Chelsea Wolfe @ Music Hall of Williamsburg

When: January 26th, 2013

     Chelsea Wolfe is a doom folk goddess whose dark lullabies take you into the forest at night, lit only by the full moon glowing on soft snow. Her voice is as pure as a mountain stream. Her songs transport you to a place where spirits roam and the forecast always calls for overcast skies. Her garb is that of a gothic queen from the wild lands beyond the wall in Westeros. I expected a heavy night of quiet metal. Chelsea delivered. 

     Standing in a packed club in Brooklyn on a Saturday night is an odd way to experience her music. She's so painfully shy and subdued. Hers is not the sort of music you listen to with others. It is insular, hermitic, and nocturnal. I wondered how it would play out as a performance. 

     From the start her voice was magical. The music was simple and mesmerizing, providing the perfect canvas for her to paint in deep blues and blood reds. Candles glowed off her full length white dress. Her dark hair hung over her even darker eyes. It's easy to see why she's so popular with folks who like their metal black. 

     When a song ended there was enthusiastic applause followed by pin drop silence. It was as if we were watching her as a crowd, but all being sent off into our own worlds. She truly cast a spell on everyone there. After a while though, the weight became a bit heavy to hold. I'll make an analogy. Dark chocolate is a favorite of mine. I love a square or two and the depth it offers. I don't, however, enjoy eating large quantities in one sitting. By the end of the show, I was longing for a glass of milk and some sunshine. 

 

     Erik and I agreed that one of the highlights of the show was when she brought out the opener, King Dude, to join her for a couple of songs. One of them, Fight Like Gods, had a deep kick drum accompanying them as they sang the sinister folk song. This was music the devil might find spooky. We were into it. It's not often you get to see someone nowadays explore such dark territory. It was also the only song of the night to have any sort of drum. This tour is billed as acoustic and she made true on that promise. Hopefully, she'll plug in with a bigger band next time around. 

For a bite of her dark chocolate, watch the video below: 

 

I was obsessed with this album for a while: 

Big Daddy Kane @ BB King's Blues Club

When: January 24th, 2013

 

 

     If you don't know Big Daddy Kane, you don't know hip hop. Period. His impact on the art of rocking the mic is monumental. His first three albums helped popularize the genre and opened the door for every MC who has come since. This is a man who once performed a "Ladies Only" sold out show at the Apollo. This is the man who got Jay-Z into the game. This is the guy whose style was so undeniable that he showed hip hop's potential to crossover without ever selling out. This is the MC who was tough as hell, but not too cool to dance. This is the rapper Madonna wanted to sleep with when she could have her pick. This is the MC every other MC respects and loves. Seriously, try to find a hip hop fan who doesn't smile when his name is mentioned. Big Daddy was, and is, the shit. 

     Kane's music played a huge role in the trajectory of my life. I spent years writing rhymes and making hip hop, and it all grew from my love of BDK back in the day. His blend of humor, intelligence, strength, confidence, and positivity inspired me in the lyrics I wrote and how I carried myself. God knows how many MCs he's spawned. Big Daddy indeed. 

     It was a packed house at B.B.'s when I arrived. Everyone was pumped to see a legend. Shit, even the bathroom attendant was bopping his head to the classics the DJ was spinning. As I gave him a dollar for handing me a paper towel he shared his joy that Kane was in the building. Clearly, this was a crowd ready to give back some of the joy they'd gotten from BDK's music over the years. 

     His band took the stage first. Shockingly, they were all young and white. I mean clouds in the summer sky white. And they were all wearing white T shirts. Huh? Once they started playing though, I stopped squinting and worrying. They sounded tight. Out came Big Daddy, rocking jeans and a matching denim vest. Cries of "We love you!" and "Smooth Operator" were met with a sly smile and hand shake. In fact, the first couple of minutes were nothing but him working his way along the front, hugging fans and touching their outstretched hands. He even signed some autographs. This was all before he'd even spit a verse. 

     For the next hour, Big Daddy rocked the stage to the joy of the crowd. He ran through all the big hits, acknowledging "I know what you want to hear. I'm gonna give you what you paid for." Throughout his set he seemed deeply moved by the love and support. I got the sense that at 44 years of age, Big Daddy, whose real name is Antonio Hardy, has the deep appreciation for life's blessings that only come with aging. His entire set was incredibly intimate. Songs didn't bleed into one another. He'd finish and then relax, sipping water and interacting with fans. One time a woman yelled out how fly he was. He laughed and thanked her. He had a conversation with a woman he went to high school with who was up front, telling her to say hi to her cousin. A request to play "Wrath of Kane" was turned down. He told the guy, "You ain't killing me tonight, my man. I'm up here 44 years old with asthma. That shit'll put me in the grave." But in the end, he fulfilled the request. Which sums up the show for me. He wanted nothing more than to put a smile on everyone's face.

     When the show ended, I stayed around for a while to finish the healthy pour of bourbon I'd gotten from the bartender. Struck up a conversation with a super sweet mother and daughter from the Bronx who were waiting in hopes he'd come out and talk to the fans. I was hoping for the same thing, but when I saw the crowd of people go backstage after his set, I knew he was swamped with old friends. He lives in North Carolina now with his wife, so he's not always in town.  While I didn't score a photo with Kane, I did snag his set list from the front of the stage:

     You'll see the last song is Raw, which I still know every lyric to, having etched it in my young mind years ago from countless listens. At one point of that last song he smiled when he saw me rhyming along. It was a full circle moment for me. Big Daddy blasted out of my boombox in upstate New York when I was a middle school kid fascinated with hip hop and the big city. Now, 25 years later I was rapping along with him as a grown man who has lived in the city for over a decade. This was a special show for me. Had a blast. Didn't get home til after 3, got up for work at 7, and smiled through the day. Long live the Kane!

 

Sun Araw @ the Knitting Factory

w/M Geddes Gengras & Ital

When: January 19th, 2013

     So I'm curled up on the couch feeling like a lazy dog.  A long week had me wanting nothing more than nothing.  My wife was out for the entire day, allowing me to completely check out.  I listened to a bunch of records while staring at the ceiling.  I ate some birthday cake from little Olivia's party the night before.  I bought tickets to some more shows because I have a problem.  I ordered some Indian food and devoured it like a famished farm animal. I was basically living out the slovenly day I desired.  I had, however, seen that Sun Araw was playing at the Knitting Factory while I was checking their calendar.  I watched a video. Then another.  I was intrigued.  Texted Erik to see if he were up for joining me. "Date night with Stacy", he texted. With that I figured I wasn't stepping foot outside. As the sun went down, I was half asleep under a blanket in the corner of my sectional listening to Hawkwind and dreaming I was an astronaut.  I got a text from Erik.  "Switching date night. Gonna join you." By some miracle, I freed myself from the magnetic force that is my supremely comfortable couch, grabbed tickets online, and soon found myself out in the world about to see my 4th show in 6 days. 

 

     Over the span of a couple hours we saw three performances.  Ital was first.  It was like picking up the phone and listening to the dial tone.  Looooooong extended notes and a few bleeps.  The beats, when they were there, incited every to stand still.  Good stuff for a robot funeral, but wasn't feeling it on a Saturday night.  Surprising, being that I read earlier in the day that he's known to thump it out.

MGG Twiddling Knobs

     Next up was M. Geddes Gengras.  Now this guy came to make some serious noise.  No standing there and staring straight down. MGG was thrashing around behind a pile of wires and clearly feeling himself.  It had an immediate effect on the crowd.  People started moving.  Some ladies up front started raising their arms and swaying their hips (always a good sign).  But, this wasn't "Club Night" on a Carnival cruise.  MGG was knob twisting like a mad man.  The beats got heavy and tribal.  What sounded like digital ping pong sounds panned from left to right and right to left.  Sounds were warped with countless filters and effects.  This guy was bringing the thunder.  While Ital sounded like a screensaver, MGG sounded like a hyper aroused supercomputer going out of its hard drive.  Erik and I were loving it.  He did, however, have a slower portion of his set.  This wasn't nearly as fun.  Should have kept it in overdrive.

 Sun Araw

     Lastly, out came Cameron Stallones (Sun Araw) and his band, a saxophonist and a synth dude.  Wow.  This was brutally boring.  Like watching a band tune up and then half heartedly rehearse with seemingly little interest in the audience.  By the third song I saw chunks of the audience heading toward the exits.  By the 4th or 5th song (tough to differentiate), we followed them out. 

     Maybe they had an off day.  Maybe Sun Araw was on his couch all day too and didn't feel like performing.  Maybe he's so prolific he can't do anything but create, so his "show" is actually just him trying things.  Maybe I was just getting cranky.  Whatever the reason, their set was lifeless.  It had none of the great textures and rhythms I'd heard on his albums.  In the future, I'll stick to watching his videos, downloading some songs, and admiring his cool album art.  His live show made me retreat to the couch.  

Here We Go Magic @ Le Poisson Rouge

When: January 17th, 2013 

     Luke Temple, the heart of Here We Go Magic, is a spirited artist who creates mesmerizing psychedelic folk with hints of everything from afrobeat to electronica.  I first got into his stuff in 2009 when Here We Go Magic, his self titled album, was released.  After reading that he'd created it on a four track with a guitar, a tom drum, a synth, and a mic, I was intrigued.  Many tracks on the album were hypnotizing with deep grooves and unique soundscapes that had my brain in a haze.  As someone who has made music independently with limited equipment, his ability to make something so enthralling with so little was impressive.

     Fast forward to the other night.  I hadn't really kept up with HWGM, but saw they were playing and thought, "Oh yeah. I forgot about them. Thursday night? I'm in." Then, thanks to Spotify, I checked out the last two albums, which I hadn't heard.  The first one, Pigeons, from 2010, seemed a bit cleaner and more organized than the debut album.  Still, I liked his playfulness.  Layered loops of swirling guitars and an expanding palette of emotions. The latest, A Different Ship, released in 2012, immediately struck me as aptly named.  It sounded expensive and glossy and different.  Some of the songs really got me, but overall it felt like something was missing.  It struck me that it seemed more digital than analog, to use an overused analogy.  With the exception of a couple songs, it wasn't holding my interest like the other two.  Many tracks started great, but just never seemed to go anywhere.  I wondered how the show would pan out. 

     As they got the first song rolling, I knew I'd made a good call.  Their sound was much more open and engaging than I'd expected.  The grooves seemed deeper.  The layers of sound built beautifully, often reaching noisy climaxes that elicited dancing and screams of "I love you!" from the crowd.  There were many moments that brought to mind Remain In Light, rhythmically.  A couple of times the chugging guitar reminded me of early Dire Straits when Mark Knopfler would get it cooking. Nearly every song had a moment when the band was circled up, communicating with their eyes and subtle head nods, driving the songs further and taking them places never even hinted at by the album versions.  There's something special about seeing a band make music on stage, as opposed to just playing their songs. 

      Researching on the train home I got to the bottom of the HWGM story.  Turns out, their stellar performance at Glastonbury in 2010 caught the attention of Thom Yorke and Nigel Godrich.  So much so that Nigel sought them out and asked if he could produce an album of theirs.  Obviously, they took him up on it.  Which album did he produce? Their latest. Where Nigel's clean and polished sound works wonders for Radiohead, it sanded down a bit too much of HWGM's magic.  This band is clearly at their best when not overthinking things, thus the jump to genius when performing live.  That being the case, I'll be seeing them for the second time in the near future.

Want to see some of their videos? Here ya go:

"Hard To Be Close"

"Make Up Your Mind"

"Fangela"

Johnny Winter @ BB King's Blues Club

When: January 15th, 2013

 

     
     I've always loved characters. For me, a great character has two traits: a God given uniqueness and an interesting story. Using those as measurements of character, Johnny Winter is in the top percentile. A cross eyed albino boy from Texas becomes a blues icon, survives years of drug abuse, cleans up in his 60s and goes back to kicking ass. Now, here I was in BB's waiting to see him, one of the greatest guitarists in history. Needless to say, I was pumped for this. Hats off to my dad for alerting me about the show when we got talking about music last weekend. Scooped up a ticket as soon as I was back in Queens. Dad's got taste. As they say, the apple don't fall far from the tree. 

 

Johnny Standing For His First Song
 

     For a solid hour, Johnny Winter was in top form. He spent most of the show seated at the front of the stage, tattoed arms barely moving, but fingers flying. He slowed things down with Blackjack, an old Ray Charles tune. Then, he ripped through Killing Floor and brought many in the crowd to their feet. For the encore he broke out the slide and blew the roof off with Dust My Broom. His attacking style sounded at times like some sort of possessed siren, his slide gliding all over the neck sending torrents of wailing guitar off the walls. I was on my feet, smiling ear to ear and occasionally screaming, "Fuck yeah!" like some trailer park metalhead at the speedway concert series. I'm not that guy, but what can I say. The spirit moved me. 

     By the last song, as he started down Highway 61, I began to hear those sour notes again. I made my way out and into the glow of a wet Times Square night, wanting to leave after seeing him at his best, not tightening up on the last number. It's not often you get to see a legend in a small club on a Tuesday. This is one show I'll never forget. Shoot, I might even go back next week for another slice of Winter in Winter. There is only one Johnny Winter, and he ain't no spring chicken.

     Want to see a little interview with Johnny and hear him tell a couple stories? Go HERE. 

For a great 1970 live performance of Be Careful With a Fool on Danish TV, click HERE.