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Straight to Video
Rock Art Rock
The Decemberists
September 19, 2009
Terminal 5, New York, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "The Decemberists played a special one night 'lottery show,' where the songs played were picked at random by a master of ceremonies, played by John Wesley Harding..."
Ra Ra Riot
April 4, 2009
Webster Hall, New York City, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "This show was, at the time, the biggest one Ra Ra Riot had sold out as headliners, and it was clear to me after watching it that the band is destined for even bigger and better things..."
Florence and the Machine
October 28, 2009
Bowery Ballroom, New York City, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "Florence Welsh and her backing band delighted and mesmerized a sold-out crowd at Bowery in her first official NY headlining show..."
Dirty Projectors
July 19, 2009
Williamsburg Waterfront (Brooklyn, NY)
By Amanda Hatfield "I was skeptical about how well Dirty Projectors' gorgeous, complex vocal harmonies would carry over outdoors, standing under hot sunshine..."
See more in the Rock Art Rock gallery.
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Search results for: bill callahan
Bonnaroo: June 11-14, Manchester, TN
When June reels around every year, I hear the siren call of Tennessee’s mega-music bacchanal, and despite the rabid heat, grungy camping, and general hassles involved, I’ve made the ’Roo pilgrimage the last four years in a row, including this one.
Bonnaroo stands outside the hamlet of Manchester, TN, on a 700-acre farm, an hour south of Music City. Every summer, Bonnaroo becomes Tennessee’s sixth largest city, and the festival even publishes its own daily newspaper, the Beacon. This isn’t the little hippie-fest-that-could anymore; though jam bands are still well-represented, it’s become something else: America’s arguably biggest, most musically diverse, and probably best music festival. It’s the Woodstock for the digital age.
I arrived this year on Friday morning; though it technically starts on Thursday, few bands play that evening. I spent that night in Nashville on honky tonk row, getting in shape for the upcoming events. It’s a good thing too, because thunderstorms soaked the area all evening.
Art Brut: June 15th at the Independent, SF and Northside Festival: June 11th to 14th, Brooklyn
Art Brut
June 15th at the Independent, San Francisco
How subjective is journalism? How can one present an unbiased description of one’s surroundings? How the fuck can I possibly recount the earthquakening, mind-rattling performance that Art Brut gave at the Independent this past Monday night?
If you’re wondering how my prose glided from a discourse on journalism to one of the most top-rated contemporary bands, blame it on the music. South London’s Art Brut is a modernized manifestation of Nietzsche’s Ecce Homo. At their gig on Monday night, members Ian Catskilkin and Jasper “Jeff” Future—taking heed from frontman Eddie Argos—two-guitar attacked the impersonal, aimless gob that much of contemporary music has become. Like a tribute to the Clash’s “Red Angel Dragnet”—with Argos speaking his lyrics over Catskilkin and Future’s winding chords—Art Brut asked, “What does it mean? What the fuck does any of it mean?”
Telepathe, Hawnay Troof: June 12th at Bottom of the Hill, SF
Telepathe, Hawnay Troof
June 12th at Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco
It was 10:30pm when I trotted into Bottom of the Hill to catch Hawnay Troof, Nite Jewel, and Telepathe. Waiting for the show to begin (late, as indie bands always are), I wandered around the peculiar venue, hypnotized by the eccentricities that comprised Bottom of the Hill and its audience. In the crowd were slim-pickings of mods, mountain men, familiar skinny jeans-wearing, plaid-clad hipsters, and 60-something women with their equally offbeat daughters. It was a weird gathering.
Weird was definitely the trend for the evening. In a graphic tee with block letters that read “LEAVE ME ALONE,” a knockoff Thriller jacket, tie-dye spandex with a large hole in place of where his rectum’s opening should have been—thank god a barrier separated his pants and skin!—and a gemmed peace sign belt buckle, Hawnay Troof sauntered onto the stage. And the crowd, gathered near the door, kept a safe distance. I was perched at the peak of the crowd when Hawnay Troof projected himself off the stage and onto the ground like a mutant from some absurd chemical-spill action flick. And his music may as well be the soundtrack to said film. With thumping beats, messy raps, a museum of sound effects, and lasers manifested through pitches, Hawnay Troof certainly makes his presence known. He writhed and somersaulted and did jumping jacks on stage and off. During one of his off stage moments—after plunging into the audience—Hawnay Troof commanded the crowd to squat on the floor and pulse with his beats, and by the end of the song nearly all 100 of the concert-goers were down counting with him. But Hawnay Troof’s consistency—across his songs and deliveries—was not matched by Telepathe.
Band of Horses: June 11th at Carnegie Hall and Bill Callahan: June 13th at Le Poisson Rouge, NYC
Band of Horses
June 11th at Carnegie Hall, New York City
“The last place we played was just like this,” Ben Bridwell cheekily remarked during Band of Horses’ night out at Carnegie Hall. While the show at the renowned venue was billed as a one-of-a-kind acoustic show, in actuality it wasn’t completely acoustic—more like partially electric and undistorted.
But it was certainly an unusual set-up for a band that tends to imbue their woodsy rock with ample grit and reverb. For such a formal setting the band was surprisingly relaxed and laidback, which worked particularly well given the new stripped-down arrangements. The added accompaniment of banjo, violins, and harmonica lent their material a newfound twang and brought out the countrified edge that’s only been hinted at before. “Great Salt Lake” sounded majestic with its crescendoing orchestral grandeur. Meanwhile, “Weed Party” was sped up in jaunty double-time tempo, and “Wicked Gil” was dramatically slowed down to near un-recognition. Fitting in perfectly with the night’s music was a cover of Gram Parsons’ “A Song For You.” There were also a handful of new songs, including a starkly beautiful and still untitled song penned by Tyler Ramsey, and another harpsichord-laden song called “Compliments Down There.” After hearing them live, it’ll be interesting to see how they translate on record and if the acoustic direction is one that will carry over in the studio as the Horses prep their third full-length. After hearing the breezy beauty of the band last night, lord knows it certainly should. – Jessica Gentile
Bill Callahan
Bill Callahan
Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle
(Drag City, 2009)
There comes a time in many people’s lives when they have to put a stake in the ground for how they’ll choose to move forward on the matter of faith, one way or the other. For Bill Callahan (also known as Smog and (Smog)), the time has come. He closes out Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, his 13th record and second under his birth-given name, with a long song about the end of his faith in God. When he sings “It’s time to put God away / I put God away,” it’s hard to know how to take it exactly, especially depending on how the listener feels about the topic. But it is Callahan’s way of saying there’s nothing more to discuss about it really, but here’s a 10-minute musical ode to the done deed anyway.
But the disconcerting thing about “Faith/Void” and his sentiment is his inclusion of forsaking lines like “Damning the children / Making the ill just a little more sick.” It’s a “wait a minute” moment with the very power to re-open the whole God debate. Namely, if he no longer believes in God, he probably shouldn’t blame God for the atrocities of the world anymore either. I would imagine he’d have to just rid himself of that line of thinking altogether so that this reasoning would cease to exist. It would be a more believable atheist ode if he reconciled that there’s no divine meaning behind life as he knows it, which he never does here. In fact, he only puts God away, tucked inside some drawer of his mind, filed under “denounced.” When Callahan sings, “This is the end of faith / No more must I strive / To find my peace in the lie,” it sounds like a mantra—as does much of the song, which repeats groupings of words—a tool used in a quest for some form of transformation. And it’s this sentiment that could easily be considered a statement of faith as even atheists choose to believe in something, even if it’s in himself or love or humanity.
Of Great and Mortal Men
The 2008 general election season is in full swing, and here in the Smoke-Filled Room, we’ve been doing our best to bring you interesting political conversations from a diverse and outspoken group of musicians. But indie songwriters Christian Kiefer, Matthew Gerken, and Jefferson Pitcher have done more than just talk about the highest office in the land—they’ve gone and written 43 songs, one for each President of the United States. And they’re promising a fall download to cover whoever will be number 44. It’s a tremendously ambitious project and, against all odds, they’ve succeeded in crafting a wonderful record that’s timeless, intelligent, and entertaining. The trio’s three-CD set features some impressive collaborators, including Califone, Rosie Thomas, Bill Callahan of Smog, and Mark Kozelek. But Kiefer, Gerken, and Pitcher are the stars of the show—imparting history lessons and political commentary along with jangling guitars and killer hooks. Crawdaddy! spoke with the three armchair historians about Reagan’s Casio tribute, the obligatory presidential penis, and why it’s about damn time that Scarlett Johansson gets tapped for a campaign theme song.
Crawdaddy!: Your forthcoming record, a triple CD titled Of Great and Mortal Men: 43 Songs for 43 US Presidencies, is set to hit stores in September. It features a song for each of the 43 presidents. How did the project come about? Have you always been politically and historically-minded?
Jefferson Pitcher: The year previous to writing these songs, I was living in a small town in Ontario, Canada, experiencing more snow and less sun than I knew was possible. Kiefer turned me on to www.fawm.org, which stands for February Album Writing Month. The idea for FAWM is that one writes and records an album in the month of February, posting the songs on a community website as they are ‘finished.’ I suppose the idea here is to abandon to some degree one’s inner critic and to develop a sense of community. In short, I was ripe for both. I’ve had a longstanding interest in both songwriting and improvisation, so this seemed an interesting way to let them leak together a bit. I enjoyed the process immensely. The following year I had moved back to California and, as February was approaching, found myself longing to do the exercise again. The problem was I felt completely dry in terms of songwriting material. My work often explored themes or even direct plot lines in fiction, and while the autobiographical spills in here and there, I was really looking for something else to work with. I don’t remember exactly how the idea came about, but I pretty quickly decided that it could be a really interesting project. So I asked Kiefer if he wanted to join, he asked Gerken, and we were on our way.
Heading for the Ditch: Smog and Will Oldham
Originally published in The Independent, February 2000
It’s only the first week in February and already spring’s sonic daffodils are poking through the boy-band mulch. Those who feared they would live their whole lives without seeing Mercury Rev and Tony Christie in the same Top 20 singles chart can now rest easy. And a double bill of albums every bit as deliciously twisted as that unlikely coupling has got 1999 off to a flyer in the long-playing stakes. Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s I See a Darkness and Knock Knock by Smog are the sort of records decades get remembered for, never mind years.
Both are released on the same label—Wandsworth-based boutique imprint Domino Records, which has for some years been carving out a reputation as Britain’s most inspired independent—and both were made by serious-seeming Americans with a lot of history behind them. Bill Callahan, aka Smog, and Will Oldham, aka Bonnie “Prince” Billy, sit stiffly in different South West London bars, eager to explain themselves.
Band of Horses: For Taller People?
by: Cyrus Philbrick
This might be a common complaint amongst shorter concert-goers, and it would make for a funny piece to give a deadpan review of a show that you couldn’t see. But I’m not short. I’m a slightly-above-average-height six-foot male. I’m the one that girls behind me at concerts complain about after I shift my weight to the other foot, which shifts my head a fraction of an inch to the right and ruins their geometrically calculated viewpoint. So this wasn’t just funny. It was very real. Maybe this show was my reckoning day, my repayment for all the frustration I’ve caused and music I’ve ruined over the years.
But I wasn’t alone. One of my friends, who is four inches taller than me, stood on his tip-toes, craning his neck above the silhouettes like a kid trying to peek over his backyard fence at a neighbor tanning by the pool. We looked at each other in astonishment. Even the women were gargantuan, blonde amazons with legs like light poles.
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by: Cyrus Philbrick
published: October 20, 2009 in column: Open Mic
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