Mid-afternoon on the day on the concert I started feeling ill. Time came to start heading to the city and I told myself I was going no matter what. Driving along the 24 I see a sign that the Bay Bridge is closed…what the heck? This can’t be right. A quick call to 511 confirmed that the bridge was indeed closed.
Suddenly I had the perfect excuse not to go. I was sick and the bridge was closed; no one could blame me for not going. But something inside me, quite possibly the contrarian drive I have, told me if the bridge was closed I had to go. Continue reading “Show Review: The Heavy at Slim’s, 10/27/2009”
Actually seeing the band at Popscene is a nice change
The setting: A 27 year old dude sitting in a bar where the definition of cool can no longer legally apply to him. He is sitting in an 18+ club. The clientele ranges from creepy E-ridden middle-aged men in sports jackets to fresh, young 18 year-old girls trying to define their sexuality.
I’ve been putting a lot of thought into how to approach this review. It’s not that Why There Are Mountains from Cymbals Eat Guitars is a particularly bad album; there are some real good things about it. But listening to it is like being in a bad relationship, let me explain. Continue reading “Album Review: Cymbals Eat Guitars — Why There Are Mountains”
What I learned last night: when going to a live Bon Iver show, it’s best to not have any expectations.
What I saw at the Fillmore last night went far beyond anything I imagined. It’s not that he had some stage act or any gimmicks; the tracks you love will be drastically different, but in an amazing way.
Bon Iver made a point to smash my expectation of a purely acoustic set, into a mixture of sounds and methods. Distortion, thumping bass, electric-slide guitars, ROCKING, respect-gathering falsettos, crowd participation, and delicate acoustic sets were what he served me up. I ate it up and was left wanting more. Continue reading “Show Review: Bon Iver at The Fillmore, 9/22/09”
I’d been looking forward to the Frightened Rabbit show at The Independent for some time. Not because of Frightened Rabbit or even The Twilight Sad, I’d been pining away for We Were Promised Jetpacks (WWPJ).