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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: junior boys
Peaches
Peaches
I Feel Cream
(XL, 2009)
Since The Teaches of Peaches, Peaches hasn’t really released a set of songs to match her shtick—that mix of abrasive minimal drum-and-synth techno, crass sexuality, and performative, almost parodically forward gender-bending antics that’s earned the admiration of club kids and gender studies majors. This, arguably, doesn’t matter—live, she still plays “Fuck the Pain Away” (and “Lovertits”, and “Hot Rod”, and “AA XXX”, and…), and, like we learned in academia, just because the music’s kind of meh, that doesn’t make it any less fun to parse. (Even the Dean got into it: “Pro-sex post-feminism for the age of internet porn, in which thousands of women a day prove how cool they are by smiling through their semen facials.” Oh, Christgau, that’s not necessarily semen.)
Though I Feel Cream boasts the least amusing sexually-tinged album title in the Peaches catalog, it does feature several of Merrill Beth Nisker’s best tunes in nearly a decade, along with the usual heapings of empowering dom-sub role-playing.
Thao and the Get Down Stay Down: April 30th at the Independent, SF
Thao and the Get Down Stay Down, San Francisco
April 30th at the Independent
Songwriter Thao Nguyen is just about the most charming musician in indie rock today, a pixie-sized cutie who wears short dresses and cowboy boots and plays quirky, guitar-driven tunes on an acoustic guitar that practically dwarves her slight size. Though formerly a native of Falls Church, Virginia, since relocating to San Francisco, Nguyen and her two-piece band (drummer Willis Thompson and bassist Adam Thompson), dubbed the Get Down Stay Down, have quickly risen to the ranks of one of the Bay’s more talked-about, emerging acts on the scene.
Though the show wasn’t sold out, it was certainly near capacity, and as she rolled through a set of alternative folk songs, driven by her mewling voice that at times recalls a more energized Cat Power with a distinctive folky funk reminiscent of Ani DiFranco, she popped and bounced with a vivaciousness that was supplemented by several guest musicians on a few songs to really round out their sound. Nguyen cites Lilith Fair as a great catalyst to her musical evolution, inspiring her to pick up a guitar at an impressionable age, and I dare say she could be seen as heralding a new, updated brand of feminism for our shifting generation. As the band is in the midst of a nationwide tour, expect to hear more buzz about the charismatic three-piece as they paint the nation in brightly colored hues by way of their amiable, warm spunk.
Mayyors: April 19th at El Rincon, San Francisco
Mayyors
April 29th at El Rincon, San Francisco
It’s hard to describe Mayyors without sounding like a total moron—my go-to phrase has been “they’re sorta like the Melvins if the Melvins were a party band,” but that isn’t very helpful or accurate, really. All I can say with assurance is that Mayyors are my favorite band in the world right now—skull-crushing rock outta Sacramento that’s been raging and pummeling its way into the hearts of noise addicts, punks, and many others near and far via a killer live show and wholly deserved word-of-mouth praise.
Four men form the band: John Pritchard, a very tall dude wearing shotgun range ear protection, provides the gnarly, indecipherable vocal, flanked by guitarist Chris Woodhouse (formerly of Karate Party and FM Knives and a producer for Thee Oh Sees and the A-Frames) and bassist Mark Kaiser while Julian Elorduy holds it down on the drum kit in the back. Mayyors opened their set with the grimy churn of the “Intro” to Side A of Megan’s LOLZ, their second and most recent seven-inch, and the assembled pit was shoving and nearly doubling over before their first real song even started: “Airplanes”, the latter tune from that A-side and an obliterating, altogether kick-ass punk track. In tandem with Kaiser’s breakneck basslines, Woodhouse has the most incredible guitar tone: A trebly, crisp grind with thrilling peals of noise that doesn’t take being a gearhead to envy. How do they do it?
Max Tundra, Junior Boys: April 16th at Bimbos, SF and Glasvegas: April 16th at Great American Music Hall, SF
Max Tundra, Junior Boys
April 16th at Bimbo’s 365 Club, San Francisco
The fact that Max Tundra and Junior Boys are touring together seemed pretty peculiar at first, as these artists come at electro-pop from vastly different angles, enough so that it could’ve made for a jarring bill. Their performances at Bimbo’s in San Francisco last Thursday, however, made clear that this was, indeed, a pretty rad pairing—their respective flavors of electro are, in each case, homebrewed and eccentric, yet tightly produced and with striking results.
Max Tundra, also known as Ben Jacobs, is a solo performer and multi-instrumentalist from England, and was here appearing in support of his newest album, last year’s Parallax Error Beheads You. The record took six years to complete, and the intricacy of his songs became immediately clear to all those present—he opened with “Orphaned”, whose hyper-speed, cut-up instrumental intro gradually led to the introduction of his pleasantly lilting voice, the one sane-feeling element in his dizzying musical surroundings. The set included, appropriately, his best pop tunes: “Lysine” (from 2002’s Mastered by Guy at the Exchange), in which he sang what were originally his sister’s vocal parts himself, the happy house-quoting “The Entertainment”, as well as PEBY’s infectious singles: “Which Song” and “Will Get Fooled Again.” Throughout, he employed a table-full of odd instruments, including an Eddie Van Halen model Stratocaster (which he only played for about 30 seconds), a toy microphone, and a Suzuki Andes recorder/keyboard, and he frequently would dart from his array to dance frenetically about the stage by his lonesome. It was all very entertaining, especially his last two songs: An extended “old rave” (as opposed to “nu-rave”) jam and a hilarious rendition of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “So Long, Farewell.”
Of Montreal: April 17th in Brooklyn and Flight of the Conchords: April 18th in Philadelphia
Of Montreal
April 17th at Music Hall of Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Anyone remotely familiar with Of Montreal’s glam-tastic music should in no way be surprised by the theatricality of their live shows. Friday’s concert in Brooklyn was nothing short of pure spectacle. It was part circus sideshow and part Dadaist Theater with the freaks in full force. There was a tuxedoed tiger, a couple of bedazzled ninjas, and a holiday play involving WWI-era gas masks, which almost gave the Flaming Lips some competition in terms of creating the most surreal Christmas ever.
Oh, and there was music too. Lead by the ever-androgynous Kevin Barnes (clad in dangerously low-cut pants and wearing more eye shadow then there is in my entire make-up collection), the band stuck mostly to material off their two most recent albums, Skeletal Lamping and Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, though there were a couple of older tracks and even a new song thrown in for good measure. They kicked the night off with the 11-minute electro jam “The Past Is a Grotesque Animal”, a bold choice of an opener, though it was aptly representative of the rest of the night—an unrelenting cavalcade of the bizarre, soundtracked by manic, dance-fueled music. For the encore, Of Montreal was joined by the opening act, the spacey-punk R&B singer Janelle Monáe for a cover of David Bowie’s “Moonage Daydream.” It was an appropriate homage to a man who made it possible for such a band to exist in the first place.
Junior Boys
Junior Boys
Begone Dull Care
(Domino, 2009)
My colleague Ian Mathers describes his favorite Junior Boys album, Last Exit, as “hateful.” I wasn’t interested enough to look up the lyrics for that well-regarded debut when I heard it, but now I’m rather curious as to what kinds of uncouth sentiments I’ve been grooving to for the past two months. Scanning the titles of 2006’s So This Is Goodbye, “Like a Child” seemed like an obvious starting point, and from there, Jeremy Greenspan’s graceless dismounts sniffle rather than drink themselves to sleep, one after another. Left alone on his birthday, unable to tell if he’s emptier with or without sex, struggling to apprehend the stake in his heart inscribed “so this is goodbye,” he’d slink like the National or evoke like Interpol if he could piece a sentence together in his condition. With his shaky whisper and barely tonal melodies clutching droll ’80s analog synths like a child with water wings, critics coddled him for years. But even his best melody, “In the Morning”, was pained, a pretty and formless descending scale unshaped into much of a hook. If this band is hateful, it can’t even comport itself to make something from it… angst, aggression, a raised eyebrow. All it can produce is salt down its red face. Naturally, I cringed when I saw the title of their third long-player. Haven’t they learned from bad luck? Or had a decent birthday in three years? I prepared to tag this Bemoan Dull Care if I was going to play it at all.
And then a wonderful thing happened; Greenspan woke up one day, as broken lovers are wont, and moved on. “Dull to Pause” seems to chronicle his newfound ability to go about his business: “All the time spent over nothing / Seems like you’re done / You are,” and more literally, “I was pacing around and just recording it down / I had nothing to say / I’m done for another day.” Here he stops pacing. A good six of the eight new songs can make it home by themselves, portioning healthy funk over another five years of emaciated synths. Claps, traps, simulated horns, even a couple swing moves, countermelodies, losing his mind in riff after riff, co-conspirator Matt Didemus has distracted Greenspan long enough to show his songwriting some love. His singing, too! “Dull to Pause” could vie for Travis or Coldplay’s Brit-croon crown, while the irresistible “Hazel” is a confident, full-belted disco pileup.
I’m So Bored with NYC: Joe Strummer vs. James Murphy
Joe Strummer’s father was a diplomat; Joe was born in Turkey and before being sent to a boarding school with its own crest, he lived in Egypt, Mexico, and elsewhere. He was a rich white kid among people who were neither, and spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it.
The Clash covered Stax instrumentals, rockabilly rave-ups, rollicking blues laments. (And for a while in the early ’70s, Strummer was a folkie going by “Woody.”) But the majority of their covers are reggae songs: “Pressure Drop” (Toots and the Maytals), “Police and Thieves” (Junior Murvin), “Police on My Back” (Eddy Grant), “Armagideon Time” (Willie Williams), “Wrong ’Em Boyo” (the Rulers), “Revolution Rock” (Danny Ray), plus their own original contributions to the reggae genre (among many others). Pop quiz: Name another punk band whose singles routinely came between dub versions.
On last year’s Live at Shea Stadium, Strummer’s between-song patter is more like an ethnomusicological lecture: “Ask your neighbor what that’s about,” is how he introduces “Guns of Brixton’s” outlaw reggae. “We’d like to take you from New York to Jamaica and back,” he says, introducing a medley of “The Magnificent Seven” and “Armagideon Time”, admitting to the local crowd that the strutting bassline of the former is “a kind of black New York rhythm that we stole one night,” making sure that the crowd—there to see the Who, remember—didn’t take for granted the cultural cross-pollination all around them.
The Killers
The Killers
Day & Age
(Island, 2008)
I’ll admit it. A couple years back, I borrowed Hot Fuss from my neighbor’s 15-year-old nephew. And what I first listened to out of morbid curiosity, I found myself replaying out of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with snacking on the synth-tastic pop candy that the kids are eating up—in small doses at least.
Three albums into their career, it remains the same: The Killers have always been a singles band and are best consumed on a selective song-by-song basis, though it remains unlikely that these dapper Vegas boys will ever realize this. After listening to Day & Age, it becomes even more evident that this band’s ambition is outweighed by their over-bloated sense of self-importance. As they strive to become the biggest American rock band, it’s easy to laugh at their penchant for the ridiculous, not to mention creepy porno-moustaches. You’ll find more adolescent melodrama here than at your local junior high school, which is a shame, because some of these songs are pretty damn good and sadly, but understandably, the silliness overshadows them. But then again, I should have expected this considering the kid that introduced me to the band was, in fact, only in ninth grade.
The Euro-pop vibe of “Human”, for instance, is undeniably catchy. Okay, so the lyrics are abysmal, not to mention grammatically bizarre. “Are we human or are we dancer?” Brandon Flowers croons, as if the fate of the planet hinges on his delivery. And no, that’s not a typo. It’s the singular form—as in “dancer,” not dancers, as if to suggest all the people who are not human are grooving together as one collective body. Although the last time I checked, the two weren’t mutually exclusive. With rollicking riffs and a soaring chorus of “oh oh ohs”, “Spaceman”, too, is a great song and makes for damn good single material.
However, barring a handful of standouts, the rest of Day & Age is a bit messier (although not as messy as the poorly produced Sam’s Town). The band’s self-imposed seriousness is probably the most frustrating aspect of the album. Every note is played with total earnestness without a wink of playfulness. The slick keyboard balladry of “A Dustland Fairytale” works itself into a bombastic frenzy, yet feels so hollow as if to border on self-parody. The forays into faux-funk circa 1980 feel the most forced, however. The chintzy saxophone on “Joy Ride” and the weirdo Caribbean percussion and brass accompaniment on “I Can’t Stay” probably should have been avoided altogether.
Clearly, Day & Age is a mixed bag of tunes, mostly congealed together by misguided ambition. Perhaps these boys should take a deep breath and a step back, laugh a little (particularly at themselves), and release just one song at time—ones that are guaranteed to get the humans to dance.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
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Daily Previews and Reviews of the Week’s Events
It’s the time of year again, when the weather turns crisp and brisk in New York City, leaves begin to fall to the ground, visions of the underworld start to surface in storefronts, and the streets brim with more cool kids than there’s even room for on any given normal weekend in downtown Manhattan. Yes, it’s the CMJ Music Marathon, 2008 style, where your pricey badge will mean next to nothing and you’ll be left out in the cold at least a few times wondering if you have time to hop on the train to get to Brooklyn for that other show. But, you know what: None of that matters because it’s New York fuckin’ City, and for five days straight, no matter what, you’re going to consume tons of beer, tons of bands, and probably walk away from it all with some sort of cold that’ll put you out for the week following, all in the name of experiencing sounds from the best up-and-coming bands in the country and beyond in one of the greatest places in the world to see live music.
Crawdaddy! is tossing itself into the mayhem of this year’s festival to check out panels, films, and the music being offered up. Each page here represents one full day of the festival, where we’ve provided some preview highlights we’re looking forward to, and then we’ll be reporting back each following morning with what we saw the previous day before. No real agenda, no real cause. We’re gonna go with the flow and see how we emerge from the festival insanity that is CMJ.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Ramones: Acid Eaters
by: James Greene Jr.
Acid Eaters
(Radioactive, 1993)
You can knock the Ramones for a number of things (lying about being brothers, letting Dee Dee quit, inspiring Rancid), but what you can’t deny punk rock’s most revered foursome is their ability to execute excellent covers. Da Bruddahs, as no one has liked to call them since 1992, were pretty sharp when it came to picking other artist’s songs to feed into their giant, leather-jacketed meat grinder. They transformed dippy beach anthem “California Sun” into a crushing wave of rock, made “Palisades Park” a moshable delight, and re-imagined “I Don’t Want to Grow Up” as the leanest slice of alienation this side of Paul Westerberg. Oh, and that version of the “Spider-Man” theme at the end of ¡Adios Amigos! is without question humankind’s greatest accomplishment of the 1990s. So the question remains: Why is Acid Eaters, the all-covers album the Ramones released in 1993, so bleh, for lack of a better term?
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by: James Greene Jr.
published: May 26, 2009 in column: Ex Post Facto
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