David Gray: Making it acceptable for PDA whenever his music is played

The Wang Theatre in Boston is an impressive place, with its vast lobby and impossibly high orchestra sections (there are three people). It has staged plays, musicals, opera singers and probably a few world-famous drunken rock stars.

All of this makes the appearance of Lisa Hannigan all the more magical. We wrote about her this past February on the strength of her song “Lillie” and the accompanying video that came with it. For a while, her track live on my iPod as the random track on my Nite playlist and the one my friends would inevitably ask “Hey, who is this?”

To see her play live in such a massive venue and opening for David Gray brought with it a strange sense of satisfaction and pride, as if anyone who had heard of her prior to this moment was with her on stage, singing to a massive audience who were all thinking the same thing: “Hey, who is this?”

It was a nice precursor to David Gray, the Englishman who launched a thousand relationships with his songs of love, friendship and snow falling…slowly.

Almost immediately into his set, you could see the couples in the audience convene and embrace. I suspect most of them, like myself, have a personal memory attached to one of his songs.

Despite his punkish roots, Gray has emerged as the go-to guy whenever couples need something to wake up or fall asleep to together in bed on a rainy Sunday afternoon. These are songs that are simple and have a way of being realistic cinematic, in the sense that hearing them in a certain place and time can create a musical postcard people hold onto forever.

And though you may not understand how the two ugly people in front of you are caressing each other in public, you can appreciate it because, in this place and time, it truly is a beautiful thing to see love in its rarest and unbridled form.

For me, Gray will always remind me of the night my future wife and I connected, not as former lovers-turned friends-back to lovers again. This was two incredibly horny people who took out their frustrations on each other on a rainy Friday night with Gray playing in the background.

Though it was still cool for a Boston summer evening, the sun had managed to poke through around midday, creating a positive atmosphere with smiles and flip-fopped feet lining the street. In many ways, it was the perfect prelude to a Matisyahu concert, the Hasidic Jew with a penchant for reggae beats and hopeful lyrics.

As I changed out of workday clothes into concert gear in my girl’s car, the faint sound of a “Ohhhhh” floated through the air, telling us the punctual Bank of America Pavilion had suddenly come to life.

“Do you think my car will be towed? It’s ok in that spot, right?” she asked as we walked, the sound getting louder.
“Yea, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t that sure, but at that point it was too late. Like the sun poking through rainclouds at noon, there’s a strange sense of contentment and happiness that hits you during a Matisyahu concert. Maybe it’s the ambiguous religiosity of the shows. Or maybe it’s the strong scent of weed in the air.

We walked in as he was performing “Jerusalem” and as I paid my $10 beer (at least it was Samuel Adams) and headed to my seat, I began to look around at the crowd.

There was a mix, from some loners to my left to the bald-headed dad in front of me who looked like he was there with his entire family.  There was also a girl further down my row with her arms crossed, possibly wondering why she picked the hippie over the jock as her boyfriend at that party that one time.

Pretty soon, the music started to pick up causing everyone to do the same kind of dance, a sort of backward march thing, but in place (It’s the kind of natural movement that immediate comes when hearing reggae. Put some on now and see).

And then the DMB jam session began.

It’s a term my better half and I made up and it refers to an extended section of a song where everything slows down and suddenly it turns into a different song that is slow and sounds nothing like the initial song you were listening to.

This happened. A lot. At one point it was just Matisyahu singing “waaaahhhhhhoooooooooohhhhhh” into the mic for what seemed like 10 minutes.

It’s not that it was bad. Quite the opposite. But it was relaxing and as the shoulders began to slump downward, some in the crowd began to look tired (bald dad sat down and crossed his legs, the ultimate sign of “I need rest now”).

It got to the point when I started to ask why other songs weren’t being played like “Youth” or “Indestructible.” Inevitably “King Without a Crown” was played and I feared it was the end of the set. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

The show ended with his new single “One Day,” a Top 40-radio ready song that will be in numerous Summer 09 iPod playlists once it gets more airplay.

At this moment, life crept back into the crowd. The loners started to smile at strangers. Bald dad uncrossed his legs and held his wife. Even angry girlfriend started to sway and nod her head.

Granted, it’s an undeniably catchy song, but as we left with the chorus still ringing in my ears, I realized the basic message of staying positive for a better tomorrow is probably what gets people. And in the end, that’s the essence of religion and music. One guy just decided to take the best of both and grow a beard.

[Below is a video of some pictures with "One Day" playing. It's admittedly horrible. But I like to think it will mark a new project for 52shows, the video/pic documentation of a show. Just need to sneak in a better camera.]

[vimeo 5518046]

The Concert Stranger attends shows in NYC and, from time to time, reports on what he saw in the least amount of words possible because when people use too many “they just get in the way.” Here’s what he did in March.

3/4 Manchester Orchestra @ Mercury Lounge

This 5 piece from Atlanta, GA have a new record called Mean Everything to Nothing dropping on April 21st. It is hands down the best record I have heard this year. My only complaint about their set at the Mercury lounge is that it was too short- can’t wait for their gig at Bowery next month. This is the band to watch in 2009.

The Only One

3/11 The Airborne Toxic Event @ Bowery Ballroom

How is “Sometime Around Midnight” a hit song when it doesn’t have a chorus? The answer was illustrated to me live: it starts slow and builds to a massive frenzy. LA’s indie darlings recently signed to Island Records and are headed to Europe- but catch them in May at the Sasquatch Music Festival. Bonus: the band takes their name from a Don DeLillo book- got to like a band that can read.

Sometime Around Midnight

3/20 Richard Buckner @ Mercury Lounge

Buckner needs no stage show- he is mesmerizing solo and seated with only a trusty looping pedal to fill out the accompaniment. But the show started at 12:30 in the morning- I had been drinking since 6. Richard I’m an old man- how do you feel about the early bird special next time around?

Blue and Wonder (live)

3/26 White Lies @ Bowery Ballroom

These fine gentleman are from London and they are hot there. The band’s debut record To Lose My Life was the first (debut) to hit #1 on the UK charts this year. Singer Harry McVeigh claimed his voice was shot this particular evening at the Bowery- but they sounded good to me regardless- set was short and sweet- look forward to seeing them again.

To Lose My Life

3/30 The Hold Steady @ Irving Plaza

The sound was sub-par, the band did a lot of old material which is not my favorite (i know- sacrilegious- screw you hipsters) but still one of the better shows I’ve been to this year. The Hold Steady have a positive energy that is infectious and undeniable. A re-affirming musical experience.

Stay Positive

Up next Bow Wow…

From the band’s Myspace

The Brian Jonestown Massacre is the biggest traditional rock band I’ve ever seen live.

Not in popularity, but literally the biggest band I’ve ever seen.  With nine touring members crowding a stage, they dwarf even Skynyrd.  And the recession doesn’t seem to be cutting into their payroll at all, since they have a guy who stands front-and-center for the whole show playing only tambourine and maracas.  A little excessive maybe, but he is definitely one of the more animated members up there.

Enough about that.  The band is known primarily for their neo-psychedelic sound that is straight out of 1968.  With five guitars on stage (two or three electric six-strings, an acoustic, and an electric twelve-string…not to mention the occasional sitar), they create a sonic blast that washes right over you.

However, the band was plagued by bad sound that night and I didn’t get to experience the wall of sound I was expecting.  Riffs tended to be rather muddy, but it lent itself to the genre they were trying to ape.  Fidelity wasn’t the biggest attribute in late 60′s psychedelia.

What they do do really well is create a textured, mid-tempo sound that builds and swirls all around you.  Vocals are rather limited to simplicity, shared between leading members Anton Newcombe and Matt Hollywood.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand a damn word all night so I don’t really know what they were trying to say.

Outside of the drummer and Mr. Tambourine Man, the band didn’t exude much energy at all.  Of course, there wasn’t much room left up there for acrobatics.  But still, they looked rather bored and jaded and didn’t seem to be enjoying much of anything.  They vocalized their beef with the sound, but it didn’t get much better throughout the night.

The more Jager and beer I drank, the more I tended to enjoy myself.  I could expect that it would be a helluva show if you were on an acid trip.  In fact, one guy there seemed to know this all too well.  He was definitely altered out of his mind, kept bumping into people, and had a tic that made Robin Williams seem calm.

At the end of the show as people were leaving, one of their guitar players got into a pissing match with an unruly male audience member.  Both of them screamed back and forth for a while before the bouncers threw the guy out.  I don’t know what the fight was about, but it definitely was not the best note to end on.

photo by hugh twyman

If Keith Moon were still alive and didn’t play drums for the Who, he would definitely play for Meeting of Important People.

I caught them for the first time at their CD Release show this past Saturday in Pittsburgh.  I’ve heard the name mentioned in musicians’ circles around town before, but never got to hear them live or on disc.

Normally when you hear Garage Rock, it can easily go either way.  More often than not it’s the not-so-good kind.  But not this time.  The band opened up with an instrumental piece that had a bad-ass guitar and bass groove that wrapped itself around a raucous beat.  Definitely got my attention and the crowd of hipsters dancing around.

Their songs are simple and catchy, yet not forced or annoying like so many indie bands these days.  It reminded me of “I Can’t Explain”-era Who.  Simple, delicate melodies, in-your-face guitar riffs, bouncing bass, and crash-bang-boom drums.  A really well-executed, deconstructed sound that a lot of bands go for but just can’t pull off.  Meeting definitely has it down.

Every song I heard that night had energy and attitude.  On the record, everything comes together to really nail the vintage sound-even with the production values-without sounding hokey or fake.  Doubled Byrds and Kinks styled vocals = Killer.  This could easily be 1966.

The Indie Rock trend in this town has become much more good-times oriented over the last few years.  But not many bands could really make it believable, until now.  The old dark and brooding hipster sound has been replaced with upbeat rhythms and catchy melodies.  It’s Indie Pop Music done right for once.  And MOIP are bringing back the fun and rebellion of the 1960s British Mod Invasion.  Listen to “Dead Man” on their Myspace page for a taste of what they do.

I dare you to not like it.

Upcoming Dates

Apr 23 2009        10:00P
Sierra Grille       Northampton, Massachusetts

Apr 24 2009       8:00P
51 3rd       Troy, New York

Apr 25 2009       8:00P
Modern Formations **All-Ages**       Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

May 23 2009       9:00P

Lit Lounge       New York, New York

March 5, 2009

Revving myself up to see this pop-rock sextet, I streamed Lydia’s latest album, Illuminate, from the band’s website all week and, I’ll admit, the tunes have grown on me in that pleasantly infectious-but-not- nauseatingly-poppy kind of way.

Thanks to some train troubles, I missed opening act Black Gold, but Lydia leapt into their set promptly on time (early?) to a comfortably full and attentive crowd of head-bouncing, bootleg-video-shooting, singing fans.

Knowing next to nothing about this band, I soaked up the show at face value and found no pretenses, no dramatization in their performance. These guys were having fun without relying on cheap ploys and props for added silliness; lead vocalist and Leighton Antelman chatted with the crowd without that forced stage banter many bands awkwardly recite; and each member behaved with a focus that never seemed contrived. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Leighton and the rest of the band were a bit under the weather (requisite of any band’s first headlining tour, after all). I wouldn’t have noticed had Leighton not apologized three or four songs into what he said would be a short set. (It came to a satisfying half hour.)

The performance was cozy and fitting in the small, brick-lined walls of the Mercury Lounge. The stage looked to be at max capacity with the six musicians (and, might I add, all twelve of their impeccably chiseled cheekbones) and their respective instruments. Perhaps embracing the intimacy, Leighton beckoned the beer-sipping crowd of twentysomethings to move closer.

The band alternated between selections from Lydia’s debut This December, It’s One More and I’m Free and Illuminate. Leighton sipped a paper cup of tea between songs, and his soft, scratchy vocals balanced beautifully with keyboardist Mindy White’s haunting, milky smooth verses in songs like “Now the One You Once Loved is Leaving”; one voice never overpowered the other.

Mindy helmed the keyboard for the bulk of the show (trading spots with Leighton toward the end), and the melodies danced lightly around rhythmic guitars and subdued drums characteristic of such catchy, yet melancholy, indie-pop stylings. (During various songs, I was reminded momentarily of Taking Back Sunday, Coheed and Cambria, and Brand New, among others. I mean that nicely).

Live versions stayed relatively true to their recordings; generally I prefer bands throwing in jams, solos, and variations on studio tracks I’ve listened to countless times, but my unfamiliarity with the band kept me captivated—a separate challenge in itself, as it’s pretty tough to get wrapped up in the live performance of a band for which you have no predisposed affinity. This is as much a credit to Lydia’s crisp performance as to the music’s enchanting harmonies and a distinguishable sound.

As the final tune wrapped up, one by one each member set down his/her respective instrument and solemnly stepped off stage, one by one, walking through the standing audience whose attention was fixed to the stage until only Leighton and drummer Craig Taylor remained; they played a few last notes, and then smiled and thanked the audience. All in all, a solid show. Check them out.

A friend of mine asked me last week if I wanted to check out a band called The Old Ceremony at the Mercury Lounge. I hadn’t heard of them, so I went to the Mercury Lounge Web site and read, “The Old Ceremony draws their water from a deep well of music ranging from the Beatles to Beck, Leadbelly to Led Zeppelin. Unorthodox instrumentation meets superb songwriting to create a unique interpretation of brooding, orchestral rock’n'roll.” Sounded good enough to me. I was excited about checking out a new band, but as Sunday night approached, I began to regret my decision. Not because of the band, but because it was snowing and cold out, I had to get up really early on Monday, and I did not get enough done over the weekend. Once my friend decided not to go because of the weather, I also considered staying in, but I decided to go anyway. I said I was going to review it for this site, and I like to follow through.

I made it to the show right before the second band started their set (I missed out on Backwords). The Mercury Lounge is a pretty small venue, with some couches along the walls. I guess the snow detracted a lot of people, because there was barely anyone standing, most people taking up the few seats. I sat down and found it hard to concentrate on Two Dark Birds. I had a lot of other things on my mind, but their music is pretty mellow, and it started to relax me. The audience was warm, but not overly enthusiastic, and a few people were talking more than listening. During a song called “23,” I overheard someone near me saying to his companion, “That song is for you,” which made me feel old, but the crowd was pretty disparate in terms of age.

As more and more people started filling the venue, I noticed they would congregate in the back, which struck me as odd, but I figured it was so as not to block the view for those sitting on the sides. The next act was The Chris Stamey Trio (though at some points there were four of them onstage). Stamey was pretty quiet between numbers and he later said he didn’t want to talk between the songs because people would rather talk to each other than listen to the artist talk. Good point, although it probably depends on the artist.

Finally, The Old Ceremony came on. By this point, the place had filled up substantially and the audience had moved towards the front of the venue, but it was by no means full. The crowd was pretty into it–singing along and even dancing (real dancing, not the typical head bop). I assume they were all pretty big fans or they wouldn’t have trekked out in the snow. I did like the band, but I could never fully get into the show, which was not the fault of the musicians. They were talented performers and endearing personalities, joking about how we all had to spend the night as we were snowed in.

Should I have skipped out on the concert? Maybe, since I was barely present enough mentally to write a review of it, but I did like The Old Ceremony enough to check them out again under different (warmer) circumstances. I’d recommend catching their tour. Check out some of their songs on their site, especially “Plate Tectonics” and “Get To Love.”

*Not from last night’s show

Last night I met up with an old friend at a random show I knew nothing about.

“These guys are like old-school (Red Hot Chili) Peppers…They got this funky vibe thing going on…actually, it’s a little crazy how much they rip them off.”

That was my intro to the band The Force, who blends the Star Wars geekiness and sexuality of its name perfectly.

The first thing you notice before their live show is Lord Scyentifik’s hair. He’s a white guy with a massive afro, the kind of guy you see on the subway/bus/park bench and whispher “What an asshole” to yourself. This all fades the second you see him perform on stage.

Familiar sounds of funk rock immediately fill the air as Lord jumps up and down on stage while women in the front start dancing, thankful they picked tonight to wear the push-up bra. It’s not so much that they want to dance as it is they have to. Once the funk gets in you, there is no control. Even my buddy pulled out some Michael Jacks-now moves while carrying on a conversation about his fight to rid the world of being dependent on oil.

I know. Hard to explain. Here’s a video of the band from a year ago for a taste.

See? The hair is everywhere.

And I’m not gonna lie. I wasn’t expecting much and really only ran out on a Friday night to get hammered. But the Force, like its name suggests, makes you listen to them and, in some cases, inspires your body to move in unnatural, should-only-be-done-at-home, ways.

This isn’t the dark side. It’s the sexy rock side and exists in a galaxy far, far away.

As the year comes to a close, the inevitable parade of best-of lists are littering blogs, magazine articles and the life pages of newspapers. Some of it is intelligent, most of it is there to fill content in between ads begging consumers to fork over the last of their 401K savings for a new camera of perfume.

I’ve always greeted these types of lists with a degree of cynicism and doubt. They are never really best-of lists from the year, but rather a collection of the best music the writer/journalist has presumably heard in the 11.5 months (remember, these lists are written early).

Inevitably, this means things are missed, gems are forgotten and soon arguments break out in a bar because someone can’t understand how Coldplay’s alleged plagiarism-ridden “Viva la vida” scored lower than TV on the Radio’s “Dear Science”…or vice versa.

There’s a pretentious music fan war going on out there and while I’m a big fan of public conflict, I don’t nearly have enough whiskey in me to contribute extra wood to the fire of aural discontent, especially in a year with such a good-time feeling thanks to the first presidential election where I felt something real.

Instead, this is a short account of the best concert of my year. Not yours or the fat guy in the corner chowing down on a hotdog (dude, two words: eat less…and bathe).

For me, the concert of the year wasn’t at an indie rock club listening to band employ a violin bow to play a guitar or a summer hip-hop festival where a combination of breakdancing and drug use took the day over.

No, the show of the year for me was in Preservation Hall in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans. There, in a non-air conditioned room with minimal seating and no mics, I experienced unbridled, concert joy.

It was jazz as it was meant to be with jubilant players, a larger-than-life dude on the drums and a lanky keyboard player who looked like he had been jamming the same song for his entire life and a saxophone player seemingly smiling and playing all at once.

The lead singer, hardly caring his voice failed to rise above the power from the trombone and drums, closed his eyes and sang traditional jazz songs like “Down by the Riverside” as if the small music space was a church and he was speaking to the congregation.

In many ways he was.

Next to him was the lone white girl, handling the trombone and looking like she just got off of work at the local corporate retail store. And yet she fit in, somehow.

Something was different with this show. I didn’t feel part of the product, the endless aim of the industry to get people to talk about the next undiscovered band. I simply enjoyed, breathed it in and was grateful when they played “Saints” towards the end.

Different is not necessarily good. Talent always trumps everything else and in these financially meager times, a more toward quality over flashy may be for the best.

But this is why we go to shows, why we trudge through lame opening acts and and pay over-priced beer. We are all addicts for a drug we rarely get. And when that moment comes, it makes all the latenights and weird mornings worth it.

*Photo from Brooklyn Vegan

Since most of my favorite singers/bands hit their peak before I was even born, Ben Kweller is the only artist that I have followed throughout his solo career. I was introduced to his music in college, shortly after the release of his debut album, Sha Sha, and have been hooked ever since. Last night was my seventh time seeing Ben Kweller live (in my defense, 3 of those were part of a 3 albums in 3 night series), more times than I have seen any artist. On Sunday night, he played the second of two nights at Terminal 5 as the opener for Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band.

I’ve heard a lot about Conor Oberst. I’ve heard a few Bright Eyes songs. I always meant to listen to more of his stuff, but for some reason, I never got around to it. I thought about seeking out some of his music before the concert, but decided to go in with a blank slate and see how that experience compared to seeing an artist I was already so familiar with.

When I arrived, shortly after the first opener Rig 1 started its set, the large three-level venue was filling up fast with a diverse crowd of all ages. There were even some parents with their teenagers, in the middle of the crowd on the floor no less. I’m still not sure what the deal is with Rig 1, whose music sounded like bad rap from the ’90s. I thought maybe it was a joke or I was at the wrong show. There were some boos, but at least two people in the audience seemed to enjoy the band, or they were just being polite. I’m sure there are talented bands in New York that would be more appealing to Ben Kweller and Conor Oberst fans.

Kweller’s set was pretty short, only 11 songs, but I guess I’m not used to seeing him as an opener. He played mostly new songs, which I assume will be on his new album, Changing Horses, and a few from each of his three albums, but he didn’t play most of his usual crowd-pleasers, like “Wasted and Ready.” He also didn’t speak as much as usual, never introducing the new songs or mentioning his new album, but he put his all into his playing, as he always does. His new songs have more of a country/bluegrass feel, and I prefer his more whimsical pop tunes, but I’ve heard him play all his other stuff, so it was exciting to hear something new.

I felt a little bit like an outsider during Oberst’s set. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be there, since I couldn’t sing along or scream when a favorite song came on (although this one woman was screaming inappropriately in random places during each song, really unnecessary). But then I guess I had an advantage. This may sound obvious, but you can only hear a song for the first time once, and I got to experience that over and over again throughout the night. Although, it’s a little easier to take in a new song from the comfort of my home where I can pay close attention to the lyrics and music than in a loud concert hall.

I think for the future, I’ll stick to doing my research ahead of time. I had little idea from which of his projects each song came from. The song that most stuck out in my mind was “NYC–Gone, Gone,” which I have since found out is from his recent self-titled album, just because it was the most upbeat and got the audience dancing. Oberst has a compelling stage presence and I dug his black hat, though it covered his eyes. I would definitely check out more of his music, but I don’t think he’s going to be my new Ben Kweller.

During the encore, Oberst brought his good friend Kweller back onstage, as I was hoping he would. I was wondering if they would sing an Oberst song a Kweller song, or maybe one of each, but instead they sang a song I know and love, Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome.” Finally, I was able to sing along with Conor Oberst.