Category: show reviews

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Postcards from the Pit: The Felice Brothers / Yellowbirds / Mail the Horse, Mercury Lounge, 12/31/12

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And now, at long last, the promised pictures from the Felice Brothers’ New Years Eve show.

Starting from the beginning, with Mail the Horse:
 
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Yellowbirds were up next; they’re also from Brooklyn, and were an odd little burst of power-pop in the middle of a twangy, fuzzed-out evening:
 

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And then, The Felice Brothers, who played a bunch of crowd favorites (ones I can remember: Frankie’s Gun, Cumberland Gap, Whiskey in my Whiskey, White Limousine, Run, Chicken, Run), surprised us with an appearance by Simone Felice, poured us into the New Year with Take This Bread, ceded their stage to a member of the audience for a (successful!) marriage proposal, and at the end shut the place down with back-to-back covers of Carry That Weight by The Beatles and Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana.

Carry That Weight I sang along with out of . . . habit, for lack of a better term. It’s the Beatles, I’m not that keen on them but it’s a communal thing to do, rolling with the crowd-swell for the chorus, acknowledging that 2012 was rough and 2013 may not be much better but no matter what is going on outside, we’re warm, indoors, some of us are not feeling any pain, and we have been able to come together with our band and sing with them.

Smells Like Teen Spirit was electrifying and cathartic. And communal, too, but in a different way. Most of the people there, or at least standing around me, were old enough to actually remember Nirvana when Nirvana was new. And we pretty much all got up on our toes and howled Here we are now / Entertain us / I feel stupid / and contagious and it felt like an exhortation to take the new year by the throat.
 
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Postcards from the Pit: Ceremony, Webster Hall, 12.02.12

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Ceremony were not the headliners for this show – that was Titus Andronicus – but they were the band I liked best. The first opener was Lemuria, who were pleasant but didn’t really turn my crank, and as for Titus Andronicas, I just wasn’t feeling it this time. Everyone else was having the best possible time and losing their collective minds, though, so I think it was me, not them.

Ceremony was a surprise in a number of ways. First they were American punks when I had been expecting British goths1 – some day I will learn to read band bios before shows – and second, the previously placid pit exploded the moment their first note sounded.

The reason most of the pictures are a little bit blurry is because the floor beneath me was vibrating from the force of the audience’s enthusiasm. I was mainly hanging on to the barrier as tightly as I could and occasionally ducking stage divers.

Their music is ferocious and beautiful. It sounds like both the end and the beginning of the world, and like something complex and spiky being annealed in the blue core of a fire.

 

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1 Essentially I had conflated their influences – Joy Division – and a wide array of cultural echoes – a song by Joy Division, a record by The Cult, a long-running club night in Boston, all also called Ceremony – and thought they were a first or second-wave goth band that doesn’t actually exist.

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Postcards from the Pit: Father John Misty / La Sera / Jeffertitti’s Nile, Bowery Ballroom, 10/24/12

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My post-show summary of Jeffertitti’s Nile was that they were loud and swirly, but pretty, and on reflection I think that sums them up pretty well. Their songs were almost entirely instrumental, and, were, well, psychadelic kaledeiscopes of notes. And yes, that is Father John Misty you see perched behind their drums; he was sitting in with them for the tour.

 
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The second opener was La Sera. They started out kind of sweet and twee and then somewhere around song two or three abruptly kicked into gear, sprouted some harder edges and jumped several notches on my approval matrix. They also got bonus points for a partial cover / interpolation of an Elvis Presley song, because there really should be more punk/rockabilly Elvis covers.

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And then Father John Misty (J. Tillman) re-appeared, having apparently briefly decamped to Tom Petty Fest and found it wanting. Here’s what I’m going to tell you about his set: what you hear on the record is what you hear live.

He did some jazz-hands and a lot of shimmy-shake and hit all of those notes in achingly beautiful style, with occasional breaks for snarking on the Tom Petty Fest and other miscellaneous rambling. It was obnoxious and beautiful and hilarious and I can’t wait to do it again at Webster Hall when he comes back in January.

Other notes: Jeffertitti Moon returned the sitting-in favor and played guitar during Tillman’s set.
 

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Postcards from the Pit: The Darkness / The Dirty Pearls / Sweatheart, 10/22/12

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This show fell into the time period I refer to as “Halloween or Tuesday?”, in which, due to New York’s ah, vibrant populace, it is sometimes hard to tell if the person / group of people wearing what appear to be costumes are on their way to/from a Halloween party, or if they customarily rig themselves out in, say, top-hats, tails and corsets just to make a quick run up to the store.

So when Sweatheart came out in their vaguely Medieval-looking outfits, you could probably see the Hmmm thought bubble floating above the crowd. I wasn’t really sure but was willing to come down on the side of Halloween. (I was also wondering what The Darkness would come up with as Halloween costumes.)

As soon as the next band came on, though, it became apparent that we were not at a Halloween show, and snakeskin bodystockings, furry cuffs and monk robes were just Tuesday for Sweatheart. (Or Sunday night, as the case may be.) I appreciate that kind of ridiculousness in a band. They had excellent tunes, too, raunchy and hilarious in equal measure and driven by big crunchy riffs. And to top it all off they had a puppet playing the keyboards:
 

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The Dirty Pearls were next, and they swung the pendulum back a hair or two in the direction of Very Serious Heavy Metal. They also had great tunes, including a particularly good ballad. (Heavy metal love songs are my weakness, yes they are.)
 
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And then it was time for The Darkness. I really love The Darkness. They have all of the things I love(d) about glam metal – sing along choruses, shredding, big riffs, ridiculous outfits – and they manage to, I don’t know – revive? celebrate? acknowledge? – the genre in a way that’s playful, knowing, and funny but not mocking. Attending their show is a genuine joy, from overhearing serious discussions about Poison in the line to joining the crowd in singing along to a A Thing Called Love.
 
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Postcards from the Pit: JJAMZ and Beast Patrol, the Studio at Webster Hall, 10/19/12

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One of these years I will get myself together and actually acquire a CMJ pass. This year was not that year. That said, while I only saw two CMJ sets, they were very good sets.

The event I attended was the CAA Showcase in the Studio at Webster Hall, and the first band was Beast Patrol, from Brooklyn. Beast Patrol are much heavier, aggressive, and face-melty live than they are recorded. Seriously, the music they have on-line is a shadow of their live show. They can shred.
 

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Sample track:
 
Disbeliever by beastpatrol
 

And then, switching genres at CMJ’s traditional breakneck speed, it was time for JJAMZ, of Los Angeles, who were their usual delightful power-poppy selves:
 

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Sample track via their latest video, which I love because it is a lyric video with French subtitles that uses mashed up footage from B-movies and anti-drug PSAs from the ’50s and ’60s:
 

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Postcards from the Pit: Fiona Apple / Blake Mills, T5, 10/16/12

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This show was part pilgrimage, because I had never seen Fiona Apple play live before, and part penance, for largely the same reason.

The show started with music from her band, led by Blake Mills, who sang some of his delicately lovely pop songs and put on something of a master class in the fine art of the electric guitar:
 

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Here is what I learned, about Fiona Apple‘s shows: every single one of them is a cage match between the spirit of rock n’ roll and her demons. She does not so much sing a song as conduct a jazz cabaret-inflected exorcism.

It’s incredible and intense; I actually spent several long stretches standing mostly still, eyes closed, just letting the chords bounce and crash around my head while her voice – her big, brazen, smokey, flexible, magnificent voice – washed over me.

I am, as usual, completely useless with things like set lists. I recognized several from The Idler Wheel, including Every Single Night, Daredevil, Anything We Want, Left Alone and Fast As You Can, but what really defined the evening for me was the song she didn’t play: Criminal.

I heard some people near me calling out for it, and they were doubtless disappointed when it was not forthcoming. I, on the other hand, was both relieved and pleased. It’s not that I hate the song. It’s that watching the video she made for it – the raw misery on her face – makes me feel sick and sad and wish I had a time machine so I could go back and pull her out and away and give her a blanket and a warm beverage.

And this might be faulty logic, but on some level, its absence from the set list suggests to me that there is at least one demon she’s beaten and one battle she no longer has to fight. That, and the secret triumphant smile she flashed at us as the last notes faded into the woodwork, were the true highlights of the night.

 

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Postcards from the Pit: Johnny Hallyday, Beacon Theater, 10/7/12

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The last time Johnny Hallyday played a show in New York was in 1962. He was on a cruise ship (!) and Jackie Kennedy (!!) was in the audience.

This time around he was on dry land and I don’t know if there were any luminaries lurking in the Beacon or not. Probably, I guess; New York is that kind of town.

I was there because I’ve been conducting some extremely idle and non-scientific research on the subject French rock and roll, from which I learned that Hallyday is France’s equivalent / answer to to Elvis Presley, and I wanted to see what he was all about.

The show began with some dramatic images, such as this one:

 

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Not long after I took that picture the wall in the middle crumbled dramatically and unleashed flames and flying skulls.

Then Johnny Hallyday walked out on stage:

 

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His band and back-up singers also appeared:
 
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I (still) don’t speak all that much French, so his song introductions and stage banter went completely over my head, but in rock concerts as with Mass, some things are universal and you can get by pretty well taking cues from your neighbors.

Most of my neighbors wanted to get up and boogie, which is kind of difficult in the Beacon. But we shook a tailfeather or two anyway.

About half-way through the show Hallyday switched gears, going from rock to rockabilly:
 

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In addition to his own tunes Hallyday also did some classic rock covers. I definitely recognized Fortunate Son – which lost a crucial bit of snarl in the translation from English to French – and also Great Balls of Fire.

It was, overall, a fantastic show.

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Postcards from the Pit: Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls / Larry and his Flask / Jenny Owen Youngs, Webster Hall, 9/29/12

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Once again I went to a show having not heard a note of anyone’s music beforehand. What can I say, sometimes I like to live dangerously. Plus the show was part of my friend’s birthday party, and since she has generally excellent taste in music I was willing to bet it would be a good night. Spoiler alert: I was right!

Jenny Owen Youngs was up first, by herself with her guitar. She was at the opposite end of the stage from me, so the pictures are kind of awkward. But here’s one anyway:
 

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Larry and his Flask were up next. When they came out with a banjo, electric mandolin and an upright bass, but yet also a drum set, I expected they’d continue the mellow tone of the evening and play up-tempo but still sedate bluegrass-inflected folk-rock.

Instead they unleashed a whirlwind of bluegrass-inflected punk rock that was one of the finest musical experiences I’ve ever had. Here they are in action:
 

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And then the gentlemen we had all been waiting for, Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls. Mr. Turner and his merry crew are not quite as frenetic as Larry and his Flask; more folk rock than folk punk, though Turner’s hardcore roots are definitely tangible in their sound.

The crowd started jumping and singing with him as soon as he started to play, and while I did enjoy the music, it was also a pleasure to be around people that were that happy.

Other highlights:

1) The moment in the middle of the set the room went silent, or as silent as Webster Hall can be when it is full to bursting, while he sang Tell Tale Signs.

It’s new(ish), the third song in a trilogy, and its about love, and also about scars. It is raw and beautiful and left me a little bit breathless and almost kind of alarmed, like I had read something intensely personal that had accidentally been made public.

2) The end, when he closed down the main set with Photosynthesis. That one is a song about getting old and tired and the ways in which the world can pull you down, but also about resisting that drag.

The chorus is I will not sit down and I will not shut up / and most of all I will not grow up, and hearing a packed house sing those words at the top of their lungs was a kick in the pants that I very much needed.

And now, some pictures from the set:
 

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Johnny and the Applestompers/The Misery Jackals/The Dad Horse Experience at Now That’s Class, Cleveland, OH, 9.6.12

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Johnny and the Applestompers

 

Many fledgling bands find that audiences respond better to their cover songs than their originals. While, sure, part of the reason for that is that people are creatures of habit who love what is familiar, another part of it is that bands in their early stages are also more comfortable with what is familiar, finding it easier to let loose on a song they’ve been listening to for years than one they wrote in the garage last week. Johnny and the Applestompers, whose singer appears to be mostly comprised of sticks and who have the gamest bass player I’ve ever seen, are one of those rare young bands who rock their originals even more confidently than their covers. While they covered everyone from Merle Haggard to Gus Cannon’s Jug Stompers, it was their originals, based firmly in Americana traditions, about drinking whiskey and pretty girls not giving them the time of day that were the most compelling.

 

 

The Misery Jackals

 

I’m going to admit right now that the Misery Jackals just aren’t my thing, but I have no problem giving them props for being a tight, hard-working band who seem like they’d fit right in with the Farmageddon Records crew. And I don’t think it’s irrelevant to add that they seem like genuinely good people. I spent some time talking with bass player Doghouse Tim, and he is such a down-to-earth, hard-working guy who genuinely and deeply loves playing in this band that he made me want to support them no matter how I felt about their music. For me, that’s what all of this is all about: people doing what they love just because they love it.

 

 

The Dad Horse Experience

 

It’s been a couple of years since German one-man band the Dad Horse Experience touched down on American soil, but judging from his grand showing at this year’s Muddy Roots Festival, he’s gained a respectable following here, and I hope it means it will be less than a couple of more years before we see him again.

When I first wrote about Dad Horse here, I noted how odd it can be for an American listener to hear this clearly American-influenced blues-folk-gospel coming out with a German accent. But what brings the listener back is the fact that this is clearly no gimmick, not a joke. Dad comes from a place of real love for artists like Washington Phillips, the Carter Family, and Hank Williams, and he pours that love back into his own music and his performance. While effortlessly playing banjo or mandolin, manning his bass pedals, and sometimes throwing in a little kazoo on top of it all, Dad sang, hollered, and bleated right from the heart throughout his set.

Between offerings like the Carter Family’s “Can the Circle Be Unbroken (By and By)” and originals like “Dead Dog on a Highway”, “Through the Hole”, “The Party”, and “Gates of Heaven”, Dad spoke to the crowd evincing a presence somewhere between friendly stranger and itinerant preacher, sharing stories and scenarios that sometimes seemed to be told with a wink and a knowing nod. And while sing-a-longs are generally cloying and uncomfortable experiences, the audience joining in strongly with Dad on the chorus of “Lord Must Fix My Soul” was a highlight of the night.

An aside: Now That’s Class has one of the best sound set-ups around. The acoustics are great, and the sound isn’t mixed for a point somewhere 20 feet behind the back wall like other venues. This is fantastic when a band is playing. But it is the opposite of fantastic when audience members forget they are in a public space and not their own living rooms. Places like Now That’s Class have two whole rooms you can be in, so if you absolutely must carry on that long conversation rightnowcan’twaitaminutelonger, show your fellow patrons a measure of common decency and take that conversation to the room where someone is not trying to perform so it won’t matter that everyone in the room can hear every, single word of your conversation. Also, asking a German performer if he is a “kraut rocker” does not make you clever and special; it just makes you obnoxious.

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Postcards from the Pit: Lita Ford / Poison / Def Leppard, Jones Beach, 7/13/2012

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It was a Friday night, hot, muggy and still. The buses to the show – now reinstated, THANK YOU, NASSAU COUNTY – were jam packed with music fans and people coming up off the sand. Mostly I was hoping it wouldn’t rain. The Jones Beach Ampitheater doesn’t have a roof and unless there’s lightening, the show goes on.

By the time we finally got there, Lita Ford was already on the stage, though I don’t think I missed more than a song and a half. This is one of my favorite pictures from the evening. Look at that grin!
 

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Though I’m fond of these two as well. Lita Ford is a bad-ass, y’all.
 
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And one last one, taken during Close Your Eyes Forever, her (in)famous duet with Ozzy Osbourne, which she sang by herself because as she wryly pointed out, he wasn’t there to help. Her chords crashed majestically, though. It was one of those times that I could feel why it is that I love this kind of music. The way the notes ripple and surge and tangle and then finally descend in a waterfall of sound.
 
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She closed down with Kiss Me Deadly; the crowd let out a tremendous yell as soon as she finished the intro, and during the song there were people dancing in the aisle. I turned that song up whenever it came on the radio, and I never expected I would be able to hear it live. Honestly, it was exhilarating hearing those defiant chords ring out and watching all of the women around me – and it was mostly women, my age and older – with so much joy on their faces as they sang and waved their arms and banged their heads.
 
Poison was up next. And, y’all, I think I may have lost track of the number of times I’ve seen this band – its either 6 or 7 – and every time is, well, it’s nothing but a good time. (I’m sorry, that was really bad. But true!)
 
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I really do think Bret Michaels is a national treasure, glittery cowboy hat and permanently installed bandanna and all. He’s a rock star in a way that is out of style these days, which makes him easy to mock, but you know what, he knows what he is and he owns it.

He gets up there and glitters big, does his thing for people who love him, and he clearly loves them back. And the songs he’s singing are just as much fun today as they were the first time I heard them. I still get a tremendous charge out of listening to C.C. DeVille’s solos soaring upwards.
 

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And then it was time for Def Leppard. I think I almost didn’t believe it was really going to happen until they walked out and started playing. They began with a new one, Undefeated, which flowed gracefully into Rocket as if they had been written days and not decades apart.
 
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They played several new tunes, but a lot of older favorites, too, including Animal, Hysteria, Love Bites and Armageddon It.
 
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Towards the middle of the show they came out and sat on the stage where it extends out into the pit, and became a tidy little Def Leppard-pod. I took a bunch of pictures of it, but this one is my favorite:
 

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I’m fond of this one, too:
 
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They closed down the main set with Pour Some Sugar On Me with the crowd singing along at the top of their lungs and dancing on every available free patch of ground; the encore was Rock of Ages. It was a fabulous show.

The tour resumes tomorrow, in Florida, and continues through mid-September.