Tag Archives: 2012

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Darkseid & Thanos

Never not awesome.

Note: Darkseid drives a 1980s-era Volkswagen Golf.

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Stacks: Blur

heystacks:

Blur
“Caramel”
Parklive, 2012

I put this on the other day and thought, once again, how criminally overlooked this was in most “best of 2012” discussions. I know live albums get short shrift in general, but I was surprised in a year when Blur were roundly celebrated, when they released a box set of such staggering magnitude that I still haven’t played the DVDs, that their capstone on the whole shebang wouldn’t have greater importance.

But enough of my whining about fabulously rich blokes not getting a civil nod for a good night’s work. Parklive, the document of their “final” show at Hyde Park the night the London Olympics drew to a close, isn’t just a good Blur record, but a cracking live show. It’s a career retrospective, not just a set of hits; old b-sides, deep album cuts, and a couple of left field studio creations like “Trimm Trabb” and “Caramel” get a rare live workout.

“Caramel” is an odd track for the boys in Blur to dig out. A weird semi-ambient track with a noise blowout ending, it isn’t a guaranteed charmer for a crowd of 80,000. But trimmed of it’s pretensions it becomes an odd little pop song. This live reworking makes the guitar louder and clearer, with wonderfully ringing reverb. The vocals are softly spoken, more murmured melodically that forcibly sung. It ends with a tasteful bit of guitar noise, the frustrations of the original sublimated and distilled. It’s a great performance. It’s still a major bummer about lost love, but time has made the pain less uncomfortable to share. Maybe it takes 13 years and the adoration of tens of thousands of fans to excise the heartbreak.

That said, there is one niggling thing I feel the need to mention. Now, I hate to burst anyone’s bubble, but this rendition of “Caramel” reminds me of another song, by a band I’ve never seen mentioned in any writing about Blur. This is a song the earnest twelve-year-old I was had great love for, and it still can tug on my heartstrings. But it’s a song no other should ever aspire to emulate in any manner.

On Parklive, “Caramel” sounds like a slightly less tasteful “Brothers In Arms” by Dire Straits.

—Erik

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Stacks: Bob Dylan

heystacks:

Bob Dylan
“Ballad of a Thin Man”
Don’t Think Twice, It’s OK bootleg, 2012

Mr. Dylan has been known to recontextualize, revise, and rearrange his songs for well over 40 years. He’s consistently played with tempos and instrumentation to keep his songs fresh and interesting for himself and his band, audience expectations be damned. Sometimes this is spectacular, such as on the recently released 1969 Isle of Wight recordings; The Band make everything sound like The Basement Tapes, all “Lo and Behold” and “Yea Heavy and a Bottle of Bread” in sound and spirit. Sometimes it isn’t, as on the rightfully maligned but not truly downright terrible Dylan and the Dead.

In recent years, people have had a mixed opinion on the various interpretations he’s played around with on the Never Ending Tour, now in it’s 25th year. I’ve heard some of the most half-assed and atrocious performances of my life trawling through the bootlegs, but several times on each tour a true gem emerges. I’m not sure if this night in Tulsa will go down as a classic, but as a show I witnessed it was truly a joy.

The band that evening was in fine form, challenging Bob and coaxing some good work and good humor out of the old codger. He was definitely in a mood, stomping and huffing early on as his keyboard died, and he took an awful long time to warm up his broken pipes. The croak of a voice was like a husky Scooby-Doo early on, with “Things Have Changed” sounding like Tom Waits gargling kerosene. But as things settled and his instruments worked again, his voice limbered up as much as it does these days. The tender “Make You Feel My Love” from Time Out Of Mind had him reach high up into his nasal cavity for moments of tender crooning amidst the winking growl.

That winking, mischievous, Bob kept showing up; hitting purposeful bum notes with a shit eating grin on his face while his band just shook their heads over and over during “Desolation Row”; his eyebrows nearly shooting off his face during the Alicia Keyes line in “Thunder on the Mountain”. But the most disconcerting sign of the puckish Dylan was his dancing. This is a man who for years was pretty much tied to his piano bench, and to see him out front soft shoeing and doing the old man Charleston was plain wrong. He moved like he was a marionette with a painted on smile and a bolo tie.

However, his little flirtation with dancing and playing the frontman when his keyboard died did not prepare me for “Ballad of a Thin Man”. Stepping forward, hiking up his sleeves, and leaning into his mic like a crooner of yore, Dylan and his band launched into a keyboard-less rendition like none I’d ever heard. That percussive piano line is so venomous, and such a signifier of the disdain the narrator has for the oblivious Mr. Jones, that I was stunned into silence to hear the guitars start playing those chords. Add to that the harsh reverb of the cement basketball arena, and the additional major echo slapped on the chorus of  “Do Ya! (Do Ya!) Mr. Jones?” and I don’t think I closed my mouth till it was over.

It’s a shame that the recording is so warm, for within those booming halls the menace of Dylan’s performance amplified the lyrical judgment tenfold. The band was laid back, as this recording clearly shows, but Dylan stalked a five-foot section of stage like the evilest carny ringmaster in the world. It’s been nearly a year since the show, but I keep coming back to listen to this odd performance, to try to understand why in his capriciousness he has cast this arrangement upon the world.

—Erik

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The Mountain Goats

A few weeks ago I went to my first Mountain Goats show. I’ve been a fan for a few years, but never lived within two hours of a scheduled tour stop. This one was just across town, and, having also been “virtual friends” with John for close to a decade, I wasn’t going to miss this chance to see his band.

Opening the night was the Matthew E. White band, whom I was unfamiliar with beyond the video for “Will You Love Me” and the horn arrangements on the new Mountain Goats record, Transcendental Youth. It was a mixed bag; for nearly the first third of the set, their were problems with the mix, with Matthew’s voice either too loud or quiet, his guitar running from inaudible to piercing, the horns in the forefront to the point of drowning everything else. Once that was corrected, they were pretty good. I’m not a huge fan of the slower material; live, it came across like a weird hybrid of early 70s Jimmy Cliff soulfulness and the earnest breathiness of Iron & Wine circa Our Endless Numbered Days. I like both those things, but the marriage was’t consummated in Matthew E. White’s sound. However, when they upped the tempo and/or intensity, like on closer “Brazos”, their funky world music Grateful Deadisms work incredibly well. An artist to keep an eye and ear on, that’s for sure.

The Mountain Goats came out to what can only be described as rapturous applause. I’ve heard for years that their audience can be a bit intense, and though we had wisely situated ourselves in the reserved seats in the balcony (old people save their knees when they can) the adoration was palpable. To be honest, it made me a little uncomfortable, but as I said I was removed from the most fervent of his followers. 

Though that night’s setlist isn’t up on setlist.fm, it was for the most part typical of the second half of the 2012 Fall tour. I think opening with “White Cedar” from the new record was an incredibly good call; an instant fan favorite, it is also a song that requires calm and quiet, and the manic energy of the fans was stepped back immediately. 

“White Cedar” is also my favorite song on the new album, and the horns give me chills. That night was no different, the goosebumps rolling up my arms as they entered the mix. It is worth noting here that the horns were essential to my love of this concert, both as an added sonic and a tone that kept John out of his adenoidal peak; the few times both he and they were in the same high range it clipped the edge off his voice that kept my fandom at arms length for so many years (I didn’t fully come around until The Life Of The World To Come, the album where I feel he seemed confident enough in his singing to not need to cover up with intensity of delivery). 

They played fan favorites like “Pure Milk” and “First Few Desperate Hours”, but again, it was the new material that seemed to connect the most with me; The two “Spent Gladiators”, “In Memory of Satan”, “Cry For Judas”. I admire the long history, but again, with my issues with his high piercing wail, the newer, more controlled and confidant John is what I loved, with the exception being the horn-laden arrangement of “This Year”. I like the original, it’s intent something I could identify and, sadly, feel and understand. But with horns, my god. Ecstatic release.

This being North Texas, John knew well enough there was only one song he could end with, and he obliged with a rousing but reverent sing-along of “The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out Of Denton”. I can only imagine what happened when they played it at last year’s 35 Denton festival.

After the show John came out to the merchandise table to meet and greet his fans. I had told John I would line up and introduce myself, figuring that after a decade of typing back and forth it was time for a proper hello. I found myself relatively near the front, maybe 20 back in a line that was likely 100 or more behind me, snaking back from the front of the venue into the performance space. When I made it to the front, John looked up, slightly puzzled, and said, “you look familiar.” I said you might recognize me from Facebook and told him the handle he best knew me under, which prompted him to jump up, run around the table and give me a hug. I have to say it was perhaps one of the most memorable and heartwarming introductions I’ve ever had. In a way, we were old friends, and the chance to finally meet felt like a relief. We had only a few moments to talk — neither he nor I wanted to hold up the long line of fans — and sadly it was too short. But the ice is broken, and you never know when another opportunity will arise.

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Witch Mountain/Castle/Destroyer of Light/Unmothered

Remember a month ago when I promised a write-up of the Witch Mountain show would appear shortly? Well, this is shortly on some scales of time so I’m going with it.

As I try to do whenever I talk about this band, I’d like to say again that I consider their drummer Nate Carson a friend. However, he’s a good enough friend that he doesn’t want me to blow smoke up his ass, so I feel I’m pretty fair when I talk about his band. However, you can choose to take it all with a grain (or bucket) of salt if you so choose. I realize I haven’t talked about their current record Cauldron Of The Wild either, though I’ve linked to several songs throughout the year. At this point I’ll save it for my favorites list, as there is no doubt that it will be on it. Again, grain of salt as needed.

But the show’s the thing, so on with it. I met Brad and Cat at the venue, who proved to be two of the nicest people I’ve met in Texas. I also met the writer Chuck Eddy and his wife, who were two more of the nicest people I’ve met in Texas. I also met a kind cabbie who jumped our car, and my wife met a nice tow truck driver that AAA sent when the battery died after the jump. It was a rather friendly trip to Austin.

“But the show!” I hear you cry indignantly. “I thought you were finally getting on with it!” Okay, okay. Anything for my readers.

gig poster I would have bought or taken from the walls but was nowhere to be seen

Witch Mountain were fourth on the bill. The openers were local Austin band Unmothered, who I liked a heckuva lot and hope to see again sometime soon; they call themselves “The innovators of haunt rock”, which is as apt a description of their blackened doom as any. Check ‘em out on bandcamp. I recommend “Trancendor”. I had hoped to see Skycrawler again (they were on the excellent Yob show last February), but they were off the bill for personnel reasons. Destroyer Of Light gamely stepped in, and they were good but not my thing.

Castle were doing the whole tour with Witch Mountain, and I was a little hesitant based on their album as I didn’t find it too appealing. Once again, a band proved to be better live than on record, and I quickly understood why they were on the tour. Though still not quite my thing, I found them engaging and talented, with Elizabeth Blackwell a true presence on bass and vocals.

It proved to be that everything was but a mere warmup for the headliners. Nate had told me that he felt the two tours this year had really helped them gel as a live band, but honestly I had no idea how true that was. They opened the set with “The Ballad of Lanky Rae”, the song that starts Cauldron of the Wild. From the first notes of Rob Wrong’s psychedelic opening statement, I could tell they were locked in; Nate and bassist Neal Munson dropped in together, and the pocket they formed stayed deep and dark all evening. And just as Rob’s guitar cut, bent and blared out from that darkness, vocalist Uta Plotkin shone bright, barely a pace ahead but lighting the way.

On record, the drums and bass serve as definition, creating a floor and walls for Uta and Rob to flail, wail and fly as needed. Live, this is even more the case, as Rob is free to explore the spaces, low and high and everywhere in between, but always stepping back at exactly the moment Uta steps forward; this delicate balancing act is easier to achieve in a studio, where edits and mixing levels can create where there is nothing, but live it requires a combination of elasticity and precise empathy that is unforgiving when it slips even slightly. Witch Mountain never slipped, even when Uta reached low and deep for her growling throaty exhortations in “Beekeeper”, where Neal and Nate accent each beat of her delivery with practiced grace.

The set seemed to fly by, “Shelter” following close on the heels of “Beekeeper”, and their newest track, “Bloodhound”, ending the first portion with style and power. I think “Bloodhound” is the highpoint of their recorded career thus far, and live it felt even more like a signpost pointing the way ahead; the sound of a band leaving the last traces of influence behind, a birthing of something wholly their own. The swagger they played it with live was evidence that in some ways, they felt the same.

Before launching into the second half of their set, I want to say a word about Rob Wrong. Rob is a self-proclaimed Hendrix fanatic, and has one of the best Jimi tattoos I’ve ever seen to prove it. In concert, Rob’s psychedelic tinged leads — all Jimi and Uli Jon Roth subsumed in glorious Wrongdom — are living things, sinuous and soulful and delicately strong, spider webs of aural entrapment; as a self-professed supplicant to the rhythm section, I was surprised how often his solos took me out of the pocket and into their internal logic, caught by the harmonics and restatements of themes. The closest they’ve come to capturing that effect on record is the end solo of “Bloodhound”, and even that isn’t the same.

“The Veil of the Forgotten” is one of the strongest cuts on Cauldron of the Wild, and live it proved just as powerful. The rising tension as the song ramps up about halfway through was real, and as Nate raised the tempo the crowd went with him, heads bobbing and horns throwing. The ramp down was just as perfect, the release just as true. Only one South of Salem cut was brought out for this show, the slow power blues of “Wing of the Lord”; live, it has a bit more swing in it’s grinding doom, and Uta sounds more comfortable with the Ann Wilson howls then on record.

They finished the set with album closer “Never Know”, and their ability to hold back, to teeter on the precipice of nothing without falling over, was something to behold. I’m sure a bit of the adrenaline had gone after that initial rush, but holding together something so glacially slow and empty is an art in itself. When Uta and Rob ring out from that abyss it’s something to behold. It may have been the end of the night, but Mr. Wrong was leaving nothing on stage; if a mournful cry could be torn from his guitar, if a cry of defiance could sound, he found a way to let it out. It was a triumphant end to one of the best shows I’ve seen all year.

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Blue Lines Revisited: Things The Swans Album Reminds Me Of (To Be Updated During Playthrough)

tomewing:

  • Dead Can Dance
  • Julian Cope
  • The upstairs room of the Record And Tape Exchange
  • George Galloway pretending to be a cat
  • The Doctor Who theme played very slowly
  • Sea shanties
  • Jim Morrison
  • My idea of what those Johnny Cash albums where Johnny Cash is really old sound like
  • BAGPIPES
  • The John…

all true.

Blue Lines Revisited: Things The Swans Album Reminds Me Of (To Be Updated During Playthrough)