects with my fingertips.
When the six hit the table I met his expression, which was slightly less exuberant than mine. I believed in superstition and, above all things, I believed in signs. He, always the realist, just saw a six.
I’ve always believed that if there is a hell, each person perceives it specifically to his or her own worst possible scenario. And I discovered on the night of my phone interview with SPIN magazine that my own personal “hell scenario” will be the following: Groundhog’s Day-style, I will be perpetually stuck on the snowy evening of Friday, January 14th ; on which I will leave my terrible and cruelly-located office job, sliding through the hazardous sludge and the even more hazardous winter drivers, sick with the weight of my entire future in the pit of my stomach. My dream job. A music editorial writer with SPIN magazine.
The cool Rolling Stone.
The phone call to determine whether or not I would get the job I had been dreaming of since I had seen Almost Famous when I was fifteen.
I fishtailed up my icy driveway and scurried up the slumping wooden stairs to my bedroom, checking the time on my phone. He was late-- the ‘associate editor’ with whom I would interview-- and I spent the last remaining minutes ratting off cool albums that I’d need to say that I liked; reasons why I liked them; my ‘impressive’ interview and editorial history.
The truth was I had only been writing for a couple of years. I started my blog as an anonymous and somewhat sharp-tongued shock-critic who hid behind not only my anonymity, but the harsh honesty for which I would come to be known. This made me fewer friends than enemies in my small local scene, and I had paid for it on more than one occasion. But in that time, I had not only started cultivating a narrative voice on which I hope(d) to build a career, but soothed the scathing rhetoric that I had hoped would come off as wit, and the result was a body of work of which I was fairly proud.
So, for some reason, I had felt that I was ready. I had sent my SPIN Internship Application pack (clips; cover letter; resume; etc etc) several months before and, truth be told, I had completely forgotten about it when I got the e-mail that I was a finalist for the internship. The editor said that we, the finalists (seventeen, including myself), were to be issued a “test” within the next three days, which we would have “a couple days” to complete. It was a simple test: three story pitches; one of which we had to actually write.
After much deliberation, I chose the following three pitches: one, a retrospective photo gallery of the life and times of Dr. Dre in celebration of his February album debut; two, coverage of Social Distortion’s new release “Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes;” and three, a tour photo gallery of the then-touring indie quasi-supergroup Bad Books. Naturally, the piece I wrote was the Dr. Dre one.
Miraculously, SPIN loved it and, a couple of e-mails later, set up an interview with me.
I had been streetviewing NYC apartments on Google for about a week, calculating feasible bus-and-subway commuter routes to downtown Manhattan from nearly all corners of the city, when William called me for the first time. I kept it surprisingly cool for the first half or so of the interview. I had been thinking endlessly about angles to take (I work in marketing, after all) for days and, weighing the options (should I be the “I’m cool enough to be in New York” Midwesterner, or the “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life” Midwesterner?) decided to play it cool-- “just be yourself” was the only winning argument in every self-debate, in that frustratingly rational and yet impossible way.
After a few predictable questions, my decidedly “natural” and, yet, awkwardly formal responses (“Well, I like to think that many of my story ideas are not just focused on the subject itself, but more ruminating on the larger ideas of…”) I felt my words palpably slipping off of my tongue and had a sort of out-of-body experience. What was I doing? I was on the phone with fucking SPIN magazine. This was it. I was rolling the dice.
And that’s when I lost it. I think I blacked out a little bit, because I don’t remember most of the conversation. I remember him asking me the question that was my undoing. “What were your favorite albums of 2010?”
Truth was, it was a simple enough question. And the truth was that I not only had legitimate answers-- I really did listen to music! I really did like it, too!-- but I had backup answers too, just in case. Still, all that came out was, “Uhhh… um…..” and after several seconds I managed to begin to talk about Gorillaz’ “Plastic Beach,” and, just in the nick of time, uttered “Broken Bells… you know, that project with (gulp) Danger Mouse and…”--what the fuck was that guy’s name?!-- “James Mercer…”
The rest of the interview was excruciating, and the truth was I came off like a pathetic fucking townie. After my pathetically trite namedrops and mumbling something about local bands, I knew it was over; I could see New York in the distance, Lady Liberty waving goodbye from deep within a cloud of smog.
So even if I had rolled a six, it was still just a six-- just a number like the other five... not the right one. And yet I was somewhat hopeful. Those I had told about the possibility of my employment with SPIN (very few, “just in case”) were supportive and lent a million much-appreciated “their loss” hugs, sentiment, empathic proverbial claps on the back. All the same, I sunk into a deep creative depression which affected every aspect of my artistic life-- my music writing, my poetry, prose, and music itself took the brunt of the pain of my rejection, and, though I brushed it off with that same prescribed disaffected attitude that I had hoped would land me the job, I couldn’t help but feel like I was nothing more or less than the pathetic fucking townie that SPIN Magazine didn’t want to hire.
But it’s been a couple of months, and I’m fine. I took a step to renew the lapsing domain on TVJ and that simple act has given me a new lease on life: I’m finally ready to accept that, townie or not, I had a shot at my dream. I missed-- fuck, I blew it; no way around it-- but I’ve finally taken the steps to move on, to brush myself off and really-- actually-- be myself. No… just be. The rest will come as it may.
Burnt pancakes. 99 cents.
How to Deal with the Musician in Your Life
So you’ve got a musician on your hands. And it’s not so bad… he’s always toting his guitar to backyard barbeques and beach bonfires; he’s always in the mood to party; he tells cool stories, like that time his band opened for that one band who’s actually kinda famous now (and how they were huge jerks). He’s actually pretty fun to be around.
But sometimes it gets to be a little much. He’s always making noise—sit still, dude!— he’s always wasted (or hungover), and he won’t stop telling that same story about that time he played with that one band who’s not really that big of a deal.
As someone who was mesmerized by music from the time I first grasped the concept of sound, I myself couldn’t help picking up instruments and, after several petty dabblings, set up camp with a cheap acoustic guitar I bought on QVC (thanks, Esteban!) in my early teenage years.
Since then, I’ve not only upgraded my gear (thankfully), but have picked up a little wisdom on interactions between us musicians and, well… normal people. Here’s a handy guide on how to deal with any musician you might have in your life.
Your significant other. Let’s face it: musicians are sexy. There’s a mystique unmatched by any other breed of human. So it’s no surprise you were attracted to your musician. And kudos! We’re not always easy to land—commitment tends to freak us out. And rightfully so; many of us bounce from one city to the next night after night—whether to play our own shows, or follow whatever band we’re obsessed with at the moment—and it can be difficult to… er… keep track of us.
But relax: musicians are among the most passionate people in the world, which means that when we love you, we really love you. Hell, we’re swarmed with fans after our shows (at least in our own minds) and we still go home to you at night. But the thing you have to understand is that we are at our most sublime with our arms wrapped around our favorite six-string. And even if you’re feeling “second fiddle” (pun intended) hopefully, it will all be worth it when you hear those words you’ve been dying to hear, the reason you put up with us in the first place: “I wrote this song for you.”
Your employee. Congratulations! You’ve moved up in the corporate world and you’re looking to fill that entry-level position. Odds are, you’ve got broke musicians lined up around the block, desperate for a steady paycheck.
After what seems like a million interviews with a billion red flags (“Uhhh, do you guys drug test?”) you’ve found a soft-spoken gal who plays banjo in a bluegrass band and loves Phish. What a sweetie!
You’ll be pleased and surprised to know that musicians are highly employable! Playing in a band requires an unbelievable amount of dedication, perseverance, and hard work. It is truly the epitome of teamwork: long nights of band practice mean that we’re experts in the art of trial-and-error, and masters of the everlasting problem of compromise. We’re well-versed in patience, communication, and time management (hey—being in a band really is another job!).
The bottom line: once you weed out the scumbags, getting a musician to work for you is one of the smartest business decisions that you’re going to make this year (yes—this is likely temporary. As aforementioned, we’re not big on commitment.)
Your roommate. Oh, now you’ve done it. You moved in with a musician. It was super at first! He was throwing the best parties, bringing home some really nice ladies (and their friends) and you totally dug it.
But it’s been awhile and it’s gotten old. He’s always sloppily “shredding” in the next room when you’re trying to enjoy your Dexter (Gilmore Girls) marathons. He’s always coming and going through the house at all hours, banging his way up the stairs with armfuls of gear, and, instead of ladies all the time, he’s bringing home increasingly shady jam-mates and you just generally have no idea what his deal is.
But, you have to admit: he’s really kinda nice. He knows when he’s doing you wrong and always makes up for it somehow: he gets you into shows—usually his shows, where you’re cool by association (and isn’t it fun when you’re one of the five people who knows the words to his band’s songs?). He knows every bartender in town (“Did I order a double? Oh wait…”) and has more friends than you dare to try to remember. And there were the parties… and the ladies… and their friends. And even if you had to “f’in work in the morning, bro!”…you know you had fun last night.
The main thing to remember about your musician roommate is even when it seems like he’s being shady… he’s just oblivious.
The bottom line: we’re not normal, and we certainly take some getting used to. But on behalf of musicians everywhere, to the people who put up with us: thanks. You are the reason for our music, and we love you for it.
But sometimes it gets to be a little much. He’s always making noise—sit still, dude!— he’s always wasted (or hungover), and he won’t stop telling that same story about that time he played with that one band who’s not really that big of a deal.
As someone who was mesmerized by music from the time I first grasped the concept of sound, I myself couldn’t help picking up instruments and, after several petty dabblings, set up camp with a cheap acoustic guitar I bought on QVC (thanks, Esteban!) in my early teenage years.
Since then, I’ve not only upgraded my gear (thankfully), but have picked up a little wisdom on interactions between us musicians and, well… normal people. Here’s a handy guide on how to deal with any musician you might have in your life.
Your significant other. Let’s face it: musicians are sexy. There’s a mystique unmatched by any other breed of human. So it’s no surprise you were attracted to your musician. And kudos! We’re not always easy to land—commitment tends to freak us out. And rightfully so; many of us bounce from one city to the next night after night—whether to play our own shows, or follow whatever band we’re obsessed with at the moment—and it can be difficult to… er… keep track of us.
But relax: musicians are among the most passionate people in the world, which means that when we love you, we really love you. Hell, we’re swarmed with fans after our shows (at least in our own minds) and we still go home to you at night. But the thing you have to understand is that we are at our most sublime with our arms wrapped around our favorite six-string. And even if you’re feeling “second fiddle” (pun intended) hopefully, it will all be worth it when you hear those words you’ve been dying to hear, the reason you put up with us in the first place: “I wrote this song for you.”
Your employee. Congratulations! You’ve moved up in the corporate world and you’re looking to fill that entry-level position. Odds are, you’ve got broke musicians lined up around the block, desperate for a steady paycheck.
After what seems like a million interviews with a billion red flags (“Uhhh, do you guys drug test?”) you’ve found a soft-spoken gal who plays banjo in a bluegrass band and loves Phish. What a sweetie!
You’ll be pleased and surprised to know that musicians are highly employable! Playing in a band requires an unbelievable amount of dedication, perseverance, and hard work. It is truly the epitome of teamwork: long nights of band practice mean that we’re experts in the art of trial-and-error, and masters of the everlasting problem of compromise. We’re well-versed in patience, communication, and time management (hey—being in a band really is another job!).
The bottom line: once you weed out the scumbags, getting a musician to work for you is one of the smartest business decisions that you’re going to make this year (yes—this is likely temporary. As aforementioned, we’re not big on commitment.)
Your roommate. Oh, now you’ve done it. You moved in with a musician. It was super at first! He was throwing the best parties, bringing home some really nice ladies (and their friends) and you totally dug it.
But it’s been awhile and it’s gotten old. He’s always sloppily “shredding” in the next room when you’re trying to enjoy your Dexter (Gilmore Girls) marathons. He’s always coming and going through the house at all hours, banging his way up the stairs with armfuls of gear, and, instead of ladies all the time, he’s bringing home increasingly shady jam-mates and you just generally have no idea what his deal is.
But, you have to admit: he’s really kinda nice. He knows when he’s doing you wrong and always makes up for it somehow: he gets you into shows—usually his shows, where you’re cool by association (and isn’t it fun when you’re one of the five people who knows the words to his band’s songs?). He knows every bartender in town (“Did I order a double? Oh wait…”) and has more friends than you dare to try to remember. And there were the parties… and the ladies… and their friends. And even if you had to “f’in work in the morning, bro!”…you know you had fun last night.
The main thing to remember about your musician roommate is even when it seems like he’s being shady… he’s just oblivious.
The bottom line: we’re not normal, and we certainly take some getting used to. But on behalf of musicians everywhere, to the people who put up with us: thanks. You are the reason for our music, and we love you for it.
Five Lost Arts of Music
Let’s face it. It’s the future.
It’s crazy to think, but we’re already a whole decade into the New Millennium (which might have been true last year, too, depending on how you look at it). And that has meant some really cool things, especially in the way of technology; it’s easier to communicate than ever, and for the most part, that is a wonderful thing. Imagine going back in time, and telling people even two generations ago that you can access the internet (good luck explaining that one), store every document on your computer, take pictures and videos, and even make a phone call, all with one device. Imagine telling the first generations of music nerds that we can have our entire music library in our back pocket at any given time… Pretty crazy.
Still, while 21st century living has its perks—when was the last time you had a problem that your cell phone couldn’t solve?—it’s not without its consequences: there are some beautiful traditions that have definitely been lost in translation. While most of us music lovers are still very in touch with the past (such as the new generation of vinylphiles arising in the past five years or so) some traditions—and downright art forms—have been lost to time.
For example:
1.) The mixtape. Long gone are the days of painstakingly patching a true mix tape together; more recently, the Napster days ushered in a new tradition: the mix cd. Generation X is known for its passion and skills in the art of the mixtape (you remember “High Fidelity”). It was more than just choosing the perfect blend of songs; it was piecing them together in an artful order, with graceful genre-crossing and careful transitions, and even designing their own album artwork for the jewel case. The mix not only showcased old faves, and highlighted new or obscure music for the mix’s recipient to discover (or, at the very least, be impressed by) but also, ideally, conveyed a message: anything from “it’s summer; let’s party!” or “I like you like you.” At its best, the mix is a thing of true beauty.
2. )The flyer. Gone are the days of hundreds of flyers plastered on the cork boards of community centers and coffee shops, advertising upcoming shows. These days, bands can simply make a Facebook or MySpace invitation, and send it to their friends, whose friends (and their friends) will inevitably see it too. While this is arguably a more effective means of communication, there is something about the design of a flyer that says a lot about the show and the band who distributed it. Thankfully, some bands are still taking the time to design flyers and using social networking sites to post them, but for the most part, true flyers are mostly a thing of the past.
3.) The secret song. In the old days, it was not uncommon for bands to stick a short “secret” song on an album—usually at the end, long after the last song on the album had faded out—that was not on the album’s track list. While some bands still do this from time to time, it is far less common as bands cope with the reality that many of their fans are downloading their music a song or two at a time rather than purchasing the album itself.
4.) Onstage choreography (especially men). This is taking it waaaay old school. But part of me wishes that some bands still worked that oh-so-subtle choreography into their live show (a la The Temptations). While some of the showboaty rock bands of the 70s and 80s often featured some synchronized thrashing of their guitars (notably, KISS) band choreography is probably destined to stay a long-gone doo wop relic.
5.) Music on TV. People complained for years that MTV and VH1 didn’t show enough music videos. Then, they showed them only at night—in the “wee hours,” when the rest of the networks were playing infomercials and M*A*S*H* reruns. Now, there is rarely a mention of music on MTV, VH1 or any of their many offspring networks. Music videos were once a genre all their own, creating a new level on which to interpret a song. Who could forget the trippy sketch-animation of A-Ha’s “Take On Me” or the epic theatricality of “California Love” (and dare I mention “Thriller”)? Or Blind Melon’s lovable “No Rain?” While the rise of online video media like YouTube has created a new incentive for bands to create memorable videos (OK Go, I see ya’ll) it would still be cool to have a real music TV network.
The best part about lost arts? Lost arts only mean one thing: the potential for revival. So don’t be afraid to use the “Burn Disc” feature on your iTunes (I know you have a dusty stack of CD-Rs somewhere) and make a mixtape for your guy or gal (Valentine’s Day is coming up and mix CDs are a free thoughtful gift!). Don’t be afraid to design a cool flyer to promote your band’s next show. And definitely don’t be afraid to switch off Jersery Shore and cruise music videos on YouTube—they’re still out there!
It’s crazy to think, but we’re already a whole decade into the New Millennium (which might have been true last year, too, depending on how you look at it). And that has meant some really cool things, especially in the way of technology; it’s easier to communicate than ever, and for the most part, that is a wonderful thing. Imagine going back in time, and telling people even two generations ago that you can access the internet (good luck explaining that one), store every document on your computer, take pictures and videos, and even make a phone call, all with one device. Imagine telling the first generations of music nerds that we can have our entire music library in our back pocket at any given time… Pretty crazy.
Still, while 21st century living has its perks—when was the last time you had a problem that your cell phone couldn’t solve?—it’s not without its consequences: there are some beautiful traditions that have definitely been lost in translation. While most of us music lovers are still very in touch with the past (such as the new generation of vinylphiles arising in the past five years or so) some traditions—and downright art forms—have been lost to time.
For example:
1.) The mixtape. Long gone are the days of painstakingly patching a true mix tape together; more recently, the Napster days ushered in a new tradition: the mix cd. Generation X is known for its passion and skills in the art of the mixtape (you remember “High Fidelity”). It was more than just choosing the perfect blend of songs; it was piecing them together in an artful order, with graceful genre-crossing and careful transitions, and even designing their own album artwork for the jewel case. The mix not only showcased old faves, and highlighted new or obscure music for the mix’s recipient to discover (or, at the very least, be impressed by) but also, ideally, conveyed a message: anything from “it’s summer; let’s party!” or “I like you like you.” At its best, the mix is a thing of true beauty.
2. )The flyer. Gone are the days of hundreds of flyers plastered on the cork boards of community centers and coffee shops, advertising upcoming shows. These days, bands can simply make a Facebook or MySpace invitation, and send it to their friends, whose friends (and their friends) will inevitably see it too. While this is arguably a more effective means of communication, there is something about the design of a flyer that says a lot about the show and the band who distributed it. Thankfully, some bands are still taking the time to design flyers and using social networking sites to post them, but for the most part, true flyers are mostly a thing of the past.
3.) The secret song. In the old days, it was not uncommon for bands to stick a short “secret” song on an album—usually at the end, long after the last song on the album had faded out—that was not on the album’s track list. While some bands still do this from time to time, it is far less common as bands cope with the reality that many of their fans are downloading their music a song or two at a time rather than purchasing the album itself.
4.) Onstage choreography (especially men). This is taking it waaaay old school. But part of me wishes that some bands still worked that oh-so-subtle choreography into their live show (a la The Temptations). While some of the showboaty rock bands of the 70s and 80s often featured some synchronized thrashing of their guitars (notably, KISS) band choreography is probably destined to stay a long-gone doo wop relic.
5.) Music on TV. People complained for years that MTV and VH1 didn’t show enough music videos. Then, they showed them only at night—in the “wee hours,” when the rest of the networks were playing infomercials and M*A*S*H* reruns. Now, there is rarely a mention of music on MTV, VH1 or any of their many offspring networks. Music videos were once a genre all their own, creating a new level on which to interpret a song. Who could forget the trippy sketch-animation of A-Ha’s “Take On Me” or the epic theatricality of “California Love” (and dare I mention “Thriller”)? Or Blind Melon’s lovable “No Rain?” While the rise of online video media like YouTube has created a new incentive for bands to create memorable videos (OK Go, I see ya’ll) it would still be cool to have a real music TV network.
The best part about lost arts? Lost arts only mean one thing: the potential for revival. So don’t be afraid to use the “Burn Disc” feature on your iTunes (I know you have a dusty stack of CD-Rs somewhere) and make a mixtape for your guy or gal (Valentine’s Day is coming up and mix CDs are a free thoughtful gift!). Don’t be afraid to design a cool flyer to promote your band’s next show. And definitely don’t be afraid to switch off Jersery Shore and cruise music videos on YouTube—they’re still out there!
Funktion: So Good It'll Flip Your Lid
In the music-journalism world, we’re obsessed with fads. We love passing trends and emerging styles and we love-- love-- being the first person EVER to be into a new band. We love it. So what do we do, then, those times when we don’t want to be “trendy?” Some of us were never meant to be cool in the first place, and simply aren’t equipped to keep up with the ebb and flow of the scene-- whether it be local, national, whatever.
But every once in awhile a band comes along that transcends the need to be everywhere at once and have their name on every flyer in town. These bands are usually a little older-- sorry, more mature-- with gigging savvy and true musical chops. Timeless influences, true musicianship, propensity for evolution as well as that sought-after Originality: these are the rudiments for a veteran band. These are the bands on which any music scene-- in any place-- is built. These are the bands on which younger, more transient bands (the college-radio-played, namedropped venue/critic darlings) come and go, passing over the surface of a scene, forgoing stability for flashpaper fame. But when there’s a band that does stick it out, that manages to retain an identity while continuing to interest their audience, and becomes part of the musical identity of a city, it’s a magical thing. Right now, in Kalamazoo, that band is Funktion.
With several years of shows, minor lineup changes and countless shows under their belts, Funktion is looking pretty good these days. With a tireless gigging schedule, these boys have made their presence known nearly everywhere in southwest Michigan and throughout the Midwest, and though they only played one hometown show in October (which, as of press time, had not occurred), you can usually find them onstage somewhere in Kalamazoo at any given time, and they will be all over Michigan (and beyond) in November and December.
And if you’ve never seen Funktion play… you’re missing out. Funktion has an incredible ability to light up any room they play. Their watertight funk is the ultimate blend of skill and soul, and is sure to rock you inside and out. When they play their home-base venue Union Cabaret & Grille in Kalamazoo, it’s not uncommon to find the otherwise-stuffy “nice bar in town” packed full of people ready to jam, and the four- or five-foot walkway behind the bar transformed into a makeshift dance floor. And if you don’t find yourself at least nodding along, if you don’t feel at least a little loose and funky in your neck and shoulders, and if you’re not kicking up your heels after a Soft Parade or two, then… I don’t know what to tell you.
With a blend of classic New Orleans jazz, ’60s funk and soul, and the rawness and presence of modern-day hip hop and rock, there’s still a magic ingredient in Funktion’s music that makes it irresistible to love, which I am yet to determine. I think it’s drummer Sean Reisig’s flawless urban-jazz flow (think ?uestlove in a super funky mood) or Andrew Schrock’s butter-smooth croon (or how he can still turn it out on a rap from time to time) or, quite possibly, Neal Conway‘s chillingly-smooth basslines. whatever it is, whether or not they choose to remain on the local scene in the future, this is a truly timeless band.
So what the funk are you doing this weekend? These cats are getting their jive on at a variety of venues in November, so grab your flyest chick or daddy-o and go out and swing. Don’t forget your fedora (is it still ironic if you’re actually wearing it to a jazz-y show?).
But every once in awhile a band comes along that transcends the need to be everywhere at once and have their name on every flyer in town. These bands are usually a little older-- sorry, more mature-- with gigging savvy and true musical chops. Timeless influences, true musicianship, propensity for evolution as well as that sought-after Originality: these are the rudiments for a veteran band. These are the bands on which any music scene-- in any place-- is built. These are the bands on which younger, more transient bands (the college-radio-played, namedropped venue/critic darlings) come and go, passing over the surface of a scene, forgoing stability for flashpaper fame. But when there’s a band that does stick it out, that manages to retain an identity while continuing to interest their audience, and becomes part of the musical identity of a city, it’s a magical thing. Right now, in Kalamazoo, that band is Funktion.
With several years of shows, minor lineup changes and countless shows under their belts, Funktion is looking pretty good these days. With a tireless gigging schedule, these boys have made their presence known nearly everywhere in southwest Michigan and throughout the Midwest, and though they only played one hometown show in October (which, as of press time, had not occurred), you can usually find them onstage somewhere in Kalamazoo at any given time, and they will be all over Michigan (and beyond) in November and December.
And if you’ve never seen Funktion play… you’re missing out. Funktion has an incredible ability to light up any room they play. Their watertight funk is the ultimate blend of skill and soul, and is sure to rock you inside and out. When they play their home-base venue Union Cabaret & Grille in Kalamazoo, it’s not uncommon to find the otherwise-stuffy “nice bar in town” packed full of people ready to jam, and the four- or five-foot walkway behind the bar transformed into a makeshift dance floor. And if you don’t find yourself at least nodding along, if you don’t feel at least a little loose and funky in your neck and shoulders, and if you’re not kicking up your heels after a Soft Parade or two, then… I don’t know what to tell you.
With a blend of classic New Orleans jazz, ’60s funk and soul, and the rawness and presence of modern-day hip hop and rock, there’s still a magic ingredient in Funktion’s music that makes it irresistible to love, which I am yet to determine. I think it’s drummer Sean Reisig’s flawless urban-jazz flow (think ?uestlove in a super funky mood) or Andrew Schrock’s butter-smooth croon (or how he can still turn it out on a rap from time to time) or, quite possibly, Neal Conway‘s chillingly-smooth basslines. whatever it is, whether or not they choose to remain on the local scene in the future, this is a truly timeless band.
So what the funk are you doing this weekend? These cats are getting their jive on at a variety of venues in November, so grab your flyest chick or daddy-o and go out and swing. Don’t forget your fedora (is it still ironic if you’re actually wearing it to a jazz-y show?).
Sunday, November 21, 2010
In bars & basements.
Back to the old Junkie "What I Did This Weekend" tradition: a lazy Sunday on which I recap the weekend's events; which I am doing at the moment because I woke up with 1) pink eye 2) a cold 3) a hyper-extended knee and 4) a hangover, and all I can do is write.
But anyway, thanks to a couple of great shows, the past couple days have been considerably less excruciating than this morning.
This Friday night started out just like most others: a capped pint of R&R and a giant styrofoam cup of Dr. Pepper ready to go, hanging out with my friends deliberating about what to do. Someone had heard that Pan was playing a house show on Village (a mere two streets away-- a valuable consideration to be made on a freezing-cold night) and more for "eye candy reasons" than "musical reasons," my troupe and I huddled together in a massive rage-train and hoofed it over to Village Street. My friend Rachel (the designated Motivator and thus, an invaluable Fest Friend) and I are all business in these kind of situations and, knowing only the street and not the actual house address, navigated on intuition alone, but somehow found the place without a hitch, and by the time the first inevitable "Where are we?" emanated from the hot mess that is my group of friends after dark, we were standing inside an awkward house full of hipsters who none of us knew.
Strangely (and somehow, not so) we soon found ourselves bonding over the house's guinea pig (who bore a strange resemblance to a panda) with said strange (i.e. unfamiliar) hipsters and it was only a matter of time before the first band Drawing Mountains began to jam. After the band's request for support in the form of money/ sexual favors they slipped timidly into their first song, leading into a slow-burner of a set that not only held my attention (a more incredible feat than you know) but put me in a kind of trance, a kind of strange and contemplative mood; I was snapped back momentarily when one of my friends tapped me on the shoulder and motioned that they were going upstairs. I stayed and spaced out to Drawing Mountains' set alone, incredibly refreshed by something I haven't heard in a really long time: genuinely good live indie rock. I've found myself going to a lot of electronic music shows lately and I don't know why. It's really the only kind of live show I've been attending (that isn't a jam band, obvs)and I've been kind of startled by that fact when I look at it. But I think the thing is that electro shows are exciting. They're more like parties than shows-- you don't go see a dubstep DJ spin to learn anything new about music or to have a musical experience, necessarily; it's more about having fun. Because a lot of really good bands lack that element in their live show: excitement. Being smart and technical about the music itself can really suck the fun and spontaneity out of a live show, and it's amazing when a band can be a good band and also play a great show that doesn't have you checking your watch before the end of the set. It shouldn't be such a rare thing.
Oh, yeah, and their gear was amazing. I've never seen anyone play a Gibson SG through an Orange rig in a basement in the student ghetto.
But anyway. Being in that basement at that show was a good thing. It felt really good, kinda like this time last year when there were basement shows every weekend and I was always there with whiskey drinks and stubbed toes (ah, nostalgia!). And something about Drawing Mountains' set, in that dark basement full of (very hip) strangers, sent me down a crazy rabbit hole of memories and thoughts that made me extremely happy and grateful to be young and alive (and no, unlike most of the show's patrons, I was not drunk, thanks to a spilling mishap). Which, to me, is the essence of a good show: when you can completely love a show even if-- especially if-- you're sober, alone, and have never heard the music before.
By the time the set was over and I returned to the real world, where my friends were bundling up to traipse to the next party, I felt like I had taken what Drama from Fantasy Factory would call a "life shower"-- equivalent to a nap, cuddling, a workout, or meditation. (And we didn't even stay to see Pan. The fuck?) Making a ridiculous scene, rolling deep and singing Aloe Blacc's "I Need a Dollar" at the top of our lungs as we walked, we ended up at some anonymous house and, in the end, the night culminated in a dance party the likes of which you've never seen. But that's just how we roll.
The following night was a little more legit and, in certain ways, considerably more memorable. Once again I found myself solo at a show: this time, at the Strutt, checking out one of my favorite bands: The Hold Steady. As you can imagine, the room was PACKED (sold out, in fact) with a surprisingly diverse crowd, mostly 20somethings and a handful of mom-and-dad-aged couples. I missed most of the opening band, and in fact am not entirely sure what their name was. But THS's set was amazing, everything I had hoped it would be (though I checked them out at Rothbury in '09, I have never actually seen them in their element: a bar) and more.
It was so good, in fact, and such a sweaty disaster of a situation, that I woke up this morning with a fairly serious eye infection. As aforementioned.
But I learned a really great tip about catching a sold-out, standing-room show, one I never, ever thought would be a good idea: wear heels. Ladies-- perhaps you already knew this, but I'm a Converse or moccasins kind of gal-- a pair of heeled (and preferably badass, as to not get your toes smashed) boots give you an amazing advantage in a male-dominated audience. I stand about 5'8 barefoot, so with a few inches of help, I push 6 feet tall and have the best proverbial seat in standing room, where ever I am. Which is gnarly for a show like the Hold Steady.
Smashing through a set that incorporated ALL of their albums (which I love!)-- rather than just pimping their most recent release, "Heaven is Whenever"-- The Hold Steady threw down their amazingly E-Streety jams and had the Strutt a bigger shitshow than I have literally ever seen it. Craig Finn's delightfully geeky stage presence made me smile and I met a lot of really cool people-- and even had a drank with WMN! staffer/ local celeb Joe Fearnley.
So I guess you could say it was a really incredible weekend. Between the shows and friends and fun, and the ultimate "Me Time" that is spacing out to shows by myself, the total misery of today is 110% worth it.
But anyway, thanks to a couple of great shows, the past couple days have been considerably less excruciating than this morning.
This Friday night started out just like most others: a capped pint of R&R and a giant styrofoam cup of Dr. Pepper ready to go, hanging out with my friends deliberating about what to do. Someone had heard that Pan was playing a house show on Village (a mere two streets away-- a valuable consideration to be made on a freezing-cold night) and more for "eye candy reasons" than "musical reasons," my troupe and I huddled together in a massive rage-train and hoofed it over to Village Street. My friend Rachel (the designated Motivator and thus, an invaluable Fest Friend) and I are all business in these kind of situations and, knowing only the street and not the actual house address, navigated on intuition alone, but somehow found the place without a hitch, and by the time the first inevitable "Where are we?" emanated from the hot mess that is my group of friends after dark, we were standing inside an awkward house full of hipsters who none of us knew.
Strangely (and somehow, not so) we soon found ourselves bonding over the house's guinea pig (who bore a strange resemblance to a panda) with said strange (i.e. unfamiliar) hipsters and it was only a matter of time before the first band Drawing Mountains began to jam. After the band's request for support in the form of money/ sexual favors they slipped timidly into their first song, leading into a slow-burner of a set that not only held my attention (a more incredible feat than you know) but put me in a kind of trance, a kind of strange and contemplative mood; I was snapped back momentarily when one of my friends tapped me on the shoulder and motioned that they were going upstairs. I stayed and spaced out to Drawing Mountains' set alone, incredibly refreshed by something I haven't heard in a really long time: genuinely good live indie rock. I've found myself going to a lot of electronic music shows lately and I don't know why. It's really the only kind of live show I've been attending (that isn't a jam band, obvs)and I've been kind of startled by that fact when I look at it. But I think the thing is that electro shows are exciting. They're more like parties than shows-- you don't go see a dubstep DJ spin to learn anything new about music or to have a musical experience, necessarily; it's more about having fun. Because a lot of really good bands lack that element in their live show: excitement. Being smart and technical about the music itself can really suck the fun and spontaneity out of a live show, and it's amazing when a band can be a good band and also play a great show that doesn't have you checking your watch before the end of the set. It shouldn't be such a rare thing.
Oh, yeah, and their gear was amazing. I've never seen anyone play a Gibson SG through an Orange rig in a basement in the student ghetto.
But anyway. Being in that basement at that show was a good thing. It felt really good, kinda like this time last year when there were basement shows every weekend and I was always there with whiskey drinks and stubbed toes (ah, nostalgia!). And something about Drawing Mountains' set, in that dark basement full of (very hip) strangers, sent me down a crazy rabbit hole of memories and thoughts that made me extremely happy and grateful to be young and alive (and no, unlike most of the show's patrons, I was not drunk, thanks to a spilling mishap). Which, to me, is the essence of a good show: when you can completely love a show even if-- especially if-- you're sober, alone, and have never heard the music before.
By the time the set was over and I returned to the real world, where my friends were bundling up to traipse to the next party, I felt like I had taken what Drama from Fantasy Factory would call a "life shower"-- equivalent to a nap, cuddling, a workout, or meditation. (And we didn't even stay to see Pan. The fuck?) Making a ridiculous scene, rolling deep and singing Aloe Blacc's "I Need a Dollar" at the top of our lungs as we walked, we ended up at some anonymous house and, in the end, the night culminated in a dance party the likes of which you've never seen. But that's just how we roll.
The following night was a little more legit and, in certain ways, considerably more memorable. Once again I found myself solo at a show: this time, at the Strutt, checking out one of my favorite bands: The Hold Steady. As you can imagine, the room was PACKED (sold out, in fact) with a surprisingly diverse crowd, mostly 20somethings and a handful of mom-and-dad-aged couples. I missed most of the opening band, and in fact am not entirely sure what their name was. But THS's set was amazing, everything I had hoped it would be (though I checked them out at Rothbury in '09, I have never actually seen them in their element: a bar) and more.
It was so good, in fact, and such a sweaty disaster of a situation, that I woke up this morning with a fairly serious eye infection. As aforementioned.
But I learned a really great tip about catching a sold-out, standing-room show, one I never, ever thought would be a good idea: wear heels. Ladies-- perhaps you already knew this, but I'm a Converse or moccasins kind of gal-- a pair of heeled (and preferably badass, as to not get your toes smashed) boots give you an amazing advantage in a male-dominated audience. I stand about 5'8 barefoot, so with a few inches of help, I push 6 feet tall and have the best proverbial seat in standing room, where ever I am. Which is gnarly for a show like the Hold Steady.
Smashing through a set that incorporated ALL of their albums (which I love!)-- rather than just pimping their most recent release, "Heaven is Whenever"-- The Hold Steady threw down their amazingly E-Streety jams and had the Strutt a bigger shitshow than I have literally ever seen it. Craig Finn's delightfully geeky stage presence made me smile and I met a lot of really cool people-- and even had a drank with WMN! staffer/ local celeb Joe Fearnley.
So I guess you could say it was a really incredible weekend. Between the shows and friends and fun, and the ultimate "Me Time" that is spacing out to shows by myself, the total misery of today is 110% worth it.
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]
Friday, November 05, 2010
The Ten.
In Michigan, we got our first snowfall, sending me on a downward spiral of uncomfortably grown-up desperation, manifest in somewhat panicky refrains of "where did 2010 go?!"
My tendency to interpret time and life in music means that my memories of this year are mostly cast in sunlit images of too-hot days at festivals, too-cold nights fastwalking home from shows in bars and basements, marveling at the pretty lights (namedrop) that swirled at shows too plentiful to count. I am truly lucky and so stoked to have been alive this year to witness the amazing music that I've seen, and live the incredible life that I have lived this year...
But still, the question remains. (Where did the time go? Where DOES time go?! I'm buggin'...) And the dwindling of this particular year, an awkward decade-straddler, is sending the compartmentalizing, sorting, OCD side of me into a frenzy, and I'm seeing this year, even more than last year, as the end of an era.
From 2000 to today has seen an absurdly dramatic shift in nearly every aspect of life on planet Earth. Never before has time been so precious, in the sense that everything changes so quickly, and in such mindblowing ways. I realized this the other day when, at work, I found myself passive-aggressively "suggesting" that someone update his software, as his was from "two thousand three" and he was having trouble opening documents I was sending to him-- seven years? Really? Are we flying through technology at such a breakneck speed that we literally cannot communicate in terms that span seven years?
And so we radioheads, with our proclivity to communicate in terms of albums, songs, and, now, playlists (I fought it too, but let's be real) must try to make sense of it all. And we shall.
I remember the last song I heard of the 90s, the #1 song of 1999: Xtina's "Genie in a Bottle." Oh, the humanity of the 90s-- the hot trainwreck that was pop music in the late 90s, when all the music world wanted was a numb reprieve from the tension of the music of Kurt Cobain, Tupac, and Biggie Smalls, and then from the pain of their passing. And that's what we got: genies in bottles, granting wishes of schmaltzy braindead pop poured from pretty lips (on a less comical and slightly more cerebral level, the post-grunge of The Presidents, Weezer, and They Might Be Giants, the quenching jams of Phish and DMB, and so on).
In "The 2000s" (still so awkward!)-- the space between the harried, Y2K-fearing existence we knew in the last hours of the truly unfathomable 20th century, and now-- we knew what we wanted: we were a million uncertain pauper Jacks searching for the sonic equivalent of our magical beans, trying to grow not just miracles, but a sense of well-being that we didn't know where else to find: the collective fear and frightening uncertainty and finality of 9/11, the trauma of the Bush administration, a battery of natural and humanitarian disasters... all we wanted was an ephemeral moment of painlessness.
So why, then, was the music of the 2000s some of the most emotional and aware that we have ever seen? Why were we so competitive with one another as listeners; why were we engaged in an arms race for the esoteric? Why did we need to be the first to hear the new "emo" in high school (in my generation), and, when we grew up, the new "indie" bands?
And what the fuck is indie anyway?
But let's not go too far down that rabbit hole. I think one thing we can say for sure is that the music-- all of it-- of the 2000s, focused on catharsis. After all, in this decade, we felt just as much loss as in the 90s: we mourned our sad hero Elliott Smith, and lost legends like Ray Charles and Johnny Cash (and that other guy... what was his name? Michael something). We found ways to soothe our aching bodies, hearts and souls; we found ways to quell the sometimes desperate fear that gripped us when we watched Hurricane Katrina; the Christmas Tsunami; the toppling of a stone Saddam; American flags flying high over obliterated landscapes.
All the while, our shiny, white iTunes screens gave us something beautiful and organized, and pumped inexplicable bliss into our headphoned ears. Chris Carrabba reminded us that love was pain and could be consumingly soothing; Adam Lazzara screamed the same truths that Chris whispered. Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident and Umphrey's McGee sought jam refugees still hurting from Jerry's passing, dissatisfied with the placid and harmless approach of Dave Matthews; and even he upped the ante on "Stand Up." Rock took a serious hit with the dominion of bands like Ni*kleba*k (I refuse to print their name in its entirety) and Kid Rock's self-proclaimed deity status (rock and roll Jesus you are not, sir), but rose to the occasion with new classics like the Black Keys and Kings of Leon. The weirdoes and nerds found their voices in a plethora of genres, styles, and sounds called Indie, and even they were cool (for the time being). And there we were, discussing it, loving it, hyper-analyzing and over-sophisticating music, making sure we dotted and crossed the proverbial i's and t's and downright KNEW everything there was to know. Some of us even became convinced that we could, and should, make a career of it. (...)
But that's what we had to do to survive the 2000s. Because, let's face it. We're scared. We all are. I don't even watch TV anymore because I am so perplexed, appalled, and frightened by the world around me. I know, by osmosis, that Katy Perry got married to Russell Brand last weekend and that Rhianna couldn't go because she had a busy work schedule, and effectively fired her entire staff because it was their fault for scheduling her work. I HATE THAT I KNOW THAT. And I hate that everyone knows that and does not know the first thing about what's going on in their own country, and in the world, as evidenced by the facts of the midterm election which took place on Tuesday-- which saw a record LOW turnout of the young voters; that's right, us, the same ones who stood up for Barack Obama, the same ones who pursued the overturn of Prop 8 and the very same people who will fight to the death for their opinions in stoned, late-night, living-room conversations.
But we were a part of something amazing this decade-- amazing, in its many forms and connotations both good and bad. And that's because we-- as listeners, as musicians, as participants in the greater musical "scene" and movement-- ARE history in the making. If music is our catharsis, our safe place, so be it. This is a crazy time and it's ok to need something to hold on to. Love what you love, and love it well, but make sure that the places that you hide are up to you; the ways in which you hide are up to you; and don't let it be an excuse to numb yourself to the world around you. I mean... if we learned anything from the 90s, it should be just that; using music to numb the pain is ok. Hell, it's even good. But let's keep the genies in their bottles and start making our wishes come true ourselves... musically, politically, or whatever.
My tendency to interpret time and life in music means that my memories of this year are mostly cast in sunlit images of too-hot days at festivals, too-cold nights fastwalking home from shows in bars and basements, marveling at the pretty lights (namedrop) that swirled at shows too plentiful to count. I am truly lucky and so stoked to have been alive this year to witness the amazing music that I've seen, and live the incredible life that I have lived this year...
But still, the question remains. (Where did the time go? Where DOES time go?! I'm buggin'...) And the dwindling of this particular year, an awkward decade-straddler, is sending the compartmentalizing, sorting, OCD side of me into a frenzy, and I'm seeing this year, even more than last year, as the end of an era.
From 2000 to today has seen an absurdly dramatic shift in nearly every aspect of life on planet Earth. Never before has time been so precious, in the sense that everything changes so quickly, and in such mindblowing ways. I realized this the other day when, at work, I found myself passive-aggressively "suggesting" that someone update his software, as his was from "two thousand three" and he was having trouble opening documents I was sending to him-- seven years? Really? Are we flying through technology at such a breakneck speed that we literally cannot communicate in terms that span seven years?
And so we radioheads, with our proclivity to communicate in terms of albums, songs, and, now, playlists (I fought it too, but let's be real) must try to make sense of it all. And we shall.
I remember the last song I heard of the 90s, the #1 song of 1999: Xtina's "Genie in a Bottle." Oh, the humanity of the 90s-- the hot trainwreck that was pop music in the late 90s, when all the music world wanted was a numb reprieve from the tension of the music of Kurt Cobain, Tupac, and Biggie Smalls, and then from the pain of their passing. And that's what we got: genies in bottles, granting wishes of schmaltzy braindead pop poured from pretty lips (on a less comical and slightly more cerebral level, the post-grunge of The Presidents, Weezer, and They Might Be Giants, the quenching jams of Phish and DMB, and so on).
In "The 2000s" (still so awkward!)-- the space between the harried, Y2K-fearing existence we knew in the last hours of the truly unfathomable 20th century, and now-- we knew what we wanted: we were a million uncertain pauper Jacks searching for the sonic equivalent of our magical beans, trying to grow not just miracles, but a sense of well-being that we didn't know where else to find: the collective fear and frightening uncertainty and finality of 9/11, the trauma of the Bush administration, a battery of natural and humanitarian disasters... all we wanted was an ephemeral moment of painlessness.
So why, then, was the music of the 2000s some of the most emotional and aware that we have ever seen? Why were we so competitive with one another as listeners; why were we engaged in an arms race for the esoteric? Why did we need to be the first to hear the new "emo" in high school (in my generation), and, when we grew up, the new "indie" bands?
And what the fuck is indie anyway?
But let's not go too far down that rabbit hole. I think one thing we can say for sure is that the music-- all of it-- of the 2000s, focused on catharsis. After all, in this decade, we felt just as much loss as in the 90s: we mourned our sad hero Elliott Smith, and lost legends like Ray Charles and Johnny Cash (and that other guy... what was his name? Michael something). We found ways to soothe our aching bodies, hearts and souls; we found ways to quell the sometimes desperate fear that gripped us when we watched Hurricane Katrina; the Christmas Tsunami; the toppling of a stone Saddam; American flags flying high over obliterated landscapes.
All the while, our shiny, white iTunes screens gave us something beautiful and organized, and pumped inexplicable bliss into our headphoned ears. Chris Carrabba reminded us that love was pain and could be consumingly soothing; Adam Lazzara screamed the same truths that Chris whispered. Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident and Umphrey's McGee sought jam refugees still hurting from Jerry's passing, dissatisfied with the placid and harmless approach of Dave Matthews; and even he upped the ante on "Stand Up." Rock took a serious hit with the dominion of bands like Ni*kleba*k (I refuse to print their name in its entirety) and Kid Rock's self-proclaimed deity status (rock and roll Jesus you are not, sir), but rose to the occasion with new classics like the Black Keys and Kings of Leon. The weirdoes and nerds found their voices in a plethora of genres, styles, and sounds called Indie, and even they were cool (for the time being). And there we were, discussing it, loving it, hyper-analyzing and over-sophisticating music, making sure we dotted and crossed the proverbial i's and t's and downright KNEW everything there was to know. Some of us even became convinced that we could, and should, make a career of it. (...)
But that's what we had to do to survive the 2000s. Because, let's face it. We're scared. We all are. I don't even watch TV anymore because I am so perplexed, appalled, and frightened by the world around me. I know, by osmosis, that Katy Perry got married to Russell Brand last weekend and that Rhianna couldn't go because she had a busy work schedule, and effectively fired her entire staff because it was their fault for scheduling her work. I HATE THAT I KNOW THAT. And I hate that everyone knows that and does not know the first thing about what's going on in their own country, and in the world, as evidenced by the facts of the midterm election which took place on Tuesday-- which saw a record LOW turnout of the young voters; that's right, us, the same ones who stood up for Barack Obama, the same ones who pursued the overturn of Prop 8 and the very same people who will fight to the death for their opinions in stoned, late-night, living-room conversations.
But we were a part of something amazing this decade-- amazing, in its many forms and connotations both good and bad. And that's because we-- as listeners, as musicians, as participants in the greater musical "scene" and movement-- ARE history in the making. If music is our catharsis, our safe place, so be it. This is a crazy time and it's ok to need something to hold on to. Love what you love, and love it well, but make sure that the places that you hide are up to you; the ways in which you hide are up to you; and don't let it be an excuse to numb yourself to the world around you. I mean... if we learned anything from the 90s, it should be just that; using music to numb the pain is ok. Hell, it's even good. But let's keep the genies in their bottles and start making our wishes come true ourselves... musically, politically, or whatever.
Miracles are real.
I'm calling the Vatican, or Linus from the Peanuts Gang, or Tom Cruise or something, because SOMEONE was right-- God, the Great Pumpkin, L. Ron Hubbard or someone is looking out for me on this miraculous Halloween evening. About this time last week, my beloved Sony Vaio (complete with stickers... I loved it... it was an appendage) inexplicably crashed, apparently due to a faulty hard drive. Maybe I was receiving a karmic ass-kicking for sins unknown; maybe it was just one of those swift-kick-in-the-teeth from fate-- regardless, I promised all aforementioned (and more) deities that if somehow, my Vaio returned unscathed from the teeth of the esoteric "service center" outlined in my warranty, that I would write a column immediately and not stop writing ever, because I would be so grateful to have my laptop back (yes-- I went quite crazy without a machine into which to vent my constant musings).
And while that did NOT happen, I not only magically FOUND my old, dead laptop AND its power cord, but hoping against hope, I pushed the power button and the old dusty POS coughed and sputtered its way back to life like a Baywatch extra after receiving some sexy CPR.
So here it is... my first (miraculous) of what will hopefully be many posts in the coming days. I'm thinking it was You, Great Pumpkin. I always believed in you!
Expect mad posts in the coming days. (Mad= many; not angry).
Much love,
Meg.
And while that did NOT happen, I not only magically FOUND my old, dead laptop AND its power cord, but hoping against hope, I pushed the power button and the old dusty POS coughed and sputtered its way back to life like a Baywatch extra after receiving some sexy CPR.
So here it is... my first (miraculous) of what will hopefully be many posts in the coming days. I'm thinking it was You, Great Pumpkin. I always believed in you!
Expect mad posts in the coming days. (Mad= many; not angry).
Much love,
Meg.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Fall '10. In a word: Crunchy.
...and I'm not talking about the leaves.
Deja vu? Yes-- that was (kind of) the title of my column in West Michigan NOISE! this month; and though I fear being redundant, I'm going to do a slight follow-up to that...
but only because I'm SO excited about the jam scene right now. Not just in town, but everywhere. It seems like the entire national scene, maybe even the world, is becoming obsessed with jam bands-- especially electro-jam (and straight up (loop/sample-based) electronica-- commonly known as "techno"-- as well), dubstep, and house music. And the bands dominating the movement-- EOTO, Umphrey's McGee, Bassnectar, Pretty Lights, Rebelution etc-- are gracing West Michigan stages this fall.
Umphrey's is rocking out Kzoo State Theatre TONIGHT (10/22) and I COULD NOT BE MORE EXCITED. The Pontiffs Maximus of jam, these guys bring the heat to any venue they play and bring mind-blowing, face-melting, (insert-really-good-rock-show-platitude-here) sets every time. I pride myself on knowing a thing or two about a good live show (no ego-- I just care), and these guys are it. *It. The next generation of movements spurred by The Grateful Dead, Allman Brothers, Gov't Mule, Widespread Panic, etc, we might just be witnessing history in the making with Umph's. Move over, WP, there are some new Boys in town.
State Theatre is not known for its rock-shows. It often favors more mellow acts (I've caught Ryan Adams and the incomparable Merle Haggard there before); perhaps because of the size, the layout, the classy decor, or any number of variables....... however, head to GR and you have a plethora of rowdier venues that were built to rock. Example: the Intersection. Housing bands of every persuasion, this venue is known for packing fans in to the seams and turning up the volume into one sweaty jam fest. And this fall, the Intersection is bringing us the bands to quench our thirst for electro-jam and dubstep: already home to acts like SuperDre, it's bringing in Rebelution tomorrow (10/23), dubstep legend Bassnectar the following week (10/29) and one of my top 5 favorite live acts of all time: EOTO!!!!!!!!! (on 11/07).
So check it out. And like I always say: don't forget your dancin' shoes.
Deja vu? Yes-- that was (kind of) the title of my column in West Michigan NOISE! this month; and though I fear being redundant, I'm going to do a slight follow-up to that...
but only because I'm SO excited about the jam scene right now. Not just in town, but everywhere. It seems like the entire national scene, maybe even the world, is becoming obsessed with jam bands-- especially electro-jam (and straight up (loop/sample-based) electronica-- commonly known as "techno"-- as well), dubstep, and house music. And the bands dominating the movement-- EOTO, Umphrey's McGee, Bassnectar, Pretty Lights, Rebelution etc-- are gracing West Michigan stages this fall.
Umphrey's is rocking out Kzoo State Theatre TONIGHT (10/22) and I COULD NOT BE MORE EXCITED. The Pontiffs Maximus of jam, these guys bring the heat to any venue they play and bring mind-blowing, face-melting, (insert-really-good-rock-show-platitude-here) sets every time. I pride myself on knowing a thing or two about a good live show (no ego-- I just care), and these guys are it. *It. The next generation of movements spurred by The Grateful Dead, Allman Brothers, Gov't Mule, Widespread Panic, etc, we might just be witnessing history in the making with Umph's. Move over, WP, there are some new Boys in town.
State Theatre is not known for its rock-shows. It often favors more mellow acts (I've caught Ryan Adams and the incomparable Merle Haggard there before); perhaps because of the size, the layout, the classy decor, or any number of variables....... however, head to GR and you have a plethora of rowdier venues that were built to rock. Example: the Intersection. Housing bands of every persuasion, this venue is known for packing fans in to the seams and turning up the volume into one sweaty jam fest. And this fall, the Intersection is bringing us the bands to quench our thirst for electro-jam and dubstep: already home to acts like SuperDre, it's bringing in Rebelution tomorrow (10/23), dubstep legend Bassnectar the following week (10/29) and one of my top 5 favorite live acts of all time: EOTO!!!!!!!!! (on 11/07).
So check it out. And like I always say: don't forget your dancin' shoes.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
[50]
Yes, this is the 50th post. Not such a big deal (especially since I should have had 50 posts like...... six months ago... you still love me, right?)
Good, 'cause I love you. For reading this and any other shenanigans (WMN! October issue is on newsstands... er countertops, floors, wherever people will let us stash them...) that I force upon you. And so this is dedicated to you, for reading this 50th post (and maybe some of the other 49).
This is really hard and as I'm beginning to write this, the only thing I'm asking myself is how? How are you doing this? And why? but, alas, my Top 50 Artists Right Now (and, in some cases, their stories (as they pertain to me)). (Each will include a songpick and the album on which it appears).
Deep breath in. Here goes. In absolutely no order whatsoever:
50.) Jurassic-5. I had never heard of J5 before I checked out my very first Dave Matthews Band show at the Tweeter Center (now it's named after some cell phone carrier... sad). I was 17 and not into hip-hop at the time, but I was instantly magnetized to the energetic 6-piece (the "5" in their name is a mystery... at least to me) and fell in love with their dancey, old-school beats.
("In The House" from Feedback)
49.) DJ Mark Farina. Mark Farina created one of the most fluent, masterful and ambitious compilations I've ever heard: Mushroom Jazz. Mushroom Jazz is a 5-volume work of art, created by layering a smooth, hip-hop backbeat with jazz and ambient elements and samples. I can't really explain it. But basically if you want almost six hours straight of hip-hop/jazz/ occasional nature sounds and voices (for whatever reason you so choose) from danceable to straight-up chill, you've got it. Mushroom Jazz. The best thing ever.
("Chali 2na Comin' Thru"-Mushroom Jazz V (link not available)... yes, Chali 2na from J5.)
48.) Big Boi. He just put out a solo album this year: Sir Lucious Leftfoot: The Son of Chico Dusty... which is The Shit. I always like to ask people who they like better, Andre or Big... I say Big. Andre is wackier but I think Big's style is often smarter and he has so much to say. I love that a lot of his work is conceptual and character-based; I love the stories you get through his rhymes.
("Tangerine" -SLFL:tSoCD; "The Way You Move"--Speakerboxx (tie))
47.) Outkast. Can I do this? I'm going to. Because I LOVE OUTKAST and I couldn't forget about Andre. Speakerboxx/ The Love Below is my generation's Tommy. I said it. Hootie-hooo!
(title track from Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik... I didn't feel like typing it twice)
46.) The Roots. You might be noticing a pattern. Yes, I love hip hop. And yes, I'm considering another Hip-Hop Week. Thoughts? Anyway... my friend Phil said it best... LyricsBorn is one of the most underrated poets ever. And ?uestlove is the most master of some of the most freakishly intoxicating beats I have ever heard. ever. And I promise you I'm not being dramatic when I say that heir new album "How I Got Over" is nothing short of lifechanging.
(I can't help but choose "Seed 2.0" from Phrenology.... If you don't have Phrenology, GET IT; THIS IS ESSENTIAL.)
45.) Fruit Bats: a band I discovered about this time last year. And what a year it's been (at least as far as my Fruit Bats journey goes)-- I've gone from "hey I kinda like the sound of this" to seeing them twice this past year, collecting their albums in any form-- ie, mp3 and vinyl, obvs-- I can get my hands on and discovering nothing but a perfect band and what is, to me, a pretty flawless body of work.
("The Earthquake of '73" from Spelled in Bones.)
44.) Mumford and Sons. This is a newer band from London and their album "Sigh No More" is incredible, kind of traditional western-European folk (think, like.... bluegrass + Irish drinking-and-dancing music. Kind of like the band at the steerage-class party in Titanic. Wow..?)
("Little Lion Man" --Sigh No More. Built around the amazing refrain "I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear?" Watch out for your mind getting blown around 3:29)
43.) Pretty Lights. Probably one of the most exciting artists in modern electronic music right now. And daaamn, I've never seen a party like his live show.
("High School Art Class"--Spilling Over Every Side [EP]... which is available for free at prettylightsmusic.com. 2:44 might be the best moment in any song, ever.)
42.) Wilco. No explanation necessary.
("Either Way"-- Sky Blue Sky. I listen to this album pretty much every single morning. It goes really well with sleepy eyes, socks and hot coffee.)
41.) Umphrey's McGee. The. Best. Live. Show. In. America. Maybe in the world.
(this is some footage of them rocking "Jajunk (pt II)" at Rothbury '09. I was there (no big deal or anything. Only the #1 greatest night of my life) and, according to my calculations, very near to whomever shot this video.)
40.) Beatles. What can I say?
(Lately I can't stop listening to "You Never Give Me Your Money/ Sun King/ Mean Mr. Mustard/ Polythene Pam/ She Came In Through The Bathroom Window/ Golden Slumbers/ Carry That Weight" from Abbey Road... yes, I think of those as one song. And I have a feeling that if you asked any of the Beatles, they'd say the same thing.)
39.) Death Cab for Cutie.
("I Will Follow You Into the Dark"-- Plans. What?)
38.) Black Keys. A killer garage-blues duo from Ohio who I discovered at the downtown Water Street Coffee Joint. They were playing "Rubber Factory" and I had to ask the barista what they were listening to because it was soooo, so good. Rubber Factory is a classic, but they have only gotten better since then. And I got to see them for the first time at Wakarusa in June.... incredible.
("Psychotic Girl"-- Attack and Release)
37.) Damien Rice. His voice gives me chills.
("Delicate" from O. This is an an incredible live recording of it)
36.) The Weakerthans. In my heart of hearts, they are my Favorite Band. But I'm always kind of afraid to say that. The way I feel about designating the Weakerthans as my favorite-band-of-favorite-bands is kind of like when you know you love someone and you can't tell them: admitting it would be a huge and maybe even lifelong commitment that I wasn't ready for, so I just chose not to. Until now. John K Samson, you have my soul.
("The Last Last One" from Fallow. No link available but it's worth the download. Promise.)
35.) Gorillaz. Another band with a flawless body of work.
("Feel Good Inc." --Demon Days. Maybe a little cliche... but it's a perfect song.)
34.) Dave Matthews Band. I always feel really ignorant when I say this, but I love Dave Matthews Band. I love his studio work, I love his live recordings and I love going to his shows. And I was really sad when LeRoi died.
("Lie In Our Graves" --Crash. Check out this version with the majestic Tim Reynolds)
33.) STS9. Another completely lifechanging electro act.... you've probably heard me raving about their Wakarusa '10 set. I saw them at Rothbury '09 and while it was amazing, it in no way prepared me for their Waka set. I have never seen a crazier audience having a better time anywhere, at any time, and though it was such a surreal thing thinking about the thousands of kids dancing together on top of a mountain, it was probably one of the top 5 sets I've ever seen by any band.
(Please experience it.)
32.) EOTO. AKA (to me) "The Silver Fox Electo Band." One of the best live acts anywhere. PS, it stands for "End of Time Observatory." Built around String Cheese Incident's demise... when the music industry closes a door, it always opens a window.
(Not picking a song, because that would undermine their improv-only live show policy... Improv-only? How can you even have that much swagger?)
31.) Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. When I was a kid, I had a dog (Sandy) who would sing along to "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes." And while that's as amazing as it as adorable, who can blame her? CSNY is some of the most singalong-worthy music ever. It just makes you feel good.
("Helplessly Hoping" --So Far. Some of the most beautiful vocal harmonies in pop music. I think.)
30.) John Mayer. HE SHREDS AND YOU KNOW IT.
("Who Did You Think I Was?" --John Mayer Trio's live album "Try!"
29.) Weezer. Hall of Fame? Where is the love for this band?
("My Name is Jonas" --Blue. The soundtrack to my adolescence.)
28.) The Killers. What a fucking ridiculously good band.
("When You Were Young"--Sam's Town.)
27.) The Shins. Thanks, Natalie Portman; they really did change my life.
("Phantom Limb" --Wincing the Night Away. A fantastic song with a really unforgettable video..)
26.) Cee Lo. Gnarls Barkley? Awesome. Solo work? Even moreso. When Umphrey's covered this at North Coast Fest, it felt as though the Universe was saying, "hey Meg Alexander, your favorite band covering your favorite song? Done. You get one moment like this in your life and this is it. Life's a garden, dig it."
("Fuck You"-- EP/ single. Could it be any better?)
25.) Manchester Orchestra. A band with more originality, vulnerability and depth than pretty much any other. Sadly, I think we've seen their demise... although Manchester has teamed up with Kevin Devine (the Bob Dylan of the indie generation) for a new project dubbed Bad Books. So... lookout for that.
("Wolves at Night"-- I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child)
24.) Phish. I fought it for a really long time. I don't know what happened but one day I just totally caved and fell in love with these guys. And bear with me because I know how it sounds. I really do. But if you listen to this band, it's impossible not to geek out to their superhuman musicianship and their trippy nonsensical whimsicality. (Trey Anastasio's solo album "Shine" is also amazing. Obvi)
("Cavern" -- A Picture of Nectar.)
23.) Motion City Soundtrack. This is another band I feel kind of weird about liking. But their jams are so goddamn infectious, I haven't really stopped listening to them since high school.... And though they're fun to listen to at home or out driving around or whatever, I have to say that they put on a terrible live show. I saw them in GR last winter and it was not "terrible" necessarily but just really forgettable. Still gotta love 'em though.
("Everything is Alright" --Commit This To Memory. Even if it's not your style, you have to admit this is an example of a perfect pop song.)
22.) Modest Mouse. The best music to escape with. When I put on "Good News for People Who Love Bad News" it's like a 45-minute vacation. And everything else they've ever done is pretty flawless, too.
("Dashboard" -We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank. "A wonderful rock and roll band" says David Letterman!)
21.) Lauryn Hill. I don't really listen to girl singers most of the time, but Lauryn is amazing. I don't know how I knew about her as a kid, but I remember "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" was one of the first CDs I ever bought. I got it at Barnes and Noble, which means it was like $30. Where did I get $30 when I was a kid? I don't have $30 now...
And even though her voice is gorgeous and most people would still listen to her even if she just sang, Lauryn is probably one of the best chick rappers out there. That she integrates polysyllabic words makes her that much better than most of the rappers out there now....
("I Get Out"--MTV Unplugged)
20.) The Fugees. Once again, this might be cheating buuuuut.... couldn't forget about Wyclef. And that other guy.
("The Score"-- the Score)
19.) Presidents of the United States of America. I hate to use the word "underrated" but if there's anyone who is more underrated than Weezer, it's P.U.S.A. An aggressively original and downright weird band, everything I've ever heard by this band speaks to me in its own spazzy way.
("We Are Not Going To Make It" --self-titled. No link :( ) <--awkward
18.) The Decemberists. As you can see I really like bands who have singers with unusual voices. Colin Meloy's nasally, red-headed-stepchild of a voice is at the heart of the Decemberists' sound and, although it's what makes a lot of people dislike the Decemberists, I think he's awesome. Kinda the same way I feel about the Weakerthans' John K Samson...
("Red Right Ankle" --Her Majesty (this video is actually really cool))
17.) The Hold Steady. When you listen, you can't help but have fun. I saw them at Rothbury 09, and even though it was in the middle of a reeeally hot day, it was still a party and everybody there RTFO'd. Craig Finn, you fucking badass.
("Sequestered In Memphis" --Stay Positive)
16.) The Black Crowes. One of my most beloved bands of all time. Their most recent album, "Warpaint" is an instant classic, but unfortunately didn't get a lot of attention. If you read about it, it also has a lot of cool stories; the last track "Whoa Mule" was recorded live, outside, on top of a mountain in upstate New York. And it is the shit. You can hear birds singing in the beginning and everything...
I think the real reason I like them is because Chris Robinson reminds me so much of Jeff from Stillwater (Jason Lee's character in Almost Famous...)
(enjoy this cool version of "Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution" from Warpaint)
15.) Oasis.
"Don't Look Back In Anger" --What's the Story Morning Glory
14.) Fleetwood Mac. Reminds me of being a kid, when my dad would drive me to horseback riding lessons (was that a really pretentious memory?)
("Dreams" --Rumours..... kicks the shit out of every song ever written)
13.) Person L. The Starting Line's Kenneth Vasoli created his own label to work on a new project, the ever-changing Person L. Though they only released one album (2008's "Initial") it kicks ass.
("Storms"-- I was addicted to this song aaaall summer.)
12.) Bob Dylan. The man, the myth, the legend. WHO, I might add, is coming to Kzoo (the 29th, I think?) to play at... Miller Auditorium? What thaaaa
11.) Toto. For some reason I got waaaay too into Toto this summer. But what's not to love? Some of the most ultra-smooth tunes ever and the delightful croon of Bobby Kimball? Yes please. Toto is the perfect band to listen to in ANY situation: chilling out at home, going for a walk or a drive, or enjoying some daytime porch beers with your crew... Timeless.
("Rosanna" --Toto IV... Pretty fabulous music video.)
10.) Mott the Hoople. Why, yes, I did know about this band before Juno.
("All The Young Dudes" thanks David Bowie!)
9.) Belle and Sebastian. Does this make me a hipster?
("I'm a Cuckoo" --Dear Catastrophe Waitress)
8.) Kings of Leon. Still not over "Only By The Night."
("Crawl." Hypnotizing.)
7.) Jimi Hendrix. For some reason I've been on a Jimi Hendrix kick lately. I discovered Jimi Hendrix the fall of my freshman year of high school and now I always want to listen to him in the fall.
("Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" --Electric Ladyland)
6.) Bob Seger. I'm a Detroit kid at heart; I can't help it. And "Live Bullet" is one of the best live albums ever.
("Jody Girl," the live version from Cobo Hall in '75)
5.) Elton John. One of the greatest songwriters ever. That's all there is to say.
("Burn Down The Mission" --Tumbleweed Connection. I love when he gets gospelly.)
4.) Amos Lee. I always feel kind of corny when I listen to Amos Lee but his smooth, southern panache and his heartfelt style get me every time. Oh yeah... and he has a pretty sick set of pipes. I haven't heard anyone sing with as much carefree skill and subtle passion in... ever. I can space out and listen to "Supply and Demand" several times in a row before I realize how much time has gone by. His self-titled debut is also incredible...
("Southern Girl" --Supply and Demand. I couldn't make it through a day this summer without listening to this song. When I was having a moment like "should I go get groceries right now? It's so late... but I need milk" all I had to think about to talk myself into it was that I could listen to Amos Lee with the windows down and the drive alone would be worth it.)
3.) Steely Dan. I'm an old lady at heart, and I love me some Steely Dan. SO SMOOTH!
What a lot of people don't think about when they think of Steely Dan is their songwriting. SD has a propensity to write songs that are deceivingly simple or happy when really there's a lot of artistic weight and emotional depth to a lot of their work. For example: "Deacon Blues" is one of the saddest songs ever written. To me, anyway. But it sounds so easygoing on the surface. To me, that's what a well-written song is: the slow-burners, the ones you can listen to recreationally and not just when you're doing something else, and really think about.
("Reelin' In The Years" --Can't Buy a Thrill (you need this album on vinyl))
2.) Blues Traveler. My top 5 reasons for liking Blues Traveler:
-That time they were in Blues Brothers 2000. (you're welcome...)
-I grew up in the 90s. I like Hootie and the Blowfish too
-I work at a Top 40 radio station and "Hook," is in the rotation occasionally, and is literally the only song I ever hear that I even halfway like over the course of a work-week.
-Bloody-Mary-flavored memories of a sunny afternoon set at Wakarusa '10
-John Popper is SUPERHUMAN.
("Stand"--Four)
1.) Broken Bells. The newly formed collaboration between the Shins' James Mercer and Danger Mouse (producer extraordinnaire) is my biggest musical obsession of 2010, and maybe ever. Their self-titled album is one of the best things I have ever heard; it shot straight to "classic" status with one listen and has not been out of my rotation since then. From the foggy trudge of the single, "The High Road," to toe-tapping dance beats mixed with ambient indie, to the climactic rush of the album's closer, the fantastic, spacey suite "The Mall and Misery," this album is flawless.
("The Ghost Inside" --Broken Bells)
And there you have it.
Rage on, and thanks so much for reading, dudes and dudettes.
Much love,
Meg [thevolumejunkie]
Good, 'cause I love you. For reading this and any other shenanigans (WMN! October issue is on newsstands... er countertops, floors, wherever people will let us stash them...) that I force upon you. And so this is dedicated to you, for reading this 50th post (and maybe some of the other 49).
This is really hard and as I'm beginning to write this, the only thing I'm asking myself is how? How are you doing this? And why? but, alas, my Top 50 Artists Right Now (and, in some cases, their stories (as they pertain to me)). (Each will include a songpick and the album on which it appears).
Deep breath in. Here goes. In absolutely no order whatsoever:
50.) Jurassic-5. I had never heard of J5 before I checked out my very first Dave Matthews Band show at the Tweeter Center (now it's named after some cell phone carrier... sad). I was 17 and not into hip-hop at the time, but I was instantly magnetized to the energetic 6-piece (the "5" in their name is a mystery... at least to me) and fell in love with their dancey, old-school beats.
("In The House" from Feedback)
49.) DJ Mark Farina. Mark Farina created one of the most fluent, masterful and ambitious compilations I've ever heard: Mushroom Jazz. Mushroom Jazz is a 5-volume work of art, created by layering a smooth, hip-hop backbeat with jazz and ambient elements and samples. I can't really explain it. But basically if you want almost six hours straight of hip-hop/jazz/ occasional nature sounds and voices (for whatever reason you so choose) from danceable to straight-up chill, you've got it. Mushroom Jazz. The best thing ever.
("Chali 2na Comin' Thru"-Mushroom Jazz V (link not available)... yes, Chali 2na from J5.)
48.) Big Boi. He just put out a solo album this year: Sir Lucious Leftfoot: The Son of Chico Dusty... which is The Shit. I always like to ask people who they like better, Andre or Big... I say Big. Andre is wackier but I think Big's style is often smarter and he has so much to say. I love that a lot of his work is conceptual and character-based; I love the stories you get through his rhymes.
("Tangerine" -SLFL:tSoCD; "The Way You Move"--Speakerboxx (tie))
47.) Outkast. Can I do this? I'm going to. Because I LOVE OUTKAST and I couldn't forget about Andre. Speakerboxx/ The Love Below is my generation's Tommy. I said it. Hootie-hooo!
(title track from Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik... I didn't feel like typing it twice)
46.) The Roots. You might be noticing a pattern. Yes, I love hip hop. And yes, I'm considering another Hip-Hop Week. Thoughts? Anyway... my friend Phil said it best... LyricsBorn is one of the most underrated poets ever. And ?uestlove is the most master of some of the most freakishly intoxicating beats I have ever heard. ever. And I promise you I'm not being dramatic when I say that heir new album "How I Got Over" is nothing short of lifechanging.
(I can't help but choose "Seed 2.0" from Phrenology.... If you don't have Phrenology, GET IT; THIS IS ESSENTIAL.)
45.) Fruit Bats: a band I discovered about this time last year. And what a year it's been (at least as far as my Fruit Bats journey goes)-- I've gone from "hey I kinda like the sound of this" to seeing them twice this past year, collecting their albums in any form-- ie, mp3 and vinyl, obvs-- I can get my hands on and discovering nothing but a perfect band and what is, to me, a pretty flawless body of work.
("The Earthquake of '73" from Spelled in Bones.)
44.) Mumford and Sons. This is a newer band from London and their album "Sigh No More" is incredible, kind of traditional western-European folk (think, like.... bluegrass + Irish drinking-and-dancing music. Kind of like the band at the steerage-class party in Titanic. Wow..?)
("Little Lion Man" --Sigh No More. Built around the amazing refrain "I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear?" Watch out for your mind getting blown around 3:29)
43.) Pretty Lights. Probably one of the most exciting artists in modern electronic music right now. And daaamn, I've never seen a party like his live show.
("High School Art Class"--Spilling Over Every Side [EP]... which is available for free at prettylightsmusic.com. 2:44 might be the best moment in any song, ever.)
42.) Wilco. No explanation necessary.
("Either Way"-- Sky Blue Sky. I listen to this album pretty much every single morning. It goes really well with sleepy eyes, socks and hot coffee.)
41.) Umphrey's McGee. The. Best. Live. Show. In. America. Maybe in the world.
(this is some footage of them rocking "Jajunk (pt II)" at Rothbury '09. I was there (no big deal or anything. Only the #1 greatest night of my life) and, according to my calculations, very near to whomever shot this video.)
40.) Beatles. What can I say?
(Lately I can't stop listening to "You Never Give Me Your Money/ Sun King/ Mean Mr. Mustard/ Polythene Pam/ She Came In Through The Bathroom Window/ Golden Slumbers/ Carry That Weight" from Abbey Road... yes, I think of those as one song. And I have a feeling that if you asked any of the Beatles, they'd say the same thing.)
39.) Death Cab for Cutie.
("I Will Follow You Into the Dark"-- Plans. What?)
38.) Black Keys. A killer garage-blues duo from Ohio who I discovered at the downtown Water Street Coffee Joint. They were playing "Rubber Factory" and I had to ask the barista what they were listening to because it was soooo, so good. Rubber Factory is a classic, but they have only gotten better since then. And I got to see them for the first time at Wakarusa in June.... incredible.
("Psychotic Girl"-- Attack and Release)
37.) Damien Rice. His voice gives me chills.
("Delicate" from O. This is an an incredible live recording of it)
36.) The Weakerthans. In my heart of hearts, they are my Favorite Band. But I'm always kind of afraid to say that. The way I feel about designating the Weakerthans as my favorite-band-of-favorite-bands is kind of like when you know you love someone and you can't tell them: admitting it would be a huge and maybe even lifelong commitment that I wasn't ready for, so I just chose not to. Until now. John K Samson, you have my soul.
("The Last Last One" from Fallow. No link available but it's worth the download. Promise.)
35.) Gorillaz. Another band with a flawless body of work.
("Feel Good Inc." --Demon Days. Maybe a little cliche... but it's a perfect song.)
34.) Dave Matthews Band. I always feel really ignorant when I say this, but I love Dave Matthews Band. I love his studio work, I love his live recordings and I love going to his shows. And I was really sad when LeRoi died.
("Lie In Our Graves" --Crash. Check out this version with the majestic Tim Reynolds)
33.) STS9. Another completely lifechanging electro act.... you've probably heard me raving about their Wakarusa '10 set. I saw them at Rothbury '09 and while it was amazing, it in no way prepared me for their Waka set. I have never seen a crazier audience having a better time anywhere, at any time, and though it was such a surreal thing thinking about the thousands of kids dancing together on top of a mountain, it was probably one of the top 5 sets I've ever seen by any band.
(Please experience it.)
32.) EOTO. AKA (to me) "The Silver Fox Electo Band." One of the best live acts anywhere. PS, it stands for "End of Time Observatory." Built around String Cheese Incident's demise... when the music industry closes a door, it always opens a window.
(Not picking a song, because that would undermine their improv-only live show policy... Improv-only? How can you even have that much swagger?)
31.) Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. When I was a kid, I had a dog (Sandy) who would sing along to "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes." And while that's as amazing as it as adorable, who can blame her? CSNY is some of the most singalong-worthy music ever. It just makes you feel good.
("Helplessly Hoping" --So Far. Some of the most beautiful vocal harmonies in pop music. I think.)
30.) John Mayer. HE SHREDS AND YOU KNOW IT.
("Who Did You Think I Was?" --John Mayer Trio's live album "Try!"
29.) Weezer. Hall of Fame? Where is the love for this band?
("My Name is Jonas" --Blue. The soundtrack to my adolescence.)
28.) The Killers. What a fucking ridiculously good band.
("When You Were Young"--Sam's Town.)
27.) The Shins. Thanks, Natalie Portman; they really did change my life.
("Phantom Limb" --Wincing the Night Away. A fantastic song with a really unforgettable video..)
26.) Cee Lo. Gnarls Barkley? Awesome. Solo work? Even moreso. When Umphrey's covered this at North Coast Fest, it felt as though the Universe was saying, "hey Meg Alexander, your favorite band covering your favorite song? Done. You get one moment like this in your life and this is it. Life's a garden, dig it."
("Fuck You"-- EP/ single. Could it be any better?)
25.) Manchester Orchestra. A band with more originality, vulnerability and depth than pretty much any other. Sadly, I think we've seen their demise... although Manchester has teamed up with Kevin Devine (the Bob Dylan of the indie generation) for a new project dubbed Bad Books. So... lookout for that.
("Wolves at Night"-- I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child)
24.) Phish. I fought it for a really long time. I don't know what happened but one day I just totally caved and fell in love with these guys. And bear with me because I know how it sounds. I really do. But if you listen to this band, it's impossible not to geek out to their superhuman musicianship and their trippy nonsensical whimsicality. (Trey Anastasio's solo album "Shine" is also amazing. Obvi)
("Cavern" -- A Picture of Nectar.)
23.) Motion City Soundtrack. This is another band I feel kind of weird about liking. But their jams are so goddamn infectious, I haven't really stopped listening to them since high school.... And though they're fun to listen to at home or out driving around or whatever, I have to say that they put on a terrible live show. I saw them in GR last winter and it was not "terrible" necessarily but just really forgettable. Still gotta love 'em though.
("Everything is Alright" --Commit This To Memory. Even if it's not your style, you have to admit this is an example of a perfect pop song.)
22.) Modest Mouse. The best music to escape with. When I put on "Good News for People Who Love Bad News" it's like a 45-minute vacation. And everything else they've ever done is pretty flawless, too.
("Dashboard" -We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank. "A wonderful rock and roll band" says David Letterman!)
21.) Lauryn Hill. I don't really listen to girl singers most of the time, but Lauryn is amazing. I don't know how I knew about her as a kid, but I remember "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" was one of the first CDs I ever bought. I got it at Barnes and Noble, which means it was like $30. Where did I get $30 when I was a kid? I don't have $30 now...
And even though her voice is gorgeous and most people would still listen to her even if she just sang, Lauryn is probably one of the best chick rappers out there. That she integrates polysyllabic words makes her that much better than most of the rappers out there now....
("I Get Out"--MTV Unplugged)
20.) The Fugees. Once again, this might be cheating buuuuut.... couldn't forget about Wyclef. And that other guy.
("The Score"-- the Score)
19.) Presidents of the United States of America. I hate to use the word "underrated" but if there's anyone who is more underrated than Weezer, it's P.U.S.A. An aggressively original and downright weird band, everything I've ever heard by this band speaks to me in its own spazzy way.
("We Are Not Going To Make It" --self-titled. No link :( ) <--awkward
18.) The Decemberists. As you can see I really like bands who have singers with unusual voices. Colin Meloy's nasally, red-headed-stepchild of a voice is at the heart of the Decemberists' sound and, although it's what makes a lot of people dislike the Decemberists, I think he's awesome. Kinda the same way I feel about the Weakerthans' John K Samson...
("Red Right Ankle" --Her Majesty (this video is actually really cool))
17.) The Hold Steady. When you listen, you can't help but have fun. I saw them at Rothbury 09, and even though it was in the middle of a reeeally hot day, it was still a party and everybody there RTFO'd. Craig Finn, you fucking badass.
("Sequestered In Memphis" --Stay Positive)
16.) The Black Crowes. One of my most beloved bands of all time. Their most recent album, "Warpaint" is an instant classic, but unfortunately didn't get a lot of attention. If you read about it, it also has a lot of cool stories; the last track "Whoa Mule" was recorded live, outside, on top of a mountain in upstate New York. And it is the shit. You can hear birds singing in the beginning and everything...
I think the real reason I like them is because Chris Robinson reminds me so much of Jeff from Stillwater (Jason Lee's character in Almost Famous...)
(enjoy this cool version of "Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution" from Warpaint)
15.) Oasis.
"Don't Look Back In Anger" --What's the Story Morning Glory
14.) Fleetwood Mac. Reminds me of being a kid, when my dad would drive me to horseback riding lessons (was that a really pretentious memory?)
("Dreams" --Rumours..... kicks the shit out of every song ever written)
13.) Person L. The Starting Line's Kenneth Vasoli created his own label to work on a new project, the ever-changing Person L. Though they only released one album (2008's "Initial") it kicks ass.
("Storms"-- I was addicted to this song aaaall summer.)
12.) Bob Dylan. The man, the myth, the legend. WHO, I might add, is coming to Kzoo (the 29th, I think?) to play at... Miller Auditorium? What thaaaa
11.) Toto. For some reason I got waaaay too into Toto this summer. But what's not to love? Some of the most ultra-smooth tunes ever and the delightful croon of Bobby Kimball? Yes please. Toto is the perfect band to listen to in ANY situation: chilling out at home, going for a walk or a drive, or enjoying some daytime porch beers with your crew... Timeless.
("Rosanna" --Toto IV... Pretty fabulous music video.)
10.) Mott the Hoople. Why, yes, I did know about this band before Juno.
("All The Young Dudes" thanks David Bowie!)
9.) Belle and Sebastian. Does this make me a hipster?
("I'm a Cuckoo" --Dear Catastrophe Waitress)
8.) Kings of Leon. Still not over "Only By The Night."
("Crawl." Hypnotizing.)
7.) Jimi Hendrix. For some reason I've been on a Jimi Hendrix kick lately. I discovered Jimi Hendrix the fall of my freshman year of high school and now I always want to listen to him in the fall.
("Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" --Electric Ladyland)
6.) Bob Seger. I'm a Detroit kid at heart; I can't help it. And "Live Bullet" is one of the best live albums ever.
("Jody Girl," the live version from Cobo Hall in '75)
5.) Elton John. One of the greatest songwriters ever. That's all there is to say.
("Burn Down The Mission" --Tumbleweed Connection. I love when he gets gospelly.)
4.) Amos Lee. I always feel kind of corny when I listen to Amos Lee but his smooth, southern panache and his heartfelt style get me every time. Oh yeah... and he has a pretty sick set of pipes. I haven't heard anyone sing with as much carefree skill and subtle passion in... ever. I can space out and listen to "Supply and Demand" several times in a row before I realize how much time has gone by. His self-titled debut is also incredible...
("Southern Girl" --Supply and Demand. I couldn't make it through a day this summer without listening to this song. When I was having a moment like "should I go get groceries right now? It's so late... but I need milk" all I had to think about to talk myself into it was that I could listen to Amos Lee with the windows down and the drive alone would be worth it.)
3.) Steely Dan. I'm an old lady at heart, and I love me some Steely Dan. SO SMOOTH!
What a lot of people don't think about when they think of Steely Dan is their songwriting. SD has a propensity to write songs that are deceivingly simple or happy when really there's a lot of artistic weight and emotional depth to a lot of their work. For example: "Deacon Blues" is one of the saddest songs ever written. To me, anyway. But it sounds so easygoing on the surface. To me, that's what a well-written song is: the slow-burners, the ones you can listen to recreationally and not just when you're doing something else, and really think about.
("Reelin' In The Years" --Can't Buy a Thrill (you need this album on vinyl))
2.) Blues Traveler. My top 5 reasons for liking Blues Traveler:
-That time they were in Blues Brothers 2000. (you're welcome...)
-I grew up in the 90s. I like Hootie and the Blowfish too
-I work at a Top 40 radio station and "Hook," is in the rotation occasionally, and is literally the only song I ever hear that I even halfway like over the course of a work-week.
-Bloody-Mary-flavored memories of a sunny afternoon set at Wakarusa '10
-John Popper is SUPERHUMAN.
("Stand"--Four)
1.) Broken Bells. The newly formed collaboration between the Shins' James Mercer and Danger Mouse (producer extraordinnaire) is my biggest musical obsession of 2010, and maybe ever. Their self-titled album is one of the best things I have ever heard; it shot straight to "classic" status with one listen and has not been out of my rotation since then. From the foggy trudge of the single, "The High Road," to toe-tapping dance beats mixed with ambient indie, to the climactic rush of the album's closer, the fantastic, spacey suite "The Mall and Misery," this album is flawless.
("The Ghost Inside" --Broken Bells)
And there you have it.
Rage on, and thanks so much for reading, dudes and dudettes.
Much love,
Meg [thevolumejunkie]
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Ghosts of the Great Lakes "Erasing You" Review
Within minutes of playing Ghosts of the Great Lakes’ latest release, “Erasing You,” for the first time, there’s a moment that might startle you, might haunt you, and will almost certainly give you chills: when the ferocious guitar riff on the title track stomps on the ambient whispers of its instrumental predecessor “Coral,” it says just one thing: Ghosts of the Great Lakes is back.
Over a year after their debut, “The Death of the Party,” the Kalamazoo four-piece-- known for their vintage-glam aesthetic almost as much as their sullen hard-rock-- returned with an album showcasing the influence of the band’s two new members (drummer Jesse Blankenship and bassist Ben Bojanich) while maintaining its signature blend of pensive, melodic verses and rampant choruses ignited by vocalist Benny West’s primal howl.
The title track best exemplifies the band’s evolution: the mix of classic Ghosts sound, with the sensibility of mainstream rock of Jimmy Eat World, AFI and Incubus, “Erasing You” does not disappoint. From there, Ghosts forge ahead into esoteric, albeit familiar territory, with imagery of substance abuse, death, abandonment, memories of a tormented youth, and-- of course-- fashion (“Cause I feel more/ wrapped in Dior,” West croons at one point). The subject matter provokes the nagging feeling that not only would some songs fit in just fine on their debut (Hiding in Plain Sight) but some are downright disturbing with familiarity (for example, Speed of Night soundalike The Chelsea).
While these might incite suspicions that Ghosts have rested on the laurels of the success of their debut, not only does some material dive to depths previously unexplored by Ghosts-- for example, the wrist-slittingly dark track “Monster,” built around West half-whispering, half-growling “cause I’m a bad kid, a bad kid”-- but some conquers new musical territory, almost to the point of an entire new persona for the band, most effectively on the addictive dance-rock gem “In Case You’re Wondering.” This conquest comes full-circle at the climactic end of the album, “Armed to the Teeth,” which features a galloping guitar melody that detonates into a tremendously powerful chorus.
With sullen introspection, anthemic hard-rock, and unexpected exploration of their “upbeat” side, “Erasing You” is the journey that “Death of the Party” wanted to be, giving listeners the indulgent melodrama that we have learned to crave from Ghosts of the Great Lakes, but this time, with heart-stopping energy, raw power, and even a reason to dance.
Over a year after their debut, “The Death of the Party,” the Kalamazoo four-piece-- known for their vintage-glam aesthetic almost as much as their sullen hard-rock-- returned with an album showcasing the influence of the band’s two new members (drummer Jesse Blankenship and bassist Ben Bojanich) while maintaining its signature blend of pensive, melodic verses and rampant choruses ignited by vocalist Benny West’s primal howl.
The title track best exemplifies the band’s evolution: the mix of classic Ghosts sound, with the sensibility of mainstream rock of Jimmy Eat World, AFI and Incubus, “Erasing You” does not disappoint. From there, Ghosts forge ahead into esoteric, albeit familiar territory, with imagery of substance abuse, death, abandonment, memories of a tormented youth, and-- of course-- fashion (“Cause I feel more/ wrapped in Dior,” West croons at one point). The subject matter provokes the nagging feeling that not only would some songs fit in just fine on their debut (Hiding in Plain Sight) but some are downright disturbing with familiarity (for example, Speed of Night soundalike The Chelsea).
While these might incite suspicions that Ghosts have rested on the laurels of the success of their debut, not only does some material dive to depths previously unexplored by Ghosts-- for example, the wrist-slittingly dark track “Monster,” built around West half-whispering, half-growling “cause I’m a bad kid, a bad kid”-- but some conquers new musical territory, almost to the point of an entire new persona for the band, most effectively on the addictive dance-rock gem “In Case You’re Wondering.” This conquest comes full-circle at the climactic end of the album, “Armed to the Teeth,” which features a galloping guitar melody that detonates into a tremendously powerful chorus.
With sullen introspection, anthemic hard-rock, and unexpected exploration of their “upbeat” side, “Erasing You” is the journey that “Death of the Party” wanted to be, giving listeners the indulgent melodrama that we have learned to crave from Ghosts of the Great Lakes, but this time, with heart-stopping energy, raw power, and even a reason to dance.
Monday, August 16, 2010
"How I Spent My Summer Vacation"
Last night I experienced the moment that I experience for one moment every year, and spend the rest of the year thinking about. I was driving and although it was only about 8 pm, and the sun was still shining, I felt just the slightest chill as the balmy wind blew over the skin on my arms. Right then, a gust of wind from the west sent a flurry of leaves tumbling across Westnedge in front of me, and it was undeniable: summer is on its way out.
To be fair, it's barely halfway through August and I hope this doesn't inspire that creepy, panicky feeling of impending Winter, but it's happening all around us. Summer's almost over. And, like every year since elementary school when I would make ambitious lists of things I wanted to do or accomplish over the summer (go camping. draw a lot. have a garage sale. save $50. Wait, these are still my summer goals.) I find myself evaluating what I really did and really accomplished this summer.
Fortunately-- or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it-- for me, I was unemployed for most of the summer (which you might have read on my Myspace blog). While this severely limited my possibilities due to financial constraints and the enormous amount of time and energy I put into finding a job (which I luckily found... at the beginning of August.) the freedom I experienced was enormously transformative in a number of ways: for one, the gift of spontaneity. And this was valuable in one major way: I went to a LOT of shows, many of which were unbelievably last-minute and, some might say, poorly planned. But that's how I like to roll.
So, this year, the question I ask myself as I feel the Chill descend over Kalamazoo is this: was it really worth it? Sleeping away the most beautiful hours of the most beautiful days we see in Michigan? Depleting my savings, my brain cells and every ounce of my bodily energy to travel across the Midwest-- across the country, in some cases-- to go to shows? Splitting my commitment-less days both writing, and agonizing about how much writing I wasn't doing? The highs and lows, all the luck and misadventures: was it really worth it?!
In a word: yes.
Some highlights:
-Wakarusa Music Festival. The Festie that started it all (this summer, anyway). If you've been reading my MySpace blog, you'll know that Waka was the (in?)direct cause of my unemployment this summer (that and a mega-bitch named Pattie; yes, with an "ie"). And if you've talked to me for more than ten minutes this summer, you've probably heard all about it.
Waka. I'm just now realizing I have not written about it at all. I think it was just too enormous an experience for me to even try to articulate. I'm going to take a deep breath and do my best to pocket-size it for you:
My roommate Nick and my good friends Alex and Rachel crammed in my Vibe with a weekend's worth of supplies and took off for Arkansas one sunny morning in early June. We arrived at Mulberry Mountain nearly 20 hours later, having braved torrential thunderstorms for most of the drive and experienced a plethora of victories and setbacks alike. Setting up camp (the four of us, plus our friend Agata, her twin sis Anna and their buddy Zach, a new friend of ours and, we would find out, the embodiment of the word "party") we had no idea what we were in for: several days of INTENSE Southern summer heat (most of which we beat by escaping the site, driving down the mountain, swimming and napping on the banks of the Mulberry River) and, of course, some truly lifechanging shows.
The one the comes to mind: STS9. If you are into any electronic music at all, I am sure you've heard of (and probably even like) STS9. On the second night of the festival, STS9 headlined, blowing our minds for several hours from Mainstage. If I don't wrap this up in one sentence, I will be here talking for hours: This show was truly one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
The next night at Waka was probably the thing I had anticipated and built up in my mind the most, mainly because My Band, Umphrey's McGee, was playing a night show (they had played the previous night; a daylight set at Mainstage, which was good but not overwhelmingly so). I was "that guy" for the entire drive down and few days leading to this show: talking my poor friends' ears off about how Umphrey's is "the best live show in America;" "the most mindblowing shit you'll ever see;" etc etc etc. Unfortunately, I had become separated from my friends by the time Umphrey's took the stage (due to an enormously long and enormously unpublishable story, or set of stories) and spent the show front and center, literally, with other equally vigilant Umphrey's devotees: new friends who supplied me with water and other refreshments and, though I was in the wake of a partied-out moment, I was able to rally and had the time of my life (I even appear on the concert DVD of that show. Available on UMlive.com.). With the help of my new friends (and, not to mention, The Boys From Chicago) I truly came back to life. And, silly me, I didn't even know I wasn't living yet. Which is why I love-- LOVE-- festies. And Umphrey's.
But that is really what Wakarusa, as a whole, did: bring me to life. I re-discovered when I was there what it meant to have fun and enjoy life, and how little it truly takes (in the way of material things, sanitary conditions, etc) to thrive and love your life.
-Shows About Town
The walkability of Kalamazoo in the summer, as opposed to any time of year, is remarkable and lends itself incredibly well to various show-crawls. And yes, I think of them as show-crawls and not bar crawls. Why not go catch bluegrass at Bell's, indie at the Strutt and rock and Papa Pete's And hell, why not a basement show at the end there? And if I was getting REALLY crazy, why not work in a jam sesh of my very own?!
So that's exactly what I tried to do. And like I say, my funds were limited due to my job status, but we're lucky we live in a city where cover charges are seldom over $5 to begin with, and sometimes you can get in cheap-- or even free-- by showing up late. And while I'm not advocating this, as I believe fervently in supporting local bands and venues, it's not always impossible to slide in without paying a cover. Just sayin'.
It was my pleasure to catch a variety of Kalamazoo bands this summer; among my favorites:
--Re-renderings of some of my classic favorites-- namely, the new facade of Ender (they're acoustically delicious!) and Their Teeth Will Be of Lions, with their newly-solo frontwoman Jay Dykehouse.
--Elm Street Riot. Easily one of my favorite Kalamazoo bands.
--Kathryn Tapper. This new(er) chick on the block graced the first Kzoo NOISE! showcase at Old Dog; I was truly impressed and entertained.
--Brandon Mann and the Reprimand. Brandon Mann: He's everywhere you want to be and more. In case you haven't noticed, Kalamazoo NOISE! loves BM&TR, and I am no exception.
--Small Town Son. Alright, alright. I know I talk all the time about how I don't like country. But seeing them one balmy night at Old Dog, Oberon in hand, out on the patio right at dusk, I actually really enjoyed their good-ol'-boy swag, and their covers that even I knew. Oh, and they have a fiddle player who totally shreds.
--Speaking of country: Brother Bill. There has been some controversy surrounding my review of Brother Bill's album, "Wild On The Whiskey," due to a then-anonymous commentor's disagreement with, and, I think, misunderstanding of what I was trying to say (which happens in this medium! and is my fault for my colorful, and sometimes irresponsible, word choices). And allow me to set the record straight: I REALLY LIKE IT! I ALWAYS HAVE! So when I caught them at Harvey's one night, I half expected a little tension between me and at least one of the fellas in the band. But luckily for me, their personalities are as easygoing and good-natured as their music, and everyone was really cool to me. It wasn't until later that I realized that in my review, and/or subsequent comment thread, I promised them all Jim Beam shots, and didn't deliver. Awful. If you're reading this, Brothers, next time-- sorry!
-More Umphrey's
Yes, I am an "Umphreys Fan." This fandom is unlike any I've ever experienced. I feel like I am actually addicted to Umphreys shows. There is truly nothing-- nothing.-- in the world that makes me happier than being at an Umphrey's show: pressed up against the foot of the stage, jamming hard; spaced-out, sober, or anywhere inbetween. There's nothing like having not a single care in the world because your "world" doesn't exist outside of the show. That's what seeing Umphreys is like for me.
And I know you're probably smirking at the very least right now and might even have a slew of anti-"hippie jam band" thoughts in mind, your hand twitching in reckless anticipation of clicking the "Comment" button and unleashing a diatribe in which Trey, Dave, or-- God forbid-- Jerry, could become casualities at any moment. Or maybe not, because if you don't know I love hippie jam bands, you have no business here.
Just kidding. But seriously.
Anyway, Umphrey's. The two shows Umphrey's played at Waka did not satisfy, but only stoked, my desire to go to Umphrey's shows. All. Summer. Since I first saw them last summer at Rothbury, my heart had ached to be at another Umphrey's show. I don't know what it is about their live show, but like I say, there's one main word that comes to mind: addicting. And if you ask anyone who's ever been to an Umphrey's show, they will say the same thing. Not to mention, almost anyone I've ever played Umphreys' music around has asked who they were and if I could burn them some. So anyway. I'm just saying, don't knock it 'til you've heard it. And seen it.
But, in my observation, Umphrey's is more popular EVERY SUMMER, playing more shows on a wider plane to bigger, and more enthusiastic, audiences. And to be honest, I love it. But to be just as honest: in a selfish way, I kind of wish they were still the Midwest phenomenon that they used to be; I wish they still played Papa Pete's and needed couches to crash on in Kzoo (!). I wish I could walk up to them after shows and ask them if they wanted to hang out and talk and listen to Frank Zappa records on vinyl and drink tea in my living room. But, alas, they are far too cool-- and I am far too uncool-- for that to happen. But I can dream.
Alas, I caught them twice at Waka; once in Ohio; and once for a VERY crunchy and extremely beautiful double-set at Frederik Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids. All were incredible, my favorite of which was the latter. On a hot, windy, gorgeous night, right at sunset, they threw down a truly unstoppable set, including one of my all-time Umphrey's faves, "Gulf Stream" (which, though it's not one they play very often, I called in the requisite drive-up-to-the-show set-prediction game) and a soul-satisfying cover of Toto's "Africa" which still makes me smile when I think about it.
-Land of Nod
Ah, Land of Nod. If you read my rundown "Going Gonzo in the Land of Nod" on my MySpace (friends only; sorry! friend-request me if you wanna read it and can't.) then you already know everything that happened in those crazy, crazy 5 days I was involved with/ attending the fest.
Unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot about music mentioned in that piece (I know; what?). It was really more about the experience. Which is really what Nod was to me. The lineup was so-so in the first place (aside from some killer headliners) and one of my most anticipated acts, Boombox (who we caught at Waka) was CANCELED. Bummer.
However, I got to see not one, but TWO, sets by the incomparable Big Gigantic! The synth/ horn electro act (the brainchild of Dominic Lalli, aka my dream man) blew my mind on the Saturday of the fest, backdropped by the most glorious sunset I have ever seen in my life. If you are into electro at all and don't know Big G, please oh please check him out. It'll be so worth it.
For me, the highpoint of the music at Nod was noneother than Kool Keith. Another show for which I was determined to be front-and-center (although there were probably only 500 or so people in attendance, so it was all too easy), KK (who moonlighted as his trippier alter-ego, Dr. Octagon) was everything I'd always imagined a Kool Keith show to be like.
So, yes, realistically, the summer is almost over. BUT: as always, there's plenty more to come. From up-and-coming local bands, to some big acts we're anticipating in Kzoo (for one, Ali Baba's Tahini; if you haven't heard of them, please search; I would just tell you but wouldn't that be anti-climacitc?) we are sure to be in the presence of some really amazing music in the coming days and months.
See you out there,
Meg [thevolumejunkie]
To be fair, it's barely halfway through August and I hope this doesn't inspire that creepy, panicky feeling of impending Winter, but it's happening all around us. Summer's almost over. And, like every year since elementary school when I would make ambitious lists of things I wanted to do or accomplish over the summer (go camping. draw a lot. have a garage sale. save $50. Wait, these are still my summer goals.) I find myself evaluating what I really did and really accomplished this summer.
Fortunately-- or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it-- for me, I was unemployed for most of the summer (which you might have read on my Myspace blog). While this severely limited my possibilities due to financial constraints and the enormous amount of time and energy I put into finding a job (which I luckily found... at the beginning of August.) the freedom I experienced was enormously transformative in a number of ways: for one, the gift of spontaneity. And this was valuable in one major way: I went to a LOT of shows, many of which were unbelievably last-minute and, some might say, poorly planned. But that's how I like to roll.
So, this year, the question I ask myself as I feel the Chill descend over Kalamazoo is this: was it really worth it? Sleeping away the most beautiful hours of the most beautiful days we see in Michigan? Depleting my savings, my brain cells and every ounce of my bodily energy to travel across the Midwest-- across the country, in some cases-- to go to shows? Splitting my commitment-less days both writing, and agonizing about how much writing I wasn't doing? The highs and lows, all the luck and misadventures: was it really worth it?!
In a word: yes.
Some highlights:
-Wakarusa Music Festival. The Festie that started it all (this summer, anyway). If you've been reading my MySpace blog, you'll know that Waka was the (in?)direct cause of my unemployment this summer (that and a mega-bitch named Pattie; yes, with an "ie"). And if you've talked to me for more than ten minutes this summer, you've probably heard all about it.
Waka. I'm just now realizing I have not written about it at all. I think it was just too enormous an experience for me to even try to articulate. I'm going to take a deep breath and do my best to pocket-size it for you:
My roommate Nick and my good friends Alex and Rachel crammed in my Vibe with a weekend's worth of supplies and took off for Arkansas one sunny morning in early June. We arrived at Mulberry Mountain nearly 20 hours later, having braved torrential thunderstorms for most of the drive and experienced a plethora of victories and setbacks alike. Setting up camp (the four of us, plus our friend Agata, her twin sis Anna and their buddy Zach, a new friend of ours and, we would find out, the embodiment of the word "party") we had no idea what we were in for: several days of INTENSE Southern summer heat (most of which we beat by escaping the site, driving down the mountain, swimming and napping on the banks of the Mulberry River) and, of course, some truly lifechanging shows.
The one the comes to mind: STS9. If you are into any electronic music at all, I am sure you've heard of (and probably even like) STS9. On the second night of the festival, STS9 headlined, blowing our minds for several hours from Mainstage. If I don't wrap this up in one sentence, I will be here talking for hours: This show was truly one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
The next night at Waka was probably the thing I had anticipated and built up in my mind the most, mainly because My Band, Umphrey's McGee, was playing a night show (they had played the previous night; a daylight set at Mainstage, which was good but not overwhelmingly so). I was "that guy" for the entire drive down and few days leading to this show: talking my poor friends' ears off about how Umphrey's is "the best live show in America;" "the most mindblowing shit you'll ever see;" etc etc etc. Unfortunately, I had become separated from my friends by the time Umphrey's took the stage (due to an enormously long and enormously unpublishable story, or set of stories) and spent the show front and center, literally, with other equally vigilant Umphrey's devotees: new friends who supplied me with water and other refreshments and, though I was in the wake of a partied-out moment, I was able to rally and had the time of my life (I even appear on the concert DVD of that show. Available on UMlive.com.). With the help of my new friends (and, not to mention, The Boys From Chicago) I truly came back to life. And, silly me, I didn't even know I wasn't living yet. Which is why I love-- LOVE-- festies. And Umphrey's.
But that is really what Wakarusa, as a whole, did: bring me to life. I re-discovered when I was there what it meant to have fun and enjoy life, and how little it truly takes (in the way of material things, sanitary conditions, etc) to thrive and love your life.
-Shows About Town
The walkability of Kalamazoo in the summer, as opposed to any time of year, is remarkable and lends itself incredibly well to various show-crawls. And yes, I think of them as show-crawls and not bar crawls. Why not go catch bluegrass at Bell's, indie at the Strutt and rock and Papa Pete's And hell, why not a basement show at the end there? And if I was getting REALLY crazy, why not work in a jam sesh of my very own?!
So that's exactly what I tried to do. And like I say, my funds were limited due to my job status, but we're lucky we live in a city where cover charges are seldom over $5 to begin with, and sometimes you can get in cheap-- or even free-- by showing up late. And while I'm not advocating this, as I believe fervently in supporting local bands and venues, it's not always impossible to slide in without paying a cover. Just sayin'.
It was my pleasure to catch a variety of Kalamazoo bands this summer; among my favorites:
--Re-renderings of some of my classic favorites-- namely, the new facade of Ender (they're acoustically delicious!) and Their Teeth Will Be of Lions, with their newly-solo frontwoman Jay Dykehouse.
--Elm Street Riot. Easily one of my favorite Kalamazoo bands.
--Kathryn Tapper. This new(er) chick on the block graced the first Kzoo NOISE! showcase at Old Dog; I was truly impressed and entertained.
--Brandon Mann and the Reprimand. Brandon Mann: He's everywhere you want to be and more. In case you haven't noticed, Kalamazoo NOISE! loves BM&TR, and I am no exception.
--Small Town Son. Alright, alright. I know I talk all the time about how I don't like country. But seeing them one balmy night at Old Dog, Oberon in hand, out on the patio right at dusk, I actually really enjoyed their good-ol'-boy swag, and their covers that even I knew. Oh, and they have a fiddle player who totally shreds.
--Speaking of country: Brother Bill. There has been some controversy surrounding my review of Brother Bill's album, "Wild On The Whiskey," due to a then-anonymous commentor's disagreement with, and, I think, misunderstanding of what I was trying to say (which happens in this medium! and is my fault for my colorful, and sometimes irresponsible, word choices). And allow me to set the record straight: I REALLY LIKE IT! I ALWAYS HAVE! So when I caught them at Harvey's one night, I half expected a little tension between me and at least one of the fellas in the band. But luckily for me, their personalities are as easygoing and good-natured as their music, and everyone was really cool to me. It wasn't until later that I realized that in my review, and/or subsequent comment thread, I promised them all Jim Beam shots, and didn't deliver. Awful. If you're reading this, Brothers, next time-- sorry!
-More Umphrey's
Yes, I am an "Umphreys Fan." This fandom is unlike any I've ever experienced. I feel like I am actually addicted to Umphreys shows. There is truly nothing-- nothing.-- in the world that makes me happier than being at an Umphrey's show: pressed up against the foot of the stage, jamming hard; spaced-out, sober, or anywhere inbetween. There's nothing like having not a single care in the world because your "world" doesn't exist outside of the show. That's what seeing Umphreys is like for me.
And I know you're probably smirking at the very least right now and might even have a slew of anti-"hippie jam band" thoughts in mind, your hand twitching in reckless anticipation of clicking the "Comment" button and unleashing a diatribe in which Trey, Dave, or-- God forbid-- Jerry, could become casualities at any moment. Or maybe not, because if you don't know I love hippie jam bands, you have no business here.
Just kidding. But seriously.
Anyway, Umphrey's. The two shows Umphrey's played at Waka did not satisfy, but only stoked, my desire to go to Umphrey's shows. All. Summer. Since I first saw them last summer at Rothbury, my heart had ached to be at another Umphrey's show. I don't know what it is about their live show, but like I say, there's one main word that comes to mind: addicting. And if you ask anyone who's ever been to an Umphrey's show, they will say the same thing. Not to mention, almost anyone I've ever played Umphreys' music around has asked who they were and if I could burn them some. So anyway. I'm just saying, don't knock it 'til you've heard it. And seen it.
But, in my observation, Umphrey's is more popular EVERY SUMMER, playing more shows on a wider plane to bigger, and more enthusiastic, audiences. And to be honest, I love it. But to be just as honest: in a selfish way, I kind of wish they were still the Midwest phenomenon that they used to be; I wish they still played Papa Pete's and needed couches to crash on in Kzoo (!). I wish I could walk up to them after shows and ask them if they wanted to hang out and talk and listen to Frank Zappa records on vinyl and drink tea in my living room. But, alas, they are far too cool-- and I am far too uncool-- for that to happen. But I can dream.
Alas, I caught them twice at Waka; once in Ohio; and once for a VERY crunchy and extremely beautiful double-set at Frederik Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids. All were incredible, my favorite of which was the latter. On a hot, windy, gorgeous night, right at sunset, they threw down a truly unstoppable set, including one of my all-time Umphrey's faves, "Gulf Stream" (which, though it's not one they play very often, I called in the requisite drive-up-to-the-show set-prediction game) and a soul-satisfying cover of Toto's "Africa" which still makes me smile when I think about it.
-Land of Nod
Ah, Land of Nod. If you read my rundown "Going Gonzo in the Land of Nod" on my MySpace (friends only; sorry! friend-request me if you wanna read it and can't.) then you already know everything that happened in those crazy, crazy 5 days I was involved with/ attending the fest.
Unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot about music mentioned in that piece (I know; what?). It was really more about the experience. Which is really what Nod was to me. The lineup was so-so in the first place (aside from some killer headliners) and one of my most anticipated acts, Boombox (who we caught at Waka) was CANCELED. Bummer.
However, I got to see not one, but TWO, sets by the incomparable Big Gigantic! The synth/ horn electro act (the brainchild of Dominic Lalli, aka my dream man) blew my mind on the Saturday of the fest, backdropped by the most glorious sunset I have ever seen in my life. If you are into electro at all and don't know Big G, please oh please check him out. It'll be so worth it.
For me, the highpoint of the music at Nod was noneother than Kool Keith. Another show for which I was determined to be front-and-center (although there were probably only 500 or so people in attendance, so it was all too easy), KK (who moonlighted as his trippier alter-ego, Dr. Octagon) was everything I'd always imagined a Kool Keith show to be like.
So, yes, realistically, the summer is almost over. BUT: as always, there's plenty more to come. From up-and-coming local bands, to some big acts we're anticipating in Kzoo (for one, Ali Baba's Tahini; if you haven't heard of them, please search; I would just tell you but wouldn't that be anti-climacitc?) we are sure to be in the presence of some really amazing music in the coming days and months.
See you out there,
Meg [thevolumejunkie]
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