The Raconteurs to Play Los Angeles Show This Sunday

The Raconteurs have just announced they will be performing at the Henry Fonda Theater in Los Angeles, CA this Sunday, May 18th. Tickets go on sale tomorrow at noon PST and will be available at that time by going here.

A little over a year and a half ago, my girlfriend convinced me to go see Belle and Sebastian at the Wiltern. It didn’t take too much convincing. She’d made me a really good Belle and Sebastian mix a few months earlier and she offered to pay for my ticket. I was sold.

Sadly, the concert was sub-par. It wasn’t awful, but the live experience, just wasn’t a catalyst for any of the various emotions I hope to experience at a show. I wasn’t excited, energized, inspired, astounded, educated, or even amused. I didn’t gain a deeper appreciation for the band, wasn’t left wanting more, wasn’t even happy when they played an encore. I wrote Belle and Sebastian off as one of those very talented bands, that just sounds better on my car stereo then live in person.

Naturally, when my girlfriend asked me if I wanted to see them again a month later, I declined. They were playing at the Hollywood Bowl with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, but never having been to the Bowl or seen the Phil, those weren’t really selling points. She went without me and came back RAVING about the show. Apparently, all the verbs that I crave at a live show, the ones that were so readily absent at the Wiltern, were there in spades with the addition of one of the nation’s best orchestras. I kicked myself and vowed to catch the next rock band who teamed with The Phil, regardless of who they were. That band happened to be The Decemberists.

It was my first show at the Bowl and an experience I’ll never forget. I staggered up from the Hollywood and Highland parking structure (the cheapest and easiest place to park if you don’t mind walking a bit), past a sea of camera toting tourists hoping to be “discovered” as they took posed photos on Cuba Gooding Jr.’s urine soaked star on the Walk of Fame. I walked past fleabag hotels and $20 parking lots. Eventually, the tourists and cars and smog subsided, and as I entered the Bowl, I was surrounded by honest-to-god trees. The Bowl was an oasis of solitude in a desert of tourists and materialism. It’s also an amphitheater that seats 40,000 plus, one that lets you bring in picnic dinners and bottles of wine without any hassle.

And so we sat, eating our fancy cheeses and drinking our wine, and happily enjoying an average performance by Band of Horses and a truly inspired one from Andrew Bird. The latter was so good, I was convinced The Decemberists would have a tough time following. I was wrong.

They opened with, “The Crane Wife, Parts 1 and 2,” and when the Phil’s string section all hit one of the opening chords in unison and the big bassy French horn kicked in, I started laughing hysterically. I suddenly found myself experiencing all of the aforementioned verbs, all at once, in unison, coupled with another wonderful emotion: surprise.

It was surprising just how tight the band and orchestra were together, how full and layered a sound they could create. The energy sixty plus musicians could create on stage, coupled with the enthusiasm of the 40,000 or so in attendance, was a unique live musical experience for me. I’ve seen orchestras and been part of massive rock band audiences, but never at the same time. It’s a special combination.

So a few weeks later when Bright Eyes teamed up with the LA Phil, of course I was going to be there. And once again, I was anything but disappointed. That thick, complex, vibrant sound, tickled my ears and left me in hysterics a few more times. Even with lofty expectations and a similar experience recently under my belt, the sound constantly delighted and surprised me.

The discovery of the Hollywood Bowl and the LA Philharmonic (especially when teamed with a kick-ass rock band) was probably my greatest musical discovery of 2007—a year in which I was exposed to dozens of new bands and a handful of new genres. I consider myself a connoisseur of fine live music, one who’s not easily impressed. That being said, I have no trouble laying down a prediction for 2008: any band teamed with the LA Phil at the Hollywood Bowl will certainly evoke all the wonderful verbs that good life music should.

When I was a few years younger, a bit more idealistic, and substantially more naïve, footage of the WTO protests in Seattle set to a Rage Against The Machine score was enough to inspire my activism and led me to the Summit of the Americas protest in Quebec City.

Two years later, when my first real girlfriend broke up with me, I spent a lot of time blasting Rage’s self-titled album as I bounced around my room, heart pounding, fisticuffs flying, anger swelling, until the mental agony I was battling was replaced by a more manageable fury.

A few months after I moved to LA, I watched Tom Morello lead Audioslave in “Killing In The Name Of” from the roof of the El Capitan Theatre as thousands of mosh-pitters broke through police barricades on Hollywood Boulevard and the riot police were called in order to restore order.

And so it seemed fitting, that two days after I was laid off from a television job that I loved and cherished, (lead singer) Zack de la Rocha and (guitarist) Morello were once again at the forefront of my pain and passion.

I worked, until this past Tuesday, as a writers’ assistant on one of television’s few quality sitcoms. I sat in a room full of some TV’s funniest writers, taking notes, doing research, editing scripts, and receiving the best education in the craft of sitcom writing one could ever hope to receive. On Tuesday, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) strike successfully resulted in the shutdown of our production and my immediate termination by the studio which employed me. I (along with every person I worked with) suddenly found myself without a job. It was terrifying.

For those unfamiliar with WGA strike, let me provide a brief (and moderately biased) synopsis: On Monday November 1, after months of rumors, last-minute negotiations broke down between the WGA and the AMPTP (studios guild), and the writers officially went on strike.

Despite what you may have heard, the most contentious issue is not DVD residuals (which the writers have been getting screwed on for years, currently getting about $.06 for every $20 DVD sold), but rather “new media.” As the Internet increasingly becomes the way in which entertainment content is delivered (iTunes, iPods, streaming video, Netflix downloads, etc.), the studios want to apply the same residual formula from DVD’s to the Internet and other new media.

Residuals are payments writers, directors, and actors receive when their work is rebroadcast and currently accounts for about 30 percent of a writer’s total salary. But the studios hard-line on new media means in the next 10 years or so writers will lose close to one-third of their current salaries. To make matters worse, studios currently (and increasingly) broadcast webisodes, mobisodes, deleted scenes and other bonus content, along with complete rebroadcasts of episodes on their websites, along with advertisements, and claim that they’re “promotion,” meaning writers/actors/directors get paid absolutely nothing. Obviously, if the studios are able to wear down the writers and strike a cheap deal with them, they stand to make billions of extra dollars from new media. So in a nutshell, the WGA strike is simply about writers trying to get paid for the work they do.

On Monday, even though I’m not a guild member, I joined the writers of my show on the picket line, refusing to go to work and demonstrating solidarity with them. The next day I was laid off by the studio. Actually, the studio claimed that since I failed to show up for work, I had effectively “quit” my job and would be unable to qualify for unemployment. As I tried to sort this out, I refrained from picketing, fearing it would further exacerbate the situation, but on Friday, I, along with some 3,500 other people rallied outside Fox Plaza on the Avenue of the Stars. It was a protest headlined by Family Guy’s Seth McFarlane, Jesse Jackson, and of course a two-song set by Zack de la Rocha and Tom Morello in the back of flatbed truck.

Writers are by nature, a neurotic bunch. Getting them to dance, sing, or cheer un-ironically, is seemingly more difficult than tackling a page one rewrite. Sadly, de la Rocha and Morello, outfitted with a minuscule sound-system that made lyrics barely audible, weren’t quite up to the task. Still, their presence at the rally seemed to cement the WGA strike as part of some greater labor movement.

Rage Against The Machine is a musical emblem of revolution. Calling on images of Che Guevara and burning monks, harnessing a raw and raucous sound, and shouting rebellious lyrics, their connection to the politically disenfranchised is a hallmark of the band.

So as I struggled to make out the lyrics of “Bulls on Parade,” I couldn’t help but reflect on everything that had taken place in the previous week. Despite losing my job, I was oddly satisfied. The WGA strike may result in me losing a few thousand dollars over the next couple of months, but will ultimately benefit me as an aspiring writer in years to come.

My lost job and my sacrifice is nothing compared to what the writers are giving up in the short term and what they’re giving me in the long run. Plus, in the mean time, I suddenly have a lot more time to go to shows.

(Want to know more/support writers in the strike? Check out United Hollywood)

When I first heard the Phil Spector-esque pop sounds of the Pipettes, the word that immediately came to mind was “fun.” It’s the kind of music that makes you want to put on a polka-dot dress, go dancing, and maybe break a few hearts. So on my way to a Pipettes concert at the Echoplex in Los Angeles on Thursday, I had high expectations for a carefree night. But as I was sitting in traffic staring at the gray sky caused by ash from the wildfires, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about going out to have a good time while homes were being destroyed not too far from me. I’m not sure if other concertgoers had the same thought, or maybe it was the poor quality outside, but as entertaining as these three women are, the all-ages crowd just didn’t seem to be feeling it.

This Oct. 25 concert kicked off the band’s rescheduled US tour at the Echoplex and in support of their debut album We Are the Pipettes, The band also toured the US and Canada in June to promote the Your Kisses are Wasted on Me EP.

When I arrived at 8:45 p.m. (doors opened at 7 p.m.), Monster Bobby, the guitarist for the Pipettes, was on stage alone busting out his experimental electronic music. The slight young man, a far cry from his monster moniker, was playing to a small and scattered crowd which seemed more interested in chatting or buying drinks than listening. I only got to hear one of his songs, but I would have liked to see more of the man considered to be largely responsible for the sound of the Pipettes. If you plan on attending this tour, I’d recommend arriving in time to hear his set.

The next act was LA’s own The Adored. I figured they would have some local fans, but when the band took the stage, nobody so much as clapped. I had heard some music on its MySpace page before the concert and the punk tunes with a hint of Brit pop immediately appealed to me. The sound didn’t grab me as much live and I found out that lead singer Ryan George had apparently left the band. Guitarist Drew 17 took over on lead vocals, but it was hard to hear how he compared because his mic was too low. The band overcame these problems with its energy, but most people were standing so still I thought maybe I was being Punk’d and everyone was replaced with statues (except for the girl texting next to me). The crowd didn’t even let loose during a brilliant rendition of Gwen Stefani’s “The Sweet Escape.” I wish the venue would have allowed cameras so I could have filmed it and added it here. It was pretty awesome.

By the time the Pipette’s backing band, The Cassettes, took the stage in matching sweater vests, the venue had filled up substantially (but I still had plenty of room to stretch out). It was refreshing to go to a concert and not be pressed up against strangers, but this show would have been better suited to the smaller Echo upstairs than the 700-capacity Echoplex. When the Pipettes entered to the sounds of an alien invasion, the audience cheered. I guess they were alive after all.

RiotBecki, Gwenno, and Rosay were charming in their different color and length polka dot dresses and dancing their choreographed routines that seemed straight out of a vintage episode of Top of the Pops. But the night felt a little rough. More than once, somebody started singing early, but this was always dealt with humorously and quickly forgiven. The biggest problem was that the harmonies and clever girl power lyrics were often drowned out by the band due to persistent microphone issues. Concert performances aren’t supposed to be perfect, but for music like this, I almost prefer the polished sounds of the album.

Before “Pull Shapes,” the Pipettes announced that this would be the final chance to dance (which was sort of a lie if you count the encore). Quite a few people took them up on the offer, myself included, but not nearly enough. One couple in the front was resting on the barrier and looked as if they were about to fall asleep. How could anyone resist the request to “Dance with me and you’ll be all right” over catchy ’60s-inspired orchestration? At least Drew 17 from the Adored made his way into the audience and proceeded to cut a rug, presumably to demonstrate proper concert etiquette.

It wasn’t the concert that I thought it would be, but maybe the next time the Pipettes come around, they will play in a better venue with a better audience at a less depressing time to be living in Califonria. And in the meantime, I can listen to their CD (the British version, which I’d recommend over the remixed American version) and get the experience I thought I’d be getting. I haven’t finished with them yet.

The Pipettes tour dates

Fortunately, Beirut is not your typical indie rock band.

photo by Ben Chrisman

[audio:http://www.52shows.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/beirut-scenic_world_live.mp3]
Beirut – Scenic World (Live)

[audio:http://www.52shows.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/beirut-nantes_live.mp3]
Beirut – Nantes (Live)

[audio:http://www.52shows.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/beirut-a_sunday_smile.mp3]
Beirut – A Sunday Smile

Think Neutral Milk Hotel with Rufus Wainwright on vocals, playing Balkan gypsy music. Currently, an eight piece band consisting of several horns, ukuleles, a few mandolins, a cello, drums, an accordion, piano, viola, guitar, violin, clarinet, upright bass, and a glockenspiel, all switching hands from song to song—Beirut could easily be cacophonous. With twenty-one-year-old Zach Condon at the helm, they’re nothing short of harmonious.

I was fortunate to catch them on the last night of their North American Tour, at The Avalon in Hollywood. It was the perfect venue. Despite seating close to 1,500 people, the two floored room with a variety of risers, couches, balconies, bars, overhangs, and interesting little nooks and crannies, seemed to have the intimacy of a room a third of its size. Before Colleen, the second opening band played, one of the members of Beirut came on stage and requested the entire audience sit down in order to hear her (Andrew Bird-like effect sampling of the viola and clarinet) better, and sure enough, everyone in the house took a seat. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen at general admission shows with a thousand or so people in attendance.

So it was fitting that the show started with Condon walking on stage by himself with nothing but a ukulele. After some raucous cheers, Condon began strumming some happy little chords on his uke. It was the kind of personal touch that made connecting with him so easy. A minute or so later, he was joined on stage by the remainder of his band and they got down to business. Condon’s sweet crooning instantly meshed perfectly with the strings and horns that dominated his band, but it wasn’t until he unleashed the first few blaring notes from his flugelhorn that the band and crowd really settled in.

I began slowly nodding my head and tapping my feet, as is my custom. After a song or two, and much to my surprise, I noticed my hands had snuck out of my pockets and my arms were moving a bit to the music. Glancing around the crowd, everyone seemed to be in tune with the band, particularly one exuberant group near the front, dancing, jumping, swinging, and bouncing along to the music in obvious delight. In front of me, my girlfriend, as rhythmically challenged as I, was also getting down.

The sound was simply infectious. So many pieces all working together: Condon’s voice, soaring, far too mature for his age and physical appearance, horns blaring, drums pounding, strings wailing, and everyone in the house soaking it in. On songs like “Bandenburg” and “Mount Wroclai” the band’s chemistry and comfort were readily on display. Condon waving his arms, directing the band, everyone on stage and in the crowd seemingly following his commands.

The girls behind me, perhaps as impressed with Condon’s boyish good-looks as his musical abilities, kept discussing how badly they wanted to marry him and how powerful the Vicodin they took was. One of them tapped me on the back and pointed out that the tag on my shirt was sticking out. Suddenly, I became self-conscious. What the fuck were my arms doing? Was I dancing or having a seizure? Unsure what to do, I put my arms around my girlfriend and allowed her to dictate my movements. She, usually self-conscious about dancing anywhere besides the passenger seat in my car, was so enthralled with the music, she managed to lead majestically. I never thought I’d get turned on during an indie concert, but somehow the gypsy music managed to be sexy.

The show wasn’t perfect. The band tripped over one another during “Postcards From Italy” and apparently exhausted their repertoire, so they were unable to play a second encore, which the crowd was just begging for. But the combination of Condon’s voice paired with a such an impressive accompaniment of musicians rarely failed to impress. And anytime you see near a thousand people dancing at an indie rock show, you know you witnessed something special.