Wednesday, July 28, 2010

whartscape 2010, a.k.a. loud amps save lives, a.k.a. "dan deacon's got mad swag"

I've never put as little preparation into anything as I did going to Whartscape 2010. I was recommended the festival on Last.fm, saw Arab on Radar on the top of the line-up, and bought a megapass the day they went on sale. Nevermind that I had work Thursday and Friday, or that I would be turning 21 on the last day, or that I didn't know anyone who would be going or could be convinced to go--it was happening no matter what.

I guilt-tripped my friend Mandy, a high school friend I hadn't talked to in several years, into coming with me at the last minute. She had fifty bucks to blow and my musical recommendations were generally up her alley, so she figured why not. I had several vague offers to crash at apartments in Baltimore, but overall wasn't entirely convinced I wouldn't be sleeping out on the street. I had no idea where this place was, what exactly Wham City was, or if there would be any kind of accommodations. We just kinda showed up.

After paying $6 for parking (an absolute steal considering I paid $20 to park at the 9:30 Club just a week before), we made our way to the address listed on the Wham City site, only to find a few buildings and absolutely nothing that hinted a large underground music festival was nearby. What we did find was random strips of colored duct tape pointing us down the sidewalk. So we followed that, eventually running into the guy putting the tape down, apparently to lead people from the main outdoor site to the afterparty. He was gracious enough to point us in the right direction, and half a block from where we started, a construction paper sign reading "Whartscape this way" lead us to the entrance.

We arrived at Whartscape at 11:30 am, half an hour before the scheduled opening. A wall of barbed wire fencing covered in children's sheets, ranging from Winnie the Pooh to nursery rhyme graphics, marked a huge square in between two very Baltimore-esque burnt out buildings. There were small groups of people waiting to get in, though no line had even begun to form. From outside we could see various gazebos and stands, with two stages covered in large tarps being setup by a frantic group of volunteers.

We took a seat on the glass and gravel-laced ground beside an abandoned building covered in street art, where we would remain until roughly 2:30 pm. In that time, our location eventually turned into our place in a line that stretched around the block. The crowd that trickled in was unabashedly hip and trendy beyond belief. Everyone fit into one of about a half-dozen images: the Dan Deacon beard-glasses-tacky 80s shirt look, the bandanna-glasses-tight pants look, the shorts-shoes-high socks-gym t-shirt-looks like I don't care but I totally do look, and so on. It was a crowd of people from the same scene trying to conform to the looks of the cool kids while still incorporating some random element of their look that still preserved their individuality. That guy's wearing thick-rimmed glasses, an Orioles hat with the brim flipped up, AND red pants?? What a trendsetter!

When we got inside, the format for the event became instantly clear: one band played one stage, while another band setup on the unused one. One band stopped, another went on almost instantly. And it worked brilliantly all weekend. You almost never had to wait for bands to setup, unless you were staying at one stage while the band you wanted to see got ready. You saw one band, walked ten feet over to the other stage, and instantly heard another band. When you got tired or hungry, you could go to the food booths or sit down at the far end of the lot, where you had clear view of both stages. The main stage sat across the lot from the entrance, while the second stage sat in the entrance to an alley. The main stage offered a better chance at getting close to the band, while the alley stage had a glorious crossbreeze that was well-needed all weekend.

Did I mention that it was hot? Because it was really, really fucking hot. Friday and Saturday were at or above 100 degrees, with Saturday's forecast calling for a heat index of 110. It was the talk of nearly everyone at the festival, observers and bands alike. (All except for Arab on Radar's lead singer, who stated quite bluntly "I'm not gonna talk about the fucking heat.") Thankfully, the crowd managed to stay hydrated all weekend, thanks in large part to an open policy regarding bringing in water bottles and an open hose to refill them. All in all, it only became an issue when you started bouncing around in a large crowd. Dan Deacon's set was goddamn unbearable because of it.

Friday and Saturday went without real issue. Great bands, great performances, and aside from some ticket trouble that Dan Deacon solved because he's awesome, everything was fine. Sunday was a completely different story.

The day began ominously when the first band of the room, In Every Room, had their gear knocked off the stage after the tarp came unhooked from the left wall. It was seemingly minor problem, however, as they got the tarp re-tethered and bands kept going on to about 3 pm. Then all hell broke loose.

A storm was seen moving toward the site, leading vendors to stop selling and lock down all their stuff, but it didn't seem like that big of a deal. Maybe some rain, but it wouldn't be a big deal.

Then the storm hit.

The wind whipped through the lot and damn near destroyed the place. Vendors held down gazebos to keep them from flying away. Papers and random items went flying. The tarp over the main stage caught a huge gust of air and completely tore down from from the left and back, shredding the tarp and covering the stage, knocking over all equipment setup. Random people scrambled to grab the tarp and hold it down while staff rushed to setup a ladder to detach it from the right building. A worker over the PA asked for any locals to bring tarps from home, offering full refunds for their help.

Then the storm picked up once more, moving into full-blown monsoon levels, bringing down the alley tarp as well, which was destroyed in the crossbreezes that had blessed the stage all weekend. Volunteers and onlookers alike once again scrambled to hold down the tarp. As both stages were tended to, rain began to pour, completely drenching stages, equipment, people, everything in its path. Gazebos covering electrical gear and soundboards were brought to the ground to prevent damage. People ran for cover under food gazebos, fallen tarps, buildingsides, umbrellas, anything they could find. A second tarp was outstretched to cover the main stage, while the alley stage was covered in people simply trying to hold the tarp in place and save any equipment beneath it. In minutes, the third day of the festival was brought to a grinding halt.

In the midst of the chaos was Dan Deacon, the heralded local electronic artist who headed the Wham City collective and masterminded Whartscape itself. He wasn't simply curating this event from his mighty hipster throne--this man was everywhere at once all weekend, fixing ticketing, sound, electronics, crowds, stage setups, everything. When the storm hit, he came dashing through the rain to unfold tarps and ensure all-out madness was stopped.

When the stages were properly covered and accounted for, there was still the rain to be dealt with, which kept falling until roughly 4:30 pm. It was a cold rain, sending the majority of the crowd running for cover, but there was the select few of us crazies who stuck around to enjoy it. And we had a blast.

One couple recited a Shakespearean dialogue and danced through the rain reenacting their scene, garnering applause which, I can honestly say, I started. I felt good about that one. Then there was the sun dance, started by a few brave, unorthodox souls. A circle of about a dozen people formed in the middle of the lot, and repeated cries of "SUN" and "CLOUDS BE GONE" were chanted with an air of pure lunacy. Incredibly, it seemed to be working, with brief glimpses of sunlight peeking through the clouds Then, in a moment of pure genius, a member of Little Howlin' Wolf jumped into the circle, screaming "RAIN" at everyone chanting. And the rain began to fall harder than ever before. So he won.

Around 4, the Wham City staff started letting people into the Current building, where we sat around in collective cold, wet misery. Dan Deacon came out and announced that there would be no more outdoor shows today (not that he needed to), and promised to do his best the reschedule festival without canceling any of the bands. He told us to come back at 4:15 for further news, which was pushed back to about 6, when he announced that the remaining shows would be scheduled for 6 pm at Sonar. With that news, we rushed to get to Sonar.

The line wrapped almost entirely around the building, but eventually we got in. The remaining bands played as promised, with the exception of Beach House, who was reportedly cut off after four songs, and I got to drink on my birthday after all, so everything worked out splendidly in the end. Woo!

Oh yeah, the bands. They were great. All of them. Some were lightyears away from others, but I don't think I saw anyone I would consider "bad." It was all enjoyable to a tremendous degree. It wouldn't make sense to go through all 150+ scheduled bands, since I didn't get to see them all anyway, so I'll give you my top 15 instead. It was kinda hard to keep up with all of the bands, since half of them didn't give their names and the schedule was very inexact, so bare with me. Chances are I saw some truly amazing bands that I simply can't recognize from the lineup now.

15. Plural MC - White dreadlocked rapper. Enough said. He absolutely killed, in that "oh wow he's actually serious" kind of way. Once you stopped laughing it was incredibly entertaining.

14. Javelin - Dance pop with a bit of an edge. Apparently they're a pretty big deal around Baltimore, which I get. It was insanely catchy and great to watch. No complaints at all.

13. Needle Gun - Man I loved this band. My friend tells me I was the only one. As in people openly sat down and walked away from the stage while they played. They played dangerously truthful post-punk, complete with two different noisemakers, an off-beat bass, random drumming, and sections involving kazoos and recorders played directly into microphones and laced with feedback. It was a bunch of kids who had listened to PiL and This Heat and wanted to do something about it.

12. Scottie B - Straightforward Baltimore DJ, but goddamn was he good. He announced a dance contest offering $200 to the winner (probably false, though I'm not actually sure), which turned the entire crowd into a dance party. At one point he sampled "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and a legitimate mosh pit formed. One of the most fun performances by far.

11. In Every Room - What Animal Collective could be if they didn't suck so bad. The heavy keyboard use and dream-like chants and vocals bring AC to mind in a big way, but they have what AC lacks: a backbone. The bass work was incredible, and the sparse tom drumming fit in perfectly. Very young band that could easily go somewhere.

10. DJ Dog Dick - This guy was visibly insane, or at the very least had a loose grasp on society. He played extremely raw electronic dance with heavy noise throughout, accentuated with his tortured screams and unsettling vocals. It was loud, very very loud, and I loved every painful second of it.

9. Dope Body - On paper, this is a band that shouldn't have worked. Lead singer trying to be ATDI-era Cedric, guitarist with denser effects than Kevin Shields, and a drummer just trying to keep up. But it worked amazingly. The guitar and drums work at times reminded me of Lightning Bolt in terms of sheer tightness and flow. The singer was a madman who brought you right to the edge with him.

8. We Used to Be Family - Electronic cello is the first thing that comes to mind looking back at this band. Which was awesome, don't get me wrong, but they were so much more than that. The only thing I can come up with is electrified roots rock. Nearly all their instrument usage was unorthodox, but it didn't matter. The cello and violin work blended flawlessly into a sound so unique I'm struggling to even describe it. Look them up.

7. Thank You - I loved this band, a lot. One part Arab on Radar guitar noise, one part Holy Fuck keyboard drone, combined with a constant thundering drum line. Incredibly polished live sound, every song knocked me off my ass. Definitely looking for their next show.

6. Child Bite - I'm not sure why these guys aren't famous. Noisy punk rock somewhere between At the Drive-In and Murder City Devils. Insane live show, just energy bouncing off every member in every direction until the audience just feeds off it. Also at one point the lead singer uses a joystick to make music.

5. Wye Oak - This is one of my new favorite bands. Just a drummer/keyboardist and a guitarist/vocalist. The guitarwork is incredible, moving from shred to shoegaze droning tones in a heartbeat, the keyboards and drums work flawlessly considering one person is playing them both at the same time, and overall they sound like a band twice their size. Just incredibly enjoyable stuff.

4. Double Dagger - Okay, honesty time. I was not in a good place chemically when this band came on. I pushed my way to the front of the stage because I thought they were Arab on Radar. (They didn't go on for several more hours.) Incredibly loud post-punk with just a bass/drums band, but the bass is so fucking loud that they sound like a full band. The lead singer is a genius, the prodigal son of Iggy Pop in nerd form. He crawled across the stage bellowing into his microphone, interacting with the audience the entire time, jumping into the crowd on several occasions, where he got shoved and roughed up right along with everyone else. Just great, great stuff.

3. Dan Deacon Ensemble - The most purely enjoyable show I've ever seen in my life. The music is pure electronic bliss, raised by Deacon from the ground up until the band explodes into incredible climaxes that have the entire crowd moving as one. The crowd interactions weren't as great as I had imagined, but they were still fun. At one point the crowd divided in two and people were sent dancing down the middle, while another song had people on one knee imitating somebody in the middle of the crowd. Pure fun.

2. Health - Health is an incredible live band, period. I've written about them fairly extensively, so look up that post for a description I'm probably not going to top here. They were slightly less impressive than when I saw them in Dublin, but the crowd was infinitely better, really moving and shoving and jumping and getting into the music. They sound amazing, they look amazing, but their set was only four or five songs long, probably due to Celebration playing a huge set and Beach House following them. Beach House was cut off four songs into their set, which hints that time issues pushed Health to finish early. They sure didn't look happy about it.

1. Arab on Radar - The hype is real, a million times over. I was looking forward to seeing this band more than I've ever wanted to see anybody live, ever. I readied myself for disappointment but was completely blown away. The sound is perfect. The guitars are in perfect sync with one another. The drummer just blasts away the entire time. The singer is a demented lost Stooge, fucking insane and glaring and bobbing around stage with his face contorted in a puffed out smirk, his vocals crying out over the guitars and seemingly taunting you with their sarcasm and fearlessness. It's like watching four schizophrenics play perfect noise rock. (There wasn't a bassist--according to Wikipedia they haven't had one since 1999.) I will have images of each of these men ingrained in my soul forever. Nothing compares to being up against the stage watching them play. Absolutely nothing.

Notable Omissions:

1. No Age - We skipped them to get better spots for Arab on Radar. They sounded decent enough, but I didn't see them.

2. Lightning Bolt - I was extremely excited to see these guys. The bass apparently had serious electronics problems, since it took them 15-20 minutes to get started, but we couldn't tell, because it was so unbearably loud it smothered out any minute effects issues. I know it sounds stupid to say Lightning Bolt was too loud, but they were. We were about halfway into the crowd, and I wouldn't have went any closer without earplugs. And I'm a seasoned concertgoer who's lost plenty of hearing over the years. When the bass was working, it overpowered the drums 90% of the time--only the snare was loud enough to punch through it. We left after the third or fourth stoppage to fix bass issues, so they may have fixed it and had a great show, but I didn't see it. There was no way they were gonna compare to Arab on Radar anyway. Plus I was turning 21 in a few hours. Priorities.

3. Beach House - We stayed for half a song, but they sounded like crap so we left. Apparently we ended up seeing about 1/8th of their set anyway. We were bitter as hell because Health was cut so short, and when the fire department showed up, we started praying that they cut the show short, which they did. So that made me happy. Also from what I've heard, they're really not that special live, so who cares in the end.

4. Xiu Xiu - He apparently canceled at the last minute. Major bummer.

5. Lil B - He was so godawful I can't wholeheartedly describe what he gave as a performance. Not really a 'notable omission,' just wanted to point that out in case this guy actually gets famous--he fucking sucks live.

Edit: Fun fact--I'm in that top picture. And no, I'm not the guy screaming at Eric. That guy was a complete dick. The pictures below this are all mine, horribly unprofessional and posted an eternity after the actual event. Still cool though.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros - live at the 9:30 club, 7/21/10

I walked into this concert knowing absolutely nothing about Edward Sharpe and/or the Magnetic Zeros. My companion, who scored the tickets at a questionable price through a shady Asian reseller, informed me before the show that Edward Sharpe isn't even a real person, so that took care of that. I knew they had a song called "Home" that was pretty popular, but I had never heard it. So armed with this lack of knowledge, I marched into the venue and positioned us three feet from the stage, where we remained the entire night.

The show began precariously, to put it lightly.

The stage was littered with instruments, including a full drum set, an array of vehicles of percussion, a dozen guitars of every shape, keyboards, a piano, and a sitar. Most of these would remain unplayed for several hours.

An opening band was scheduled that night, but from the chatter around the fans I gathered that, according to the Internet, they didn't exist. The stage time for this non-existent band came and went, with little more than random members of the Magnetic Zeros tuning various instruments, until the keyboard player staggered onstage in a haze and announced that he would be playing a song for us.

After a perfectly adequate song on his well-worn wooden piano, the rest of the band came out to join him--or most of them, anyway. Jade, who was the lead singer and one of the main focal points for the group, was somewhere backstage without a phone, and they couldn't find her. So great. Nothing more reassuring than news that band has lost one of its members in the heart of DC.

The band looked wholly unready for live performance--and by that I mean they were really high. The guitarists both seemed tired and slightly agitated that they had to play their instruments. The keyboardist stood in a stoic, offputting stance that would've made Nico proud. The percussionists both seemed equally as dead, almost confused as to why they were there.

The band slumped through a couple songs, complete with the lead singer sitting on the stage playing offbeat bongos intermittently, until the trumpet player knocked out a cord for his keyboard, sitting off sharp waves of digital noise. The aforementioned piano player laughed at this for about ten seconds, before finally stopping the band and asking, in pure stoned fashion, "What was that, man?"

Shortly after, the AWOL Jade joined them onstage, sprinting up the stairs and leaping across the stage, taking time for a brief conversation with each member of the band. She had an incredible bounce and energy to her, eerily equivalent to that of a toddler discovering the world for the first time. Her contribution to this first string of songs consisted solely of crappy vocals and offbeat handclaps, all in a druggy haze that put the rest of the band to shame. After another half-hearted song, the band announced they were taking a short break, and would be right back, man, we promise.

At this point I turned to my friend and announced that this was the worst concert I'd ever been to.

The band returned a full twenty minutes later, and their second set couldn't have been more different from the first.

The lead singer was on his feet and conscious, introducing himself as Alex and apologizing for the delay, because they too had thought there would be an opening band. It was then that I realized what I had witnessed earlier: a band with a single album, struggling to sober up and play an impromptu set without repeating anything from their normal show. From that standpoint, their first few songs were downright miraculous.

The entire band had an energy that simply did not exist before that point. They were actually happy to be there--except for Nico, who smirked maybe three times the entire show, trying desperately not to let down her guard.

Alex is easily the best showman I've ever witnessed live. He's a shaman Iggy Pop, prancing across the stage in a daze, telling the crowd about topics ranging from "Inception" to the importance of apple juice to his five-year old self. He touched and/or made eye contact with at least half the room that night--myself included. And from personal experience, I have never seen more passion and energy in the gaze of another human being in my entire life. He repeatedly dropped into the crowd and took hugs from everyone who wanted one, including one girl who have him such a great hug, he let her sing the first verse of one of their songs. (She sang it infinitely better than Jade possibly could have. "Lucky pick," my friend remarked.) Anybody who raised a hand to the stage had it shook. Anybody who shouted a comment or request between songs had it answered to some degree. On one of his trips into the audience, one lucky fan had Alex's head shoved into the neck of his t-shirt and was dragged around behind him for several minutes. In the complete antithesis of Iggy Pop audience confrontation, Alex gave him a high-five when he got back onstage. This man, and the rest of this band, are absolutely for real, not a fake bone in their bodies.

I kept waiting for the show to disintegrate into what the first few songs had been, which was a bunch of hippie bullshit. But it never happened. At some points it seemed like they were trying, especially when they brought out their local sitar-playing friend for an extended jam, but even that was more magical than anything I've ever witnessed a concert. Every song felt like an encore. Every song had an incredible energy and presence that was simply astounding. The percussionists were powerful and perfectly in tune to the movements of each song. The guitarists played off each other perfectly. The keyboardists and trumpet added perfect flares to the main sound. And Alex and Jade are the most perfect live couple in music today.

When the opening notes to "Home" finally rang through the club, I realized that I did actually know the song, though only from a cover version by a honky-tonk band I had seen a few days prior in West Virginia. (Luke and the Lovelys. They do shows in Frederick and Hagerstown. Check 'em out.) The call and response lines between the two were the most painfully adorable thing I'd ever witnessed. At times the band dropped down to a near murmur as the two had conversations with each other, riffing off the lyrics without missing a beat as the rest of the band looked on longingly.

The encore was more brilliant than anything. The band returned onstage and Alex announced a new song called "Man on Fire," with a refrain to the tune of "I want the whole world to dance with me." (It's gonna be fucking huge.) So, to celebrate this song, he dropped into the crowd and got everybody in the room to dance with him. And they did. They really fucking did. The entire 9:30 Club crowd, after three hours of standing, danced to a song that the vast majority of them had never heard.

After a short trip back to the stage, he decided to see "how far this cord will stretch." So he hopped offstage once more and made a beeline for the center of the room, talking to everyone he met on the way ("Hey, new friends!"). After finding himself standing barefoot in a puddle of beer, he decided to sit down. "This isn't too bad. Why don't you guys have a seat with me?"

And with that, the ENTIRE FUCKING ROOM SAT DOWN. EVERYONE IN THE 9:30 CLUB SAT DOWN. ON THE FLOOR. ON LAPS. ON THE STAGE. ON WHATEVER THEY COULD FIND. AND THEY FUCKING SANG A SONG TOGETHER.

If you've been to the 9:30 Club, then you know what an achievement this is--not just because of the size of the room and crowd, which is pretty damn large, considering they sold out, but because of the copious amounts of beer and alcohol that flood this place every single night. Every inch of the floor was coated in beer, cans, bottles, cups, and general debris, yet the audience still sat, because at that point we would've done absolutely anything he asked of us. At that point we were all the same person. He united everybody in the venue to a degree that my pessimistic, downer ass never would've thought possible. It's was truly incredible.

After the show, destroying any notion that his stage presence had simply been an act, Alex remained in the crowd, talking and hugging and kissing and shaking hands with anybody who wanted anything from him. He was still there when we finally made our way out of the building.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

jon spencer blues explosion - damage

Get out your calculator slide rule
No matter which way you fold and bend, turn
Boy you never gonna top us
You're never gonna beat us
Can you dig my band?!

Takin' orders from a higher power

Ladies and gentlemen
I got a bad feeling, but right now
It feels so good.

I don't know what exactly Jon Spencer is selling, but I'm buying.

If his next album is a single track detailing the location of a secret cult gathering where he'll scream into a microphone hooked up to a set of Marshall stacks and preach the Gospel of arsenic-laced Kool-Aid as a herd of ghost-faced robe-donned sinners fight for the first cup of death, you better fucking believe I'm high-tailing my sorry ass to join him in the promised land.

The man's a huckster for sure, a dirty son of a bitch playing some angle, trying to fuck me over somehow someway for some reason, just like he did with every Pussy Galore album that I eat up with reckless abandon and a joyless misery that purifies my soul just as it withers it away, but goddammit all to hell my wallet is still wide fucking open.

I'm a macaroni man stick like spaghetti
Snap crackle in the rock and roll heat

This is rock 'n roll. This is pure fucking soul. This is everything anybody will ever need ever. THIS MAN WILL SAVE YOU. THIS MAN, THIS HERO, THIS GOD AMONGST MEN WILL LEAD YOU ASTRAY AND TURN YOU INTO A BELIEVER OF THAT HOLIEST OF GOODS THAT THE LORD HIMSELF WOULD FALL PREY TO IF HIS DIVINE BODY WAS EVER BROUGHT DOWN INTO THE PRESENCE OF THIS PROPHET, NAY, THIS SAVIOR, THIS SAVIOR OF ROCK 'N ROLL, OF MUSIC, OF THE GOOD OF YOU AND I AND EVERYBODY ELSE LOST IN THIS GOD FORSAKEN EXISTENCE WE CALL THE STOPPING POINT. THIS IS IT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THIS IS WHERE IT ALL BEGINS AND ENDS. RAISE YOUR HANDS AND BE HEALED.

I got the blues alright
I feel so bad
People, we gotta get on up
And shut this down
Cuz it ain't right
And I know I know
That there's something better
Out there
Cuz baby, I love you
And see the sky outside open up
And everything turn blue.

This is not just what rock music has been missing--this is what life has been missing. We could ALL learn something from Jon Spencer.

Give me some of your stink
I'm gonna put my stink over your stink
Get that sweet stink
Ain't gonna help ya, ain't gonna help ya at all
You got that fat lip baby let's have a ball.

Let's have a fucking BALL. Let's overlap our fucking STINKS and let it all just fucking HAPPEN. Why overthink it? We've all got our stink, and our whole fucking lives are spent just trying to lay it down on another person and get ourselves high off the sweet sweet stench of it all. Did Jesus tell you that? No. Jon Spencer told you that. Now tell me that isn't more fucking PROFOUND and REAL than anything you can conjure up out of the Gospels. I fucking dare you.

Good evening ladies and gentleman, it is an honor to be here tonight with you everybody.
I wanna say hello and welcome to the party.
We are Blues Explosion and wanna play some rock 'n' roll.
Now ladies and gentleman this is not the devil's music but it feels like the devil’s time.
We are not in the service of the devil but sometimes I feel his sick breath on my behind.
Said I feel so bad sometimes.
I wanna sing about it in my song, I want everybody, I said I want everybody…

I want someone to help me with these blues
I'm gonna hang up my rock 'n' roll shoes
Take one in the head and one off the wrist
Won't you help me, please help me Miss...

These words were written in 2004. 2004. On the ninth track of the album. It took fifty years for somebody to come out and describe rock 'n roll, to truly put into words what all this shit is about, why anybody cares, why anybody bothers to keep punching out those chords day in and day out, why it's still fucking here when people were calling it dead before the fucking Beatles were out of their Huggies, and this man has the balls to call it our with a grandiose GOOD EVENING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN two-thirds of the way through the record. If that don't convince you he's the end-all source of wisdom in this world I don't know what will.

There is a devil. There is a devil in us all. The devil in me sure as fuck isn't a red guy with a pitchfork, and if that's your devil than you have more issues than Jon Spencer could even begin to deal with. But it's in us. It takes a different form every time, it affects us all in its own sick fucking way, but it's there. And playing rock 'n roll is about as close as you can get to the fucker without succumbing to him.

That's all rock 'n roll really is in the end, isn't it? Tip toeing the line between you and the devil, and dragging anybody around you just as fucking close to that line as you'll dare to get. Some people take that extra step and get sucked down over the edge, God only fucking knows how many bodies are littered down at the bottom of that trench, but that fear, that irrational chance taken staring down the face of pure evil and pain and agony lying not so deep within you is what makes it all okay, it's what keeps you from bowing down and snapping and just roaring out in acceptance of the torment within us all, or even worse, giving it a different name, turning it into a red fucker with a pitchfork, or denying it all together, and in the process denying yourself, denying everything about you, rejecting your fucking humanity for a false sense of stability and reconciliation that screams out day after day "THEY'RE THE BAD ONES, NOT ME, I HAVE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IN MY SOUL, THE DEVIL CAN DO NO HARM TO ME."

Well guess what. I have Jon Spencer in my soul. And he could kick your soul's ass any fucking day of the week.

Get up and greet the brand new day
Feelin' so good
Everything's comin' up our way
Baby, you got on that favorite dress of mine
You lookin' so good now baby
Oh I can see everything
In all that mess with the sunshine
You're so fine, more than fine
The smile in my eye
I said you're blowin' my mind.

Don't complicate things. It doesn't get much deeper than this. Enjoy it all for what it is.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

the raincoats - the raincoats

The Raincoats are post-punk at it's absolute finest. Angry, powerful, fierce, experimental, and incredibly original, all while championing the female rock band without the image's pitfalls. This album belongs in the same category as This Heat, the Pop Group, and the countless other abrasive acts that flourished in the wake of British punk's searing double-edged impact of violent Sex Pistol angst and smart Clash rebellion.

Where other post-punk bands took their music in a deliberately chaotic direction, the Raincoats are based thoroughly on their punk roots. Their sound brings to mind the Slits, in large part because of Slit drummer Palmolive's trademark uneven style, but also for the vague reggae influence found throughout the album. Yet where the Slits were drenched in their overproduced, unnecessary reggae sound, the Raincoats don't allow themselves to be pigeonholed so easily. The dense, antagonistic violin work of Vicky Aspinall that makes an appearance halfway through the album completely derails any solid Slits comparison, blatantly copping John Cale's screaming viola sounds a la "Heroin," yet never pushing it to the forced degree that their post-punk contemporaries tended to. (Or that John Cale tended to, for that matter.) The guitar work throughout is far from pristine, yet hardly brings to mind the sheer lack of talent that haunted the Slits. The band as a whole is uneven without any fear of complete derailment, flawed without coming off as amateurish, and ultimately pulls off one of the most ideologically sound punk performances I've ever heard.

It's here that the music becomes so impressive: it's post-punk with restraint. It's miles beyond the three-chord punk from '77, yet doesn't descend into the droning noise and obnoxious anti-pop tendencies that characterized post-punk before no-wave took it to the logical extreme. It's smart, it's primitive as hell, and it's startlingly defiant, without having to make it so damn obvious. The Slits could've learned a thing or two from them.