“When I used to go out, I would know everyone that I saw.
Now I go out alone if I go out at all.”  

-The Walkmen, The Rat

“I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger.”

-Faces, Ooh La La

Oh the irony! 

Miike Snow

4.8.2010

record bar

kansas city. mo.

The first time I heard the music of Miike Snow, I was folding piles of overpriced, poorly constructed tee shirts in a popular corporate clothing store that shall remain nameless.  The bright, bouncy beat, and honest vocals of the hit single Animal, pierced my numb mind and got me through another hour of work, thus earning me another $7.50, and an interest in Miike Snow.

Along with the immediacy and catchiness of songs like Animal, there is also an open and darker element to the music of Miike Snow. This was evidenced as the quixotic groupperformed to a sold out crowd at Midtown’s  Record Bar this past Thursday, April 8.

Miike Snow is Sweedish outfit composed of three members, none of whom are named “Miike” or just “Mike.” Their sound has been described as “cool emotional pop” via The Guardian, and if it must fall into a genre it would rest nicely alongside the term electro/indie pop. However, the whole of Miike Snow is not so easily categorized.

The members of Miike Snow emerged in anonymity on the stage wearing white tragedy masks that popped through a haze of blue light and fog, while heavy electric beats droned on. The group got to work with characteristically pulsating, heavy/happy songs such as Sylvia which references city steps, power lines and a fickle lover named, none other than, Sylvia. For every beat Miike Snow put out, the crowd (heavily populated by energetic 18 year olds) pulsated and rocked. Songs like Cult Logic carried dark undercurrents with lyrics such as: “It feels like I am diving into emptiness” yet at the same time remained undeniably danceable. In addition to the heavy/happy vibe, there is a lot about Miike Snow that seems contradictory. The songs are poppy but the performance is staunch. However, this is not so much frustrating as it is fascinating, and it fuels the hard to pin-point persona. Even the chorus to his most popular and catchy song, Animal, comes off as bizarrely and brilliantly poignant: “I change shapes just to hide in this place, but I’m still, I’m still an animal. Nobody knows it but me when I slip, yah I slip, I’m still an animal.” 

Speaking of Animal, the group performed and extended version of the song to close the set and then followed up with a macabre encore of unidentified sound.  All in all, Miike Snow is worth seeing simply for the challenge of wrapping your head around the live performance and the personas behind it, plus it’s a guarantee that you won’t get away without at least bobbing your head.

Beachouse

Bachelorette

the granada, lawrence. ks

tuesday.april 6. 2010

I’m driving a modest, but necessary 35 mph, in a borrowed car, westbound on I-10, directly into the heart of a wickedly torrential spring downpour, while eerie bursts of lightening flash and briefly bathe the surrounding Kansas plains in white light.  I wonder if it is worth it. I imagine myself being one of the unfortunate forty four annual victims of death via lightening strike.  And while I’m in my casket (which would be closed) my family, with warm tears streaming down their faces, choke out the words: “She was just going to see a show.” Tragic. Yet I carry on, hands two and ten, white knuckled and gripping the wheel. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am a fatalist and slightly dramatic. So it’s fitting that I would imagine my eminent death.  While it is true that I keep a ruinous imagination, one should also note that I am a romantic as well as a visionary. Therefore, I also picture myself arriving to my final destination, The Granada, in Lawrence, KS, with a spring in my step. I am dry, and un-charred, with color gradually returning to my near dead face, and a spring in my step. Instead of floating in a casket, I am now floating in a hazy, distant dream world, where nothing is clear but everything makes sense via the melodious strains of Beachouse .

Luckily, for me, the former never occurred, but the latter did..and this is how:

 Opening for Beachouse, is a demure, cherub-faced Kiwi, Annabel Alpers, who
performs under the name Bachelorette.  Her music sets the stage and is delightfully droning at times, while maintaining a subtle intensity that is paired with layers upon layers of sound. Bachelorette sings live and loops her voice through a Sony Vaio she has on stage. The large screen behind her projects bright landscapes and pulsating lines.  She lures in the respectful crowd with a song, Dream Sequence, which speaks of a disorderly maze, darkened corridors, and narrow pathways in her brain, while warbley electronic tones accent a heavy beat that I can feel hitting me right in the center of my chest. Songs like, Rotating Head, with it’s papery percussion, synth, and repetitive beats provide a perfect backdrop for stoney, fluid dance movements. In between songs, Bachelorette takes small sips of Yagermeister out of a plastic cup but stays composed and unsloppy in a black dress that boasts a giant bow just below the neck…she remains solid and tranquil, slightly understated, with specks of shrouded mystery, just like her music.  However, I would still like to see her somewhat unproper…her music certainly has the potential. I guess I will have to wait until the next time she graces Lawrence.

The stage is now dark and foggy, and is accented by multiple loopy, dangling streamers composed of crinkly crepe. It’s as if the backdrop was lifted from a milky Polaroid taken decades ago on a once thriving beach boardwalk. The color palette is reminiscent of melted sherbet ice cream. The set also includes large diamond shaped forms on rotating stands, covered in folded metallic material, adding to the ethereal feel. A slim Alex Scully, mustachioed, and sporting dark hair that contains more volume than an amp turned up to eleven, emerges on stage. He is joined by the other half of Beachouse, Victoria Legrand, who exudes a memorizing presence, even in the dark, and who possesses an incredible skill of making 80’s power blazers look hot.  The opening chords to Walk In The Park break the silence, and the dream begins. Legrand’s passionate and curious gestures (such as covering her face and eyes when singing) make her impossible to dismiss. Her commanding and intoxicating voice is an impressive and captivating instrument. Her seamless and sliding vocals perfectly match the fluid slides of Alex’s guitar work on songs like “Silver Soul,” which she dedicates to “all the ladies in the house.” When she sings the words “it’s happening again” she grips her side, her arm, and her chest. 
Later, I watch Alex, who seems like the ultimate chiller, as he contentedly plucks his guitar and I realize that all of the pure, angelic backing vocals are coming from him, something I failed to noticed until seeing them live for the third time. A few songs into the set, he asks the crowd, “Is everyone feeling romantic?” and they dive into their standout song on Teen Dream, “Used To Be.” Legrand coos “don’t forget the nights when it all felt right”…I’m standing alone and I can’t help but feel romantic or at the very least, sentimental. After a number of solid songs are performed, mostly from Teen Dream, along with “Master of None” from their 2006 eponymous release, I have fallen under the magical Beachouse spell. But all good things must come to an end, (such as my life that was nearly snuffed out an hour prior) and Legrand lifts the spell she has cast and addresses the crowd: “You’ve been very fun. We’ve managed to exchange something with you. You’re our first time.” And Alex chimes in “Lawrence virginity!” The fey pair closes the set with “Take Care,” and they do indeed take care of the crowd, because they come back for an encore. Victoria flashes the “I love you” sign to the crowd and treats us to “Real Love”.  “You rocked our world. This is our goodnight song to you” and closes the night with “Ten Mile Stereo”.

The rain has stopped and Beachouse has made its mark on Lawrence, Kansas and on me. I drive home, turning the wheel, to which way I feel, my stereo on, still suspended in the sticky residue of a Teen Dream (and amazingly I have not been struck by lightening). 

Missouri natives, Heroes+Villains, emerge as a refreshing and welcomed buoy of sweeping, polished, sound in the sea of lo-fi, garage rock groups that seem to be flooding the waters of the indie-scene as of late.

Heroes+Villains’ new EP, Plans in Motion, is about fifteen minutes and four songs worth of larger than life, engulfing sound.  Frontman, Ryan Wallace, delivers vocals that are full and absolutely earnest while perfectly complimenting Cody Stockton’s standout keys and enhancing the masterful and tight percussion of Jason Smith.

While the sound is dreamy, the guys aren’t afraid of guitar riffs and some raucous percussion. Oh and in case you were wondering, the EP boasts actual string parts—cellos, violins, the whole bit— which only serve to bolster the overall ethereal sound. Think: The Killers, sans eyeliner, meets Travis, but with a bit more edge, and pretend these guys hail from The UK. 

While musical tides ebb and flow, it seems as if Heroes+Villans have planted an impressive anchor.  They’re on the horizon line, and they’re making waves….beautiful, cascading, electronic-indie-pop waves.

You can catch Heroes+Villains live, for their EP release show, Saturday March 27 at The Riot Room.

http://www.examiner.com/x-32407-Kansas-City-Indie-Music-Examiner~y2010m3d26-HEROESVILLAINS-release-NEW-EP

VIVIAN GIRLS REVIEW

sunday. march 14. 2010.

the jackpot. lawrence, ks.

I don’t know what my expectations were for seeing Vivian Girls live.  Like a lot of other bands that are floating around right now, the sound is lo-fi and skuzzy, and a little bit shouty, but the ladies have the charming novelty of being real girls and playing actual instruments. They’re a legit group with a growing catalogue and a growing fan base. While on stage, they can request a beer from their fellow touring mates, Male Bonding, and get one literally within seconds (granted I think there were a few sips taken out of it, and it might have been a minute or two old, but still)! Maybe I’m just easily impressed, or easily fooled. I don’t really know. I had seen Vimeo videos of them doing their own laundry and comfortably chatting with an awkward interviewer, and it seemed they were normal, down to earth girls who could throw around some chords and who had a penchant for singing off key. I was interested to see how they came off live and wondered if I would catch the vibe they were throwing out.

Guitarist and lead singer, Cassie Ramone, (who to me, bears a slight resemblance to a certain Scarlett Johansson) dons the stage with a pair of baggy eyes, and a pair of sweet pursed lips. Her right arm, minute in circumference, is tattooed with a cheeseburger and a cassette tape. She begins with monotone vocals and comfortably strums her guitar, which cranks out a sound that is both sharp and fuzzy. Ali Koehler looking smart and sassy in her glasses chimes in on drums, and Kickball Katy kicks in on bass, long legs, leather jacket and all.

The girls sound like haunting out of tune angels or ghosts singing in a haze and sun-drenched garage that still manages to possess a lot of dark corners. The songs are not musically complex and there are a lot of “la la las” but there is a type of sweetness in the simplicity and dissonance of the whole performance.  For the first few songs, everyone, including the Vivian Girls played it cool. But soon after, the girls offer a few words to the crowd: “You guys should dance.” And dance, they did, to “I Can’t Get Over You” from their sophomore release, Everything Goes Wrong. The drunk and/or excited girl, who offered her couch to Cassie Ramone earlier in the night, is on her hands and knees thrashing her head back and forth. The sturdy youth in front of me, who smells like basement, is dancing/rocking back and forth steadily and enthusiastically (but then again he has been all night).

I find myself leaving before the set is over. I have seen what Vivan Girls have to offer, and my curiosity as well as my eardrums is satisfied. Tomorrow, the girls will go on to another highway, another club and another fan’s couch. Just like I will get into my car, hit another club and another show, but not before the fuzzy vocals and “la la las” that haunt my head have left.

I’m a softie for THE SOFT PACK : A semi-sappy, but earnest mini-memoir of how I feel in love with one of the best bands to come out of the San Diego music scene

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a pretty big fan of The Soft Pack. So, needless to say, I was a tad excited to come home Sunday from a long night of work and find a small package containing their new full length released this February on Brooklyn’s Kemado Records. As I eagerly ripped open the mailer, and held the shiny jewel box in my hands, and saw their photo on the front, the liner, and the disc, I had to smile. I felt a little bit proud and a little bit inspired and pretty sentimental. Not because I had anything to do with the success of these guys, or that I even know them, but because I did see them start out, and watched them progress from basement shows to, well, due recognition. I got to know their music first hand, when good music was exploding all around me, and I guess holding their CD reminded me of how they started out and it reminded me of why I love rock and roll, and of how I came to love The Soft Pack.

As I remember, the first time I saw The Soft Pack perform, it was 2007 and they were an unofficial 4-piece band called “The Muslims”, with a girl on bass (Emily Neveu who was later to deliver the gauzy-goth vocals in Calico Horse). The Muslims were playing at The Tower Bar in San Diego, California, and opening for the now defunct band, Grand Old Party, which at the time, was the “next big thing” in San Diego. I wound up at this show because a week prior, I had heard GOP perform for the first time at a free gig at The Museum of Contemporary Art. GOP was fronted by Kirsten Gundred, (who now goes by the alias Dee Dee Dum Dum) a girl, who worked in a nearby clothing store and happened to have a lightening sharp voice and something of a knack with the drums. After their set, she shyly handed me, along with some other new fans, a CDR with three of their songs. I made it a point to make their next show, at The Tower Bar.

The Tower Bar smells like piss, and the toilet always clogs, and I make a concerted effort to not walk on carpet or any remotely clean surface the next day with the shoes I wore there the night before. However, they have killer Bloody Marys, and free buttons emblazoned with the Schlitz bear and their name, and they are famous for a car driving into their building in the 60’s. That Spring night in 2007, regulars and scene goers alike, lined the walls of the bar like PBR soaked sardines. There was little room, and people were standing on top of the ripped cushions seats of booths. Often, opening bands for the main act are hit or miss. However, sometimes, there is that sweet, unwonted occasion, when an opener really grabs me, and I have a new favorite band. I love those unexpected moments, and this was one of them. The sound from this band, The Muslims, was punchy, simple and instant. The crackling, seductively skuzzy sound, sprinkled with squeaky-clean guitar solos, offset by crisp dry drums, a juicy bass, and dead-pan vocals hooked me. It was music I didn’t have to dissect or think about, I just experienced it; felt it. GOP didn’t disappoint me that night, but The Muslims were the band I went home talking about. At the end of their set, I articulately shouted to my friend, “These guys are like….really good! ” while noting to myself to remember their name, lest I get it confused with all the other two-word band names that were cropping up in SD at the time.

Obviously I didn’t forget their name. The first track I ever got from The Muslims was downloaded for free from their Myspace page. Although I am now somewhat chagrined by the idea of Myspace, (maybe because it seems to be overrun with 13 year olds, glittery profiles, and creeps) there is no denying that Myspace was and still is a great and powerful tool (that’s what she said) for beginning bands to connect with their fan base and get discovered. Case in point, my 96 bit rate track, downloaded on 8/13/07, titled “Extinction156” by The Muslims from an “Unknown Album”. Extinction has since been played about 1 billion times by me (that is just a rough estimate). Hearing the music at home, only made me want to hear it more, so I would go on to try to catch every live show. I wanted to continue to hear the music that I could feel. And I always did, and I always ended up dancing, along with the rest of the crowd to their 2 minute electric songs.

The guys in the band never feed me or the other kids in San Diego some cool, alluring image of a scene or a look. They were just guys who happened to be in a band with a good sound who I would see buying beer at Rite Aide after house shows at the Slaughter House. I think of humble frontman, Matt Lamkin, smirking on stage or in a sweaty living room, in some unintentionally hip collared shirt, coolly and casually delivering vocals while, guitarist, Matty McLoughlin’s feet are planted in a spread leg stance cushioned by bloated, white sneakers with giant, floppy, tongues hanging out as he grimaces and contorts his mouth while wailing on his guitar. He probably has since “graduated” to some polish-able black pointed shoes, but I doubt he really gives a shit. I remember bassist, David Lantzman, sipping bar coffee on stage from a mug at 11:30 pm, with a bemused smile, while he whipped bass lines into submission, and played to an eager crowd. And I see Brian Hill deftly playing drums standing up like a gracious and un-cocky pro, even though he has permission to act ungracious and cocky because he does such a damn fine job with the things.

I believe that part of what makes The Soft Pack so alluring, is that as people and musicians, both then, and now, they come off as unfeigned, and unprocessed. They eschew hype and are seemingly ambivalent to comparisons or labels. The Soft Pack simply keeps it rock and they keep it real.

Of course, The Soft Pack didn’t stop in San Diego. As one can surmise, they would go on to pay their dues, play many a show, many a house party, many a bar and shows at The Casbah (a San Diego staple for relevant music). They would solidify their band lineup, move to LA, release some EPs, release an LP, play local music fests, play national music fests, blow up, (change their name, of which I got “startling” wind of via a late night text from a fellow fan and friend. Ha!). They would crop up in magazines, and blogs, cover and release songs by The Cure and Phoenix, and tour with Franz Ferdinand, and make an appearance on Letterman. They would travel the world and get reviews from Dazed and Confused such as: “a testament to the power of three chords.” Along with Spin, Q, Billboard and Paste touting their recent album, “The Soft Pack”, as the “Most Anticipated release of 2010.”

So, now you have the history of my love affair with The Soft Pack, the artists formerly known as The Muslims. Some might say I’m just full of sap, or drunk on nostalgia, bored in Kansas, or even borderline creepy. Maybe part of my devotion is due toinspiration which draws from the fact that what started out as a couple ofunassuming guys from San Diego, throwing together some gigs, pounding some chords and maybe some Miller High Life, is now a bonafide band…a band that managed to turn more than a few heads, simply by doing what they liked. What is now The Soft Pack was once (and basically still is) a casual, imperfect, arrangement, of some dudes, not seeking recognition, only a sound, and eventually winding up with both. Or maybe, I’m simply a softie for The Soft Pack.

http://www.thesoftpackofficial.com

It’s been a long, cold and well, shitty winter here in Kansas City. The worst we have seen in our history…truly.  To be honest, not much has motivated me in the past weeks and I have been missing San Diego like crazy. I have felt unconscious cynicism and banal routine freeze me in. As dramatic as it sounds, leave it to music to thaw me.

Recently, I was watching a performance of Joe Cocker from his 1970 tour, Mad Dogs & Englishmen. Off stage he was polite and shy and talked with fans and groupies. On stage he was a different animal, sweat drenched, with jittery and jerky movements, that almost looked like convulsions, yet somehow perfectly emulated every note that was played and mirrored each swell of music. His voice was like a pepper grinder, spewing coarse grits of flavor in all directions, and every time he sang the words “delta lady” he literally stuck out his tongue like a ravaged dog. I could watch that forever.  I could watch that forever, because yes, I happen to like the sound of Joe Cocker, but also because watching someone in an unbridled state of expression like that is intoxicating. I wished I could have been there in the audience, and have been exposed to him first person. Yet, even on a cold, quiet Sunday night, in the suburbs of Kansas City in the year 2010, I was bombarded with the power of expression through music.

Have you ever had a moment where you truly see someone at his or her best (or worst for that matter)? Have you ever seen someone being who they really are, being what they really are, without even thinking? Have you seen someone doing what they do, because they just have to? Have you ever seen them performing and behaving in a certain way because there literally is no other way for them to convey themselves? I think I have caught glimpses of this, and it is often by way of music. It is incredible, fascinating and always powerful. This is hard, because I am attempting to give words to moments that cannot really be explained, only experienced. I suppose I am struck by the vulnerable and brave act of self-exposure and what a pure motion that is. I am also struck by how that motion of expression transfers, and how it transfers to me, and what it does to me, in whatever ever way it needs to. I could experience a form of musical expression as an audience member, collectively in a group, or as a listener, or as someone downloading Mp3s in front of her computer.

I suppose, to sum it up, I am just grateful. I am grateful that music exists and that it has the capacity to make me feel. I am grateful that human beings, past and present can sometimes create something laud worthy and expose something raw and pure from within. I know all of this seems somewhat idealistic, but it’s simply the way it makes me feel.

I’m ready for Spring. Are you?

Capybara performs at The Record Machine’s Holiday Showcase

Motorboater performs at The Record Machine’s Holiday Showcase

Max Justus performs at The Record Machine’s Holiday Showcase