Here's a rhetorical situation: if a person is going to a crowded venue where a band (let's pretend this band is Stereolab, for argument's sake) is performing, and said person wants to stand near the front (or, really, anywhere a significant number of other people are bound to be standing behind them, also attempting to pay attenion), does it then make sense for this person to decide, only minutes after this band has begun their burbling, roiling melange of gooey syntho-euro confection, that they absolutely must have more beer; they have sized up the rest of the evening from the opening bars of "Space Moth", and have realized at this early stage that there is no way they'll be able to enjoy "French Disko" or "Lo Boob Oscillator" without at least one more beer, in fact, it appears that the people this person has come with also need more beer, thinking, "all that could possibly make this moment better would be me, squeezing past all these people to go back to the bar, and then, inevitably, squeezing back past them one more time, to regain my rightful spot near the front, while holding at least four beers, which will make this show so much more blurry and beautiful"...what is it that propells the kind of logic that dictates, "well, I'll need to be at the bar, a lot, probably multiple times over the next hour, but I also need to be able to see, because Laetitia is so cute, so, rather than standing midway between the stage and the bar, I'll just stand as far away from the bar as possible and annoy dozens of other people by pushing past them every ten minutes, forcing this fellow in particular to have to keep stepping back far enough so that he can hear the conversation he absolutely doesn't want to hear, the one he knew he would hear, the one in which the coworkers of the guy who brought them remark, 'they have a good sound' and 'I like the one with the guitar, very sexy!' and 'this is so nice, to hear something new, very exotic!' and 'is this the crowd you usually hang out with' and the guy who brought these coworkers says, 'no, I'm usually hanging out with you!' and even more inanities, so that the fellow has to move, finally, to the back, where the sound sucks."
Despite all that, the Stereolab show was great, helped in large part because the new album is so good, and there was a fair helping of older material.
The Papa M/Charles Atlas show was also great, but Pajo played a much more Palace derived set than anyone expected, which meant no haunting instrumentals, meaning that CA filled that quota admirably, giving the crowd, I think, the more satifactory set. Pajo did close with a great cover of "You Ain't Going Nowhere" though.

An extremely full week now concluded, I can report:
The Strokes show was a blast, even if their live presentation didn't add much to their music. Standing in the back, we were spared having to pay too much attention to the vocalist's rock star sneers. The band was amazingly tight which isn't too big a suprise since they've been playing the same songs for two years. I ran into an old friend at the show who told me she'd seen them seven times already. That might be five times too many.
The Bjork extravanza in Oakland's Paramount Theater was something to behold, but it was disappointing to learn that my dress circle seats were actually twenty feet shy of being nosebleeders. Homeboys Matmos opened with a much more interesting live set than the one time I'd seen them previously (opening for Wire); full use of PowerPoint slides, balloons and a ratcage, in addition to the standard keyboards, guitar, and laptop(s). Bjork did two sets, backed by Matmos, a local string orchestra, a harpist, and a choir from Greenland; the sets were separated by an intermission, and while the first half was, I felt, marred by weird lighting choices (harsh white that seemed to sap the energy of everyone onstage), the second half was astonishing. It's rare that anyone these days can do a presentation of this scope without seeming horribly pretentious and she pulled it off. Even if our seats left a lot to be desired, I'm glad I didn't have to forgo rent to get in the way some people I know did. Emiel has some fuzzy snapshots and short video clips from the Amsterdam show for those who weren't able to make it.
Finally, met up with blackyellowblack, Miss Rodeo America, Daz and Squid and a bunch of other people when Will Oldham joined the Smog bill at the last minute on Thursday night, ensuring that the Bottom was packed to the gills (my fault for spilling the beans, sorry). Jim Yoshii Pile Up opened, but they seemed to be lacking the energy they've shown in more recent gigs. This was the first time I'd seen Winifred E. Eye, a band from Oakland with a good Lambchop/Tom Waits-esque style. Oldham played solo and ran through a few songs I recognized (including "A Minor Place") and a few I didn't. During his second song, as the drunk people back in the corner realised who it was onstage, a complete hush fell over the crowd; it was the first time I'd ever seen the Bottom completely silent (except for the chug of the register). Smog ran through a lot of songs from the new album and a few from the more recent records; backed by a drummer, a bassist, and a violin, it was a lot louder and more energetic than I'd expected, which was good, since by the time 1:40 rolled around, we were so tired from three continuous nights of live music that we had to flee back home before the set was over and collapse in near delirious exhaustion.
Next week, Papa M and Charles Atlas followed by Stereolab and more sleep deprivation.
Also, I heard that the Court and Spark won an SF Weekly Music Award this week, which is a good thing.

Review: Tarentel, The Order of Things
What is this? One recorded hour of understated, trembling sonic beauty that never overextends its reach; six intertwined pieces–one a Ricki Lee Jones cover–evoking wind, damp, Japanese space stations, closed and humidified sick rooms, haunted libraries, dimpled lake surfaces stressed under storm.

Those who may have heard (but not listened to) Tarentel's previous work may have mistakenly thought they were the American Mogwai, defenders of volume and intricate guitar picking patterns. The Order of Things is a singular achievement for the band's second full length. Under the guidance of Jefre Cantu Ledesma, the instruments here include harp, cello, pedal steel, vibraphone and more; at no point during the course of the album does it seem cluttered. Every sound balances distinctly with its neighbors; as the title implies, the orchestration and placement of these elements is the focus of the music. The opener, "Adonai", is a careful, looped guitar melody decorated with trumpet that slowly introduces more instrumentation and manipulated sound. The generative feel of this track carries on throughout the work, with each sound birthing the next. When Wendy Allen sings the first lines of "Ghostyhead" it's startling because you then realize you've been listening to her sing wordlessly for several bars; as her voice disintegrates into ribbons beneath the extended cello tones that constitute the first passage of "Death in the Mind of the Living", which ultimately gives way to the hollow, cavernous chimes of "Pneuma," the combined effect is almost indescribeably sad. "Blessed | Cursed", the uncertain, possibly positive, possibly cautionary coda, fittingly brings to mind the mysterious final act of Kubrick's 2001. The Order of Things is a contemplative album and, I think, an important one for post-rock.

Labels: reviews, tarentel, temporary residence

The official Fall site has reviews of the recent UK gigs with the new new band. Advance word: no agreement. The Fall are now either too rock and roll, too clean, too sloppy, a mess, scared, or in fine form. I'm still looking forward to the San Francisco show (if it happens) but I'm glad I saw the old new Fall (the Unutterable band) in London last year just in case it turns out to be a wash. But UK Fall fans are admittedly spoiled and will always have another gig around the corner to make it right.

Review: Piano Magic, Son de Mar & Seasonally Affective
Two concurrent releases by Glen Johnson's Piano Magic, both largely consisting of previously available material, and released on separate lables. Seasonally Affective, a Rocketgirl compilation of the majority of PM's single, EP, and complation appearances, gives the uninitiated a comprehensive view of the broad range of styles the band has touched on in its ten year path to the 4ad label. Son de Mar presents new instrumentals alongside recontextualized music from A Trick of the Sea. Both albums are leagues beyond Artists' Rifles.

If Seasonally Affective proves one thing, it's that Glen Johnson has spent the entirety of his music career with an eye toward winding up on 4AD. As albums go, Seasonally Affective can be a jarring listen, sequenced chronologically rather than with an ear toward continued mood. This means that an experimental pieces like "Industrial Cutie" are followed by ethereal pop dazzlers like "I am the Sub Librarian," which might have novices wondering if they're listening to the same band. Of course they aren't; until recently Johnson has maintained a revolving door of musicians and vocalists on his releases which has kept the body of Piano Magic work fresh. Much of the work on Seasonally Affective is of very high quality; Johnson seems to produce much of his most potent music when constrained to 7 inches of plastic. Some of the early Che tracks (available on the now out of print Popular Mechanics) sometimes fall prey to their own preciousness (mainly due to Rachel Leigh's horrorshow dolly vocal delivery) but are a nice counterpoint to much of the remaining material. "For Engineers A" chugs along like a lost Kraftwerk demo. The tracks from the Fun of the Century ep are less electronic, have more sonic weight, and allow Jen Adams and Caroline Potter the chance to give a more assured and less creepy voice to the band. The second disc includes both the best and worst of what Piano Magic has to offer: the full contents of the amazing Music for Annahbird ep, computer and keyboard pieces composed and played by Johnson alone; the impossible to find Amongst the Books An Angel single, which in mood recalls early Felt; "There's No Need For Us To Be Alone," a pop gem elevated above the usual Piano Magic seriousness by Darren (Hefner) Heyman's brilliant lyrics and vocals; and "French Mittens," propelled by mechanical churning keyboards that effectively conjure the feeling of a cold autumn's turn to an oppressive winter. But it also includes "Sketch For Joanne," with an unenlightening break-up lyric, and the dire "The Canadian Brought us Snow," which features the sort of lyrics about being in a band that threaten to make Piano Magic come across as the most self-absorbed act in recent memory (this same subjects dragged their recent "I Came to Your Party Dressed as a Shadow" single into tedium). The good outweighs the bad here by a wide margin, though, and is essential for anyone interested in the band who has not already hunted down their best EPs.

It's perhaps inevitable that with 4AD's decline over the past decade (curiously dropping some of the best on its roster while adding its share of questionable talent), that someone at Alma Road would finally take notice and sign Johnson. If Piano Magic are going to save the respectability of 4AD, Son de Mar--the soundtrack to a film still unseen outside of Spain--is a strong start. Forty minutes of gorgeous instrumental work linked by the tranquil sound of lapping waves, the centerpiece is a re-edit of the Darla Bliss Out track A Trick of the Sea, with a repeated guitar line played by Charles Wyatt that Johnson likes so much, he's used it at least three times. While the piece is a few years old, it segues into the new work so well (most featuring James Topham's haunting viola carrying the melody) that the sustained mood of the entire album works as composition in ways that few film scores ever do. Exceptional.

Labels: piano magic, reviews

Review: Court and Spark, Bless You
This is a good album. It's so good I almost don't know what to say about it. I might even go so far as to say that this is a great album. Every single element: the music, the vocals, the tone, the production, the playing ... the whole thing is top notch. Those who have only been exposed to the Court & Spark via their previous album Ventura Whites are in for a shock: the register of M. C. Taylor's voice has dropped an octive, and the music has sloooowed down. The result, musically, recalls American Music Club more than Uncle Tupelo. This is a dark and vibrant album based on extremely skilled songwriting. I defy anyone not to have "Rooster Mountain" stuck in their head for days after one listen. "Fireworks" bounces along like the best Smog song Bill Callahan never got around to writing. "National Lights"' soaring melodies are filled out by former Byrd Gene Parsons' delicate mandolin and Wendy Allen's barely-there harmony vocals and the result is so damn listenable that I almost always have to replay the thing the second it's over. Just when you think whole album couldn't get any more impressive, along comes "Fade Out to Little Arrow," a slow, stoned epic that builds over the course of seven minutes to a horn-tinged slide guitar passage that's so beautiful that the first time I heard it I couldn't make myself get up from the couch. This is everything I've ever wanted Lambchop to be and more.

I have absolutely no idea what any of the songs are about because I can't force myself to pull the words away from the music, so cohesive is the package. What lyrics I'm able to jot down are like tenebrous telegraph missives from a remote and stranded Cormac McCarthy, trapped on the other side of an electrical storm, his syntax broken.

Labels: court and spark, reviews

Review: Idaho, Levitate
Idaho's relative obscurity remains a mystery to me. Aside from a brief flurry of press in the mid-nineties, when Jeff Martin was garnering critical comparisons to Kurt Cobain, Idaho have flown under the radar of almost everyone for the past seven years. Meanwhile each subsequent Pedro the Lion album has stolen more and more of the Idaho sound and hasn't manage half the lyrical beauty.

The latest Idaho album is effectively a Jeff Martin solo album, as he plays all instruments except some of the drums, and handles all the writing duties. This makes for the quietest Idaho offering to date. "Levitate" never reaches the moments of sublimity the bouyed "Alas," their first post-Caroline release (and easily their best album), but sits comfortably alongside "Hearts of Palm" as a work of assured lyricism.

Musically-speaking much of "Levitate" doesn't leave a profound impression, with many of the tracks coming across more as piano-based studio experimentations that were never fleshed out as finished songs. The two very strong exceptions here are the title track and "For Granted" which number among Martin's best work.

It's a nice album, and sadly, no-one, I suspect, other than current Idaho fans will ever hear about it, or bother to pick it up. Current fans will be more than satisfied. And anyone thinking of buying It's Hard to Find a Friend should make sure they have at least one Idaho album in their collection first.

Labels: idaho, reviews