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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..."
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Search results for: dinosaur jr
The Hold Steady, Of Montreal Customize Mixtape T-Shirts for Charity
[Via Sound of the City] Seen above is a t-shirt customized and signed by the Hold Steady’s Tad Kubler, which details out the songs he’d choose for a mixtape and includes songs by Jawbreaker, Holly Go Lightly, and Oasis. Closing it out with Whispertown 2000 is a surprising choice, I must say. But that’s what mixtapes are all about. read more
Women: Crashing the Glass Ceiling
The index finger on Patrick Flegel’s playing hand oozes blood from under a makeshift bandage of white masking tape. As he strums, the wound smears a widening trail of gore across the would-be pristine pick guard of his electric guitar. As the final chord of one song rings out, Pat takes a deep breath and pockets his pick: The next song in the set is a soft, finger-picked number. New York crowds can be tough on opening acts, but for one reason or another, the audience at Music Hall of Williamsburg maintains a cool hush. Whether it’s bated breath or respectful awe is hard to tell. The blood clots and thickens on the strings of Pat’s guitar, forming a silent disruption, maintaining an uneasy peace, a marred tranquility. The gore is inescapable, but Pat pays no heed. He keeps playing, even as the oozing gives way to streaking—as slow, red rivulets creep down his hand.
It’s only a matter of time before a member of the audience extends a compassionate hankie, which Pat accepts. “I cut my hand before,” he announces to the crowd. “It was a stupid accident.” He offers no further explanation, and makes no other mention of his injury. The show goes on.
Rock Art Rock: Issue 3.10a
Dinosaur Jr.
Mohawk, Austin, TX
SXSW 2009
By Nash Cook
It is always amazing to see legends alive and still rocking. Wow.
Check out Nash Cook at his photography site
Dinosaur Jr.
Dinosaur Jr.
Farm
(Jagjaguwar, 2009)
Guitar eaters: Dinner is served. This is one unrelenting smorgasbord of electric leads, rhythms, and solos, distortion-battered and dunked in the oil by a slack-voiced modern master with a little help from his friends. Early on, scorned/rejoined bassist Lou Barlow was touting this reunited outfit’s semi-sophomore effort (that is, the second since the original trio reunited—it’s the fifth album consisting of this particular lineup, and if we count the handful of fully Mascis-dominated LPs from group’s post-Barlow ’90s, Farm is the ninth album overall released under the Dinosaur Jr. name) as a big step up from the last one. “Right away I knew it was superior to Beyond,” Barlow told Spin back in March, because “it has an urgency.” Indeed, the band does sound like they’re crankin’ it out in a hurry, and it’s a pretty barebones arrangement—guitar, bass, guitar, drums, and guitar, although there’s only one guitarist, and if his dominance in the mix doesn’t make it obvious enough, it’s worth noting that J. Mascis is also the producer and central songwriter. Barlow does contribute two originals of his own, so it’s not entirely a one-man show, and the shifts in style between Mascis and Barlow are among the bigger differentiations on an otherwise very constant batch of rock. When the constant happens to be Dinosaur Jr., it’s tempting not to complain; however, when the album comes described as sounding “like the first three,” that’s not only a bit of a stretch, but it opens up a world of comparisons that obviously won’t work out in favor of the new stuff.
Lyrically, there’s the requisite insecurity, dread, and complacence that we’ve always loved about Dinosaur Jr., and it translates well enough out from the twisted Gen X angst of yore to new-millennial, near-midlife malaise. The differences are in the production values (which are decidedly “grown up,” despite the subtly strived-for aesthetic of scrappiness—these guys are just too comfortable in the studio at this point to dumb it down), and the melodies, which are just a little more frequently and poppily upbeat, and harbor just a few more classic-rock references. Barlow’s stated urgency may have kept things moving swiftly and saved them from over-thinking, but the tension that once tore them apart (to which many have attributed the excellence of their old melodies and structures) seems absent. Not only is there scarcely any evidence of the bass/guitar interplay that once held songs taut like the poles inside a tent, but really there’s hardly any noteworthy bass at all; certainly nothing like the backbone lead of You’re Living All Over Me’s “In a Jar” or the spry punk underline of Dinosaur’s “Does It Float.”
Fatal Fidelity: Our Vinyl Reckoning
The recent resurgence in popularity of vinyl records carries with it a few healthy doses of irony. The most obvious is how, with all our major leaps in technology towards smaller and more portable things, the gradual degradation of sound quality has lead us back to this oldest, largest, and most stationary of media. Another more subtle coating is that, while the fusty format is prized for its intimacy and the physical nature of the relationship it enables between a listener and an album, it also requires a certain degree of effort on the part of the consumer, all of which runs somewhat counter to the usually noncommittal subset of people fueling the uptick, the kind of people whose trends are all too easily stereotyped as random, impersonal, cheap-n-easy gestures of fleeting, aesthetic detachment. Yet the most unfortunate bit of irony is how, in the midst of a generation so accustomed to embracing things less harmful to the environment—reusable shopping bags, organic food, hybrid cars, etc.—some of the most creative among us, for our love of music, are unconditionally resurrecting a direct culture-industrial dependence on one of the earth’s most toxic substances: Polyvinyl chloride (PVC), which we call “vinyl” for short.
Yet before we get carried away with any Green Police finger pointing, it’s important to acknowledge the fourth most frustrating and frightening element of irony here—that CDs are actually worse. Compact discs are made of polycarbonate (PC), backed by a lacquered layer of aluminum. PC is at least recyclable, but still requires highly carcinogenic solvents for its production, and is really only slightly less toxic than PVC. Aluminum is also recyclable, and though it is nature’s most abundant metal, it’s still a non-renewable resource; once it’s gone, that’s it, there’s no more. Also, it doesn’t exactly occur freely in nature, meaning there are no giant aluminum deposits simply waiting to be scooped up and banged into Pepsi cans and White Stripes albums. It’s diffused throughout the earth’s crust as a chemical compound (aluminum silicate), and has to be extracted from clay, rocks, etc, then processed and manufactured for industrial use, all of which is an ordeal requiring monstrous amounts of fuel and electricity, belching out loads of greenhouse gases. The kicker is, once the aluminum and polycarbonate are stuck together, it’s damn hard to separate them, and so CDs are not recyclable by current conventional means. You can’t just toss your crappy Nickelback disc into the blue bin and think you’ve done a good deed, no matter how much you wish it had never existed in the first place. It has to be delivered or sent (usually at your own expense) to an e-waste recycler, which are still few and far between (see below for five links to places that can safely take Chinese Democracy off your hands). To top it all off, CDs almost always come packaged in plastic jewel cases and wrapped in shrinkwrap, both of which are made of—that’s right—PVC. And there are a heck of a lot more shrinkwrapped jewel cases coming into the world than there are sweet, adorable vinyl records.
So what’s so wrong with PVC records and jewel cases? In a nutshell: Dioxins. Dioxins are insane, unholy, super poisons, and PVC cannot be created or destroyed without unleashing them. As Sen. Dick Durbin of Illinois told Congress in 2001, “According to the National Toxicology Program at the National Institutes of Health, dioxin is the ‘most toxic manmade chemical known.’ It is not just very toxic—extremely toxic—it is the most toxic chemical human beings know how to create.” It’s the stuff that makes Agent Orange a bit of a no-no. Remember Viktor Yushchenko, the Ukrainian politician whose face was left scarred and pocked a few years back from an assassination attempt? That was dioxin poisoning (perhaps a near-fatal “wink” at his having lead the Orange Revolution, which had nothing to do with Agent Orange—but oh, those witty assassins!).
Wwax
Wwax
Like It or Not
(Merge, 2009)
Among the numerous other reverse birthday gifts Merge has been giving fans in honor of the label’s 20th anniversary are a few exclusive peeks deep into the mind and musical history of Merge’s owner and most prolific artist, Mac McCaughan. There was last fall’s Portastatic double-disc B-sides and rarities compilation Some Small History (a serious misnomer considering the hefty tracklisting), and this year’s pending Superchunk EP (seven years in the making), plus Merge kicked off the year with Superchunk’s The Clambakes Vol. 4: Sur La Bouche – Live in Montreal 1993 as part of their SCORE! subscription box. For ’Chunk super fans, it’s the mother lode; the best Christmas ever, the year you get everything on your list. And they keep on giving!
For Like It or Not, the cassettes and 7″ releases by McCaughan’s pre-Superchunk band Wwax are compiled into one digital-only release; the Mergers dug deep into their vaults and pulled out a noisy, fuzzed-out, almost arrhythmic treat made with a dash of near-hardcore venom and so much youthful energy that it makes Here’s Where the Strings Come In look like it belongs on The Lawrence Welk Show.
SXSW: Day Three
SXSW: Day Three, Friday Day
March 20th, Austin, Texas
Thursday night was a particularly awesome/awful night. First I saw great sets from bands residing on the Jagjaguwar/Dead Oceans label, specifically the frenzied, danceable set from These Are Powers (industrial/electronic/experimental cacophony), Women (lo-fi with plenty of static-infused dissonance), and then surprisingly and most righteously Dinosaur Jr (Mascis and Lou together again!), and I was filled with pure elation. But the night went from total revelry to talking to some random dude on the street afterwards who, in a moment of drunken confusion, got sucker punched by some aggro kid with a chip on his shoulder just looking for a fight (you’d be very proud of me, I pulled the crazy dude off of him), which led to hours spent talking to cops and cleaning up our new bloodied friend and providing him with as much vodka and comfort as was possible. It wasn’t until 5am when we returned home to go to bed. So, I was thankful that my Friday daytime events revolved around the Hot Freaks party at Mohawk, where I was able to chill out in the VIP section drinking water, eating free tacos, and taking in some of the least challenging, yet best indie, pop, and folk rock happening these days from a balcony, a safe distance from accidentally being bumped into and getting into some boozy altercation, of which I’m sure there were plenty throughout the course of the week.
It all started off with the Wrens, who have a wildly anticipated album coming out soon. I actually only listened from outside of the venue because I had to do a coffee run for a friend working the show, but I heard tracks from The Meadowlands, Silver, and Secaucus, along with what might be stuff from their new album. They sounded incredibly tight, as if tracks were simply playing straight from the albums. A little part of me died since I wasn’t inside to witness them on stage, but a friend in need, yada yada. I did make it back in time to catch Bishop Allen who is always a joy to see. They were energetic, bright-eyed, delivering songs old and new with all the ease of a well-practiced band. I will, however, continue to be somewhat baffled by Margaret Miller’s role aside from barely audible backup vocals, sparse taps on the xylophone, and otherwise existence as eye candy in signature short, white or ivory, billowy dresses. How many of those does she have, anyway?
SXSW: Day Two
SXSW: Day Two
March 19th, Austin, Texas
Today, I embraced the fact that I have a bike with a lock at my disposal. I showered up early and sped off to the Convention Center for a panel called “Bloggers are in Charge.” Unlike probably 75 percent of the SXSW community these days, I actually like these things. You never know when you might run in to Michael Azzerad. Did I learn anything? Not really. But I got to sit next to a Scottish guy in a kilt who was furiously bouncing back and forth from his Twitter feed to his various news and music sources on his laptop. That’s the kind of people you want to experience at these panels. You may not know people like this, but they exist and are dope. So yeah, bloggers are the voice of the modern music generation. They write about what they like. They consider themselves to be the modern-day record store clerk. Yada yada. Unfortunately, there’s no panel in sight about how actual music magazines are finding their way in an online world, a much more confounding topic that could lend itself to some really interesting discourse. Baffling, but whatevers…
Julie Doiron
Julie Doiron
I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day
(Jagjaguwar, 2009)
Julie Doiron has been making records consistently for awhile now, but after Eric’s Trip I kind of forgot about her. No good reason for that, it just happened. But then along came the Mount Eerie album with Doiron and Fred Squire, Lost Wisdom, which I spent a lot of time listening to as I watched the days of 2008 disappear in the rear-view mirror—a great record for processing the prevailing emptiness experienced when chasing after that mythical balance we’re all looking for. Much of the reason I enjoyed that record had to do with Doiron’s involvement, her unique voice a melodic timbre that seems one step away from cracking in despair but always managing to make it through, which says a lot about the content of her music as well. Heartbreaking, yet tenacious, I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day—a title that speaks to the supposed mundane nature of the themes contained within—pulls apart the typical happenings of any given day to find both a subversive security and uneasiness that’s always at work.
Set to lo-fi fuzz, melodic pop, sparse folk, and syrupy thick distortion, I Can Wonder hearkens back to Doiron’s days in Eric’s Trip, her early ’90s band that took up residence in an awesome land where Sebadoh, Neil Young, and Dinosaur Jr played freely. Surely this visit back to an older, more rock-oriented sound has something to do with the fact that it was recorded and produced in the studio of Rick White, her one time Eric’s Trip bandmate. Doiron sings about living the life of dreams, that it’s nice to come home, and that she loves the world and is glad to be alive. And, god, on the surface, these sorts of sentiments can easily come off as so insipid and grating, but in the hands of Doiron, the past, present, and future collide into daily meditations.
The album opens with a short, acoustic-strummed “The Life of Dreams” (“with good people and good things”), a straight-up ditty about appreciating what’s oftentimes right in front of her. It’s a nice sentiment, but this moves directly into the distorted mid-tempo rocker, “Spill Yer Lungs”, which results in a fatalistic outlook: “We’re gonna chase each other around this town for nothing.” “Tailor” is a rich track, layered in rollicking guitar and brushed drums, which name checks the roles one must take on, the things that mend together a relationship, stating “I wouldn’t mind taking my time.” It’s an elementary track on the surface that goes deeper to highlight how many things (such as a baker to bake the things he likes, and inanimate objects like a pen so he could hold her in his hand and draw straight lines) one person must be to another, and vice versa. This song sums up what Doiron does best.
One of the stronger tracks on I Can Wonder is “Consolation Prize”, a crunchy, catchy rocker reminiscent of Eric’s Trip, about friendship surviving a failed relationship where “people insisted on telling you what a great couple you had been.” Obviously, there’s a bit of bitterness contained within that there “prize.” “Borrowed Minivans” depicts Doiron’s dismay with drunken young girls in tank tops and knee high pants out looking for good times, herself dreaming of a way out to “do better things with her hands.” Doiron’s subdued voice over the track “Blue” relays the age-old womanly vow “never to love again… never to cry again.” It seems that the opening optimism that was so stark at the beginning has taken a backseat to the harsh reality found here. Closing the album is “Glad to Be Alive”, the sentiment more of a mantra than an actuality. It’s nice that the album is sandwiched with two simple acoustic songs about being happy—it’s just that the stuff in the middle relates that there’s much more to it.
Julie Doiron may not be struggling with the trials and tribulations of youth and coming of age, but she is certainly finding the intense uncertainties of leaving that all behind and what to really expect from the supposed comforts real adulthood advertises. Either way, I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day is a gorgeously human record that sees Doiron using lo-fi, distortion, and slight-of-hand wordplay as imaginatively as ever, writing songs containing profound happenings hidden within the banal minutiae of life.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Tags: Julie Doiron, Eric’s Trip, Jagjaguwar
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Lou Barlow: Goodnight Unknown
by: Jocelyn Hoppa
Goodnight Unknown
(Merge, 2009)
It’s been four years since Emoh? Really? Well, I guess it makes sense that I haven’t necessarily missed Lou Barlow in the last four years. Any of his varying bands, from Dinosaur Jr. to Sebadoh to the Folk Implosion, never really leave my listening repertoire. I go through Barlow phases pretty frequently, seemingly content with what he’s given us thus far. Not to mention the fact that he’s reunited and put out two new albums with Dinosaur Jr., plus he has reissued three of Sebadoh’s classic albums.
However, even though I didn’t think I was missing new musical genius from Barlow, I was. I suppose these things just have a way of showing themselves to be true only after they appear. How Goodnight Unknown could add any more value to his already lengthy, kickass discography of music comes as a bit of a surprise to me, but I’m happy to report that it totally delivers. This is classic Barlow, and his passion for lo-fi creativity still thrives.
When first listening to the record, there’s not exactly an overwhelming sense that Barlow is traversing much new territory (old Lou is still writing on themes of anxiety and ambivalence, but also about still having faith in daily proceedings, enough to move forward), but with some knowledge of his hard work and processes, it reminds us that his creative output has never been the kind to smack one in the face for recognition. Luckily, there’s a short documentary about the making of Goodnight Unknown to give us some insight, where we can view raw footage of Barlow in his studio as he narrates the making of the album.
In particular, there is a scene in which he takes children’s wind-up toys apart, breaking down the melodies of the toys songs and isolating single notes. From there, he would layer that single note with similar notes from other toys onto a cassette four-track, fading them up and down, as if to almost play the four-track as an instrument to create a bed of chimes. Barlow comments in the short film that it was a very involved process, to extract a note, round all the notes up, and adjust the pitch control. These tinkering sounds show up on many songs on Goodnight Unknown (“Too Much Freedom”, “The Right”, “I’m Thinking…”, “One Machine, One Long Fight”, and elsewhere), clinking noises that squirm just below the surface. If a person didn’t know any better, these subtle nuances would easily be glossed over.
Where Emoh was a mostly acoustic, well-produced affair, Goodnight Unknown emerges with the hard-charging “Sharing”, establishing a rock tone that hearkens back to some early Sebadoh tracks and also brings to mind Folk Implosion’s One Part Lullaby. In fact, just as that album was about Barlow’s love/hate relationship with Los Angeles, Goodnight Unknown at times speaks to that same theme as well. “Faith in Your Heartbeat” could be one of those tracks. Barlow sings, “Find me a place rules can be broken / Way out into the open / California, bury me / Have faith in your heartbeat.” Thanks in part to the Melvins’ drummer Dale Crover, many of the tracks on the album take on a more rock-oriented shape. There’s also a yearning urgency to Goodnight Unknown that takes form, not just in the rockers, but also in the tuneful acoustic pop songs. Credit here must also be given to Imaad Wasif (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Alaska!) whose pretty guitar work appears on seven of the 14 tracks here, including “Don’t Apologize”, which is one of the best tracks on the album, as good as anything Barlow’s ever done.
When all is said and done, however, the songwriting is the most prevalent aspect of Goodnight Unknown. The melodic, driving “I’m Thinking…” is sure to have fans of his lyricism nodding along in assured recognition. Full of sharp rockers and contagious pop twists, the lyrics contained within this album will drill you to the core with all the heartbreak and playfulness Barlow is known for.
Watch: Goodnight Unknown documentary [at youtube.com]
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by: Jocelyn Hoppa
published: November 9, 2009 in column: Reviews
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