On this first night of a completely sold out tour, New Jersey’s Gaslight Anthem showed that they are ready for the big time that’s around the corner for them. They didn’t do this by focusing on material from their forthcoming album, Handwritten, but by blowing through nearly two hours of their infectious combination of punk, pop, “New Jersey,” new wave and Americana. And the crowd sang along, every word. Continue reading “Show Review: The Gaslight Anthem with Dave Hause at The Independent, 7/5/2012”
The Warped Tour found a new home in San Francisco this year, parking itself in Lot A of AT&T Park. Like its old home at Pier 30/32, there was a view of the water, and the Bay Bridge. Unlike Pier 30, there was not plenty of room to move around. This running of the Warped Tour was a hot, crowded mess; a maze of sponsor tents, clothing companies, and band merch. Interspersed throughout were several stages with bands giving their all, often to thousands of revelers, and other times to a mere handful. My goal, as always, was to sample as many bands as possible in 7 hours. Let’s see how I did. Continue reading “Warped Tour Diary: AT&T Park, Lot A, 6/23/2012”
It’s fairly easy to forget that one of the most important factors of a live performance that distinguishes it from a record is the sheer loudness of the music being played. Concertgoers far and wide are usually pretty good about remembering earplugs, as a result of this fact, and those that don’t can usually protect themselves with handy booths located within the walls of whatever theater they’re ready to get sonically disintegrated within. Generally, though, one can take a blast of churning riffs and thundering beats to the face for a few hours over the course of one evening, and come out relatively unscathed, albeit with their ears possibly ringing for a day or two afterwards. Thus, there lies an entire world of experimentation in the form of performing music at tremendously high levels of volume — although the songs can become almost painful in their intensity. Channel that sound into baleful, fearsome riffs, add a rhythm section that seeks to destroy bricks with its ferocity, and back it up with ludicrously powerful bass and howling, hellish vocals, and you’ll begin to glimpse what a set by the San Jose doom metal trio known as Sleep is like.
Rising from the ashes of a former band can be a help or a hinderance to a new act that has cut their teeth in the music scene and is ready to unleash a fresh new set of tunes to the world. When you are as volatile and chaotic of an act as At The Drive-In, it can safely be said that people will be waiting to see where your musicians will head and what songs they will craft next. While the afro-clad frontmen of the El Paso post-hardcore quintet went on to form The Mars Volta, and burst back into the world with a mindbendingly-wild blend of fusion punk and Latin-flavored experimental prog rock, co-founder Jim Ward and drummer Tony Hajjar followed in their original band’s aggressive-but-pensive footsteps with the newly formed quartet known as Sparta. While both bands endured their respective sets of ups and downs in terms of popularity and following, and despite the titanic response of the reformation of At The Drive-In all but eclipsing the enthusiasm for their sister acts, Ward and his cohorts have lost none of the furious passion that drives the aptly-named four-piece, and on Monday night, they returned to San Francisco to prove just how excited they were to share their rekindled energy with their most devoted fans.
Mario Rubalcaba, Keith Morris, and Steven McDonald of OFF!
When a band comes to a local record shop to do an in-store appearance, it’s a really unique type of event. Songs are generally stripped down to a more acoustic and delicate format, conversations are had between the band and the crowd with greater regularity and openness, and it’s a guaranteed opportunity for a meet-and-greet that often costs nothing more than the price of the group’s new record — which, in all likelihood, you’re there to buy so that they can sign it. However, not all artists can comfortably fit the first item on the agenda — a quiet show, an intimate arrangement of instruments — into their setup, and when their output’s main focus is blisteringly-fast, unflinchingly-loud, viciously-penned hardcore punk music, it’s not even in the same galaxy. Thus, the four-piece supergroup known as OFF! unleashed their set in Berkeley’s own Amoeba Records very much like they had the previous night at Slim’s in San Francisco: amps piled about, drummer Mario Rubalcaba sandwiched in between the gear on the miniscule stage, and every single object capable of emitting sound cranked into the stratosphere for 30 solid minutes.
In 1979, a record that would forever shape the concept of what an “album” was, or could be, was released. Its chief creator, one Roger Waters (of the English rock juggernaut Pink Floyd), brainstormed a show so daunting, so massive, and so strange in scope, that in its heyday it was nigh impossible to tour with. Thus, the original 1980 tour of The Wall made roughly 30 appearances, over only four cities, for in accordance with the themes of isolation and seclusion that dominated this record, its corresponding live rendition involved the construction of a massive wall that separated the band from the audience. Three decades after the original Wall tour, live concert production capabilities have increased dramatically, and arena- and stadium-based shows have taken on an even grander scale than ever before seen. Thus, in 2012, Waters’ original dream finally has come to fruition. The Wall Live is absolutely that: the iconic album of 1979 finally brought to life, in the way and at the scale that it had originally been intended to be witnessed.
Nearly 30 years ago, in the state of Pennsylvania, a troupe of four young upstarts formed a band that was anything but what had been perceived to be the general standard for quality punk rock. With their thick Philadelphian accents, songs about defecating lizards and maintaining a healthy diet, and the general appearance of a collection of angry rednecks that had gotten themselves slightly cleaned up, the quartet added the finishing touch in the form of a fictional backstory for their band, which was called The Dead Milkmen. Nine albums, three decades, many unexpectedly big hits, and several generations’ worth of fans later, the balls-out-fun-and-plenty-of-cleverly-funny-bullshit approach that the Dead Milkmen burst into the Philadelphia punk scene with has carved out a unique but deeply passionate cult following for the four — now with new bassist Dan Stevens, after the passing of Dave “Blood” Schulthise in 2004. On Thursday night, for the first time in nearly 22 years, the Dead Milkmen returned to San Francisco, took over the small SoMA establishment known as Slim’s, and proceeded to let loose with a stunning performance, with a ferocious energy equivalent to a truckload of dynamite erupting off the edge of a canyon wall.
Kristin Chenoweth came to UC Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall last night for the second date of a 19-city North American tour promoting her newest album, Some Lessons Learned, as well as her campy ABC series GCB. Or at least, that was the plan. Then, late yesterday afternoon, ABC announced their decision to cancel GCB, which is still in its first (and apparently only) season. An uneasy sense of anxiety hung over the sold-out audience me, wondering if and how Chenoweth would address the setback. How devastating of a blow would this be to her? Would she be able to rally by repeatedly shrieking “The show must go on!” and singing scales until shattering a tray of stemware? Or would she barricade herself in her dressing room, listening to “There’s No Business Like Show Business” and sobbing hysterically?
If you were fortunate enough to catch the last two waves of touring put upon by Puscifer, the brainchild of one Maynard James Keenan of Tool fame, you might have caught a glimpse of a sultry and furious siren known as Carina Round, who opened for the art-collective-cum-musical-explosion on every single one of their dates. In addition to kicking off the show and stunning audiences who were unprepared for an opening act that held her own ground and shook the foundations of the theaters she co-occupied, the Wolverhampton, UK-born Carina also lent her rich and sensuous voice to the backup vocal duties of the main act — sometimes taking center stage to lead the musicians around her, while frontman Keenan practiced his customary hiding in the shadows. What you might have missed, however, was the release of Tigermending, her self-produced third record. Nearly half a decade in the making, with guest appearances from musicians as varied as Brian Eno, Billy Corgan, and Dave Stewart, the album is a dense and thunderous exploration of worlds unknown and lingering, decadent thoughts and messages. To express all of the fury and power of this release in a live setting is a daunting task, but tonight at Café du Nord, Carina proved that she was more than up for it.
How easily can you name all of the members, especially those who play with more unconventional instruments, within the bands you listen to? Sure, for your favorite bands, the acts that you are most passionate about and would follow to the ends of the earth, you’ve probably got their email address and a list of what kinds of underwear they have on each day of the week, but not for a good chunk of the average music lover’s library. There are dozens of bands where we rarely look past the smiling (or impassive, because that’s more photogenic these days) faces of the lead vocalist and/or guitarist, whose charm and energy all but eclipses his fellow players. It’s simple to pay little heed to the fact that a band is often made up of at least four, and quite often more, musicians, each with their own musical background and distinct talent. The musical upbringing and playing style that these musicians utilize in their solo time may often be a complete 180 from that of the more well-known band, and its different energy and performance will often bring an unexpected result. While the Montreal music collective known as Arcade Fire is already well known for its multihued musical aesthetics, their touring saxophonist Colin Stetson, who also did some time in the folk troupe Bon Iver, performs his own music as well, which is possessed of a feral intensity and staggering display of endurance rarely matched by a solo performer — particularly with an instrument as unruly as the bass saxophone. Continue reading “Show Review: The Alone Together Tour: Colin Stetson with Gregory Rogove and Sarah Neufeld at Hotel Utah Saloon, 5/1/2012”
