Pearl Jam- Animal (Indio, CA-1993)
Led Zeppelin- Immigrant Song (1972)
AC/DC- Shot Down in Flames (??)
Showing posts with label live music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label live music. Show all posts
Monday, May 10, 2010
Just Because: Badass Live Videos
Resurfacing after months of silence; the slog of the school semester is over, and I'm feeling free. Thoughts on summer music coming soon, but for now, some badass live performances. Just because.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Alive and Kicking (and Screaming) Part 2: AC/DC at Madison Square Garden 11/12
Note: Part 2 of the greatest musical event of my life. See below for part 1, on the Pumpkins. It seems that a ton of footage from the AC/DC show has made its way onto youtube. I've linked to it here where possible, but note that's not my footage, so I'm not responsible for the atrocious audio in some of the clips. I'll be updating this post with some pictures from the show before the end of the weekend.
It’s 10:45 P.M. in Madison Square Garden. The lights are dimmed, but below me I can make out a rolling, pitching sea of human bodies. They jump up and down. They punch their fists toward the ceiling. They whistle. They scream. They chant: “AN-GUS!! AN-GUS!!" They want blood.
And they get it.
The blazing stage lights fire up, and AC/DC hits the first few notes of their final song. It’s the jilting masterpiece “For Those About to Rock.” The crowd (myself included) knew this was coming, and yet it still takes us to a nirvanic state of pandemonium. I can’t hear my own thoughts. I have no thoughts. I have no voice. My ears are already blown out, and I’m seeing in stereo. At this point, I notice that behind the band, a row of six cannons has materialized, pointing directly at the crowd.
And this is when it hits me that I’m about to get my face blown off.
But my story begins a few hours earlier. More accurately, it begins in the year 2000. At the time, AC/DC had just finished the Stiff Upper Lip tour and I had, well, missed the tour. But I wasn’t alone. During a late night bar conversation sometime thereafter, some friends of mine and I made a pact: we would pay any cost (actually I said up to $500) to see AC/DC on their next tour. At this age—and with that lifestyle—you never know when AC/DC’s going to play their last note, we reasoned [we were categorically wrong on this note, more on that later].
So, naturally, when the Black Ice tour was announced, we freaked out. Not like we hadn’t been talking about this for the past eight years, but all of a sudden it was finally possible. With only one slight hitch: the only show we could all attend was in New York City, on a Wednesday night. However, this is hardly the thing that stands in the way of pacts. One half day at work and $20 bus ride later, there we stood on 8th avenue, outside the hulking Madison Square Garden, about to rock.
After killing some time at Tir Na Nog (props to the establishment for playing some AC/DC tunes before the show), we headed into MSG and to our seats. My friends and I have a phrase for the feeling you get when you walk out of a stadium/arena gate and finally have full view of the field/court/concert/whatever: the walk of life. In this case, the walk of life was unbelievable—the dark mass of humanity swelling from wall to wall and floor to ceiling in that place was just awesome. We arrived just as the opening band, The Answer, was wrapping up. No slight intended here, but thanks, now get off the damn stage.
My sense of time may have been warped (thanks again, Tir Na Nog), but after only about 10 minutes of silence, the squeaks and groans of guitars being picked up and strapped on emerged from the din. The fuse was lit. The crowd roared, and without skipping a beat, Angus, Brian and Malcolm appeared—except, not in real life. Instead, they appeared in animated form, in a tremendous opening cartoon for “Rock n’ Roll Train” which hit all the points of devilish, sexual innuendo necessary to set the stage for an AC/DC show. The cartoon cimaxed in a catastrophic train wreck which broke through the screen (as a real train!) amid major pyrotechnics. Then, you guessed it: AC/DC appeared. (Tremendous video of the opening here, but with bad sound quality)
There was no tension to be broken by that point. The crowd was raucous before the show, and the band’s appearance simply took them to another level. I cannot stress enough the power and energy in the building during this show, from beginning to end. From the first chords of RnR Train to the final cannon blasts of the encore, I have never taken part in anything comparable to this sustained outpouring of energy on that level for that amount of time. I think I pumped my fist 643,000 times, I still don’t have my voice back, and I’m sore in inexplicable places.
The setlist was—no shame in saying it—predictable. AC/DC live is a known quantity at this point. Half of the show consists of consensus classics that everyone agrees on, like “Back in Black,” “Thunderstruck,” and “You Shook Me All Night Long.” One quarter is saved for the new stuff, like "Black Ice" and "Big Jack." The final quarter is reserved for choice classics, i.e. songs that everyone loves, but that are not necessarily givens. Think “Shoot to Thrill,” “Let There be Rock,” etc. On an AC/DC tour, it's this final small portion of the setlist where you’re going to find your surprises, if there are any. That’s not a bad thing by any means, but one certainly knows what they’re getting at this point with AC/DC.
With that in mind, the most striking aspect of this show was how good the band was. Why does that seem strange to say? Was anyone questioning AC/DC’s ability? No, but then again, when you’re lead singer is 61 years old and your guitarist bears a striking resemblance to Gollum from Lord of the Rings, one has natural concerns about how things are going to hold up. Well, as I mentioned before, these concerns turned out to be completely unfounded. It’s as if the band has hit some new sort of sexagenarian stride. Brian Johnson’s voice sounded gritty and full, and held up for the full two hours. Angus continued to be a freak of nature, absolutely shredding his Gibson, torching the fretboard while running around the stage like a demonic ADHD schoolboy. They even kept in the classic bit where Angus strips down to his AC/DC boxers for “the Jack” and—yeah, I’ll say it—the man doesn’t look too shabby.
Did I expect AC/DC to bring down the house? Yes. Did I expect that, during the encore when the balding Angus was shirtless and running in circles on the floor, I would consider that I wanted to be him? No. And yet, I did.
Highlights of the show? I don’t know what to tell you. The whole show was one furious, indistinguishable highlight. "Shoot to Thrill" was a personal favorite, as was "Hell’s Bells." During "Let There Be Rock" Angus emerged from under the stage on a rising pedestal with his hands in classic devil-horn position above his head. Nice touch. "Whole Lotta Rosie" bears mentioning, not just because the song was great, but because it featured a 40-foot high inflatable version of a voluptuous woman as a backdrop, which I’m hoping to see above an AC/DC float at the Macy’s Day parade.
They have that, right? They should. Seriously, after this concert, I’m convinced that’s the type of stature AC/DC deserves. This band has put on a clinic for other rock bands on how to age gracefully. Don’t evolve, just improve. Give the people what they want, and they’ll indulge your musical ambitions. Who else could pull off Black Ice? While I consider them two very, very different bands, I will say it was poignant to see this concert 24 hours after seeing the Smashing Pumpkins anniversary show. Contrasting with Billy Corgan’s bizarre exchange with the audience, Brian Johnson was more understated with his address of the crowd:
“Yeah New York, you’re making us proud to be here.”
That about says it.
We! Salute! You!
[cannon fire]
It’s 10:45 P.M. in Madison Square Garden. The lights are dimmed, but below me I can make out a rolling, pitching sea of human bodies. They jump up and down. They punch their fists toward the ceiling. They whistle. They scream. They chant: “AN-GUS!! AN-GUS!!" They want blood.
And they get it.
The blazing stage lights fire up, and AC/DC hits the first few notes of their final song. It’s the jilting masterpiece “For Those About to Rock.” The crowd (myself included) knew this was coming, and yet it still takes us to a nirvanic state of pandemonium. I can’t hear my own thoughts. I have no thoughts. I have no voice. My ears are already blown out, and I’m seeing in stereo. At this point, I notice that behind the band, a row of six cannons has materialized, pointing directly at the crowd.
And this is when it hits me that I’m about to get my face blown off.
But my story begins a few hours earlier. More accurately, it begins in the year 2000. At the time, AC/DC had just finished the Stiff Upper Lip tour and I had, well, missed the tour. But I wasn’t alone. During a late night bar conversation sometime thereafter, some friends of mine and I made a pact: we would pay any cost (actually I said up to $500) to see AC/DC on their next tour. At this age—and with that lifestyle—you never know when AC/DC’s going to play their last note, we reasoned [we were categorically wrong on this note, more on that later].
So, naturally, when the Black Ice tour was announced, we freaked out. Not like we hadn’t been talking about this for the past eight years, but all of a sudden it was finally possible. With only one slight hitch: the only show we could all attend was in New York City, on a Wednesday night. However, this is hardly the thing that stands in the way of pacts. One half day at work and $20 bus ride later, there we stood on 8th avenue, outside the hulking Madison Square Garden, about to rock.
After killing some time at Tir Na Nog (props to the establishment for playing some AC/DC tunes before the show), we headed into MSG and to our seats. My friends and I have a phrase for the feeling you get when you walk out of a stadium/arena gate and finally have full view of the field/court/concert/whatever: the walk of life. In this case, the walk of life was unbelievable—the dark mass of humanity swelling from wall to wall and floor to ceiling in that place was just awesome. We arrived just as the opening band, The Answer, was wrapping up. No slight intended here, but thanks, now get off the damn stage.
My sense of time may have been warped (thanks again, Tir Na Nog), but after only about 10 minutes of silence, the squeaks and groans of guitars being picked up and strapped on emerged from the din. The fuse was lit. The crowd roared, and without skipping a beat, Angus, Brian and Malcolm appeared—except, not in real life. Instead, they appeared in animated form, in a tremendous opening cartoon for “Rock n’ Roll Train” which hit all the points of devilish, sexual innuendo necessary to set the stage for an AC/DC show. The cartoon cimaxed in a catastrophic train wreck which broke through the screen (as a real train!) amid major pyrotechnics. Then, you guessed it: AC/DC appeared. (Tremendous video of the opening here, but with bad sound quality)
There was no tension to be broken by that point. The crowd was raucous before the show, and the band’s appearance simply took them to another level. I cannot stress enough the power and energy in the building during this show, from beginning to end. From the first chords of RnR Train to the final cannon blasts of the encore, I have never taken part in anything comparable to this sustained outpouring of energy on that level for that amount of time. I think I pumped my fist 643,000 times, I still don’t have my voice back, and I’m sore in inexplicable places.
The setlist was—no shame in saying it—predictable. AC/DC live is a known quantity at this point. Half of the show consists of consensus classics that everyone agrees on, like “Back in Black,” “Thunderstruck,” and “You Shook Me All Night Long.” One quarter is saved for the new stuff, like "Black Ice" and "Big Jack." The final quarter is reserved for choice classics, i.e. songs that everyone loves, but that are not necessarily givens. Think “Shoot to Thrill,” “Let There be Rock,” etc. On an AC/DC tour, it's this final small portion of the setlist where you’re going to find your surprises, if there are any. That’s not a bad thing by any means, but one certainly knows what they’re getting at this point with AC/DC.
With that in mind, the most striking aspect of this show was how good the band was. Why does that seem strange to say? Was anyone questioning AC/DC’s ability? No, but then again, when you’re lead singer is 61 years old and your guitarist bears a striking resemblance to Gollum from Lord of the Rings, one has natural concerns about how things are going to hold up. Well, as I mentioned before, these concerns turned out to be completely unfounded. It’s as if the band has hit some new sort of sexagenarian stride. Brian Johnson’s voice sounded gritty and full, and held up for the full two hours. Angus continued to be a freak of nature, absolutely shredding his Gibson, torching the fretboard while running around the stage like a demonic ADHD schoolboy. They even kept in the classic bit where Angus strips down to his AC/DC boxers for “the Jack” and—yeah, I’ll say it—the man doesn’t look too shabby.
Did I expect AC/DC to bring down the house? Yes. Did I expect that, during the encore when the balding Angus was shirtless and running in circles on the floor, I would consider that I wanted to be him? No. And yet, I did.
Highlights of the show? I don’t know what to tell you. The whole show was one furious, indistinguishable highlight. "Shoot to Thrill" was a personal favorite, as was "Hell’s Bells." During "Let There Be Rock" Angus emerged from under the stage on a rising pedestal with his hands in classic devil-horn position above his head. Nice touch. "Whole Lotta Rosie" bears mentioning, not just because the song was great, but because it featured a 40-foot high inflatable version of a voluptuous woman as a backdrop, which I’m hoping to see above an AC/DC float at the Macy’s Day parade.
They have that, right? They should. Seriously, after this concert, I’m convinced that’s the type of stature AC/DC deserves. This band has put on a clinic for other rock bands on how to age gracefully. Don’t evolve, just improve. Give the people what they want, and they’ll indulge your musical ambitions. Who else could pull off Black Ice? While I consider them two very, very different bands, I will say it was poignant to see this concert 24 hours after seeing the Smashing Pumpkins anniversary show. Contrasting with Billy Corgan’s bizarre exchange with the audience, Brian Johnson was more understated with his address of the crowd:
“Yeah New York, you’re making us proud to be here.”
That about says it.
We! Salute! You!
[cannon fire]
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Top 10 Shows, Part 1
I recently knocked out a perennial to-do list item by committing to paper every concert I have ever attended. It wasn’t easy [why is 2002 so hard to remember?], but definitely a rewarding exercise. Any excuse to mentally revisit Cambridge’s Central Square more than three times in one sitting is a good one. It also gave me a reason to dig through my shoebox collection of old shit, where I found tickets from a surprising number of shows, including Reel Big Fish live at Axis in Boston, 2000. Purchased through a Strawberries Ticketmaster outlet. 4realz.
But I wasn’t blowing off the dust for nothing. As is my way, I immediately set about rearranging the list according to rank. This is where things get interesting. So many variables go into any one concert experience. What album was the band touring for? Were they “on” that night? How was the crowd? Who were you there with? This chaos is what makes live music so great. Two people with the same music tastes could go to the same five shows and come out with a completely different impression about what they saw and heard.
So, that’s what this is all about: me. Egan Caufield’s distorted prismatic musical perception. There’s no second guessing this list because it’s openly subjective. This is what rocked me. Dig?
A couple quick guidelines and caveats: First, each concert includes the main act and the opener(s)—except for festivals, which counted as single event on my overall list but are now separated by performances for purposes of the the top 10. Second, I’ve put dates where I can humanly remember; others are estimated. Finally, I admit to leaving out two Rosenschontz concerts that I went to when I was 6, only because—based on the vague memories I have now—I think If I could revisit them now they would be so mind-blowingly bizarre/awesome that it wouldn’t be fair to the other bands on this list.
Part one, reverse order, #10-6. Dig:
#10 James Mercer (of the Shins) w/ Sam Beam (of Iron & Wine) at T.T. the Bears Cambridge, MA January 2003
In February 2003, Iron & Wine’s Creek Drank the Cradle had just been released, and had not yet garnered widespread attention. Sub Pop had paired Sam and James for a U.S. tour which brought them through Boston. My first concert on U.S. soil after a semester abroad, I was able to rope one friend into to coming along with no expectations. Standing in the third row of a tightly-packed but friendly winter crowd, we were treated to some incredible music that night. Sam Beam brought his sister on stage to sing a few characteristically sweet songs, and Sam Mercer was more endearing solo than with the Shins. I was mesmerized for the entirety of the two sets. Also, the kickoff to my final months in Boston—this unexpectedly superb show can’t escape the top 10.
#9 Eels Live with Strings at the 9:30 Club Washington DC, Spring 2005
I don’t consider myself a diehard Eels fan, but I dig their music and think E is one of the more under-the-radar musical auteurs of our time. So when a friend of mine who is a diehard invited me to see them in during the Summer of 2005, I decided to go for it. He warned me beforehand that the band tends to change their entire stage act every tour. For this tour, in support of the double-CD Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, the band consisted of E on piano, a standup bassist, a drummer playing on empty suitcases, and an actual string quartet. This could have gone awry, but instead I was blown away by a quality show. They played upwards of 25 songs, including a few rare covers. Even my diehard friend was shocked by some of the playlist selections. That’s usually a good sign [A creepy, violin version of “Novocaine for the Soul” segues into “Girl from the North Country”?! Unreal]. E held court with the crowd in a professorial manner, and brought the band back out for four—four!—encores. I was really impressed with the thought and that had one into what the concert would be, and it showed.
# 8 Ugly Cassanova w/ Iron & Wine at the Black Cat Washington, DC, June 28, 2003
After becoming a Modest Mouse fan in 2000, it would be another five years before I saw them live—by that time a shell of their former selves. But I was fortunate to experience the short-lived side project Ugly Casanova, which Isaac Brock pulled off under the tightening noose of Epic Records. The project included members of Red Red Meat and the Fruit Bats among others, and had the feeling of one epic, misguided campfire session deep in the Redwood forest. The type of one-off that I know I’ll spend hours explaining to my children how good it is, to no avail.
The release of Sharpen your Teeth coincided with my first Summer in Washington DC, and became something of a soundtrack for the humid, pastoral city. The August tour date coincided with a friends’ visit, and while she was a willing accomplice, her sister was less so. After a late dinner we arrived at the show and missed the opening band--something I never like to do. It was only later that I realized the opening band was Iron & Wine, meaning I would have seen them a full five months before Sam Beam hit it big, which I would be bragging about to you right now in a parallel universe. To say nothing of missing what in retrospect is an unbelievable twin bill for the Black Cat. But anyways…
When we arrived, Isaac Brock and Co. were in rare form. Brock appeared to be drunk, and not amused by the technical difficulties the band was having with sound check. Some faulty connection which no one could seem to find was releasing an awful hiss. After 40 minutes of delay the band hadn’t started playing. The crowd was growing restless and, sensing this, Brock was becoming eagerly belligerent. In a morbid way, after all the stories of Modest Mouse’s twisted past, this was precisely what I was hoping for as my first Isaac Brock experience. While he was trading slurred curses with the front rows, each of the band members tuned their instruments with short, loud bursts of sound. The effect created a jolting cacophony [the hiss never got fixed], unsettling and awkward. Then, slowly, behind Brock’s drunken raving, the instrumental bursts started to harmonize. It picked up rhythm, gradually, and then out of nowhere it started to take a shape…a song. Brock said his last words, shut up, and then joined in the melee, slamming the metal strings of his guitar, and belting out the first lines of Pacifico (“they said they’d give me everything/ now here’s the part that makes me laugh/ they didn’t give me anything and then they took half of that/ sharpen your teeth, or lay flat!”). The awkwardness was shattered, and the room was theirs. The intro had taken about five minutes to materialize, and I had never seen it coming. Not that Isaac wasn’t sincerely drunk or belligerent, but I’ve never seen the mood in a room so masterfully manipulated. By the end of the song, every band member and most of the crowd was shouting the refrain at the top of their lungs (“sharpen your teeth, or lay flat!!!”). Absolutely incredible beginning to a show.
The rest of the show was just as good, which is why it lands in the top 10. In an age when so many bands eschew spontaneity for fan expectation and the comfort of a rehearsed setlist/act, my appreciation for Ugly Casanova grows with time. Ironically, one band very guilty of this is Modest Mouse. I’ve seen them twice, and no show on any scale comes close to the intimate evening I shared with Ugly Casanova at Black Cat.
Unfortunately, the memory is forever tinged by one small catch: against my better judgment, I allowed myself to be convinced to leave before the encore. The following day I read in the paper that Ugly Casanova covered “Styrofoam Boots on Ice, It’s Alright”—an incredible but somewhat obscure Modest Mouse song. The lesson? Don’t break your own rules.
Dig!
#7 Built to Spill at the Showbox Seattle, WA June 1, 2003
I warned you context was everything. I’ve seen Built to Spill three times, and even though I believe that they will one day be remembered as one of the best live bands of our time (and as one of the few bands who seemed to really care about their live show), I always come away from their shows thinking: “solid.” They go a long way to reaffirming my faith in music in general, but on any all-time list, they’re likely to anchor the upper-middle portion. This show cracks the top ten for a specific set of reasons.
It was the Summer of 2003, and my friends and I had set out from Florida for a cross country road trip—literally. By May 31, we had made it to Eugene, Oregon. Knowing we’d be in Seattle the next night, we looked through city listings to see what was going on. Sure enough, our one night in the rainy city coincided with the opener of three night stand by Built to Spill at the Showbox. We rolled into town blasting Hole and Nirvana, ready to singlehandedly blow life back into the grunge movement. We arrived at our hostel with just enough time to change, take in a bit of the city, and then make our way to the Showbox.
Something about being out on Seattle’s streets that night—transient tourists in the great wellspring of so much music that I grew up listening to—it really felt special. Inside the Showbox, the walls were covered with posters from previous shows which only added to my awe-masquerading-as-nostalgia. Built to Spill was characteristically great. Doug Martsch walked on stage with a backpack, set it down, and then never looked back, riffing through a 90 minute no-nonsense set of BtS classics and covers. For the record, the crowd was lousy. One drunk imbecile threw ice from his mixed drink at Doug until another fan shoved him. But it didn’t really matter. That night wasn’t just about the show itself—it was about where we were and what we had done to get there. It was even about the fact that we’d leave the next morning. All that mattered is that we were there. Where it all happened, and—for those 10 minutes when Doug Martsch tore the place down with Cortez the Killer as an encore— where it was still happening. It was about freedom, Summer 2003.
#6 Destroyer at the Avalon Manhattan, NY March 28, 2005
I’ve now seen the enigmatic Daniel Bejar/Destroyer four times, and once with the New Pornographers. One of my top-three bands/songwriters of the past five years, every show teeters on the edge of glory, but there always seems to be a hangup. Most recently he visited my home turf at the Black Cat in support of Trouble In Dreams, too intimate a setting for what turned out to be an out-and-out rock show (i.e., notably bad acoustics). In 2005 I saw him play in Manhattan in support of nothing in particular, where he played a wet-dream setlist, except he did it with a stand-in backup band who did the songs little justice. Perhaps the ideal setting was back in 2004, when Destroyer had first made themselves known to me, and I saw them at Iota, a nondescript bar in Northern Virginia. He was probably selling out larger venues in New York, and meanwhile I was one of about 20 souls who came out to see him that night. [He even used the bathroom right before me!] Unfortunately for me, the Your Blues tour called for a lot of cacophony and squelching, and I left disappointed.
‘twas not the case in Spring of 2006, when I made the trip from New Haven to Manhattan for Destroyer’s stand at the Avalon, a church converted into a concert hall. I say “stand” with some irony because they were in fact opening for Magnolia Electric, Co., but you wouldn’t have known it. There was an undeniable ambience that night. Bejar, reunited with Destroyer’s original/primary lineup, had just released the opus Destroyer’s Rubies. As the band campaigned through a well-balanced set of old and new, the room buzzed—people danced, people swayed, people called out, seething energy. Chalk it up to the ghosts of the church, but I vividly remember thinking to myself that for one of the few times in my young musical life, I was witnessing something. Destroyer, the opening band, played for an hour and fifteen minutes and was summoned back for a three-song encore. Before Magnolia Electric Co. even had a chance, I had melted out onto 7th avenue to enjoy the New York night.
Stay tuned for part 2...
But I wasn’t blowing off the dust for nothing. As is my way, I immediately set about rearranging the list according to rank. This is where things get interesting. So many variables go into any one concert experience. What album was the band touring for? Were they “on” that night? How was the crowd? Who were you there with? This chaos is what makes live music so great. Two people with the same music tastes could go to the same five shows and come out with a completely different impression about what they saw and heard.
So, that’s what this is all about: me. Egan Caufield’s distorted prismatic musical perception. There’s no second guessing this list because it’s openly subjective. This is what rocked me. Dig?
A couple quick guidelines and caveats: First, each concert includes the main act and the opener(s)—except for festivals, which counted as single event on my overall list but are now separated by performances for purposes of the the top 10. Second, I’ve put dates where I can humanly remember; others are estimated. Finally, I admit to leaving out two Rosenschontz concerts that I went to when I was 6, only because—based on the vague memories I have now—I think If I could revisit them now they would be so mind-blowingly bizarre/awesome that it wouldn’t be fair to the other bands on this list.
Part one, reverse order, #10-6. Dig:
#10 James Mercer (of the Shins) w/ Sam Beam (of Iron & Wine) at T.T. the Bears Cambridge, MA January 2003
In February 2003, Iron & Wine’s Creek Drank the Cradle had just been released, and had not yet garnered widespread attention. Sub Pop had paired Sam and James for a U.S. tour which brought them through Boston. My first concert on U.S. soil after a semester abroad, I was able to rope one friend into to coming along with no expectations. Standing in the third row of a tightly-packed but friendly winter crowd, we were treated to some incredible music that night. Sam Beam brought his sister on stage to sing a few characteristically sweet songs, and Sam Mercer was more endearing solo than with the Shins. I was mesmerized for the entirety of the two sets. Also, the kickoff to my final months in Boston—this unexpectedly superb show can’t escape the top 10.
#9 Eels Live with Strings at the 9:30 Club Washington DC, Spring 2005
I don’t consider myself a diehard Eels fan, but I dig their music and think E is one of the more under-the-radar musical auteurs of our time. So when a friend of mine who is a diehard invited me to see them in during the Summer of 2005, I decided to go for it. He warned me beforehand that the band tends to change their entire stage act every tour. For this tour, in support of the double-CD Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, the band consisted of E on piano, a standup bassist, a drummer playing on empty suitcases, and an actual string quartet. This could have gone awry, but instead I was blown away by a quality show. They played upwards of 25 songs, including a few rare covers. Even my diehard friend was shocked by some of the playlist selections. That’s usually a good sign [A creepy, violin version of “Novocaine for the Soul” segues into “Girl from the North Country”?! Unreal]. E held court with the crowd in a professorial manner, and brought the band back out for four—four!—encores. I was really impressed with the thought and that had one into what the concert would be, and it showed.
# 8 Ugly Cassanova w/ Iron & Wine at the Black Cat Washington, DC, June 28, 2003
After becoming a Modest Mouse fan in 2000, it would be another five years before I saw them live—by that time a shell of their former selves. But I was fortunate to experience the short-lived side project Ugly Casanova, which Isaac Brock pulled off under the tightening noose of Epic Records. The project included members of Red Red Meat and the Fruit Bats among others, and had the feeling of one epic, misguided campfire session deep in the Redwood forest. The type of one-off that I know I’ll spend hours explaining to my children how good it is, to no avail.The release of Sharpen your Teeth coincided with my first Summer in Washington DC, and became something of a soundtrack for the humid, pastoral city. The August tour date coincided with a friends’ visit, and while she was a willing accomplice, her sister was less so. After a late dinner we arrived at the show and missed the opening band--something I never like to do. It was only later that I realized the opening band was Iron & Wine, meaning I would have seen them a full five months before Sam Beam hit it big, which I would be bragging about to you right now in a parallel universe. To say nothing of missing what in retrospect is an unbelievable twin bill for the Black Cat. But anyways…
When we arrived, Isaac Brock and Co. were in rare form. Brock appeared to be drunk, and not amused by the technical difficulties the band was having with sound check. Some faulty connection which no one could seem to find was releasing an awful hiss. After 40 minutes of delay the band hadn’t started playing. The crowd was growing restless and, sensing this, Brock was becoming eagerly belligerent. In a morbid way, after all the stories of Modest Mouse’s twisted past, this was precisely what I was hoping for as my first Isaac Brock experience. While he was trading slurred curses with the front rows, each of the band members tuned their instruments with short, loud bursts of sound. The effect created a jolting cacophony [the hiss never got fixed], unsettling and awkward. Then, slowly, behind Brock’s drunken raving, the instrumental bursts started to harmonize. It picked up rhythm, gradually, and then out of nowhere it started to take a shape…a song. Brock said his last words, shut up, and then joined in the melee, slamming the metal strings of his guitar, and belting out the first lines of Pacifico (“they said they’d give me everything/ now here’s the part that makes me laugh/ they didn’t give me anything and then they took half of that/ sharpen your teeth, or lay flat!”). The awkwardness was shattered, and the room was theirs. The intro had taken about five minutes to materialize, and I had never seen it coming. Not that Isaac wasn’t sincerely drunk or belligerent, but I’ve never seen the mood in a room so masterfully manipulated. By the end of the song, every band member and most of the crowd was shouting the refrain at the top of their lungs (“sharpen your teeth, or lay flat!!!”). Absolutely incredible beginning to a show.
The rest of the show was just as good, which is why it lands in the top 10. In an age when so many bands eschew spontaneity for fan expectation and the comfort of a rehearsed setlist/act, my appreciation for Ugly Casanova grows with time. Ironically, one band very guilty of this is Modest Mouse. I’ve seen them twice, and no show on any scale comes close to the intimate evening I shared with Ugly Casanova at Black Cat.
Unfortunately, the memory is forever tinged by one small catch: against my better judgment, I allowed myself to be convinced to leave before the encore. The following day I read in the paper that Ugly Casanova covered “Styrofoam Boots on Ice, It’s Alright”—an incredible but somewhat obscure Modest Mouse song. The lesson? Don’t break your own rules.
Dig!
#7 Built to Spill at the Showbox Seattle, WA June 1, 2003
I warned you context was everything. I’ve seen Built to Spill three times, and even though I believe that they will one day be remembered as one of the best live bands of our time (and as one of the few bands who seemed to really care about their live show), I always come away from their shows thinking: “solid.” They go a long way to reaffirming my faith in music in general, but on any all-time list, they’re likely to anchor the upper-middle portion. This show cracks the top ten for a specific set of reasons.
It was the Summer of 2003, and my friends and I had set out from Florida for a cross country road trip—literally. By May 31, we had made it to Eugene, Oregon. Knowing we’d be in Seattle the next night, we looked through city listings to see what was going on. Sure enough, our one night in the rainy city coincided with the opener of three night stand by Built to Spill at the Showbox. We rolled into town blasting Hole and Nirvana, ready to singlehandedly blow life back into the grunge movement. We arrived at our hostel with just enough time to change, take in a bit of the city, and then make our way to the Showbox.
Something about being out on Seattle’s streets that night—transient tourists in the great wellspring of so much music that I grew up listening to—it really felt special. Inside the Showbox, the walls were covered with posters from previous shows which only added to my awe-masquerading-as-nostalgia. Built to Spill was characteristically great. Doug Martsch walked on stage with a backpack, set it down, and then never looked back, riffing through a 90 minute no-nonsense set of BtS classics and covers. For the record, the crowd was lousy. One drunk imbecile threw ice from his mixed drink at Doug until another fan shoved him. But it didn’t really matter. That night wasn’t just about the show itself—it was about where we were and what we had done to get there. It was even about the fact that we’d leave the next morning. All that mattered is that we were there. Where it all happened, and—for those 10 minutes when Doug Martsch tore the place down with Cortez the Killer as an encore— where it was still happening. It was about freedom, Summer 2003.
#6 Destroyer at the Avalon Manhattan, NY March 28, 2005
I’ve now seen the enigmatic Daniel Bejar/Destroyer four times, and once with the New Pornographers. One of my top-three bands/songwriters of the past five years, every show teeters on the edge of glory, but there always seems to be a hangup. Most recently he visited my home turf at the Black Cat in support of Trouble In Dreams, too intimate a setting for what turned out to be an out-and-out rock show (i.e., notably bad acoustics). In 2005 I saw him play in Manhattan in support of nothing in particular, where he played a wet-dream setlist, except he did it with a stand-in backup band who did the songs little justice. Perhaps the ideal setting was back in 2004, when Destroyer had first made themselves known to me, and I saw them at Iota, a nondescript bar in Northern Virginia. He was probably selling out larger venues in New York, and meanwhile I was one of about 20 souls who came out to see him that night. [He even used the bathroom right before me!] Unfortunately for me, the Your Blues tour called for a lot of cacophony and squelching, and I left disappointed.‘twas not the case in Spring of 2006, when I made the trip from New Haven to Manhattan for Destroyer’s stand at the Avalon, a church converted into a concert hall. I say “stand” with some irony because they were in fact opening for Magnolia Electric, Co., but you wouldn’t have known it. There was an undeniable ambience that night. Bejar, reunited with Destroyer’s original/primary lineup, had just released the opus Destroyer’s Rubies. As the band campaigned through a well-balanced set of old and new, the room buzzed—people danced, people swayed, people called out, seething energy. Chalk it up to the ghosts of the church, but I vividly remember thinking to myself that for one of the few times in my young musical life, I was witnessing something. Destroyer, the opening band, played for an hour and fifteen minutes and was summoned back for a three-song encore. Before Magnolia Electric Co. even had a chance, I had melted out onto 7th avenue to enjoy the New York night.
Stay tuned for part 2...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)