+ / - (Plus/Minus), Fujiya & Miyagi, Middle East

Was so pleased to have two shows in the same club to see tonight. Downstairs at the Middle East it was the whispered, slinky indie-funk of Brighton UK's Fujiya & Miyagi. For those who have not yet heard this band's insatiably clever debut "Transparent Things" on Deaf Dumb and Blind, it's the sort of blending of electronica, dance, and indie that adds up to something insufferably cool. The set incorporated most of the tracks from their sole release along with some new more complex material which really cooked. I hear from their manager the next record is being recorded now and should be out next summer. Feels like an awfully long time to wait. As I stood up near the front I was surrounded by a bunch of frat boys and girls screaming about their band love ("FOOOGEEEEYAAAAAHHHH!"), which made me contemplate how uncomfortable it would be to be in a band with fans you'd never want to hang around with.

Afterwards, I snuck upstairs to catch the end of the blazing set laid down by +/-. Fronted by James Baluyut and Patrick Ramos, formerly of Versus the band has a lot in common with its progenitor, most notably the use of haunted choruses and knockout dynamics to keep the listener engaged. But one thing they thankfully don't share with Versus is having made a really crap album at the end of their career (yet).

Only there for the last 5 songs or so, which I could see was an excellent time to show up. By the end they were joined on stage for their encore by (James' brother and indie-rock celebrity) Richard Baluyut as well as most of the members of Moools who played earlier. The show was crazy loud. I bought a CD and went home happy.

Mission of Burma & Jonathan Kane’s February: Geezer Rock Weekend – Part 2

Remember that scene in “A Clockwork Orange” where the powers that be reprogram the evil and sociopathic Malcolm McDowall? They prop his eyes open, strap him to a chair and make him watch horrifying video which eventually shatters his sanity? Remove the British accents and add four guitarists with no stage presence and you have pretty much what it was like seeing Jonathan Kane’s February open for Mission of Burma on Sunday night at the new Institute of Contemporary Art.

Stuck in my 4th row center seat it would have been unsightly to make everyone in the row get up and move, thus I found myself compelled to endure a half hour of this latest offering from ex-Swans drummer Jonathan Kane. Even my heavy duty earplugs could not shut out enough as the band played 4 compositions which centered around most of the guitarists and sole bass player hitting the same chord over and over for 7 minutes at a stretch. To make matters worse, was to watch how totally self-involved each of these musicians were. Not one could be bothered to acknowledge the presence of the other musicians around them, nor the crowd before them, instead focusing their minds on a single thought: “Dude, I am so totally awesome!” Surprising, when the ‘music’ this combo was outputting was such obvious garbage disguised as some kind of new-york-style high art. To be fair Kane was still a fine drummer and the only person who showed any stage presence or enthusiasm. At least the band’s name says it all; February is often the longest, coldest, and lamest of months here in New England - so as in life goes art.

Mission of Burma had none of these problems however. As a set of neon lit towers glowed at the corners of the stage and a giant picture window behind the band revealed flights and boats circling the airport and harbor; Clint Conley played the post-punk hunk, Roger Miller the mad scientist, and Peter Prescott from behind a clear plastic wall encircling the drum kit, the one who could keep it all together. As they have been at every gig I’ve seen them at since reuniting, they churned through their set of mainly newer material ("2twice", "1001 Pleasant Dreams" "Careening With Conviction") with an uncanny precision and a bursting at the seams energy that’s unrivaled by bands half their age. The only disappointment was a lack of older songs, specifically "Academy Fight Song" and "That’s When I Reach For My Revolver", but at least encores of "This Is Not A Photograph" and "That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate" satisfied.

As we walked the barren streets near the ICA looking for the train home my show-companion Susanne admitted to me that Mission of Burma were not her favorite band. Apparently she’d thought we were going to see Human Sexual Response. Upon reflection, this is possibly the only classic Boston band I didn’t see reunite this weekend. Still something to strive for.

Cherry Red, how cool are you?

Prompted by my discovery of Sheriff Jack (whose mastermind, Lewis Taylor currently makes his income penning songs for Robbie Williams) and my love of the song "Buy Everybody a Cake", I tromped over to the Cherry Red website and was surprised just how nice it was. You can download videos of The Toy Dolls, buy old Marine Girls records, and get, at shockingly low prices, Sheriff Jack downloads. Of course one must remember that's £'s not $'s we're talking here. But still, a happy discovery.

Nasty

Out at The Enormous Room last night I became aware mid my 3rd drink of the Nasty conspiracy of the late 80's. At that time it seems there was a great concern about Nastiness. Janet Jackson indicated that although Nasty boys don't mean a thing, she also implored them "don't ever change". Meanwhile Vanity and her 6 (well 3, ok 2 not including Vanity) queried "Do you think I'm a nasty girl?" This is interesting to me if not only because I cannot recall any songs in the recent past that had a concern regarding the "nasty" question, but also because if someone currently told me they were nasty, I would believe they were "rude" or perhaps technically filthy (much like a certain local scribe I was annoyed by at said bar, but that story is for another time), rather than sexy in some way.

At any rate, I have few 'answers' about Nastiness and the enthusiasm of those in the late 80's to discuss the topic in song form, I just have questions. Oh yes I do.

Interpol, Liars, at the Agganis Arena (which sucks)

Jesus Christ almighty, the way they run the Agganis Arena, you'd think that you were prisoners entering Sing-Sing rather than going to see a moody little rock show.

Outside the venue, the people from Mentos are giving away free sleeves of their freshmaking candies, but just inside the door the security guards seize them all. Mentos are food, and food is not allowed in the venue. Or rather outside food, because if you want to buy a $6 slice of pizza or a $8 tap beer INSIDE the venue that is fine, but freshmaking (like large bags, signs and fireworks) is strictly prohibited. I defiantly stuff a Mento in my mouth before surrendering the remainder of the sleeve and the security guard gives me a nasty look, trying to figure out how she can get me to spit it out before I go inside. Too late, I have been freshmade!

Opener Liars could use some freshmaking. Ozzie singer Angus Andrew screams a lot, wanders the stage in a powder blue suit (beneath which he eventually reveals a Celtics shirt), and with his shaggy doo and awkward charms is reminiscent of local chanteur Ad Frank. Thrashing through their tribal ambient set a la Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo, and all those songs on Vines records that don't become hits, the band certainly gave it their all, but as they strained to fill the largely empty arena one couldn't help but think how much better this would be in a nightclub where the fans aren't held a minimum of 15 feet from the front of the stage.

Interpol are about as Interpol as anyone could hope them to be. The band enters a dim stage bathed in blue LED lights looking as formal as in their press photos. The usual dark suits are here (save drummer Sam Fogarino whose suit is white, and singer Paul Banks, who is nearly casual in short sleeves), Carlos D is thankfully shorn of his absurd mustache and the keyboardist wears a fedora (Note to self: Just because your band takes their name from an international police force, no need to mimic the attire of Simon LeBon in the Hungry Like The Wolf video). They lead with "Pioneer to The Falls" the haunting lead track from their new album "Our Love To Admire" and there start a nearly 2 hour set of uncanny perfection. The early set is dominated by old material like "Obstacle 1", "C'mere", "Slow Hands", and by the crazy legs dancing antics of guitarist Daniel Kessler. Throughout this, every note is perfectly rendered, every stop and start perfectly hit, Banks' voice is crisp and unwavering, and the band hardly interact with the audience at all. The crazy legs dancing ceases as mid-set the band return to the new album with "My Chemistry", "There's No I In Threesome", and "The Heimlich Manuever" but reappears as soon as older tracks "Evil" and "Not Even Jail" come out. Is there a link? Must be. So although Interpol are as meticulous tonight as a preprogrammed Kraftwerk drum solo, at points it all just seems too perfect. I mean, porn-star sex is hot, but it can be a bit impersonal.

Oh wait, but it's still hot. Yes, very hot.

So it would probably be unfair to call Interpol out on that little technicality wouldn't it?

Yes.

As we leave, I run into my friend Kevin, who shows me that the Mentos he got outside were not seized, doubtless the difference between me putting my Mentos in my purse and him putting them in his pants pocket (begging the question "Are those Mentos in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"). He offers them around and serves up his own new slogan for the candies "It's no longer about freshmaking, it's about being an asshole". Indeed.

Oh Canada!

I've been in Canada 3 days now and I shit you not, every morning when I turn on the radio I hear Rush as either the first or 2nd song of the day. Last night I ate dinner to the sounds of The Tragically Hip. No sign of Sloan yet. I love you Canadian content law.