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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: upper crust
The Neil Diamond Effect: AC/DC vs. Scorpions
All of a sudden, critics love AC/DC. It’s weird. While other albums from middle-aged rock bands were trashed in 2008 (deservedly so in the case of Chinese Democracy), everyone seemed to agree that AC/DC’s Black Ice was a gift from above. Besides being one of the top five sellers of the year, The Onion, PopMatters, Rolling Stone and plenty of others all gave it high marks. (Rolling Stone even put them on its cover for the first time.) Hell, the Australian band was recently honored by the parliament of Scotland, where late frontman Bon Scott, Angus Young, and Malcolm Young were born.
The group’s kudos has come as something of a shock, to me anyway. AC/DC, critic’s darling? It just doesn’t sound right. Yeah, they’ve long been wildly popular, but their music was never considered cutting edge, and critics didn’t slobber over them the way they did over Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, Cream, or countless others. (Not that AC/DC ever seemed to care; they have long embraced their lowbrow appeal, after all.)
Their sudden critical embrace is jarring. But you can probably chalk it up to what I’ll call the “Neil Diamond Effect,” where an act once considered gauche begins winning critical respect many decades into their career. Diamond, after all, was a square, critical-whipping boy during rock’s experimental heyday in the late ’60s and ’70s—that all changed in 2005, when critics celebrated his Rick Rubin-produced CD, 12 Songs.
The Upper Crust
The Upper Crust
Revenge for Imagined Slights
(Camp Street Records, 2009)
So here’s the rub with this album: It was recorded in six days between February and March ’09 and released internet-only on the seventh day. You’d think the whole powdered wig, 18th century, dig-our-ruffles, fancy pants rock thing would be enough gimmick for these cats, but no. The Upper Crust dared to go that extra mile just so we’d all have something to talk about over our tea and crumpets (or Mountain Dew and Cheez-Its, depending on your region). For an album that was thrown together over the course of 144 hours, Revenge for Imagined Slights is rather impressive. It almost sounds like they spent a full eight days crafting these 10 hot nuggets of high-falutin’ head-bangery before ringing the final curfew bell. Oh snap! I do believe this dandy highwayman has stood and delivered a crippling taunt to the Sires of UC.
But I kid Boston’s premier novelty band (next to the Dropkick Murphys). From a sonic standpoint, most previous Upper Crust efforts have been slightly flat, like day-old champagne. Not Revenge—the Foppish Four have finally managed to capture in cramped confines the crisp, classic crunch that perfectly punctuates their rollicking tales of randy romps and royal ribaldry. Lead guitarist Duc d’Istortion shines in particular, pulling out an ass-tearing tone when soloing over taut numbers like “Rococo” and “Chateauneuf du Pop.” Lord Bendover’s sinewy, sneering vocals are in great form across the board, yet the two cuts on Revenge that pop the hardest—“Come Hither Fair Youth” and “Class Up the Ass”—are sung by fussy four-string tender, Count Bassie. The Count gives Bendover a serious run for his britches on the latter, sounding like a finger-shakin’, face-wrinklin’, crotch-thrustin’, American version of Mick Jagger in his prime (plus 40 pounds).
The Buckled Shoe of Rock: Paul Revere & The Raiders vs. The Upper Crust
The saga of Paul Revere & the Raiders is almost as epic as one of those Lord of the Rings movies in that approximately 50 people have occupied a spot in that band at one time or another. There’s a good chance you were in Paul Revere & the Raiders and you just don’t remember it. Think back to college. Remember that weird job you took for a couple weeks where you had to wear a really stupid uniform and sway your hips in front of gaggles of screaming housewives and scared children? That’s it. You were Paul Revere’s bass player.
The Raiders started in the late ’50s with an organist actually named Paul Revere. The band was originally called the Downbeats, but Revere and singer Mark Lindsay (the other mainstay) could just smell the Revolutionary War trend that was a heartbeat away from affecting our nation’s youth. Ergo, they rechristened themselves Paul Revere & the Raiders. The band’s first substitution came shortly after the release of their debut single, 1961’s “Like Long Hair.” Revere was drafted to fight in Vietnam but deferred as a cook in a mental institution; Lindsay picked one Leon Russell to take the place of the group’s namesake for their inaugural tour of the States that summer.
The National
The National
Boxer
(Beggars Banquet, 2007)
The National are the thick outer edge that defines the upper crust of indie rock. The part that is cracked like the bark on a well-cooked flank steak that, when tasted, reveals many complicated, nuanced layers at play.
Their literate musical styling brings with it a feeling of refinement in its approach; sophisticated without being pretentious, as any common man can identify with the lyrics; tasteful and yet bluntly honest in a choice of words that touch upon the finer points of fucking or drinking or even pissing in a sink. Their music could accompany the delicate ballet of the down and out.
Bloodlights’ Captain Poon: I Don’t Hate Bald People
by: James Greene Jr.
Crawdaddy!: Here’s a cliché question to start: How do you think the band’s sound has evolved or changed since the debut record? That new song you posted on your MySpace page, “Blasted” [currently, the song is not up], sounds a little darker than the earlier stuff. Would you say that’s fair?
Captain Poon: It’s a little hard to point my finger at any exact changes. But in general, I think we’ve grown together as a band and are getting into that good lane where we have four heads moving in the same direction without too much fucking around. In the beginning, I had to tell everyone what to do at all time; now, I can get away with doing this just 95 percent of the time. [Laughs] “Blasted” may sound a little darker, but hey, it’s a dark topic, isn’t it? Ending up in bed with someone you’ll find extremely unattractive when the beer goggles are gone the next day? What, isn’t that dark and serious enough for you? read more
by: James Greene Jr.
published: September 4, 2009 in column: Feature Story
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