Steve Gunn @ Union Pool

June 29th, 2013


Steve Gunn is one hell of a good guitar player.  I first saw him open for, then perform with, Kurt Vile back in May.  A week later I saw him again when he opened for Angel Olsen.  It was at that gig I had a short conversation with him as he was packing up his gear.  We talked a bit about his playing Letterman with Kurt that week before talking about his new solo material.  He shared with me that he'd be celebrating the release of a new record in late June.  Fast forward to the other night, I found myself scarfing down tamales and Tecates from El Diablo in the yard of Union Pool, preparing to see Steve for the third time in two months. 


"Time Off", Steve's brand new album, offers six sprawling tracks of earthy guitar work steeped in cabin country, front porch blues and rainy day folk.  Backed by John Truscinski on drums and Justin Tripp on bass, it's a surprisingly down home collection for a guy who calls Brooklyn home.  Union Pool's small music hall was jam packed on Saturday night as Steve shared his latest creations and made some new fans.  Perched on a stool pressed against the back wall, I learned from eavesdropping that no one near me had any clue who he was.  They'd just decided to check him out.  Later, I spotted all of them at the merch table with cash in hand.  


Steve's music can seem boring at first.  He'll pick seemingly the exact same notes for long stretches while singing sparingly in mumbles, if he sings at all.  If you're mind focuses directly on what he does, you likely won't go anywhere.  You need to let go for his hypnotism to work.  Both live, and on record, Steve doesn't just lay his cards on the table.  He challenges you to take a seat and slow down.  His music rewards the patient and perceptive.  Like waves meeting the shore, there is something therapeutic and stunning in the simplicity of what he summons.  The repetition of his picking entrances and mesmerizes like an Indian raga.  Then, Steve breaks off with either a masterful solo, a verse of muted vocals or a beautiful new set of chords to paint with.  Probably riding the high of releasing his new record, Steve's set at U.P. was the strongest of the three times I've seen him.  I suggest you get some tickets to the Gunn show if he's ever in your neck of the woods.



Nolafunk's Brass Band Blowout @ Sullivan Hall

June 27, 2013

People have been telling me for years that I need to go to New Orleans.  "You will fall head over heels," they tell me.  And every time someone gives me the pitch they always bring up the music.  I have yet to visit the Big Easy, but I've had memorably good times to music born in Louisiana.  Dixieland jazz and zydeco are two of my favorite genres when the sun gets hot and the days get long.  I fell in love with zydeco years ago in the dance tent of the Grassroots Festival.  My record collection holds a handful of Dr. John records.  I've visited Louis Armstrong's grave in Queens.  Contemporary brass band music, however, is something I've rarely heard and never seen.  Thanks to my buddy Pawel getting tickets, I got a taste of the genre at a small Greenwich Village club.  


The first act of the night was Brooklyn's own High & Mighty Brass Band.  Entering from the back of the bar, they started things off in the middle of the crowd.  It definitely kickstarted the party and got people moving.  Once they got on stage, the good times kept rolling.  Jamie Neumann, the main singer and lone lady of the crew, was the heart of the band.  Her big smile, eye catching get up and boundless energy were infectious.  At one point she even shook her moneymaker on the bar while shaking a tambourine.  Jamie's enthusiasm inspired the crowd to dance while the band provided a high energy fusion of funk, rock, jazz and hip hop.  High & Mighty showed an impressive ability to shapeshift within each song, blending genres and giving each its time to shine.  Their last songs, like their first songs, were played in the middle of the crowd.  Overall, they were a really fun band to see live.  I'll be keeping an eye out for them. 


The headliners for the night's festivities were the Stooges Brass Band.  Hailing from New Orleans, they've been doing their thing since 1996 and are known for giving their all when they get in front of a crowd.  Let's just say they lived up to their reputation.  Walter Ramsey, the bandleader, gave a particularly awe inspiring performance.  He played multiple trumpets, killed it on trombone, was the main vocalist, and frequently spit frenetic rhymes.  It was no wonder he was soaked in sweat and went through about 5 bottles of water.  As a group, they were a deeper, more seasoned version of High & Mighty.  Like H & M, they fused funk, jazz, and hip hop into music you could both dance to and get lost in.  They were joined on stage numerous times by the incredibly talented trumpeter and producer Maurice Brown.  His improvisations were highlights of the night.  I'm talking world class.  Maurice was no joke.  Honestly, looking back on the night, there was never a dull moment.  They were high quality from beginning to end.  At some point during hour 3 of their set, we threw in the towel.  "They'll probably go for another hour or so," Pawel said.  If I had eaten dinner, I would have stayed instead of waving the white flag.  The Stooges were just plain incredible.  It's official.  I need to go to New Orleans!  

 Click HERE 
to check out the Stooges winning the 2010
Red Bull Street Kings Contest in New Orleans


Light Heat w/ Caged Animals @ Glasslands

June 26th, 2013


Some shows I get tickets to because I know the music I'll be hearing.  I feel excited anticipation on my way to the venue, a feeling I fell for as a kid seeing bands I loved at the Orange County Fairgrounds.  But, other times, I just get tickets to something without really having a clue.  This was one of those nights.  I'd heard one song from Light Heat and nothing from Caged Animals. 


First up was Caged Animals, a Bushwick band with a psych pop shoegaze heart.  The five piece worked their way through a set about 10 songs long for the small crowd who got there early enough to catch them.  I wasn't feeling it til about halfway through when they started picking things up.  The second half of their set was really strong.  Vincent Cacchione, the lead singer and guitarist, said, "That's a new one", for most of the strongest songs.  This could be a band to keep an eye on.  To check out a sample of their sound, watch their videos below. 




Light Heat is the new music project from Quentin Stoltzfus, a Philadelphian singer and guitarist known for fronting a band called Mazarin in the early aughts.  With them, he crafted catchy psych pop that sounded contemporary and vintage at the same time.  His last release with a band was 2005, so it's been awhile since his voice has been heard.  Now, on Light Heat's self titled debut, ten of his songs have been brought to life with the help of four of his talented friends.  Who are the friends?  None other than The Walkmen.  Remove Hamilton Leithauser, put Quentin up front, and you've got Light Heat.  This was completely unknown to me until I started doing research for this write up.  I had no clue when I saw them at Glasslands.  None.  Ironically, I was thinking throughout their set how much they sounded like the Walkmen.  It was Quentin's touring band on stage, not them, but they clearly had a big hand in the sound of Light Heat.  Turns out they've been friendly for years.  The Walkmen even covered "Another One Goes By", a song of his, on their 2006 album "A Hundred Miles Off".  It helps explain why their new collaboration is such a good fit.  Quentin's close to home lyrics and psychedelic tinged lo fi pop marry well with the shimmery guitars and rebar rhythm section of The Walkmen.  Quentin also adds some electronic flourishes into the mix on a few songs, pushing them into unfamiliar territory.  The result is an album that offers some tasty tracks to add to your summer playlist. 

As for their performance in Brooklyn, they were a bit uneven.  The sound was off from start to finish, which shocked me because I've never had that issue at Glasslands.  The highs, including the vocals, all just kind of mashed together.  As for the songs, "Dance The Cosmos Light", "A Loyal Subject of the Status Quo" and "And The Birds..." were highlights.  Other songs sounded good, but failed to really go anywhere exciting.  "Brain to Recorder" really had me thinking, "Damn, these guys sound like the Walkmen.  I wish Hamilton was singing now, instead of this dude."  Little did I know how accurate I was.  Still, when the last song was played, Ruthy and I left happy we'd caught the show.  Definitely worth the $10 price tag.  Just goes to show, curiosity sometimes rewards the cat.  

For a recent in depth interview with Quentin, click HERE.




Low & Mike Doughty @ Music Hall of Williamsburg

June 19th, 2013

Countdown to Low's Performance
 
I'm not a fan of using my site to blast bands that don't do it for me.  That said, this show, possibly tainted by my fatigue and no background of either act, did absolutely nothing for me.  


Mike Doughty, the founder of Soul Coughing, was the night's opener.  Joined by a buddy on drums, his set reminded me of live music I might expect to hear at a mediocre bar in Orlando.  Not sure if that makes sense to anyone reading this, but basically I found it boring and uninteresting.  After a couple of songs I was upstairs milking a beer, sunk into a leather couch and dicking around on my phone.  Zzzzzzz. 


The headliners, Low, were a huge improvement over Mr. Doughty.  Their moody, expansive set of slow rolling American rock vibrated the ears in a not unpleasant way.  Paired with unique video projections of vintage military exercises, grainy airplane stunts from yesteryear and classic nature films, they held my interest for close to an hour.  However, exhausted from a grueling work week, the slow core vibe made me long for my bed and I left before they were finished.  

Kylesa & Blood Ceremony @ Music Hall of Williamsburg

June 14th, 2013

My brother doesn't get down to visit me in the city too often, but I lured him with the promise of a metal show.  After feasting on burgers at Sweetwater Tavern, which were greasy deliciousness on oversized english muffins, we got to the Music Hall just in time for Blood Ceremony's set.  

 

Blood Ceremony are a doom metal band from Toronto.  Long legged temptress Alia O'Brien led the Canadian foursome through a fierce set of rock that sounded like the spawn of Black Sabbath and Jethro Tull.  Decked out in black leggings, tiny black leather shorts, and a fringed jacket, she sang her lungs out on songs about witchcraft and other dark elements of life.  She also played the keys, sounding like a sorceress who infiltrated a church and possessed the organ.  Throughout the set she also added blistering flute solos, as well as some quieter breakdowns that reminded me of classic Moody Blues prog rock.  Alia was the heart of their performance, but the whole band was rock solid.  Lucas Gadke, the bassist, drew a lot of my attention with his deep bass lines and fast fingers.  Speaking with him after their set, he told me the bass he was playing had once belonged to his older brother.  It made perfect sense because from start to finish he seems fused with his instrument.  Great band.  Great performance.  My brother and I weren't blown away, but we definitely enjoyed what they did.



About five minutes into Blood Ceremony's set, my camera died.  The excitement of my brother visiting threw off my focus, so I hadn't recharged my battery.  As a result, no pics to share:(  It's disappointing because Kylesa put on one hell of a show.  Hailing from Savannah, they brought their brand of southern sludge metal to Brooklyn and did Georgia proud.  With two drummers pounding it out under screaming guitars and aggressive vocals, a massive mosh pit opened up and swirled like a stormy sea from their first song to their last.  By the end, Eric and I were drenched in sweat from bouncing and banging our heads like a pair of long hairs at an Orange County Speedway concert back in the day.  Their recorded music is uneven, in my opinion.  Not really a huge fan of their albums.  In the flesh, their sound is much more raw and pleasingly abrasive.  Away from the polish of the studio, their songs have a greater intensity and sense of urgency that makes you feel like something big is happening.  They'd be a great band to play the apocalypse.  We thoroughly enjoyed their set.  The only thing that boggled our minds was how the drummers played basically the exact same thing on their kits.  As opposed to playing off one another and bringing more density to their thunder, Carl McGinley and Eric Hernandez simply mirrored one another.  Again, the finished product was really good, but Kylesa is just a few bucks shy of brilliant.  Hopefully they'll continue to evolve. 


 *We missed White Hills & Lazer/Wulf, thus no write up of their performance.*

Swans & Chelsea Wolfe @ Warsaw

June 13th, 2013

It's not often I feel nervous about going to see a band.  The Swans, however, had me feeling apprehensive as I made my way through the soggy streets of Greenpoint to catch their show at Warsaw.  My buddy is a big fan and was beyond excited when I secured some tix for us.  I, being admittedly clueless, figured they were some sort of noise rock band.  Those always get my friend excited.  What I didn't know, but learned as the show approached, was that Swans are legendary for giving some of the loudest and most grueling performances in the history of music.  There are stories of fans getting nauseous and vomiting from the intensity.  It's common for large chunks of audience to bow out before halfway through their set, unable to stay on the ride, which is precisely what happened at this year's Bonnaroo Festival.  My friend texted me the night before, "Prepare for your ears to bleed!"  Entering Warsaw for the show felt like strapping in for some sort of extreme activity.  My pulse was quick with anticipation and butterflies danced in my gut.

 Goth folk crooner Chelsea Wolfe was the poor soul assigned the unenviable task of performing before Swans.  I'm a fan of hers.  Saw her in January at the Music Hall and left impressed.  Her albums were even in my heavy rotation for a while when the days were short and the nights were long.  Unfortunately, her set at Warsaw fell flat.  It was more a product of the situation, than any fault of her own.  Chelsea was in fine form and her ethereal sound was pitch perfect.  The problem lied in the fact that Warsaw is a poorly managed venue.  They had too few security guards and the pair they had at the entry were overly thorough.  The guy who patted me down ran his hands over every inch of my body, then finished things off by cupping my nuts.  Let's say it was a bit much for a small show at the Polish National Home.  Thanks to the "about to meet Obama" security level, the flow of people entering was squeezed to a trickle as the sky dumped rain on the long line of folks wondering what the hell was taking so long.  Once they got in they wanted warm pierogies and cold Zywiecs, not dark folk music.  She sang softly to a half empty hall of people struggling to hear her over the din of bar sounds and chatter.  It actually got depressing, so I dipped out the "smoker's door", met up with my friend and grabbed a bite to eat in the market across the street.


By the time Swans took the stage, the place was packed wall to wall.  Wary to move up front and closer to the speakers, I found a spot for us to hang near the back and shoved in some gel ear plugs.  Over the course of the next 2 hours, Michael Gira and his motley crew of musicians took us on an epic journey through dark waters with the earth shattering power of an extinction level event.  Where Chelsea struggled to be heard, Swans packed a wallop that sent the crowd home struggling to hear.  The double drum thunder of Phil Puleo and Thor (aptly named) Harris laid a firm foundation with trance inducing repetitive percussion and the air cracking splashes of oversized cymbals.  Long time member, Norman Westberg, painted in noise on his Telecaster as an intense Christoph Hahn worked his slide on a filtered steel guitar to add textural depth and fast finger picking to the mix.  
 

Up front was Michael Gira, the main brain behind Swans since the band formed in 1982.  As a performer, he was a variegated vocalist, singing, screaming, reciting incantations, and howling, all with equal intensity.  As a band leader he was mesmerizing to watch.  At one point, he stood at the front of the stage with his arms outstretched and his eyes closed.  Then he busted out some Thom Yorke style gyrations.  Soon after he was hammering away on his guitar, jumping in the air to come down in a thrash as they hammered out the last note of the measure.  He regularly directed the band from the center while their eyes fixed on him for cues in his movements and glaring eyes.   The longer the show went on, the closer we got to the stage.  While most lacked the fortitude to stay to the end, we persevered til the last notes rattled the chandeliers.



I'm happy to report that not only did I survive the Swans, I reaped a sweet reward.  Instead of a breakdown, I had a breakthrough.  During their performance of The Seer, which lasted a mind blowing 50 minutes, I suddenly realized I was listening in a different way than I ever had before.  It was like the aural equivalent of a Dream Machine's strobing lights.  The repetition smoothed out my perception til the smallest of variations seemed substantial.  Then, like one of those Magic Eye posters from the 90s, indescribable forms appeared in the noise.  It was then I understood the beauty within the beast that is a Swans show.


The National @ Barclays Center

June 5th, 2013

Guest Writer: Ed Koller
 
I saw The National live for the first time at All PointsWest in 2009.  They played in the afternoon as a light rain came down on a cool, grey, summer day. I walked easily through the thin crowd to where it tightened up about 4 people deep from the front. It was actually the perfect pairing for The National’s set. I closed my eyes as they played and their baritone and barbiturate sound made my skin feel numb to the rain.
Already critically acclaimed, they’ve absolutely sky-rocketed in popularity since. This band is well-deserving of drawing a crowd that can fill an arena. Unfortunately their sound doesn’t translate well to a venue that large. The Barclays Center in Brooklyn, with its Nets jerseys hanging from the rafters is a sterile, hollowed out place. I sat in the back right corner about 30 rows up with my brother and our wives and settled in with our first round of $10 Stellas.
The National took the stage with the loudest applause they would hear for the rest of the night.  All band members were set up near the front of the stage, the drum kit set back just right of center. The band is also traveling with a horn section that stood on a riser just over lead singer, Matt Berninger’s shoulder. A digital screen that ran the length of the stage provided the backdrop of live video feeds mixed with some pre-recorded footage.
They opened with Don’t Swallow the Cap, one of my favorites off the new album. It was immediately clear that Matt’s baritone was going to struggle to carry in the mix. The sound was muddied, swallowing up all the bass and midrange, with the highs of the drum kit and guitars occasionally hissing out of the top range. I thought it might be a result of where we were seated, but as I scanned the crowd and the general admission pit, I saw a sea of motionless heads, as if everyone was leaning in slightly to hear the intricacies as the band pushed through Bloodbuzz Ohio, Mistaken for Strangers, Out to Sea, Sorrow and Demons.
Chatter between songs had them expressing how they were happy to be back home in Brooklyn. And we all had a good chuckle when lead singer Matt Berninger said “It’s nice to be back at Barclay’s where it all began” (it just opened in Sept. 2012).
The concert never transported me like it did at All Points West even as they offered a healthy amount of songs.  Most people off the floor remained seated the entire show and it looked as if people were absorbing the music with quiet consideration. Possibly sensing this, Matt did try to make it more of a rock concert by not singing but shrieking out the chorus of Abel and other tracks that feature his upper register. 
They pulled Annie Clark (St. Vincent) out of the wings sporting a new look of blond curls to perform This Is the Last Time and that genuinely surprised and energized the crowd. Unfortunately this number went unrehearsed or they missed a chance to sound check together. She approached the mic for the chorus and unfortunately I didn’t hear her at all. My brother and I said how unfortunate it was to not take advantage of her awesome guitar play or have her sing a verse or the chorus alone.
When the band played Mr. November during the encore, Matt took a wired mic into the crowd as a bouncer fed the line out. He quickly got at least 50 yards deep and was easy to track as cellphone flashes keep a small, strobing spotlight trained on him. It was probably the last of the five-song encore that left the best impression on me. After a concise introduction of “just one more thing” the band went into an acoustic version of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks. I think it was the fact that it was dead quiet and Matt’s voice wasn’t competing with instrumentation that they were finally able to shrink the arena into an intimate space. And it’s there that their music thrives.

Black Pus @ Death By Audio

June 2nd, 2013
Brian Chippendale is always pretty laid back in interviews.  He's into comics, painting and making collages, has a girlfriend, and lives in Rhode Island.  However, there's a beast lurking beneath the easy going exterior 0f this 39 year old.  When he gets behind a drum kit he pulls a mask over his head and transforms into a force of nature.  I've seen him perform a handful of times with Lightning Bolt, a noise rock duo he's been a part of for almost 20 years with bassist, and fellow RISD alum, Brian Gibson.  They charge full speed at any crowd they play for and sweep them up in an avalanche of rapid fire drum fills, monstrous bass fuzz, and unintelligible vocals.  Black Pus is Brian's solo project.  His approach is nearly identical to LB.  He assaults listeners with an unrelenting barrage of hi octane thunder that demands your attention. 



The ear plugs jammed in my ear canal were no match for Black Pus's power.  Even a muffled version of Brian was still mind blowing.  Seeing him live is witnessing unbridled explosive expression from one of the greatest drummers on Earth.  Drenched in sweat, screaming into a contact mic, he pounded his drums so hard and fast I thought the walls might crumble.  The physicality and intensity of his performance were awe inspiring.  It made me think how bottled up many of us are and how good it must feel to just let go and release like that.  His right foot pounds the kick drum, his left foot triggers noise pedals, his arms move in a blur, and his head jostles as he shouts and wails.  The end result is epic music that makes 99.9% of everything you've ever heard suddenly seem soft.  

Seeing Brian Chippendale in a tiny venue was a bit like visiting a brutal masseuse with strong hands.  It was rough and painful at times.  There were even a couple moments I might have winced.  However, by the time it was over, I felt loose as a goose and light as a feather.  The pounding tenderized me and returned me to a peaceful state.  Music can be magic and this was powerful stuff.  

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