the mountain goats - live: 1998/02/06 - cow haus, tallahassee fl

Here's an easy way to spot the difference between a Mountain Goats fan and someone who listens to the Mountain Goats:

Ask them what their favorite Mountain Goats album is.

If said person merely listens to the Mountain Goats, they will name a studio album. Most likely Tallahassee, All Hail West Texas, or the Sunset Tree. If they're trying to get cocky, they might even namedrop Sweden or Get Lonely.

If said person is a true Mountain Goats fan, he/she will either:

a. Hesitate, then ask you to define what exactly you mean by "studio album," or

b. Name their favorite Mountain Goats live recording.

Every good Mountain Goats fan knows that the albums/tapes/compilations are just the blueprints for live recordings. Even the best recorded Mountain Goats songs become infinitely better onstage, bar-none, without question. (Aside from songs that have never been played live, of course. Which, really, given the incredible amount of songs John has written over the years, are not that great in number.) John will write a song and put it down on tape, but it never really comes alive until he's pouring through it in front of an audience, tearing through every last note, dragging the emotion out of every last syllable, at times even seeming to create new emotions he discovered in the songs after he himself wrote them.

A good example of this is Sweden, which is a really an okay Mountain Goats tape, all things considered. It doesn't stand up to the later, greater stuff, but it definitely beats the hell out of some of his older monstrosities. Yet when those same subdued songs are played live, there is a life breathed into them that is nothing short of magical. They almost sound like covers, two versions of the same song, linked together by words and structure, yet vastly different in every other sense.

This exact phenomenon happens throughout my personal favorite MG show: 1998/02/06 at the Cow Haus in Tallahassee.

There are some shows where the fire burning inside John is so white-hot and pure, it damn-near sears your ears just listening to it. Forget broken strings--from 1995-2000(ish), it wasn't a good show if John's guitar wasn't covered in blood. John tends to look back at these shows unfavorably, openly mocking his past tendency to play songs as fast and loud as possible to gratuitous effect, one that is impossible to revel in, despite the knowledge of its disingenuous. If you don't get chills hearing John belt out lines like "You can arm me to the teeth / You can't make me go to war" at top-volume, you just aren't human.

Aside from the manic energy that pervades all recordings from that time, this show is exemplary for a few other reasons. For starters, the setlist is fantastic. "Tulsa Imperative," "West County Dreams," "Waving At You," "Snow Crush Killing Song," "Family Happiness," "Minnesota"--all of which are incredible choices, some arguably sounding at their absolute best in this recording. Clocking in at an hour and twenty minutes, it's also a fairly long show, burning through 24 songs in the process. Just when you think he's starting to fade, he comes roaring right back with even more energy than before. At one point he tells the crowd that he could keep going for three hours, and it's not hard to imagine him doing it, if he thought they would've stuck with him.

The sound quality is imperfect, but for a 13-year old recording, it's pretty excellent. There are slight rough patches to nitpick at, but if the sound is your biggest worry, then you really shouldn't be listening to shows like this in the first place. The balance is great throughout, if a bit low, so you should definitely jack the volume up using your media player of choice. One of the more common problems with these live recordings is poor audio during John's between-song banterings, and thankfully, every word that leaves his mouth that night rings through loud and clear. And as far as Mountain Goats banter goes, this is pretty good. No classic drunk-John lines, no interplay with Peter or anyone else, but plenty of audience dialogue and some choice song descriptions.

All-in-all, it's a tremendous experience, one that any Mountain Goats fan should partake in without hesitation, and one that would certainly open the eyes of "fans" who think the best Mountain Goats recording is a studio album. (Lol.)

Link: http://www.archive.org/details/mountaingoats1998-02-06.flac16

(In case you were wondering, John has no problem with people sharing live shows online. Archive.org even has an email from him, giving his direct blessing.)

virgin mobile freefest 2011

Another year, another Virgin Mobile Freefest.

This was my second year in a row at the festival (both under the “Freefest” moniker), and my fifth year overall. It wasn't the best year I've been, but it wasn't the worst either. Pretty middling overall, with a couple great bands slightly dampened by a poor mood that covered most of the festival.

Any post about this festival needs to start with how fucking terrible Merriweather Post Pavilion is for shows of this nature. This is about as far from ideal festival territory as you can get. Aside from the very basic necessities (sound from the stages doesn't bleed together, etc.), it's just a horrific experience going anywhere or trying to get anything, to the point that it really does interfere with the general experience and even the individual bands themselves.

Just like last year, Merriweather was fucking PACKED. Filled to the brim with people. Absurd crowds everywhere you went—even wandering around mid-day. Any food stands, bars, or bathrooms were completely swamped after noon, to insane levels. One area to the right of the pavilion that encompassed all three amenities was simply a massive swarm of people virtually the entire day. All paths moving from stage to stage were slow-moving, tight, and uncomfortable, all day. One path in between the dance forest and festival stage worked as a walking path, an area for food lines, and a route for port-a-potty trucks—simultaneously.

Any and all attempts at fostering a “festival” atmosphere of any kind were completely lost. The kind of activities, events and special areas that make festivals like Coacella or Bonnaroo unique acted purely as corporate advertising, with no attempt to hide it at all. The degree to which you were bombarded with advertising, plugs, and freebies throughout the day was simply exhausting. I don't think I'm alone in saying I would GLADLY pay some money for my “Free” ticket if it meant actually being able to walk around in peace for a little.

I can't speak to the setup at the pavilion stage (I didn't see a single band there), but the pavilion setup was atrocious. Just like last year, the process of emptying out the pit after every band was a joke. It turned the event into a series of concerts as opposed to any kind of “festival.” And while last year's setup allowed two different lines to form along the outside stairs—one for the current band, one for the upcoming one—fans waiting for the next band were forced to line up outside of the pavilion altogether, resulting in long, winding lines stretching out into the masses of people wandering around. In the case of the Black Keys, that line probably ended up right in the middle of that aforementioned amenities sea—at best.

Even people sitting inside the pavilion—which seemed to be made entirely free, a welcome change from last year—were subject to the same shitty treatment. Pavilion seating was locked down after the band started to play, with workers forbidding people from both entering AND re-entering the seating area. The only problem was, they didn't tell anyone who went to leave. If you wanted to get a beer during TV on the Radio or you really had to piss during the Black Keys, you were allowed to leave, then told when you returned that you would have to wait with the rest of the people trying to get in. The result was an incredible number of empty pavilion seats toward the end of the major bands, and an insane rush of people trying to get back to their seats AND find new ones. It's a wonder no violence broke out as a result.

I think I'm almost running out of shit to bitch about. $8.50 beers are always horrible, but that's been the case at Merriweather and just about every other venue for so long, it's not even worth talking about anymore. The parking was atrocious, apparently leading most concertgoers to park at rented lots outside of the actual grounds, but that was most likely a result of the Biblical amount of rain Maryland had had that week. I imagine the main parking grounds were just completely washed out.

So, now to the bands.

The first band we saw was Okkervil River. I was running off a brilliant drunk high at this point, so my judgment may be somewhat cloudy. But I absolutely love them. I've been a fan for about five years, and their music has gotten me through a lot of shit, so it was an emotional experience to be sure. I definitely teared up during “A Girl in Port.” Singer Will Sheff is just as uniquely powerful onstage as he is on his albums, with his imperfect vocals still absolutely radiating with emotion throughout the show. His physical presence took me by surprise, especially when he started to get almost violent towards the end of the performance, adding yet another level of power to his stage presence. His backing band was also fantastic, though I was admittedly staring almost exclusively at guitarist Lauren Gurgiolo, who introduced me to my new favorite fetish: women who can rock a pedalboard. Quite possibly the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Just an amazing performance by the whole band, coupled with some excellent song choices, including personal faves “Black” and “For Real.”

After Okkervil, we wandered for a good deal, getting our drunk on and not really settling anywhere until !!!, who we had originally planned on merely stopping to catch a glimpse of before moving on to Patti Smith, Cut Copy, Cee Lo Green, and James Murphy. (If that sounds ambitious, it's because it clearly was.) !!! grew more and more addictive with each passing minute, to the point that we decided we couldn't be fucked to see any of those other assholes and stayed for the whole show. It's hard to pinpoint why !!! is better than your average dance-rock band. Maybe it's the full-blown instrumentation, with virtually every note and effect being played right in front of your face, as opposed to bland, synth/drum-machine dominated live acts. Maybe it's the songs, which are just brutally catchy and funky to the extreme. Or maybe it's how fascinatingly gay Nic Offer is.

Clad in short-short-short-shorts (two “shorts” just isn't enough), climbing all corners of the stage, showing off his best Travolta impressions, and barking out effect-heavy, echoing vocal orders to the crowd, Nic was simply mesmerizing to watch. I'd rank it up there with my top-five favorite frontman experiences ever. (The other four, in no particular order: Iggy Pop, Alex Ebert, Kanye West, Eric Paul.) He took the show from a catchy, danceable live band to a full-blown spectacle. And that entire crowd joined right in. There were some pot fumes floating around, to be sure, but for the most part it seemed a far cry from the drug-induced mania you would expect from a band like !!!. It just seemed like a bunch of people who wanted to have fun and dance badly for an hour or so.

After !!!, we briefly stopped by Patti Smith, only to leave immediately after hearing her dedicate a song to Amy Winehouse. (In hindsight, I probably overreacted a bit, but at the time I was absolutely devastated.) From there we checked out James Murphy for a few minutes, only to leave after realizing it was just a DJ set. (After seeing the full-blown movement of !!!, watching a guy turn a few knobs and push a few buttons is just boring as hell.)

At that point we decided to implement our master plan: Get in line for the Black Keys, and watch TV on the Radio from the steps while we waited. Unfortunately, we were not alone in this plan.

We headed for the steps, only to find a line of people stretching well outside of the pavilion. At the time, we thought the system was still the same as last year, so to us, we were looking at a line of people stretching from the stage clear back to the food stands. It was impenetrable, to say the least, and we weren't excited about the notion of standing with horrible views at the back of the pit. Looking back, of course, our spots would have been fine, since was really only 20-30 feet long. But what can you do.

So instead, we grabbed mediocre side seats and waited on TV on the Radio. A few songs into TV on the Radio, my friend unknowingly left to get food. To her surprise, there was no food left in all of Merriweather (a good 3-4 hours before the end of the festival), and she was not allowed back in until the band was finished. As for the band itself... I always considered myself a pretty big TVOTR fan, but I was not impressed. In fact, I nodded off a couple times in the middle of the set. They rely solely on the music to provide a captivating live show, but it just wasn't good, in my opinion. It probably didn't help that I was very drunk, but still.

After they finished, a hoard of people re-entered the pavilion, a mixture of people trying to get back to their seats and people desperately trying to find new ones. Across the pavilion, we watched a surge of people fill the pit line for the Black Keys. People were running down the stairs, cramming into the pit area one by one, and eventually filling the entire stairwell with bodies. It was insanity, and it's fucking miracle no one got hurt. The estimated attendance was 50k people, and the pavilion area itself has a capacity of roughly 20k. The math alone is terrifying, and the real-life experience was just as scary.

We didn't stay for the entire Black Keys performance, mainly because we were tired, hungry, and too drunk. They opened with a series of older songs just between Dan and Patrick, which were tremendous. We left shortly after they opened up the stage to a couple other musicians, giving them the instrumentation to play their new songs. I'm sure it was great, but I honestly don't know. We were ready to get the fuck out of there.

This festival needs to stop being held at Merriweather, but I know it won't, because you could practically see the fucking dollar signs everywhere you went. Promoters are raking in bucketloads of cash, so there's no end to this in sight. And as much as I want to take some kind of moral stand and say I'm never going to another Virgin Fest again, I know I'll be back next year, because it's the only major festival in Maryland (unless you count HFStival, which is a joke), because they always bring in bands I want to see, and because it's free. Each year makes me miss the Pimlico days more and more, when the festival actually felt like a goddamn festival, when you actually had room to breathe and walk around and enjoy yourself, and when you could actually stand at the front of the main stage for more than one fucking band in a row. But those days are long gone, for this festival at least, and since the chances of another festival coming in to compete with Virgin are slim to none, we have no choice but to suck it up or miss out altogether.

sebadoh - live at the black cat, 3/26/11

I've been sympathetically described by my friends as “excruciatingly awkward.” I've been told I walk around like I'm completely lost, staring at the ground to avoid all possible eye-contact. I often daydream about building a teleportation device that would send me straight from my room to anywhere on campus, completely eliminating all unnecessary social interaction.

Naturally, I'm also a huge Lou Barlow fan.

Lou Barlow got his start playing in hardcore punk bands in the early 80s before joining the seminal alternative rock band Dinosaur Jr. with childhood friend J Mascis. After playing bass in Dinosaur Jr. for five years, the two had a legendary fallout, leading to Lou being fired in 1989. From there, Lou decided to focus on his solo career, recording noisy tracks under the name Sentridoh and reconnecting with an earlier side-project, entitled Sebadoh.

Barlow is a legend in the world of “lo-fi,” a genre characterized by rudimentary recording techniques and the use of four-track recorders. His songwriting is startling introspective, marked by deeply personal confessions and the stark display of his emotions and weaknesses. It's the kind of music you don't particularly want to be able to relate to, but once you can, it's an experience unlike any other.

This is loner music, through-and-through, made by a loner for loners. This is music for people who daydream about not having to talk to other people, like myself. So in proper fashion, I went to a Sebadoh concert on Friday alone, where I stood amongst other loners and sang songs with them about lost love and an increasingly fractured sense of self. An interesting experience, to the say the least.

Lou Barlow is exactly what I hope to be in twenty years. Who wouldn't want to be in their mid-forties playing loud, noisy, fun music for a living? Best of all, he's apparently managed to deal very well with his own personal awkwardness, something I struggle with constantly.

It was still there, noticeably apparent every time he pushed his bangs out of his face after songs and let them hang like a veil every time he launched into a brutally honest song about past relationships, but it was different. He had accepted it, made it a part of him, and even turned against his audience at times. (One interaction in particular stands out in my mind: “I love you Lou!” “Yes.”)

After playing thirty songs in incredibly frantic fashion, the band lumbered off the stage at the Black Cat, and I slowly made my back to the merch table to see what they had to offer. Lo and behold, none other than Lou Barlow was standing behind the ramshackle table selling t-shirts.

As I waited in line for my t-shirt, watching person and after person shake his hand and share some kind words, I was surprisingly calm. When I got to the table, I grabbed the t-shirt I wanted, gave him my money, shook his hand, and said the first thing that came to mind, which was probably the stupidest thing I could've possibly said:

“I've been a fan for a long time. Thank you.”

Two things to note there.

First, Sebadoh formed three years before I was born. Also, the albums they were touring to promote, Bakesale and Harmacy, came out when I was five and seven years old, respectively, and I didn't actually listen to them until I was almost out of high school. So the sight of a kid who must be like 16 years old telling him he'd “been a fan for a long time” must've been hilarious beyond words.

Second, I somehow managed to make that brief little exchange the most awkward experience of my entire life. I picked up a t-shirt, held out a twenty-dollar bill out in-front of me, and Lou stared at me like I was a crazy person. When he finally took the money, I reached out my hand to shake his, and he looked down at it like he had never shook anyone's hand in his entire life. When I spoke those unfortunate words, he smiled, nodded, and thanked me for thanking him. And then I walked away. It couldn't have been any worse.

It was only on my way home that I realized everything I should've said: “Bakesale and Harmacy and Sentridoh and your solo album all changed my life, your work with Dinosaur Jr. made we want to be a better bass player, and your bass line on 'In a Jar' is the absolute pinnacle of all recorded music.”

Oh well. Maybe next time.

- 3/29/11

the mountain goats - live at the 9:30 club, 3/25/11

Fair warning: I'm a die-hard Mountain Goats fan. Die-hard as in I listen to more live recordings than I do actual albums. Die-hard as in I knew John was going to play "Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton" a good twenty seconds before he did because I saw him tune down to dropped-D. (For some reason that really freaked out the people around me.) So don't expect any sort of that journalistic fair-and-balanced nonsense in this here review.

I had only seen the Mountain Goats once prior to this show, when John Darnielle and John Vanderslice did a joint acoustic tour in 2008. This show couldn't have been further from that night at the Sixth & I Synagogue, for better or worse. But I feel confident in saying that the 9:30 Club show was at least 16x better than the Synagogue show (give or take).

The full-band Mountain Goats performance is still a rather recent phenomenon. For the better part of a decade, John played almost exclusively with bassist Peter Hughes, with scattered solo shows thrown in. Aside from encores where he would steal the drummer of his opening act, it was very much a minimalist act--even songs that he recorded in studio with a full-band would be broken down to guitar and bass. Around 2006 (to my best estimate), John began drifting toward more full-band performances, especially after 2007, when he recruited Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster as a full-time member. There was still the odd acoustic tour (hence the show I saw), but they were no longer the norm.

It was a bitter pill to swallow for a lot of Mountain Goats fans, many of whom had been following him since his cassette days. Many of his early full-band performances included jeers similar to what Bob Dylan received after going electric, though certainly never to that venomous extent. (I can remember several shows where people actually yelled "Judas," comments that John was none too amused by.)

I was admittedly saddened to learn this tour would be performed by a full-band. My fear was that John would abandon his earlier acoustic songs, playing exclusively post-All Hail West Texas material, leaving the majority of my favorite songs in the dust. I really don't think I could've been more wrong on that front.

Being that the tour was promoting All Eternals Deck, there was obviously a lot of new songs in the setlist. But John knows his core audience well, and he threw in a collection of older songs worthy of a "greatest hits" album. I knew every word to every song they played aside from the new material, and my cranky veteran superiority complex couldn't have been more placated. (I'll include a fractured setlist at the end of the post.)

The opening act was a band called Megafaun, an indie-folk band out of Durham, North Carolina. This was only the second night of the tour, and these guys were clearly still in awe of the whole experience. The traditional scorn and indifference given to most opening acts is nowhere to be found on Mountain Goats tours--we're some of the nicest people around, bar none. The group's Appalachian sound rubbed me the wrong way (honky-tonk just makes me uncomfortable, I can't explain it), but they were undeniably tight, nice as hell, and just a joy to watch on-stage. Definitely a band worth checking out if you're into rootsy country rock.

The Mountain Goats took the stage shortly after, with a brief death metal track introducing them, all four members clad in wonderful black suits. John and Peter Hughes were familiar sights, and the band was filled out by Jon Wurster at drums and Yuval Semo on keyboards and occasional guitar. (Yuval contributed organ, keyboards, and string arrangements to All Eternals Deck.) John, Peter, and Jon are still as in-sync as ever, but Yuval was clearly still working out some of the songs. The only noticeable slip-up was on "No Children," when he jumped out of the chorus a few measures early, but Peter set him straight from across the stage. There were several times when John had to teach him songs on the spot they hadn't rehearsed, but Yuval picked up on them seamlessly.

John Darnielle is simply the most entertaining frontman in music today. He's a joy to watch on-stage, his vocal delivery absolutely reeks of emotion, and his stage banter is on a whole different level from anyone else in the game. His best moment came during a rant against bands writing encore songs on the setlist, when he used Weezer as a hypothetical example.

"We don't say beforehand 'Oh, we'll play "The Sweater Song,"' a statement the audience cheered surprisingly loud for.

John seemed to realize almost immediately what he'd done, as did Peter. "You'd better get on Twitter after the show," he said to much laughter.

"I have no prior knowledge of that band," John maintained, though he was still clearly not backing down from his example. (I can only hope this leads to some kind of bizarre Mountain Goats/Weezer passive-aggressive feud.)

The band opened with several full-band tunes, before the rest of the group emptied, leaving John on-stage to play a few songs solo. The set alternated back and forth in this fashion for the most part, largely split between newer and older songs, though the band did play several old-school songs in full arrangement, including "Minnesota," and "Going to Georgia"(!)

Your average Mountain Goats show is better than anything else in the world, but this show was extraordinary even by the lofty expectations John's set over the years. As I rushed to jot down the songs I could remember after the show, I quickly came to the realization that this was one of the best setlists I'd ever seen from the band, and this is coming from a guy with around 50+ live recordings. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the immediacy of his old acoustic format, but I was still floored by the full-band format. This will definitely go down as one of the best tours the Mountain Goats have ever done.

If you can get tickets, for the love of God do it. Now. Travel as far as you need to go to see them live. You will not regret it.

I don't have a perfect chronological setlist, so I won't try to recreate the exact show. Instead I'll just list what I have, divided between new and old songs. (I'm fairly confident that I wrote down every song they played, though I certainly could've missed a few.)

NEW:

Damn These Vampires

Birth of Serpents

Estate Sale Sign

Beautiful Gas Mask

Outer Scorpion Squadron

For Charles Bronson

Never Quite Free

Liza Forever Minelli

SOMEWHERE IN-BETWEEN:

A Silkworm cover I couldn't quite place. It was fantastic though.

OLD:

Broom People

Dino Lapati's Bones

Minnesota

Family Happiness

Island Garden Song

Southwood Plantation Road

Seeing Daylight

No Children

Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton

This Year

The Sign

Going to Georgia

I'm not fucking with you. They played "No Children," "Death Metal Band," "This Year," "The Sign," AND "Going to Georgia" on the same night. A decent Mountain Goats show in the past had two of those songs as encores, but I can't remember ever seeing a show that had all of those songs together. I winced a little when John started off "Going to Georgia"--John's admitted in the past that that song became the bane of his existence--but it surprisingly turned into a jaunting full-band song that John actually seemed to be enjoying, which was a wonderful change.

On a side-note: I bought a CD copy of All Eternals Deck at the show and listened to it for the first time on the ride home. My initial reaction when it was finished: "That was pretty terrible." My reaction after giving it a second listen today: "Damn, that was really good." So take that as you will. Definitely worth a purchase.

gang of four - live at the 9:30 club, 2/8/11

Gorilla vomit

Up the street

Suit

Jesus

Gay

Knife

Confetti

Hungover

Switching mics and guitars

Diverse crowd

Every good song but Natural

Guitar during Anthrax super tame

Ether slow

New guys fit in well

Switching mics all night

Double encore with cut-off

Sing-along choruses

"Swell"

"Super swell"

deerhoof - live at the 9:30 club, 2/7/11

(To make up for missing Friday's entry, I'm posting two new pieces this week. Look for my Gang of Four review this Friday in addition to this.)

I thought I knew a good deal about Deerhoof going into this show.

I had been a fan for about four years, going through hardcore listening phases on and off during that time.

I knew the band included a petite Japanese singer, an incredibly chaotic drummer, and a set of pedal-crazy madmen at guitar.

I knew they were supposed to be absolutely fantastic live.

But I still wasn't even remotely prepared for them last night.

---

The opening acts were both solid, in their own special ways.

Ben Butler and Mouse Pad was a solid duo, combining Dan Deacon-style kaleidoscope electronica with fast-paced, energetic percussion supporting it. The two guys looked like they were best friends having the time of their lives, which I love to see in an opening act. Nothing worse than watching a band obligingly trudge through their set just because everyone in the room isn't digging it.

Chain and the Gang was solid in the sense that they were a Motown novelty act. You know, solid. "Chain" was none other than Ian Svenonius from Nation of Ulysses, clad in a relentlessly sexy solid orange suit and a matching bottle of orange soda in hand. The backing band all wore matching prison outfits, with the exception of a backup vocalist/tambourine girl in a wonderfully skimpy skirt and top. The whole set was an act, complete with choreographed bits before, during, and after songs. Chain was eating it up the entire time, playing his overblown stage persona that was one part James Brown and another Jon Spencer right to the very edge. Svenonius showed his true colors throughout the set, however, launching into thinly veiled, humorous rants on consumerism, government corruption, and the decline of society that hearkened back to his Ulysses days.

Nobody knew how to react to this, at all. I mean, Nervous Cop was set to play, and then out of nowhere these guys come marching out. We weren't prepared. Had we been, I think they would've gone over much better. I liked them, but the vast majority of the crowd was giving "what the fuck is going on" stares as Chain scissor kicked his way across the stage, the band churning away at their over-the-top take on 60s garage and Motown. There was a definite set of relief when they finished up their set.

Greg explained their presence later on in the show: They wanted to get a local band to cover for Nervous Cop (no explanation for their absence), so Greg called up Brendan Canty, the drummer for Fugazi, who ecstatically recommended Chain and the Gang. Greg recalled being confused at first, but then falling in madly love with them. Nice to see those DC hardcore guys stick together after all these years.

Deerhoof's setup was unlike any I'd ever seen before. Drummer Greg Saunier was set up stage left, directly in front of me. As we watched a roadie physically duct tape his kick drum to the floor, we could tell we were gonna be in for a treat with his playing. His "high-hat," if you can call it that, must've been made of 10" cymbals, and his one regular ride must've been 15". Coupled with a single snare, kick, tom, and floor tom, this was clearly a setup unique to him.

The middle of the stage was taken up by two different guitarists, one six-string, one twelve, both with massive pedal boards connecting back to several small guitar amps. The six-string, played by Ed Rodriguez, had a convoluted system of electronics that I still don't quite understand: the guitar input led to a small device taped to his guitar, then branched off into two different cords, one that lead to an amp, and another that seemed to be run through a synth sitting at the back of the stage. Whatever it was, I want it.

Then stage right was Satomi Matsuzaki's simple mic stand and bass amplifier, though she would roam the stage singing several times during the show.

Deerhoof took the stage holding small masks to their faces, pausing in the middle of the stage for a minute before discarding them and taking their seats. After getting situated, they burst into sound at Greg's signal.

Standing in front of Greg Saunier and watching him play for roughly an hour was easily one of the most rewarding experiences of my entire life. The show felt more like a drum clinic than an actual concert. His technique was beyond anything I had ever seen, pure manic energy with spastic shots darting around his spare drum kit, all delivered with a punishing force that at any point could be pulled back to support the rest of the band. Within two songs he had broken several sticks. His drums fell out of tune constantly, and at several points he began playing one-handed as he tuned his snare or toms. It was simply mesmerizing to watch, and I spent most of my time focused on him as a result.

The sound levels on the guitars were far too low, probably as much a result of my location close to the stage as it was any problems within the venues. With their guitar amps being so small and monitors being pulled close to the individual members, it was difficult to make out much of the sounds they were generating. But oh was it fun to watch.

John Dieterich worked his twelve-string with impressive dexterity, moving back and forth toward his pedal board throughout the gig, constantly shaping his sound with frequent stomps and twists across his numerous pedals. Rodriguez lunged across the stage all night, throwing his guitar against his amp to send screeching feedback through the venue that even we could hear. His interactions with Satomi were among the most memorable images of the night, including a brief Chuck Berry duck walk across the stage that was one of the most purely entertaining things I've ever seen.

It should be noted at Satomi is roughly five feet tall, but compared to the tall, lanky figures of the other members, she seems about two feet. Everything I ever heard about her was completely true. She's absolutely adorable. Her vocals soar out just as high pitched as they do on record, though there were hints at times that the sound was far from ideal--at one point, Greg walked over to Satomi's mic and dictated exactly how her vocals needed to be adjusted. It seemed fine to us, but then again this guy spent a good fifteen minutes tuning his four drums before they took the stage.

Throughout the show, she accompanied her vocals with various hand motions--pointing to different sides, swinging her arms in the air, and so forth--that the audience imitated whenever they could keep up. For several songs, she passed her bass off to Rodriguez and wandered the around with her mic, leading the audience in call-and-response choruses and she ran up and down the edge of the stage. I cannot even begin to describe the joy I found having her stand directly in front of me singing "Come See the Duck." Pure happiness.

The only word to describe the band playing as a whole is "energy." Unlimited amounts of it, flying in every direction. Greg pounding away at this kit, guitarists flying across the stage, non-stop movement in every direction, rhythm changes popping up out of nowhere, random effects kicking in at the guitarists' will, all dialed down to an art form.

Greg was clearly the bandleader at all times, and for most songs they had to wait for him to stop playing until they could continue. At times the man seems like he isn't in control of his playing. The song would stop, yet he would continue to flail around at this drumset, playing the wrong sides of drums, the inside of his cowbell, and muting his cymbals without hitting them. Just a blur of limbs and sweat and shards of food surrounding him all night.

What was perhaps most refreshing was the band's attitude. Even with the sound problems, which were so severe at the beginning of the show that all four members went to the sound board individually, the band was visibly happy to be performing for us, a far cry from the traditional tough guy, rock star attitude you see with most acts today. They're a fan's band, no question.

They even played a double encore--a double encore! The Black Lips wouldn't even play one when I saw them last year, and these guys played two! And one of the encore songs was Pinhead by the Ramones! (I was extremely upset to find that I was the only person up front singing along as Ed barked out the lyrics. Damn kids need to do their homework.)

The sound issues are really the only thing keeping this from being a flawless show. All night, I kept hoping they would turn a knob or two and crank the sound up, but it never happened. Lack of feedback aside, that night was one of the best I've had in a long time--and it was a night I really needed. If you get a chance to see them live, take it and invite everyone you know to come join you.

hanatarash - live at zabo kyoto, december 16 1984

I feel like the recording I just spent forty minutes of my life listening to may some day prevent me from getting a job.

"Mr. Golinski, it says here that you once scrobbled a forty minute live recording of some vaguely angry Japanese men throwing steel barrels around a room, breaking large pieces of glass, and creating various other means of noise in front of an audience in an apparent attempt to make music. Is this true?"

"Yes, yes it is."

"Get the fuck out of my office."

Beyond that even, I feel like the action of listening to such music may one day be made illegal.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Cowell."

"Is this the fucker who was listening to a recording of one of those goddamn Jap Satanist cults throwing beer bottles at an orphanage while audio of the CNN 9/11 broadcast ran through Marshall stacks pointed at a local Church?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Guilty as fucking charged."

That wouldn't be too harsh of a sentence, really. I imagine the sounds of prison would make just as great a soundtrack as any low-grade Hanatrash bootleg.

Which this isn't, by the way. There's nothing more exhilarating than listening to people just break shit purely for the creation of that immaculate sound shit makes when it breaks. Which is exactly what this is, recorded at remarkable quality, considering the fact that maybe a few hundred people total ever actually saw Hanatarash live, let alone attempted to record what they were seeing.

I love noise. I love the chaos of it all. I love the freedom that comes from hearing normal, sane people grab hold of everyday objects and just destroy everything around them for the sheer penetrating thrill of making noise in the heart of the soulless banal continuity society puts forth for us to revel and slowly die in.

Hanatarash were a pretty infamous band that was known for wild, violent live performances. There is a rumor that you drove a bulldozer through the wall of the club where you were performing. Is that true?

Eye: Yes. It was the dinosaur kind. With the back hoe scooper. Just drove it into the club.

Was the club owner happy with you destroying the walls of his club?

Eye: Hmm. We pretty much destroyed... ruined that club. I was planning on throwing Molotov cocktails but the bulldozer I was driving tipped over and gasoline spilled out. If we threw the Molotov cocktails, we would have set the whole place on fire.

Is that the same show where you had a circular saw strapped on your back and
accidentally cut your leg?

Eye: That was a different show.

Those are the words of a sane person who drove a bulldozer into a club on a whim, and almost cut his leg off with a circular saw strapped to his back on the other show. This is what I love.

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.

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.

health - live at the village

I am what you could call a "fan" of concerts. And by "fan," I mean a concert is the one place where I can achieve some form of existential tranquility, the one place where I feel completely at home, the one place where I am perfectly content and want nothing more from my life or any of the other people sharing it with me. Let's just say I like them.

Being a "fan" of this whole writing thing as well, I find myself writing concert reviews in my head as I'm watching bands play, hopefully retaining some of those thoughts long enough to write them down when I get home.

This, however, was a different kind of concert.

I came home that night and didn't even attempt to write out one of my usual bombastic, ridiculous descriptions of how a band of angels had descended from heaven, plugged in their guitars, and blessed my ears with feedback and noise so holy it could only have come from the hands of God himself. Instead, I went to sleep, woke up the next day well past noon, and wrote this concert review on one of my frequented music sites:


"The musical equivalent of finding God. I can't hear anything out of my left ear and I hope I never do ever again."

Granted, that's pretty much the same thing I always say, minus the whole "describing the actual concert" thing, but still. This concert was different, and that little blurb proves it.

---

For those unlucky souls who've yet to experience this little band called Health, I'll attempt to sum up the general experience of seeing them play live.

Health is made up of four members.

Two generic American indie kids both sporting:
- Short, slick haircuts
- Horrifically tight jeans
- V-neck white t-shirts, one of which advertises their Colorado-based electro opening act, Paperplane

One six-foot tall Asian man with:
- Long, straight black hair reaching well past his neck
- Equally as frightening, how-did-he-put-those-on skinny jeans
- A blue t-shirt, reading "Glass Candy" in a hip style and font

One neanderthal-looking man sitting behind a drumset with:
- A ponytail
- ...
- That's all I've got on him

The reason I've gone into such oddly homoerotic detail with the band members is that a live Health performance is all about imagery, more so than any other band I've ever seen. Even the music itself becomes a visual force: as the audience is blasted with wall upon wall of screeching feedback and effects, you cannot help but be hypnotized by the dizzying array of instrumentation onstage, to the point that the music almost becomes an unnecessary distraction from the mesmerizing act that the process of "playing" the instruments quickly becomes.

And when I say "playing," I mean "playing" with every ounce of quotational hyperbole imaginable.

Defining the role each member plays within the band is basically useless. The drummer is the drummer, that much is set in stone, but that's about it. There's the vocalist/guitarist/percussionist/keyboardist, there's the bassist/vocalist/keyboardist, there's the guitarist/vocalist/keyboardist... You get the picture. The stage is littered with guitars and pedals and keyboards and drums and cymbals that anybody at anytime could get up and start playing.

To illustrate just how far this band takes those aspects, take this into consideration: This is a band that uses microphones as instruments. Not as a means of picking up sounds and sending them through speakers, mind you, but as actual vehicles of noise-making.

Seriously.

In what was possibly the most mind-blowing moment of the entire show, the two guitarists and the bassist all fall to their knees in front of their individual arrays of pedals and buttons and flashing lights and begin fervently turning knobs and adjusting effects, while the drummer is sitting in the background making seemingly random noise at will. With a couple quick glances across the stage, the three men all pick up microphones and quickly switch them on.

KRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

One flick of a tiny little plastic switch opens up a blistering death knell of sheer noise, feedback ringing and echoing and racing through a dozen pedals and switches, all putting their own unique spark of insanity into the mayhem that is washing over the audience at absolute full volume.

The noise sends the band into a frenzy. One of them is on his knees screaming into his manufactured chaos device, his own voice getting lost in the careening digital voices around him. Another has his microphone raised in the air, his head buried in the maze of cords in front of him. Another is dancing across the stage, throwing his body wildly into the air, head tilted back, eyes closed, immersed in the incomparable high of aural destruction.

And then it stops. The microphones are switched off with perfect timing, the feedback is silenced, leaving only the chaotic drumming which pales in comparison to the cacophony that has left the band visibly reeling, almost as if they themselves are in shock of what had just happened.

On some invisible cue, the three members drop to their knees and switch on their mics once again.

KOOOOOORRRRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHEEEEEEYYYYYYOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

Another wave of noise hits the audience, this one somehow more punishing than the one before it. All three men have taken to screaming into their instruments, sounds you could just barely pick out among the impossibly dense feedback. The bassist's hair is completely covering his face and arms, and for a brief second it seems that his very soul is crying out through the speakers.

At this point the sound is truly overwhelming. The stage takes on a nightmarish atmosphere, the flashing lights clouded with smoke, the bodies responsible hurling themselves around the stage, completely immersed in the chaos of it all. Even the most confident and seasoned concert vets begin to back away from the stage, their ears overcome by the violent sounds coming not out of the speakers, but the band's monitors. A look backwards brings you face to face with trendy 18-year old girls in neon sunglasses and puffed up 80s hair wrapped in ridiculously flashy headbands, all nearly doubled over from the pain. And yet the band is unscathed.

The noise relents once more, and then continues yet again, louder than ever. My well-worn actually begin to hurt, a sensation I've never felt at a concert before in my life. I find myself leaning over the stage to escape the sounds of the speakers, my head positioned against the band's monitors, inches away from the tangled web of pedals and cords creating these beautiful, terrible sounds. For a brief second I consider reaching over and hitting the one magic button the bassist has been frequenting all night, the button to make this insanity come to a close.

Finally, the band ceases for the last time, moving onto their next sonic experiment, leaving an entire room of people in total awe, yelling in vain into their friends' ears, trying to communicate the level of pure ecstasy and pain they had just been exposed to.

Every man on that stage is completely and utterly lost in the music. From the energy and momentum pouring out of them, you would have never guessed that they had performed this act hundreds of times before, touring endlessly for years, recording two studio albums and a remix album in the process. Any band can push a few buttons and create feedback, but this band fades into the feedback themselves, becoming a part of the music, putting bodies and faces and movements onto what was once before nothing but sound.

This noise in motion, this living feedback, is what packs the Village and hundreds of venues just like it full of people ready and willing to lose a bit of hearing to experience one of the most exhilarating, unforgettable acts on the music scene today. It is a musical occasion that has to be experienced, not read about, not watched on Youtube, not retold by a friend, but felt.

I can truly say I will never be the same after that night. Only partially because my left ear still rings a little when I sleep.