Listening to The Bay City Rollers' "Yesterday's Hero" this morning I thought about how band cheers are simply not used enough in songs. The tune commences with an ostensibly live crowd hollering "WE WANT ROLLERS, WE WANT ROLLERS" and baby, they don't mean to set their fabulous 70's hair. The only other use I can think of off the top of my head is Sloan's "If It Feels Good Do It" which again starts with, and revisits in the chorus, the Sloan Cheer, also known as "SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN, SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN, SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN"
Not all bands have a cheer. Some bands names are too short (U2 for instance). Some have a clumsy cheer as I have noted previously on this blog. And other bands just aren't worth cheering for (The Barenaked Ladies for instance). But regardless of how nice the bands themselves are, it seems it would be a fine idea to put more band cheers in actual songs. When you hear 1000's of Japanese girls yelling 'Cry! Cry! Cry!' at Robin Zander during the Live from Budokhan version of Cheap Trick's 'I Want You To Want Me' you know they must be on to something. Ain't that the beauty of arena rock?
I was on the train a few weeks ago. There is a towheaded kid in a stroller, maybe 4 and a plump 40-ish Caucasian mother. The kid has his hands over his ears, pushing earbud type headphones deep into his ear canal. The Mother says "Don't you want to stop listening to your IPod?"
Kid: "No!"
Mother holds up a hardcover picture book "Well," she says in that very 2nd grade teacher way, "I want to read this book, are you sure you don't want to read along with me?"
Kid (hands over ears): "No!"
Mother really tries to work it, begins flipping the pages. I see the book is called "Spin The Dreidel." She begins to read aloud, annoying the entire subway car I am in, full of people uninterested in dreidel spinning in particular and possibly literacy in general. The kid looks up briefly, then returns his rapt attention to whatever he's listening to on his headphones.
I go through three more subway stops hearing all about dreidel spinning, until I finally exit the train.Questions for discussion: - Why does a 4 year old need an IPod?- Is there any way in which "Spin The Dreidel" could possibly compete with an IPod?
Cate Blanchett as Bob Dylan could not be hotter. She's cool, she's sexy, if only she was really a man who I could make out with. Alas. Otherwise the film is masturbatory, self-involved, perplexing. For those of us who know nothing about Dylan you'll want to know more, for those who know something about Dylan you'll spend the movie going "That's not right!"
I once had a fight with a guy about other Todd Haynes movie "Safe" He thought it was brilliant, I thought it was painfully boring. The only difference with "I'm Not There" is I'm not the only one who thinks it's boring.
Honorable mentions:
Cate yelling "I still remember your sweet little pussy" at a groupie.
Richie Havens playing a song.
A little bit more on that Thanksgiving Day Parade from my girl Kelly. Apparently there was a horrifying thing I missed involving one of my least favorite ex-local musicians...
"The Care Bears float was a moment of supreme "HA HA HA! Look what you've stooped to!" as the musical guest on the float - singing a song about caring and sharing - was Kay Hanley."
Wow, just watching that clip really creeps me out. Kay and skating Care Bears. Why does this remind me of when on VH1 behind the music Tommy Shaw from Styx said the embarrassment of performing Mr. Roboto live is what drove him to a life of heroin addiction?
1. The refrain of Lifehouse’s single “First Time” is nearly identical to Robbie Williams’ “Win Some, Lose Some”. Is there another Avril Lavigne vs. the Rubinoos style lawsuit on the horizon? By the way, nice appearance by the band from atop the US Postal Service float. I’ll think of Lighthouse the next time I buy stamps.2. Menudo still exist (and I applaud their choreography).3. I actually kind of like "I Jump” a song performed by a band called Bindi and the Crocmen - comprised of Steve Irwin’s grammar school aged daughter fronting and a group of jumping Aussies who greatly resembled The Wiggles. It is possible however that I am merely a sucker for any song sung by a tiny voiced pint sized foreign girl. I’d be lying if the whole affair didn’t bring to mind “Ginger Ale” a song by The Clean and sung by Hamish Kilgour’s small daughter about her favorite beverage with the great refrain “bubbles up your nose – so sweet, so sweet!4. Hard to tell who was looking cooler Good Charlotte or the Energizer bunny. Both wore the same sunglasses but Good Charlotte sang from atop a float advertising Hess trucks – surely the pinnacle of their careers. Since the bunny is a giant balloon full of helium, I think he wins.
Wow. It would be hard for me to imagine a Jens Lekman show that was more Jens Lekman than the one at The Paradise last night. The Swedish crooner arrived on stage wearing jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt with red appliquéd flower, flanked by a nearly all-girl 7 piece band whose average age appeared to be 16. Most of his bandmates sported tea length white cotton smock dresses, white stockings, and white flats, except the drummer who added to her attire bloomers and a cotton cap and the sole gent (DJ Viktor Sjöberg) who opted out for trousers. Together the octet proceeded to cruise through a remarkably lush hour plus set loaded with violins, trumpets, tape samples, and pithy, pithy romance.
Many songs, like the impossibly twee "The Opposite of Hallelujah" and ABBA-ish disco of "Sipping On the Sweet Water" came from Lekman's newest album "Night Falls Over Kortedala", the title of which is taken from Lekman's apartment, the 'Kortedala Beauty Center' (named after his former hairdresser's place), but it was older favorites like "Maple Leaves", "You Are The Light (see video clip above)" and "Black Cab" that brought squeals of delight from the rapt crowd. Throughout the set Lekman paused to tell humorous stories (including the genesis of "A Postcard to Nina" - about a lesbian friend who told Lekman on the way to visit her parents "Oh, by the way, I told them we're engaged") while the band engaged in goofy choreography, and at one point collectively put down their instruments to invade center stage and twirl in circles with their arms outstretched. Your average night of pop? Oh, I think not.
Encores included new single "Friday Night At The Drive-In Bingo", "A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill" - where the violin players danced at the side stage pounding their chests while chanting the "bompabumpabompabumpabompabumpabomp" refrain, and weirdly, an acoustic cover of Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al" with the choruses omitted. Eventually Lekman's silvered tones gave out, and his mic got unplugged, leaving him to thank the audience in his loudest voice possible while offering regrets he couldn't go on.
Fans left to the sound of Sjöberg closing out the night with a delightful set of overlooked pop nuggets like "It Never Rains in Southern California", as if those Swedes would know...
Went to see The Comedians of Comedy tour last night, an evening out which was so funny, halfway through I found myself praying it would end so I could breathe again.
Picked up this bit of info courtesy of Patton Oswalt's set. Apparently, if you are a guy out with other male friends at a metal show, and if by the end of the night you have not picked up any women, it does not mean you are gay if later you give one of them a blow job so long as you yell "Pantera!" during the act (which Oswalt calls a "Bro-job"). Well, you heard it here first.
So there I am in the gift shop of Boston's Museum of Fine Arts with my Mother. She's browsing postcards, I'm looking for a book on Gilbert and George when over the top of the bookshelf I spy strangely familiar looking noggin. Don't I know that guy? But how? Hey, is that Howlin' Pelle Almqvist, lead singer of fabulous Swedish garage rockers The Hives?
I stalk the gent around the bookshop for about 5 minutes wondering if I am mistaken, before seeing the clue that shows me I'm not - he's wearing white shoes. OK, it must be him. When approaching celebrities, it's always difficult to know exactly what to say. For instance, my friend Brad told me about how he once saw Robert Plant looking for a toothbrush in a duty free shop in Heathrow Airport. There was that moment of panic that precedes seeing someone whose music has changed your life, then the idea you have to go up to them and say something. But what? "I like the Oral B myself" - ? In the end he elected to say something to the effect of "Thank you for making music that changed my young life", a comment which Plant seemed very happy with, before buying some floss and departing. In this case though, I have something to say to Almqvist - so I approach.ME: "Excuse me, aren't you in The Hives?"
PELLE: "Yes, I am"
ME: "Hi, I'm Erin, I'm a fan"
PELLE: (shakes my hand) "Nice to meet you"
ME: "I wanted to see your show while you were here. I tried to get tickets but they were sold out. You were here last night, right?"
PELLE: "Last night and tonight, but tonight it's just a half hour, we're opening for Maroon 5"ME: "Oh right. So when are you going to be back here next?"
PELLE: "In February I think. You know, if you want, I can put you on the list tonight, just write down your name for me and I'll put you on."Yes, you read that right.
A bit more talk about how great their new website looks (because it does) and when is set time and I'm left to return to my Mother and use a lot of hand signals to try and explain who that tall guy I was talking to was.
________________
4 Hours later, I'm surprised to find myself sitting in a free seat provided by Mr. Almvquist, surrounded by hoardes of plumpish blonde 15-20 year old girls (because that is the description of 80% of Maroon 5 fans). The price was right, but after being so up close and personal, the 800 feet or so I am from the stage harshes my enjoyment of the show. The sound is terrible, echoey and hollow but to be fair in their matching black outfits with white trim even from this distance the band look great. They lead with a song I can't identify - is it new? - with second being "A Little More for Little You" not exactly the strongest selections to lead a show that's only a half hour long. Still, each of these guys is such a consummate performer it's hard to deny the enormous effort they put into selling their set. Drumsticks are hurled upwards and are caught in time for the next downbeat, guitarist Nicholaus Arson perches on a monitor and salutes the crowd, but Almqvist is ever the star, prancing the stage like Mick Jagger, doing kick-splits in midair, waving the audience to applaud at the end of every number, and rattling off a wide array of comically egomaniacal comments as if we are his date for the evening, purring into the mic "Let us now love one another" before kicking into "Walk Idiot Walk." As a frontman, he's without parallel and the Maroon 5 girls eat up his arrogant Swedish charms. So by the time he hops down from the stage during new song "Try It Again" to wander through the audience (no mean feat in a giant venue like this) they grasp at his hands and touch his hair like they paid their $45 to see Hives and only Hives. The set ends with the best song of the night, a grinding little number which is the forthcoming single from the "Black and White Album" (out in November in the USA) "Tick Tick Boom". Download it here.
The red neon Hives logo floats above Almqvist's head one last time as the band say their goodbyes, "It's been a pleasure for the Hives to play for you tonight Boston, and I know it's a pleasure for you" he says. "Was it good for you?" is not in this guy's vocabulary, but not one person in this venue cares.
A day later I get a phone call from my Mother, "Listen to this!" she says before holding out the phone to her workdesk CD player. It's The Hives. "One of my coworkers brought these records in for me to hear", she says before getting down to her review. "The songs are awfully angry, not really my thing, but that boy you saw in the store, he's much more handsome in person than in this picture on the cover of Tyrannosaurus Hives..."
OK Mom, I'll let him know.
_________
Epilogue: As I leave I note the merch Maroon 5 are selling. Besides the usual T-shirts there are glowsticks that say Maroon 5 on them, shot glasses reading Maroon 5 and teddy bears wearing T-shirts which proclaim "I love Maroon 5". Teddy bears and shot glasses, well put that in your pipe and smoke it Mr. Freud.
Doing a bit of housecleaning I came across my notes on a film I meant to write about here previously “Heavy Metal in Baghdad”. I caught it last month at the Toronto International Film Festival and the film basically follows around Iraq’s only heavy metal band, Acrassicauda (means “The Black Scorpion”) as they do all the things your average Iraqi heavy metal band do.
Namely:
· Work very hard to hold a rock show in a sad looking community center where about 25 men (no ladies, please) come to bang their heads (by the way headbanging is not allowed in Iraq because the head bobbing gesture is considered “too much like Jews praying” ??);
· Have their practice space blown up by a scud missile;
and eventually...
· Flee to Syria before the government cracks down on their Metallica-loving ways.
If anything, this portrait of a band with a dream in the middle of a country with so little hope reminds westerners like myself how easy it is to take for granted the liberties we have. While today I lament tickets for the Van Halen reunion tour are sold out, Acrassicauda wonders if they will be put in jail for rocking out, and collectively dream of a day when they can grow their hair long (prohibited by Iraqi law) and love metal openly rather than behind closed doors.
When I saw the film, the filmmakers were there along with Acrassicauda’s former lead singer who was applauded by filmgoers seemingly to his own shame. The filmmakers made impassioned pleas to the audience to donate money to help the band get out of the middle east, explaining how the band have had to sell their instruments to continue living in Damascus where they were seeking asylum. The band would have come to the world premiere of their film, but Canada would not approve their visas. Additionally the filmmakers want to get Acrassicauda on Ozzfest. Never did heavy metal appear a floatation device so desperately grasped by four young men. For those about to rock, I salute you.
Last night was the first time I became aware of the existence of "The Apple" a Rocky Horror-esque movie musical from 1980.
The premise is hard to articulate because the film itself is so poorly written. Lets just say that in the amazing future world of 1994 - a world where everyone wears reflective gold, silver, and holographic clothing and where nearly everybody is a gay stereotype - a drab boy-girl folk singing duo in appear at the Worldvision Song Festival and sing a song that despite being entirely unmemorable attracts the attention of the biggest music mogul in the world (Vladek Sheybal - "From Russia With Love"/"Red Dawn") who decides he must make the female half of the duet as his newest star (Catherine Mary Stewart just previous to appearing in "Night of The Comet"). To secure her he (naturally) tempts her with a giant drugged apple, an enormous dance sequence and a barely clad Jean Michel Jarre-type fellow (Alan Love, previous to being in the far superior "Gregory's Girl"), all of which results in her signing his nefarious recording contract. From there on in, it's the tired story of nearly all rock musicals with a lead female: the girl sells out (Breaking Glass) to become a big star (Ladies and Gentlemen The Fabulous Stains), but oh the sweet sweet life she leaves behind (Beyond the Valley of the Dolls) with a devoted yet flaccid and tiresome boyfriend (an incredibly tight-panted George Gilmour) that she decides she must recapture and run from celebrity. But HOW?
This movie is badly written, poorly acted, terribly directed, and appears to be mostly shot in an abandoned airport in West Germany (supposedly the offices of a record company, not fooling us) but weirdly, despite it's obtrusive dancing scenes, terrible songs and hokey costumes the film is so entirely absorbing I JUST COULDN'T STOP WATCHING. Although this film may be a failure in nearly every realm, there is something about it which is strangely hypnotic; like a bad Chinese meal that leaves you full, a bit nauseous and mysteriously still hungry. With that in mind, I while can't recommend really going out of your way to see The Apple, if it should be made available to you, say late at night, after an excessive night of mind-altering drinks, drugs, or rock should you say no? Oh definitely not.
For more girly rock movie reviews, visit my dear amiga Kellygirl here.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So I'm off to Toronto end of next week. I'll be there for the Toronto International Film Festival and my fantasies include fighting a member of Sloan for the last package of Raisinettes just before we all attend the latest Ang Lee movie. There is more to this fantasy, but I digress...
I thought while in Toronto it would be great to catch some bands but oddly, according to Tourfilter (an excellent web-tool to ensure you don't miss any bands coming your way) there are only like 4 bands playing every night, and weirdly the most notable one is Red Rider. You know, "Lunatic Fringe" Red Rider? Yeah, them. Talk about reunion shows that would never happen in the USA. I suppose it's only by the grace of God I'll be there a day after The Barenaked Ladies. I would not fight them for Rasinettes, on no. Just take the Rasinettes and leave me alone Barenakeds. Ick.
A brief field trip to the Borders near my job revealed Tegan and Sara, The New Pornographers, and Rilo Kiley on nearly every music magazine cover. I am not going to go through the dignity of linking their names here as there is ample opportunity for you to find out about them in music publications of both the indie and major league varieties as noted in first sentence.
I know this is not something unheard of, but it does kind of make a sad statement. I know from personal experience that when you're a music reviewer your mailbox gets stuffed full of new CD's every day, so I guess my question is, in a month, are there really only a small child's handful worth talking about, or are we just not doing our job to find out about other artists, and/or shortlist bands whose labels don't have the funds to buy nice big glossy ads? Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of suck out there which can be thrown out immediately, and I do like The New Pornographers, but like the lady says "Is that all there is?"
Listening to The Bay City Rollers' "Yesterday's Hero" this morning I thought about how band cheers are simply not used enough in songs. The tune commences with an ostensibly live crowd hollering "WE WANT ROLLERS, WE WANT ROLLERS" and baby, they don't mean to set their fabulous 70's hair. The only other use I can think of off the top of my head is Sloan's "If It Feels Good Do It" which again starts with, and revisits in the chorus, the Sloan Cheer, also known as "SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN, SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN, SLLLOOOOOOOAAAANNNN"
