If you’ve been checking our updates for the past week or so, you’ll know that we’re in the midst of covering the 2006 Pitchfork Music Festival. Our preview of Day One is already up, so it’s on to Day Two!
BIZ 3: DAY TWO
1:00 - Jeff Parker/ Nels Cline Quartet 1:55 - Bonde Do Role 2:50 - CSS 3:40 - Cage 4:30 - Tarantula A.D. 5:20 - Ada 6:10 - Glenn Kotche 7:40 - Dominik Eulberg 8:10 - Diplo
The Biz 3 stage returns for its second day with a lineup that features greater cohesion and more international flavor than Saturday's fare. Headliner and Philadelphia party boy Diplo brings his brand of trendsetting DJ sets to Chicago, and he’s brought friends: Brazilians Bonde Do Role and CSS prove that football isn’t the only thing that can excite that patented South American passion. For those with more colonial tastes, Wilco members Glenn Kotche and Nels Cline offer two sets of improvisational drum riffs and jazz guitar duels, respectively.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Diplo. Unapologetically hip, Diplo goes on at exactly the right time of day. His beats will have to compete against indie journeymen Spoon, but chances are good that the grooves will be too enticing for some to resist.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: Ada. Pitchfork writer Sam Ubl called the work of Cologne, Germany’s Ada “tech-house’s version of the Strokes... simple but slyly detailed [with a] self assured cosmopolitan vibe”. Catch her instead of Devendra if forest spirits just aren’t your bag.
ACT TO WATCH: CSS. Full name Cansei de Ser Sexy (Portugeuse for “tired of being sexy”). These Brazilians combine the grimy trash of Peaches with the smooth synth lines of early Michael Jackson. Trust me, it works.
1:30 Danielson 2:35 The National 4:20 Aesop Rock & Mr. Lif 6:10 Devendra Banhart 8:10 Spoon
Consturctor’s second day offerings are a marked improvement over its uneven first day schedule. Danielson’s Narnia-pop kicks things off with a bang and, after a brief step back in the form of nth-generation New York standards The National, keeps things popping with indie hip-hop golden boys Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif. Freak folk star and part-time shaman Devendra Banhart helps Spoon close out the festival.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Spoon. Spoon is the new black. If you haven’t seen them live, think of it as an obligation. If you have, think of it as a treat.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif. How many of your average Pitchfork attendees would normally go out of their collective way to see these dudes in concert? Hands?
ACT TO WATCH: Danielson. Daniel Smith and his band of merrymakers wins one for prayer club kids everywhere with his eccentric brand of boisterous Christian odes. This is going to be the set to see.
1:00 Tapes ‘n Tapes 2:00 Jens Lekman 3:30 Liars 5:10 Mission of Burma 7:10 Yo La Tengo 9:10 Os Mutantes
Once again, the battle for main stage supremacy isn’t even close. Aluminum’s Sunday lineup is even more solid than its admittedly strong Saturday lineup. From blog darlings Tape ‘n Tapes to tropicalia legends Os Mutantes, there’s nothing here to disparage. If I had to make on desultory comment, it would be heaved in the Liars’ direction. Nothing personal. I’m just not a fan.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Os Mutantes. The closers, and the band most likely to elicit squeals of joy from fans of psychedelic rock everywhere. Often imitated, these guys are the real McCoy. Os Mutantes also completely the Brazil lovefest started earlier in the day on the Biz 3 stage.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: Yo La Tengo. With a new album on the way, you can expect to hear some new material. However, though “new material” is usually code for “bathroom run”, advance reviews of Yo La Tengo’s new album, I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass, is tighter and more exuberant than anything we’ve heard before.
ACT TO WATCH: Jens Lekman. I mean, come on. Who doesn’t love some good old-fashioned Scandanavian pop music? Plus, have you seen the video for “You Are The Light”? Genius.
And that’s all she wrote. The Pitchfork Music Festival preview is officially closed, and I’m off to kick off the real thing. Expect a brief recap tonight before bed. If you’re good, I might even take pictures.
So, here's to free hotel wireless. Blogger's finally decided to work, so my preview of Day Two will be up soon, along with a review of today's action after I get back tonight. Until then, enjoy this: yesterday, I arrived in Chicago way too early, and was forced to entertain myself. What follows is an account of that magical hour.
***
6:51 PM - I’m sitting in the cafe section of a Dominick’s on Higgins Road. I decided to break for dinner here because it seemed friendly and well-lit enough to accomodate an extended stay. My travel estimates were, as usual, a bit off, so I’ve arrived 3+ hours ahead of my festival companions, who are coming from Madison and have the hotel check-in information. I also miscalculated the relative ease of finding a coffeehouse with wireless capabilities, so I’m without an internet connection, as well. I do, however, have a grocery store.
The Dominick’s in question is one of those large, supergroceries that began popping up in the late 90s as a means of fighting back against megastores like Wal-Mart and Meijer. What this means is that, in addition to regular grocery store services, this location features amenities including, but not limited to, the cafe I’m sitting in and the self-service bar where I got my food: eel rolls and Pom from the sushi bar. Surprisingly, for grocery store sushi, the stuff was pretty satisfying. However, with dinner out of the way, all I can do is wait.
7:07 PM - I’m seriously reconsidering my decision not to attend the pre-party tonight at the Metro. Not only would it give me a chance to see Voxtrot, but the simple act of getting to the club would’ve occupied my time until Janelle and her crew arrived. Plus, tickets were only $15. What was I thinking? Oh, right. “I hate Aziz Ansari”. That must’ve been it.
7:11 PM - I broke down and called Janelle. Seems that her theoretical ETA is one hour; however, I doubt this assessment. Even though they’re coming from the northwest instead of the southeast, the fact remains that navigating around Chicago is a truly harrowing experience. For instance, I spent an hour and 10 minutes on the Dan Ryan Expressway (that last part? total misnomer.) going 20 miles an hour and surrounded by the least capable drivers I’ve ever witnessed. The concept of exits? Totally eluded them.
7:15 PM - Voxtrot goes on in two hours, probably more. If I left Dominick’s now...
7:16 PM - There’s an old Japanese guy in a White Sox hat sitting at the table opposite me. He seems intensely interested in alternating between reading today’s Tribune and resting his head on the table. When he walked up, I was still eating my sushi, and I thought of how funny it would be if, once he sat down, he started eating a hamburger. There’s something wrong with me.
7:18 PM - Today on the Skyway there was a woman with sunglasses in her hair driving the car behind me. She was attractive and eating an apple. Once, by chance, we both looked up/back at the same time, and it seemed comfortable. After that, I kept trying to draw another look, but she wouldn’t hear of it. As we passed the McDonald’s in the middle of the road and I looked down to adjust the radio volume, she disappeared. I looked around me, checking the other lanes she might’ve switched to, but I couldn’t find her. It was very strange.
7:25 PM - My boredom is beginning to take over, so I’m going for a lap around the store. If I buy anything, I’ll let you know.
7:43 PM - Receipt:
Water - $.50 McVitie’s Milk Chocolate Caramel Digestives - $2.74 Tax - $.06 Total - $3.30
The walk was both refreshing and fruitful (as you can see). I bought the digestives from the world foods aisle because a) they’d been “reduced for quick sale” and b) I’ve always wanted to try a digestive. Something about the name seems so foreign, yet so familiar.
Some observations from the walk:
- If I ever owned a grocery store, I think I’d conduct all my business from the walk-in beer fridge during the summer. Seriously, how could you be stressed in there?
- While I was walking by the sausage, I noticed a girl around my age. She was wearing a lime green shirt, and I couldn’t tell for the life of me whether or not she was pregany or just a serious booze hound. I had to do the lame, double-back-and-pretend-to-be-interested-in-the-eggs move just to get another look. I might’ve asked, if I was one of those people who ask things like that. Then, I noticed that she was carrying a white purse. Somehow, I knew the second choice was correct. I walked by again anyway, just to reconfirm. As I passed the second time, I caughta whiff of her perfume. It smelled very good.
- Apparently, in my haste to pay for my sushi, I completely missed the panini counter at dinner. Damn my quick passion for East Asian cuisine.
I’m going to try my digestives now.
7:50 PM - The digestives get the thumbs up. Think of a less dense graham cracker coated with a slightly sticky chocolate/caramel cover on one side. I’m already resiging myself to the fact that I’m going to eat the whole package over the course of the weekend. I guess the British know what they’re doing in the world of cookies after all.
7:56 PM - I should be in the parking lot, sitting in my car with the air conditioner on and listening to the end of “This American Life”, which is about pen pals this week. Over the course of the trip, though, I determined that leaving the air on might not be such a “hot” idea (pun very much intended). While I was on the highway, I could almost swear that the air conditioner was pulling in fumes from my exhaust. For a while, I chalked it up to driving on a flithy road in a filthy city with filthy cars. When I parked at Dominick’s, I decided to test my theory. I sat for a few minutes, listening to a report on “All Things Considered” about how Floyd Landis is a dirty cheat, and the smell was still there. First the shifting cable (I didn’t even know I had one!) and now this. My car is trying to tell me something. I think she wants to be put down.
8:00 PM - It took me an hour to realize that I left my car unlocked. My car, where I keep my luggage and my wallet. I’m very dumb. Be right back.
As we wind our way through the dog days of summer, Midwestern music fans can take heart in more than just air conditioning. The summer festival season is finally upon us and, though the wait was long and arid, the three shows that are now just hours away from commencement have "promising" written all over them. Over the next two and a half weeks or so, My Bird Performs will transform into Festival Central, offering coverage from Chicago's Pitchfork Music Festival (July 29-30) and Lollapalooza (August 4-6) and Indianapolis' Midwest Music Summit (August 10-12). During this period, check the site for artist profiles, song samples, performance reviews, and all manner of pictures/personal musings from myself and an assortment of guest staffers. To put it simply, the next couple of weeks are gonna be totally tits, y'all. And, with that...
Pitchfork, with its unique combination of vitriol and toffee-nosed elitism, is often used as an example of exactly what's wrong with today's American hipster. However, indie kids everywhere can, for one weekend each year, ignore the site's normally divisive nature and start doing what they were originally meant to do: stand around with their arms crossed listening to bands their parents haven't heard of. That weekend is known as the Pitchfork Music Festival. After getting a taste for the festival atmosphere as curators of last year's Intonation Festival, the people behind Chicago's favorite virtual music rag return a year older, a year wiser, and ready to kick their cred meters into high gear. First, some basics:
NAME: Pitchfork Music Festival DATES: July 29-30 VENUE: Union Park, Chicago, Illinois PRICE: $20 for single-day passes, $30 for the whole shebang TICKET STATUS: It's official - as of yesterday, this baby is sold out. SIGNIFICANT ACTS: Brazilian tropicalia pioneers Os Mutantes; freak-folk captain Devandra Banhart; college radio stalwarts Yo La Tengo; semi-recluse twangers the Silver Jews; British franchisers Art Brut. For a complete list, check here. INTENDED AUDIENCE: College radio DJs, former college radio DJs, guys who wax their mustaches, record store clerks, bookish girls, the people in that video.
As you can tell by that admittedly unscientific analysis, Pitchfork looks to appeal to a crowd that's either too jaded or too broke for Lollapalooza, its behemoth older brother. Its attempts to further distance itself from the festival establishment include *gasp!* actually turning their event into a real festival. Throughout the past week, citizens in Chicago have been treated to numerous Pitchfork-related special events. Here are the three coolest:
3) Graphic Noise: Art at 1000 dB's - MODA's Rock Poster Exhibit. Straight from Atlanta and into your head comes a week-long exhibition celebrating the best of rock-related art and graphic design. According to an exhibition presse release, posters and handbills from artists such as Elvis Costello, Death Cab for Cutie, Duran Duran, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are among the highlights of the show, which opened at Chicago's Page Brothers Building on Sunday night. The show runs until Sunday, July 30, and is free to the public.
2) Lunchbreak Concert Series at the Chicago Cultural Center. If you've never been to the Chicago Cultural Center, you're missing out on one of the most enjoyable, not to mention affordable, experiences that the Windy City has to offer. Located in the city's original public library building, the Center's beaux arts architecture is only part of its charm. Open year-round, and offering free admission, the center is home to a number of eclectic artistic installations, ranging from performance art pieces to storytelling competitions. The last time I was there, my friends and I spent a good 30 minutes examining an exhibit dedicated to the art of hand-crocheted superhero costumes. It's just that kind of place. However, one of its most popular traditions is the Lunchbreak Concert Series, a feature that offers busy Chicagoans the opportunity to enjoy a free program of music in the same time it takes to haggle with a street vendor over the contents of a hot dog. Usually devoted to jazz, classical, and world music, this week's series has a decidedly hipper feel. Each day, one of Chicago's popular music clubs sponsored, in conjunction with Pitchfork, a showcase of their favorite Chicago artists. Highlights from these chioces include indie darlings Office (chosen by Schubas Tavern) and honky tonk chargers the Hoyle Brothers (chosen by the Empty Bottle).
1) Pitchfork Festival Opening Night Party. In case you can't wait one more day to start the party, Pitchfork once again has you covered. On friday night, the Metro will play host to the Pitchfork Music Festival Pre-Party show. An extra $15 (the free ends here) pays your way into the indie opening ceremonies. Show up, drink, trade iPods with strangers; you know, whatever it is you do. The event is capped off with performances by comedians Todd Barry, Aziz Ansari (featured in the video above), and Eugene Mirman, as well as music by the Joggers, Sunset Rubdown, and my new favorite group: Voxtrot.
Voxtrot - Raised By Wolves. I'll be the first to admit it: I'm a little late in showing up to the Voxtrot lovefest that's gripped some blogs over the past few months. However, when I found out they were playing at an event I may very well attend, I broke down and downloaded their first two EPs. Oh what a fool I've been. Mixing the exquisite jangle of 80s guitars with equal parts Pharmacist swagger, Gibbard swoon and Sufjan spirtuality, these guys are going to be gracing my mixtapes for years to come.
THE FESTIVAL
Amazingly, everything up until now only serves as a precursor to the festival proper. Since the event is of the massive two-day variety, I've decided to split my preview into two posts. First up is Saturday, and a starting lineup that rivals anything Kenner could ever dream of. For info on any of the artists, including links to their websites, go ahead and check the festival front page.
Since the festival is separated into three stages, I figured I'd look at each one on its own. Unsurprisingly, their names smack of crypticness: the Constructor and Aluminum stages will handle the bulk of the main action, while the Biz 3 stage will act as the festival's B stage. It will also have the pleasure of being the first one we scrutinize for weakness. Hurray!
BIZ 3: DAY ONE
1:00 - 8 Bold Souls 1:50 - Flosstradamus 2:50 - Chicago Underground Duo 3:45 - Tyondai Braxton 4:30 - Ghislain Poirier 5:25 - Spank Rock 6:45 - Matmos 7:40 - Matthew Dear 8:40 - A-Trak
Any festival's B stage has one of the least enviable tasks in showbiz: attracting the disinterested. Fortunately for plucky little Biz 3, Pitchfork has even stacked its practice team with some serious talent. On day one, the Biz 3 stage plays host to acts that cater to audiences outside the indie rock spectrum. The publication seems to be using this stage as a means of flexing its indie hip-hop cred: on Saturday alone, attendees can "ride dirty" with acts like Montreal DJ Ghislain Poirier (whose own website touts his obsession with "big dirty beats") or Adult Swim darlings Spank Rock. For the more electronically inclined in the audience, Biz 3 features sets by house artist Matthew Dear, as well as Chicago natives and mash-up aficionados Flosstradamus and A-Trak, whose prowess behind the tables has impressed even Kanye himself.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Matmos. As the only instantly recognizable act playing Biz 3 on Saturday, Matmos' quirky ambient tracks will probably bring the stage the bulk of its attention on Saturday, though their spot during parts of sets by both Ted Leo and and the Walkmen will likely hurt attendance.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: Flosstradamus. Situated between the cannibals of Man Man and the melancholy noodlers in Band of Horses, Flosstradamus goes on at a prime time for attracting walk-bys. It'll still be early (the boys go on at 1:50), so why not shake some ass early? It couldn't hurt.
ACT TO WATCH: Matthew Dear. Maybe I'm biased because of my innate love for house and trance, but I think Matthew Dear is going to deliver big this weekend. His work combines coolness and edgy detachment masterfully, and he's positioned at a time of day when most people could use both of those. Now, if only he can woo some folks away from the main stages' one-two punch of the Walkmen and the Futureheads.
Matthew Dear - But For You. This is what it might sound like if Yellow Magic Orchestra had been run by knife-wielding philosophy majors instead of three Japanese dudes.
CONSTRUCTOR: DAY ONE
1:30 - Chin Up Chin Up 2:35 - Band of Horses 4:20 - Destroyer 6:10 - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists 8:10 - The Futureheads
With the electronic crowd covered, it's time to move on to the main stages for a look at the action in the center ring. With five acts to offer, the Constructor stage is the smaller of the two main stages. It also appears to be the stage that'll make fans earn their keep. While the Aluminum stage has the good fortune of releasing Man Man from their cages as only the second act, the Constructor stage will likely lose some fans to Biz 3 early thanks to a less than inspired early lineup. Beside the previously mentioned Band of Horses, Constructor also plays host to Chin Up Chin Up, whose Brand New-like love for clever titles does little to mask the averageness of their music. However, all is not lost. The second half of the day brightens considerable, and features three acts (Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, The Futureheads, Destroyer) that are all guaranteed hits. Palpable ones.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. If you could only see one act at the Constructor stage on Saturday, this should be your pick. Ted Leo's creative writing major lyrics and snarly, proactive D.C. punk attitude are matched only by his own vocal acrobatics. I've never heard a man with testicles hit such high notes while simultaneously rocking as hard as humanly possible. This one's a no-brainer.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: The Futureheads. I only say this because they're British, and seeing them in Chicago is clearly cheaper that seeing them in Brighton. Though their new album has yet to move me, they're still one of the reasons I'm at the festival to begin with.
ACT TO WATCH: Destroyer. Dan Bejar is one crazy mofo with a flair for the dramatic. When it comes to his work with Destroyer, I prefer the theatricality of Your Blues; apparently, this puts me in the minority. However, my spider sense tells me that this performance has the potential to sway my opinion.
1:00 - Hot Machine 2:00 - Man Man 3:30 - Mountain Goats 5:10 - Art Brut 7:10 - The Walkmen 9:10 - Silver Jews
The other, bigger main stage suffers from less obvious faults than its smaller counterpart. The Aluminum stage is home to each day's headliner, and this responsibility is reflected its lineup. Truthfully, there really aren't any obvious holes here. Well, except for the Walkmen. I've never liked the Walkmen. Hamilton Leithauser just sounds like a butch Bob Dylan. Anyway, I guess that's a personal problem.
OBVIOUS CHOICE: Silver Jews. These guys aren't headlining for nothing. Since David Berman broke out of his own semi-reculsiveness and began touring earlier this year, I've been itching to catch the Jews in action. Their last album, 2005's Tanglewood Numbers, was easily in my top 5 from last year, and their back catalogue is even stronger than that.
BIGGEST BARGAIN: Art Brut. See: the Futureheads.
ACT TO WATCH: Man Man. Yes, I know. Man Man = super sweet. I remain unsold, though. Somehow, they just sound like a shipwrecked drunk guy's answer to the Decemberists. Plus, that "Engwish Bwudd" video is seven types of obnoxious. We'll see what some live action face time can do for the boys' reputation. There's one thing I do know, though: if these guys don't look as filthy as they sound, I'm outs.
Well, that's Day One, and what a day it promises to be. I'm predicting at least one pleasant surprise (someone on the Biz 3 stage gets me to buy their CD), one shocking disappointment (The Futureheads skew heavily towards their new stuff) and one complete surprise (Ted Leo's vocal cords explode on stage). Check back tomorrow for Day Two, and throughout the weekend for thoughts and pictures.
For the past few weeks, I've been saving this update for use as a potential lull-buster. You know, in case things get a little to stale around the ol' website. Well, as you can see by the sporadic updates of the past couple of weeks, now is just such a time. We have big updates on the horizon, however; in the coming weeks, you'll be treated to previews and reviews of music events like the Pitchfork Music Festival, Lollapalooza, and the Midwest Music Summit, interviews with Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies, and a site redesign that'll either blow your balls off (if you have them) or cause you to grow balls (if you don't). For now, though, enjoy a quick trip back to elementary school via some off-the-wall covers of even more off-the-wall songs. Ladies and gentlemen, I present... Schoolhouse Rock! Rocks.
In those often-awkward years of middle school and junior high, I was, well... often awkward. As an overweight, Catholic school bookworm with thick glasses and a Python-esque sense of humor, I probably could've been used as the nerd template in a cross-cultural education program on the subject of social outcasts. Unfortunately, I didn't really have many fellow nerds with whom to commiserate. I spent most of my time in front the television, where I either a) played Final Fantasy or b) watched an alternating combination of Comedy Central (because being funny kept me from getting picked on even more) and cartoons (because I like cartoons).
Schoolhouse Rock! was in its second run on ABC when I was a kid, and that was certainly ok by me. Their funky combination of folksy pop and public access educational material appealed to my Junior Dean's List nature, while their music video-like setup brought to mind images of MTV. I remember distinctly asking my mom to rent each of the VHS collections that came out in 1996. In my pre-friends, pre-Internet existence, finsing those tapes was a huge deal; with those, it was Saturday morning whenever I said so, homie.
Though my fondness for the songs grew steadily throughout those heady 6th grade days, it wasn't until a chance encounter with MTV changed everything. was a huge MTV mark in those days; I figured that, since it was my only obvious gateway to the world of "cool", I should make it my duty to watch as much Real World: London and Buzzkill as possible. Anyway, unbeknownst to me, MTV loved Schoolhouse Rock!, too. Upon the release of Atlantic's Schoolhouse Rock! Rocks, the network commissioned a special half-hour block of videos that paired the original animation with its updated music track. When I first saw these videos, I was blown away. I mean, here were cool kid bands like Blind Melon and the Lemonheads, singing my songs. It was almost too much to handle. For once, I felt like I had the drop on the hipsters, with Skee-Lo and Pavement backing me up.
Though I loved the songs, I never actually bought the CD when it came out. I'm not even sure why. Probably figured that, since I hadn't heard of most of the bands, I wouldn't like their songs. That was, of course, folly. However, 10 years and some file sharing later, I can finally put the debate to rest: this compilation is amazingly fresh. There really, truly, isn't a lame track, which is a testament to both the performers' love of the material and the songwriting skills of songwriters Bob Dorough, Lynn Ahrens, George Newall, and David Frishberg. If you remember these songs fondly at all, check out this CD. I'm sure at least one of the tracks will bring back memories that mean something. Amazon has copies starting at $2.49 used; even Andy Butler couldn't scoff at that price.
Moby - Verb (That's What's Happening!). Before Moby's celeb cred blew up like a Thanksgiving balloon, he was still pretty awesome. Witness the way he turned this song, whose original incarnation was awash in unfortunate disco-soul grooves and Shaft-level backup voacls, into a pounding cut that could probably slip into club rotation today without feeling totally out of place.
Skee-Lo - The Tale of Mr. Morton. Oh man, Skee-Lo. What a guy you are. Most famous these days as an answer in a one-hit wonders trivia game, the man responsible for "I Wish" turns in a surprisingly effective performance on this song. I always identified with Mr. Morton. I mean, at heart, we're both just shy dudes who like cats and poetry. As Skee-Lo will tell you, you gotta respect that. Songs like this are probably the reason I was an English major.
Pavement - No More Kings. Most people write this song off as the worst on the comp, but I tend to disagree. True, it does sound like a Pavement song, but since when is that a) out of the ordinary or b) a bad thing? Instead of rehashing the original version of their given song (I'm looking at you, Man or Astro-man?), Pavement actually turns their contribution into something that's actually on par with most of their later work.
Live from Peoria, and nothing/everything is different. Sitting outside, lit by Christmas lights and drinking a beer, I had to laugh like hell.
In lighter news, I saw Clerks II this afternoon, and the verdict is in: at the end of the day, I’m still a Kevin Smith fanboy. Double kudos for making the new additions to the cast (Rosario Dawson, Trevor Fehrman) just as endearing as the originals.
Smoosh - Free To Stay. On my most recent trip to Co-Op, I picked up the latest disc from Smoosh, the friendliest almost-preteen pop duo this side of Eyeball Skeleton. Sadly, this isn’t the novelty act you might expect; these girls are as legit as they come. As their first release on Washington indie stalwart Barsuk reveals, Smoosh has both the heart and the sound to make a serious impression on their elders. Personally, I wish I could get as much out of a keyboard and drums as these two do on Free To Stay. Recommended if you like the Ditty Bops, jailbait, and self-confidence.
Smoosh - Clap On. If the opening salvo of handclaps and key peals doesn’t bore its way directly into your skull, we’re not friends anymore.
So, I'm terribly in love with the TV show seen above. It's called Pythagoras Switch, and it's basically Sesame Street's hip Japanese cousin. I stumbled upon it last week while exploring my new favorite blog, TV in Japan, and frankly, I couldn't be happier. In the few episodes I've seen, there have been more endearing moments than I can count... almost. In the interests of science and contradiction, here's a list of the five best things about Pythagoras Switch so far:
5) Televi-John. At the beginning of each episode, viewers are treated to the most overtly education segments of the entire show. It basically consists of two penguin kid-puppets getting schooled by an anthropomorphic book. Normally, since most people already have the basic post-six-year-old knowledge of, for instance, how a telephone works, this would normally be considered the worst part of the show. However, midway through the lesson, that rakish individual on the far left steps in to save the entire segment: Televi-John. Charged with supplimenting Uncle Book's lesson with some snazzy video graphics, John enters with a jaunty fanfare and a saucy flip of the ears. He seems to be some kind of sentient television/dog hybrid; I'm not real sure on the specifics. The one thing I do know is that Johnny easily dethrones my Hello Kitty waffle iron as the most adorable appliance I've ever seen.
4) Father Switch. Call me a sap, but there's nothing more heartwarming than seeing dads goof around with their kids and, as you can see in this clip, this certainly qualifies as goofy. Plus, anything that encourages people to play pretend/act like robots is just fine in my book. 50 points to anyone else who thought about creating one of those boxes for perverted use with a significant other. I know I can't be alone.
3) The Rube Goldberg bumps. These things are amazing. They're like Mousetrap on steroids. I was talking about these with Becky, and we agree: if we could get paid to make these for a living, we would.
2) Framy. Man, this list is quickly turning into a lovefest for imaginary dogs. For a cartoon made up of nothing more than boxes of varying sizes, Framy is quite the charmer. His segments seem to revolve around the day-to-day adventures of a family dog. In the episode I saw, Framy's brother Spotty takes care of the baby, plays the piano, and gives up his cheese dinner to a needy family of mice. What a guy. Plus, I've had the music from that bit stuck in my head ever since I heard it. It's just... bouncy.
1) Algorithm March. Oh my. I mean, what can I say? My words are insufficient. I just can't. Just... just watch again.
I can't get enough. If you feel the same, some quick searching on Youtube should yield enough results to keep you entertained. You can also check out Dattebayo Fansubs' translation project at their website.
Hinterlander - Cake to Burn. Like Pythagoras Switch, Hinterlander is a pleasant surprise from the Pacific Ocean. In this case, the point of origin is Hawaii, and songwriter Heidi Nelms. Described as Miss Nelms' "musical shelter", Hinterlander offers listeners tenderly drowsy folk songs that avoid the deliberate oddness of Johanna Newsome as well as the affected cheekiness of acts like the Ditty Bops. The tracks on the band's latest album, 2005's Minikin, fuzz in and out of consciousness, held together primarily by Nelms' siren vocals. I just got ahold of this one last week, and I'm kicking myself for not tracking it down sooner. If you missed this one the first time around, too, do yourself a favor and track it down. If you're not satisfied, you can punch me in the stomach*.
(*Me=Mike Hannemann.)
Hinterlander - Sweet Milk. The thing that first struck me about Hinterlander's work was the apparent incongruity of their songs' sound and the geographical location in which they were produced. While the album certainly exudes a kind of flowery warmth, it's certainly far from the tropical expectation that pop into one's head when the word "Hawaii" comes up. As usual, this is just another example of my occasionally-glaring lack of information. Not only has Hinterlander been leading the charge for the Aloha State's indie music scene since 1998, but the band's label, Skinny Chest, has been helping like-minded artists do the same for just as long. Be a cool kid; check 'em out.
I've had company throughout the weekend, so updates have been understandably sparse. Expect a return to form in the coming week, including exciting news out of Interview-Land and music that was actually produced recently.
With that in mind, here are another couple of "slick traxx" from the vault that is my laptop.
Haircut 100 - 40-40 Home. During my New Wave phase in high school, I learned the hard truth about the careers of some of my favorite bands: once the singles stopped coming, so did the support. This type of dog-eat-dog competition for radio slots resulted in tons of one-hit wonders and even more then-undiscovered classics. Take, for example, Haircut 100. Most people (and by "most people", I mean "casual 80s enthusiasts/pop culture types") know the band for its first release, Pelican West; usually described as being too effervescent for its own good, the album is most known for the single featured in the video above. However, I always thought the band had more potential than they had the chance to exhibit. Combining cleancut United Colors of Benetton good looks with jazzy synth pop, they had all the makings of rising stars... except, however, for a stable frontman. Vocalist Nick Heyward (who did a smashing Morrissey impersonation three years before Moz himself hit the scene) bolted from the band just after Pelican West dropped in 1982, leaving the rest of the band to the task of crafting an appropriate sequal. The result, 1984's Paint and Paint, featured percussionist Mark Fox on vocals, but, despite featuring uptempo radio tracks like this one, failed to deliver on the promise of its predecessor. The band folded soon after, while Heyward enjoyed middling success as a solo artist.
"In 2004, all of the group's ex-members reunited for an episode of VH1's series Bands Reunited. The group has seriously discussed the idea of reuniting to record a new album, with Heyward being quoted as saying 'We're all older and have commitments, but wouldn't it be good to dedicate two weeks of our lives to creating a follow-up to Pelican West. It would have that magic because nobody as a player has gone off the boil.'"
Well, another icon of my youth has bitten the dust. According to everyone's favorite British music rag, Weezer may be headed for the big comic book convention in the sky. On Tuesday, NME.com reported that Rivers Cuomo, the oft-frustrating front man of everyone's favorite love-or-hate power pop group, told MTV that the band is on hiatus and that he's "not certain we'll ever make a record again". Cuomo went on to say that, though he's been writing songs over the course of the past year, his own solo career is also on hold.
Though widely derided for last year's abysmal Make Believe, Weezer still holds a place of distinction for even the snobbiest of indie fans. For many of those in my age bracket, Weezer (along with, perhaps, Green Day) was probably the first "alternative" group to really connect with us. I can still remember watching MTV when "Buddy Holly" came out and thinking, "Dang, I may be in 4th grade, but I know catchiness when I hear it". And, amazingly, I was right, and the love affair was on.
Over the years, my affinity for Weezer has gone through ebbs and crests. The summer after I graduated from high school, I discovered Pinkerton by way of a worn cassette tape in the console of Andy Butler's car, and suddenly found myself with an entirely new collections of music to pine by. I'm not sure that tape left the player that summer. One night in particular stand out in memory. Andy and I sat parked outside the house of the girl he was after at that time. He wasn't alone in that venture; on that night, his competition had beaten us to the punch. It was around dusk, just reaching the point where the sight of two men sitting parked in a residential neighborhood goes from "acceptable" to "call the cops". Since we'd always erred on the side of the latter, we killed the lights and waited. I'm not sure what we thought we could accomplish there, sitting in a dead car listening to "Tired of Sex" while Andy's prospective beloved was being wooed by another man on the other side of the wall, but somehow, we knew it was the closest thing to an appropriate response we could muster.
College marked the beginning of my turn away from Cuomo and his music. After two successful album releases in 2001 and 2002, Weezer was everywhere by the time I got to Bradley. I was a DJ that fall, and in that crowd, anything popular was regarded as either passé or ironic. Weezer fell into the second category. As I hurried to increase my credibility, I shied away from the songs I loved the most in public while listening fervently in private. At least, that's how it began. Over time and countless new records, my defenses fell. I began to listen to better bands, groups with better lyrical chops and more varied instrumental tendencies. Instead of Weezer, I could now go to the Smiths for angsty romanticism, or the Pixies for ballsy rockers. Weezer's actions didn't help much either: Cuomo's bitchy aloofness made the group very hard to like. While I wasn't as elitist as some of my fellow radio staffers, I was convinced that the first band to "get" me didn't really get much of anything.
Of course, in the last few years, Weezer and I came to an uneasy truce. Though I wasn’t able to overlook things like this little number, I’ve realized that, cool or not, Weezer’s music was the soundtrack of a key time in my life. They gave me tons of memories, and for that, I salute them.
When the band reunites for an album by the end of the year, please disregard this entry.
Weezer – Mo’ Beats. There was a time when Weezer still had a sense of humor. Before Rivers Cuomo’s spiritual awakening/self-imposed celibacy, the band could crank out a smirking, self-referential tune with the best of them. Exhibit A: this track, culled from the band’s numerous unreleased demos. One listen will have you yearning for the days when Cuomo’s cockiness was entertaining instead of self-aggrandizing.
Weezer – Suzanne. There’s something about songs named after girls. This one, featured on the Mallrats soundtrack, hits all the right highs: a chugging chorus, yearning lyrics, and a reference to Guns ‘n Roses.
Last week, I promised to share some of the tunes that I purchased at Luna Music over the Fourth of July weekend. After a week and a half of off-and-on forgetfulness, trashed cars, and many cups of coffee, I'm finally ready to get down to business. Short, sweet, and to the point; that's how we aim to do things.
Shonen Knife - Under My Pillow. Generally speaking, the girls of Shonen Knife tend to divide more than unite. Strictly speaking, you're either hip to their infectious, J-Pop-by-way-of-Motown-and-Wesley-Willis slices of observationalism, or you hate puppies. You know, whichever. All kidding aside, after 25 years of producing music together, the girls seem happy with their roles as the journeywomen of Japanese rock. Their newest release, Genki Shock!, is the first since the death of drummer Mana Nishiura, and reveals, through tracks like this, that there's more to Shonen Knife that just sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. On this track, it is uncertainty, not joy, that creeps onto the nighttime scene. However, as is the case with most of lyricist Naoko Yamano compositions, things never get too scary; in the end, all it takes to vanquish the demons is a lucky charm under the pillow. If only the real world matched that of Shonen Knife's eternally hopeful Pollyannas. Genki Shock! is available through the Glue Factory.
BONUS: Shonen Knife - Heatwave (Martha and the Vandellas cover). The perfect summer song, and one of my absolute favorite covers of all-time. This is the sound of pop perfected. Find more like it on Shonen Knife's aptly-titled rarities compilation, The Birds and the B-Sides.
I'm back in Kokomo, sans car and the $400 spent on repairs. Apparently, my shifting system was the true culprit; I never did like that bastard. I'm without a vehicle until Thursday, so I have to make due with non-traveling entertainment until then.
Spending the weekend without a car was actually kind of relaxing. I've spent most of my time going from A to B this summer, so spending a few days of forced hermit duty was just what the doctor ordered. Most of my time was occupied by the conclusion of the World Cup. After watching Germany fall on Tuesday, I wasn't too thrilled to see my boys in the third place game. However, all of that changed when Oliver Kahn took the field for Die Nationalelf. As many of you may know, I have something of a big-boy crush on Kahn, and getting to see him perform on an international stage one last time only intensified my passionate, confusing love. After Germany spanked Portugal 3-1 to take the figurative bronze, I figured that I'd seen the last satisfying/exciting event of my World Cup. As you can now imagine, I was quite unprepared for this:
Now, let me state this for the record: after Germany, my favorite football team (USA aside, for obvious reasons) is probably France. With that said, I can honestly say that Zidane's headbutt was probably one of the most badass, flagrantlyawesome things that I've ever seen at a sporting event. You can talk all you want about sportsmanship and losing your cool, but consider this: Zidane opened the fight with a headbutt to the chest . Imagine what his extended offense might've done to Materazzi, whose diving performance was worthy of any natatorium. Sure, Italy won the World Cup, barely, and with France missing three starters. I'm sure they feel good. However, Zidane now has the chance to attain the kind of cult adoration that transcends his own sport, much like his headbutt-wielding countryman on the left:
(Side note: both Zinedine Zidane and Andre the Giant are of French descent, which makes the headbutt France's only candidate for Official National Street Fight Move. A penny to anyone who can come up with some more nation/move pairings.)
All in all, it was a fitting end to a World Cup that saw a record number of red and yellow cards thrown. Congratulations to the Azzurri, and we'll see you in 2010.
Wilco - Impossible Germany (Live). With the end of Germany's World Cup in mind, here's an aptly named new track from everybody's favorite introspective Chicagoans. I tracked this down on Obner.org, but was hesitant at first. When it comes to Wilco, I can be pretty fickle. Summerteeth hooked me with its warm melancholia, while Yankee Hotel Foxtrot's tender mix of desolation and hopefulness convinced me that there might actually be something to all this Jeff Tweedy hype. But then, two years ago, along came A Ghost Is Born, which often sounded like Wilco's attempt to out-Radiohead Radiohead in terms of testing audience expectations. It was a boring, often lifeless record that came out at a time when I was looking for less of the first and more of the second. Flash forward two years, and to the new batch of tracks being tested out by Wilco at live dates (like this one, in Chapel Hill), and it looks like things might've changed for the better. Free from the draining musical frustration of their last album, Wilco marries the disheartened combination of personal loss and international paranoia found on YHF with the jammy, Americana-tinged pop of its earlier albums. In short, I'm getting excited; Jeff Tweedy might be relevant after all.
Wilco - Either Way (Live). A nice, simple country song about lovers about to part for good. Tweedy's lyrics, when combined with touches of organ and steel guitar, call to mind the ghosts of early Nashville. Passages like "maybe you still love me/ and maybe you don't/ maybe you will or won't/ maybe you just need some time alone/ I will understand/ that everything has it's plan" rend the same heartstrings they'll eventually comfort.
Wilco - Is That The Thanks I Get? (Live). The emotions played upon by Wilco's final new song are polar opposites of the sentiments found above. Here, love isn't about fucking around and quitting; instead, the narrator is in this one for the long haul. He notes that "we can make it better/ let's pull ourselves together/ and start it again". Instead of a crestfallen paean to staying together, this song stands up with the confidence necessary to actually affect some change. Really, that's what real relationships are all about. Also, I'd give $5 to see the move Tweedy's talking about during his stage banter.
but then i remembered that sharing is good. i think. didn't they always say to share the tonka truck in the sandbox? anyways - aberfeldy's do whatever turns you on. this is the sophomore attempt from scotland's aberfeldy. i only heard the single "love is an arrow" from their last album young forever, which i particularly liked. the video is cute, too.
ok, right off the bat, i am not even joking that their latest outing is probably one of the best pop records i've heard...especially on first listen. the first 3/4 of the record is simply amazing, with melodies that rival anything schlessinger or gibbard has thrown down. the last quarter of the record slows down a bit, but it's by no means bad, i guess it's a bit hard to write 12 perfect pop songs...though aberfeldy has managed to do at least 8 with this record.
so this will sound like my other reviews, 'cause i'm too lazy to think of any words synonymous with "good" and "great." but basically, the vocals and harmonies are great, and the hard panning of them is very very....um...good. more? um, think belle and sebastian meets fountains of wayne meets a casiotone.
aberfeldy - uptight the track i'm gonna put on the blog, though, is the 4th one, not the single, though it might as well be one. it's called uptight, and it brings back some keyboard sounds that you probably thought died in the 80s. early 80s. um, what else can i say....verses are just as good as the chorus...which pretty much makes for a disgustingly sweet pop song.
go to town, NOW. and...well...try not to share the record with too many people, ok?
So, I'm trapped in Bloomington. Literally. My car is spectacularly broken, for no reason other than the fact that it's in league with demons. I had to rip the key out of the ignition, which is still technically turned on. Shifting gears is, at this point, only a lovely suggestion. In short: fuck.
Regular updates will resume whenever I can get back to Kokomo. As for today, we're going to take a trip into the bowels of a truly hateful place: Andy Butler's computer.
Arrah and the Ferns - Emo Philips. I suspect that Andy got this track from Drew, if only because a) it's in a folder marked "songs sent", suggesting that it's from a place most foreign, b) Arrah and the Ferns are from Muncie, which is Drew's current stomping ground, and c) the song is nothing like anything Butler would ever listen to on purpose. For some reason, when I think of music blogging, I think of songs like this: ironic, self-effacing, and yet full of a wistful sense of heart. From the obligatory MySpace references to the slightly melancholy, off-kilter female vocals, this is twee at its finest. Arrah and the Ferns are on Indiana's own Standard Recording Company. Their debut album, Evan is a Vegan, comes out July 22nd. For $9, you'd have to be pretty heinous not to check it out.
Though there's still some time left in this year's Fourth of July weekend, the steady drizzle that's been falling since last night means that we've probably seen the best of the festivities already. However, after the hustle and bustle of this past weekend, the rest is actually welcome.
Friday, I headed south for the United States Grand Prix, the second half of the Formula 1's North American leg hosted at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Becky and her family had tickets to the race, and the chance to attend my first proper race in Indianapolis was too good to pass up.
A trip to Indy also meant another conquest of Luna Music, the spoils of which you'll experience in updates later this week. Since I had lots of time to kill before meeting up with Becky, I spent a good hour or so combing the shelves for potential must-buys. I also dropped more money on senseless plastic sculptures. I am very weak.
As far as the racing itself was concerned, the weekend had its highs and lows. When I arrived at the Speedway on Saturday, I decided to adopt Renault as my team based on a scientific analysis of relative design attractiveness. Say what you will about their policies or drivers, but Renault has some sharp-looking merchandise. The fact that they're the defending champions of both the Constructors and (via Fernando Alonso) Drivers Championships didn't hurt their appeal, either. Unfortunately, my support wasn't enough to keep Michael Shumacher and Ferrari away from Victory Lane. That guy's quite a piece of work. After such a disappointment, only the deliciousness of the grilled tenderloins at Union Jack was enough to salvage the day. Ah well. I guess there's always Magny-Cours.
All hyperbole aside, my first U.S. Grand Prix was a fine introduction to the world of Formula 1. It was telling that the only assholes that I ran into all weekend were Americans. To the yuppie knobs talking shit about the Midwest in the Speedway Museum: go ahead and fuck right off. If Indianapolis' woeful backwardness offends your sensibilities so much, watch the race on Speed. You could see more, sweat less, and piss off fewer bloggers. I mean, far be it from me to absolve Indiana from mockery. However, if you're going to do it, you might as well get a little creative. Take, for instance, soft drink company Red Bull, which owns two F1 teams and is on record in its support of returning a carefree attitude to the sport. At races, they publish and distribute the Red Bulletin, billed as the "almost independent newspaper" of the F1 community, during each day of the event. In the editions I received, Indiana and its speedway culture took some good-natured barbs; then again, so did almost everyone else. These commentaries were without the vitriol and, since they came in a package that was both attractive and free, gave us all something to do during down times in the action. In short, if you're going to bitch, either do it with a smile or save it for the ride back to the hotel.
Travis Morrison - 16 Types of People. Whenever I'm on the road and away from the most sources of music, I always rely on what I have on hand. This usually means fiilling a travel wallet with 20 or so sure-fire discs. However, on occasion, I eschew CDs in favor of a far more entertaining source of tunes: my laptop. Allow me to explain. When I purchased my laptop from Apple in 2002, I fully intended to use it as my primary computer. However, a mix-up landed me with an extra desktop unit that ended up taking over the top spot from my Mac. Thus, in the years since then, the laptop has become a highly priced storage unit, holding all of the stray files and documents that, for whatever reason, no longer exist on any of my other computers. These include all of the vital files from my freshman year of college, saved from the school computer that I used that year. Going through all of that stuff is a nice trip back through a time capsule of a certain period, and a killer way to kill time on the road. It also provides tons of the oh-shit-no-way moments that only come when you rediscover something you used to like. Such is the case with this song, released by former Dismemberment Plan frontman Travis Morrison on his website in 2003. The track, along with the next one, offered fans their first glimpse of what a post-Plan Morrison could sound like. At that time, the indication was that things wouldn't change all that much. Chilled out and hooky, Morrison's popcraft shines through the same glitchy weirdness found on the Plan's late albums. There was no indication that Morrison's new stuff wouldn't continue to sound like a natural extension of Change. It certainly didn't prepare us for Travistan, which ruffled certain cynical feathers despite its undeniable, if goofy, charm. In the end, this song, along with the proceeding track, served not as signposts but as rest stops, bridging the gap between Morrison's days with the Plan and his new solo career.
Travis Morrison - Checkers and Chess. Morrison's latest entry on his website details his humorously harrowing experience with a unhinged atheist while riding Washington D.C.'s Metro system. It's the latest in his long line of witty meanderings, and proves one thing that often goes underemphasized when talking about the Dismemberment Plan's music: Travis Morrison is one funny motherfucker. Sure, the vocals soar and howl, the guitars snarl, and the rhythm section drops the funk like any good disciples of go-go would; however, the real appeal of many Morrison-penned songs is the wryness and humor of their lyrics. In this demo, Morrison demonstrates exactly what I mean. Over looped synths that sound like something straight out of a Strong Bad e-mail, Morrison talks about nothing in particular, and does so in a way that'll have you hitting the "Repeat" button against your will.
