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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: epitaph
Weakerthans’ John K. Samson Has a Solo Acoustic 7″ Out Tomorrow
City Route 85 is the name of John K. Samson’s solo 7″ release on Epitaph/Anti. If you don’t already know about the Weakerthans, or their punk beginnings in the much-loved band Propagandhi, you absolutely must check them out. Samson is an important figure from the Canadian independent music scene, and an eloquent wordsmith, crafting songs full of introspective, literary-minded prose that weave personal tales with political statements.
Here’s the skinny on City Route 85 from the Weakerthans’ official website:
“City Route 85 is the formal name for Portage Avenue, one of Winnipeg’s main thoroughfares. Samson begins his study of this storied street with the song “Heart of the Continent”, set at the corner of Portage Avenue and Memorial Boulevard, where a demolished building is resurrected by a narrator struggling to apprehend the losses and despair that haunt cities and citizens alike. “Grace General” travels west from there, a wintry drive on Portage to Grace General Hospital, seen through eyes preparing to face the death of a loved one. The closing song, “Cruise Night”, finds a young man desperate to join in the strange and sweet tradition of driving aimlessly up and down Portage Avenue, a social activity many Winnipeggers have participated in every Sunday night for as long as anyone can remember.” read more
The Skygreen Leopards
The Skygreen Leopards
Gorgeous Johnny
(Jagjaguwar, 2009)
Myth is an important element in popular music. If it weren’t for tall tales, exaggeration, and/or outright fabrication, the American musical landscape might look a lot flatter. From folk to hip-hop, Paul Bunyan to Biggie, bragging, aggrandizing, and fabricating have a storied role in the crafting of memorable songs. Fiction is entertaining, and stretching the truth is good for a laugh. So it goes…
The Skygreen Leopards love a good deception, and they always deliver it with a wink. The stoned humor that heralded the release of their sleepy-bright, spiritually recumbent album, Disciples of California, claimed a few gullible reviewers back in 2006. Apparently, the music press bought the notion of weirdo San Franciscan folkies hiring a foreign ballet guru to align their rhythm chakras through a three-month regimen of modern dance. But despite the SGL’s harmonic balance, reports of Vaslav Treacy’s influence are greatly exaggerated.
30 Worthy Albums from the Last Six Months We Neglected to Review
Time, money, space… these are the things that do not allow us to review every album we want to tell you about that gets released. We do what we can, but we’ve come to face the fact that that will never be enough. Bands keep forming and records keep coming out, yet money remains tight and there are no more hours added to a day. And hey, sometimes we just want to take a moment or two away from figuring out what new stuff is cool so we can listen to the Jam or some other band that existed before 2000 that we know is great. Sue us. Anyway, we still feel bad about it, so now we have this here list of 30, count ‘em, other albums that we really do dig that we never really got a chance to review. Here they are in alphabetical order (because, honestly, it’s too early to be putting any numerical value to any of this):
Akron/Family – Set ‘Em Wild, Set ‘Em Free (Dead Oceans)
Full of the loose jams that this East Coast-based experimental folk-rock outfit has become known for, Akron/Family’s newest collection of songs is rollicking, whimsical ear candy for these hot summer months. – AZ
Rancid
Rancid
Let the Dominoes Fall
(Epitaph, 2009)
No longer junkie men telling us what their story is, having proven last time around that they’re Indestructible, what does Tim Armstrong have left to say to us? “The bravest kids I know,” he sings, “are the ones that got a goal.” Six years after you thought Indestructible’s we-stick-together sloganeering was saccharine, here comes a punk rock stay-in-school message.
Call Let the Dominoes Fall many things: Rancid’s “fat and happy record,” their “beat the odds triumph,” their “Young Jeezy-cum-Barack Obama Yes We Can record,” or, most damning of all, “not punk, boring, mature record.” The mohawked vets will slap you upside the head probably. Not only do they know their moment (…And Out Come the Wolves) is more than 10 years behind them, but so is their first mature record—the near-masterpiece Life Won’t Wait, a brutal, Jamaican-style portrayal of the war between the social classes of punks and rude boys.
Questions and Answers with Max Ochs
As the nation continues to reflect on a historic November, we here in the Smoke-Filled Room got to wondering what some of the great musician/activists of the ’60s might have to say about the election of American’s first African American President and the country’s seemingly leftward shift. We called Bob Dylan but, being the enigmatic figure that he is, couldn’t score an interview. And we thought of Phil Ochs, one of the greatest American protest singers since Guthrie. Sadly, Phil’s no longer with us, having departed much too soon under tragic circumstances. But, lucky for us, his cousin, the tremendously talented Max Ochs, is still very much alive. And, even luckier for us, Max, a Fahey-esque virtuoso guitarist and poet, has recently returned to making records, with a new album released November 18th via Tompkins Square. As it turns out, though less visible, Max was just as much the Vietnam-era activist as his more famous cousin—and he’s continued his many good works. We chatted with Max about Jews attending church, why the world is scarier than it used to be, and Mississippi John Hurt playing guitar in his sleep.
Crawdaddy!: Let’s talk about what you’re up to these days. The causes and organizations you’ve been involved with over the years are so numerous and so varied that it’s hard to keep up with everything you’re doing.
Max Ochs: Sure, well, I’m a member of the Anne Arundel Peace Action. But I’m not a very good attendee. They meet once a month and I’m lucky if I go six times a year. But we have hung in there for actions that, well, standing on a bridge saying, “life is sacred,” things like that. And there’s my teaching. I still teach courses in conflict resolution for mental health workers and other health professionals.
Crawdaddy!: It sounds like, between that and your music-making, you keep busy—though maybe not as busy as you used to be during the ’60s.
Ochs: Yeah, I don’t know if I’m doing enough. My conscience always prods me to do more politically. It seems like all I’m doing lately is having fun. I’m singing with a choir, practicing and singing at church. It’s really a great choir with an awesome conductor, a minor American composer. She has set Emily Dickinson poetry to music. She’s a really serious conductor that I hold in very high regard. I learned a lot about reading music from being in that choir.
Crawdaddy!: You didn’t read music before?
Hickory Wind: The Life and Times of Gram Parsons by Ben Fong-Torres
Originally published in Rock and Roll Disc, October 1991
“Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse,” the classic punk credo spoken by John Derek to Humphrey Bogart in Knock on Any Door (1949), has proved to be a handy epitaph for a number of deceased musicians, each of whom seems destined to be brought back from the dead in a pop biography.
Ex-Byrd and Flying Burrito founder Gram Parsons is the latest to get the between-the-covers treatment. And why not? The market for Elvis Presley and John Lennon bios is about tapped out, and if one more gets printed on Jim Morrison, it may have to be called Peace Frog—all the good Doors songs have already been appropriated for book titles. If not Gram, then about the only rock ‘n’ roll grave left unexhumed is Al Wilson’s, and there’s probably not much money to be made off the sad story of the Canned Heat guitarist who curled up in a sleeping bag to OD on pills after a groupie turned him down for not bathing often enough.
At least with Gram you get real scandal: Famous names, sordid tales, lots of drugs, and even a fiery finish—Gram a smoldering corpse in the desert, dead at 27. But do we need all the twisted details? The man’s music is still here to be heard, and that’s what should be important.
The Weakerthans
The Weakerthans
Reunion Tour
(Epitaph, 2007)
I’ve experienced some “firsts” with the Weakerthans, which gives them a permanent place in my musical heart. Dare I say they’ve even helped me mature musically? I think and talk a lot about aging gracefully when it comes to a band’s longevity, and the Weakerthans are a prime candidate for this discussion.
Attending a Weakerthans show back in 2002, it was perhaps the first time I was approached with the notion that I might be getting older. It was a CMJ showcase at CBGB’s and the Weakerthans followed Don Caballero—weird billing for sure. The few straggling Pittsburgher’s and math-rock geeks that made up the Don Caballero crowd left, and the Weakerthans crowd entered, which happened to be a slew of young girls, much younger than me, filling up the venue to capacity. The Weakerthans got their start and the crowd sang along, and my fellow Pittsburgh cohorts sort of looked at me like, “You like this band?” And, sure, I was also confused by the surroundings, but still held firm to the fact that there was more to this band with material that, to the casual listener, might come off like a wussy 13-year-old’s journal.
Two Gallants
Two Gallants
Two Gallants
(Saddle Creek, 2007)
From the very first time I gave Two Gallants’ new, eponymous album a listen, I loved it from start to finish. It’s the third LP from the San Francisco two-piece that consists of Adam Stevens on guitar and Tyson Vogel on drums. The two have never really been able to accurately capture their sound on a recording. Stevens admits: “Recording’s something I still don’t really have a lot of faith in, to be honest. It’s this thing you do because you want people to hear your music who can’t, and you want some sort of permanence to be left behind in case you die tomorrow.” Vogel echoes this sentiment: “What drives me and what drives both of us to do what we do is not recording. I think recording is one of the most awkward spaces for us really.” On this album, however, they found a producer willing to help them craft their sound in the studio, giving us an album that captures the organic sound and feel that their live performances are known for.
The 2G’s recorded sound has presented difficulty for some, hiding unrefined yet complex accompaniments that they pair with powerful and emotionally loaded lyrics. Having spent some time with them on tour has perhaps helped me to understand the perspective of two young and talented musicians who dropped out of school to give professional musicianship a go while still in their teens. They spend more time on the road then any band I’ve known, having done two full U.S. tours this summer alone and multiple stints in Europe. Now they are on the road again in support of this album. Spending all that time on the road, reading everything from Nietzsche to Camus, they seem to take what they see of the world and use their own reflection to churn out lyrics that vividly express their translation of it all.
Songs such as “Miss Meri” echo American life observed while spending endless time on the road: “To all my so-called country men who bless this stolen ground / Is Jesus gonna pick you up when your hunger weighs you down?” and “Way out on the open plains / Men pave beneath the sun / The great suburban dawn / If you build it they will come.” My second favorite track,“The Hand That Held Me Down”, bemoans the burden shouldered by someone once abandoned, “And ever since your epitaph was splattered on my wall / No one comes to call they can’t stand the stench / But I still sing your praises every time the curtain calls / The burden on me falls / Yes, I alone stand at your defense.” The first single from the album, “Despite What You’ve Been Told”, is an up-tempo tale of self-deprecation: “I should climb down off my rugged cross / And lay with you / But you know by now it’s half past late / And I only came here for escape / You, you’re just my next mistake / Like me to you / You know you could be anyone / God forgive your unborn sons / I hope they don’t end up like me.” After spending a month listening, however, “Ribbons Round my Tongue” has become my favorite song.
The Two Gallants are often misunderstood. Their bookishness and propensity for obscure traditional American music over whatever is currently hip alienates some, but therein lies the substance of their music and lyrics. Stevens admits: “The main source is ignorance. Writing from a totally uneducated, blind perspective. That’s where the strongest things come from. The more I’ve tried to keep some sort of education going while being on tour, which is sort of impossible… reading, keeping up with what’s going on in the world… I realize the more I learn, the less I seem to have a connection with my immediate thoughts. It’s just about your ability to be totally conscious about what’s being put upon you. It’s like the greatest pieces of literature are books, things that remind you of yourself, because they touch that thing in your soul. And that’s the kind of thing, when I first started writing songs, that was what I felt like I was most tapped into.”
I can see how the folks over at Pitchfork may graze this one again, hearing it, but not getting it. They’ll continue to worship at the alter of Chuck Klosterman while decreeing that the Two Gallants seem to be looking through a window that yields a landscape from a century prior, and is thus irrelevant. But they’ll again be missing the point. While likely wishing for the musical equivalent of more contemporary literary sensations like Augusten Burroughs or Charles Bukowski, they’ll fail to grasp it’s Walt Whitman, not to mention one of the year’s best albums.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Get Your Hipsters Off My Music
“If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph: The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.” – Kurt Vonnegut
Here’s a fact: Hipsters know more about music than you do.
Here’s another fact: Hipsters, generally speaking, listen to a whole lot of crap.
And perhaps the hippest of the hip are capable of mining through several layers of that crap to uncover some truly wonderful artists. But today an overwhelming majority of music fans take their cues from bloggers, who in turn take their cues from other bloggers. The end result is a whole bunch of dudes who look and sound sort of like Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons chasing their own tail for bragging rights to the next not-so-big-thing.
In the post sell-out world there ain’t nothin’ hip about endorsing the front-runner. In that world, platinum-sellers are rejected on principle because they live in the house on the hill and they strive to appease the masses.
No sir, the hipsters won’t have it—this sharing of musical ideals. I mean, how could the hoi polloi possibly enjoy music on the same level as a guy who sits in his boxers all day, bouncing back and forth from blog to blog just to see if that dude from Deerhunter wore a dress onstage the night before?
The Vandals: Peace Thru Vandalism
by: James Greene Jr.
Peace Thru Vandalism
(Epitaph, 1982)
The story of how I came into possession of my original vinyl copy of Peace Thru Vandalism is perhaps the most interesting record acquisition story of my stupid white life. My friend Drew’s aunt met and started dating this guy from Texas on the internet. Texas Guy came to visit her in Florida (where we all lived at the time) and brought, like, nearly everything he owned. It was kind of a fishy deal. Suspicious, Drew’s aunt hired a private investigator, and it was quickly discovered that Mr. Right (Now) was wanted in his home state for, among other things, possession of child pornography. She confronted Master Criminal and he hightailed it outta her house so fast he ended up leaving the majority of his worldly possessions behind. Amongst the crap this gross dude had were some punk records, so Drew, knowing I was into that kind of thing, called me up.
”I think there are some bands here you like. Come take what you want.”
Come take I did, although not without some trepidation. This stuff had been in the hands of a kiddie porn enthusiast. I almost became nauseous just being in the same room as his stuff. Yet how could I ignore Peace Thru Vandalism, a record that by all outward appearances could have been a hilarious fictional creation used to service the plot of some forgotten 1980s sitcom? Oh no, the kids on Charles in Charge are getting into this wild rock band the Vandals, who sing songs like “Pirate’s Life” and “Anarchy Burger (Hold the Government)!” That latter entry was an endless source of amusement long before I managed to even hear the song once (I didn’t have a turntable at the time and wouldn’t get one for at least six months). It really didn’t even matter, though, if the damn tune was genius or hog shit. Anarchy burger? Hold the government? I’m smiling right now as I type this. There simply cannot be a more stereotypical suburban gutter punk rock song title from the decade when Eddie Murphy was still a hit.
“Anarchy Burger” did not disappoint when it finally assaulted my ears. The raucous two-minute explosion is Peace Thru Vandalism’s true diamond, a wild tribal punk pounding that boasts deliciously inept riffing and comically offensive lyrics delivered in a balls-to-the-wall caterwaul by stocky singer Steve Jensen (the original Stevo). Was SoCal punk ever more cringe-inducing than the opening lines of this song?
“Anarchy, kill a cat! / Shoot James Brady in the back! / Raise an army of rabid rats! / Beat your neighbor with a bat!”
That still stings, and I was only two years old when Reagan was shot.
Years later, “Anarchy Burger” would make an appearance in the most unlikely of places —the 2002 Vin Diesel film xXx. Amidst all the gratuitous explosions, corny one-liners, and Dario Argento’s hot-ass daughter was a scene in which Mr. Diesel and a swarthy piece of Euro Trash trade off lines from the most beloved song in the Vandals’ pre-Dave Quackenbush catalog. Just when you think something’s sacred, the guy from The Chronicles of Riddick comes along and fucks everything up.
But lo, there are five other trashy delights on this Vandals EP, all nearly as much fun as that final shit-kicker. “Wanna Be Manor” utilizes a dark chord progression and a slow increase in tempo to tell a scary tale of not-entirely-voluntary same sexcapades. “Urban Struggle” playfully imitates Morricone’s famous overture from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly before dealing with Stevo’s punk vs. cowboy identity crisis. “Pirate’s Life” unravels a memorable drug-heavy trip to Disneyland in which the line between reality and Pirates of the Caribbean becomes dangerously blurred (dig that sea shanty breakdown!). I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention “The Legend of Pat Brown”, a musical tribute to a notoriously drunken friend of the Vandals. That’s one of the few songs from this record that the Vandals still perform today in the version of the band that features original Vandals drummer/recreational bullfighter/former entertainment lawyer Joe Escalante on bass, percussive all-star Josh Freese on the skins, Oingo Boingo graduate Warren Fitzgerald on guitar, and the aforementioned Quackenbush on vocals.
I know what you’re thinking. Gee, a punk band that kept going with only one original member? I’m sure no one had a problem with that! To quote Kevin Spacey as heinous Superman foe Lex Luthor, WRON-GUH! According to founding Vandal axe man Jan Nils Ackermann and the late Jensen (who passed away in 2005), lil’ Joe Escalante falsely credited all the early Vandals tunes to himself circa 1990 and used his legal prowess throughout the decade to keep his one-time dudemeisters from getting any piece of the financial pie. Escalante’s side of the story is that his former band mates agreed to give up their stake in the band so they could play a reunion show as some kind of alternate universe Vandals featuring more than one original member. Not surprisingly, legal mud began flying all over the place; an undisclosed settlement eventually allowed Escalante to retain control of the Vandals catalog while songwriting credits reverted back to the whole group. Moral of this story: There is no such thing as punk brotherhood.
Thankfully, Peace Thru Vandalism lives on in the era of Fake Shemp Vandals Endorsed By Thick-Tongued Action Stars. This record—which today can most easily be found packaged with the band’s sophomore outing When in Rome Do as the Vandals—exists as a relic from a simpler time, a time when none of the Vandals could ever imagine being popular enough to play for US troops overseas (which they did) or the influence of their miniscule label Epitaph Records growing large enough to convince acid-throated troubadour Tom Waits to sign up for distribution (also true). There were no corporate sponsorship deals, precious Warped Tour slots, royalty checks, or Vin Diesel action movies to be lost back in those wild frontier days of 1982. With nothing at stake, the Vandals could be as crude and crazy and reckless as possible; no cow was too sacred (as evidenced by their vile, disgusting cover of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel”). Thus, Peace Thru Vandalism slaughtered as many heifers as it saw, serving up tasty/tasteless Anarchy Burgers to anyone hungry/crazy enough to join the party.
Yet as lowbrow as the original Vandals could be, there’s no arguing with their basic logic. To wit, the very line sold to xXx for some ungodly amount of money the boys like to brag about in concert these days:
“America stands for freedom, but if you think you’re free / Try walking into a deli and urinating on the cheese.”
I have, on numerous occasions, and trust me, none of the arresting officers let me stand behind my First Amendment rights. I can also assure you that the current incarnation of the Vandals hasn’t come close to authoring anything that bitingly honest or sharp since they first slipped on their checkered Vans in the mid-to-late ’80s and recruited a teenage drum whiz from Disneyland to be their drum god.
Listen: “Anarchy Burger” [at youtube.com]
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by: James Greene Jr.
published: November 8, 2009 in column: Crate Digger
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