I’m not usually one to rush and see live electronica, at least not traveling halfway across the country for it. Don’t get me wrong, the more laid back styles of Morcheeba, Massive Attack, and Kruder & Dorfmeister all have special places and times in my heart and I would love to see them, but it is not a priority. So one can imagine I was not overly excited to drive in an RV with Ian Hilton, brother of Thievery co-founder Eric, to see them in Houston and drive some of the guys back to New Orleans for a show the following night. The lack of full-time work and a desire to see VooDoo with the V.I.P treatment was enough to stir my interest.
I made the right decision. On the heels of the release of Thievery Corporation’s latest effort, the reggae-infused political statement called Radio Retaliation, the band is priming itself for a national tour. On a beautiful night in Houston, I caught a glimpse of what these guys can do.
Eric and Rob in Houston
Founders Eric and Rob surround themselves with an arsenal of A-list musicians on bass, guitar / sitar, horns, and percussion, not to mention a sexy belly-dancer, to flush out their eclectic compositions, breathing life into the live performance. On the vocal end Thievery uses a revolving door of talent from their label, ESL Music, to change up the mood of each song. A cast of Rastafarians, including Sleepy Wonder, pump the crowd and lend credibility to reggae tunes while the lovely and talented Argentinean vocalist Natalia Clavier invigorate classic songs like Lebanese Blonde.
Women go wild for sexy and hip style of Thievery Corporation. They have a world music infusion with bits of the Caribbean, South America, Europe, and their own D.C beats. Their broad sonic palette probably stems from the fact that they hail from a city in which every country in the world has a representative. This mixture lent itself perfectly to the VooDoo Music Festival. Electronic bands sometimes fall flat in the constant action of a festival setting. Thievery’s pounding beats sent the crowd into a whirlwind and the mixture of vocalists, dancers, and a varied set list proved to be exactly what the crowd needed between sets from Manchester Orchestra, The Mars Volta, and Ghostland Observatory. Even resident artist Frenchy got into the mix painting the band live from the middle of the crowd.
The Smashing Pumpkins caught so much shit on this tour. People complained that they did not play enough “classics.” This is one of the best tours I’ve seen them on. They are not a nostalgia band despite how bad people want them to be. They played for 2 1/2 hours with a mix of b-sides, rarities, psychedelic jam sessions, re-worked old songs, new stuff, and of course, “classics.” They are brutal and punishing one minute, then tender and sweet another. Billy basically leads the show with the overwhelming force of his guitar and Jimmy Chamberlin is the fiercest drummer I’ve ever seen. The opportunity to see the two of them play their instruments live is worth the price of admission alone. People looking for “1979″ and “Disarm” can fuck off anyway. If they did just play Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie songs they’d be “cashing in.” Another case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“Siva” from Gish
Blowing the doors off with “Superchrist”
“Mayonaise”
Two recorded versions of this song exist. This is the version of “Speed Kills” that appears on their Best of
“Transformer” Killer little rocker that was a Mellon Collie B-side
“Blues Jam” with Bill Corgan Sr. Billy closed the show by bringing out his bluesman father for a little jam.
OK, VW’s style of yuppy infused, ivy league brand of indie rock can be a bit irritating to the blue collar masses. I don’t really identify with summering in Cape Cod and can be a little put-off by world music influences for the sake of seeming culturally aware, but for a brief moment Vampire offered something a little different, something new and it was kind of fun . .. for a while.
With only the House of Blues in Lake Buena Vista and BackBooth offering worse audience viewing perspectives, Firestone was packed and offering the only position I seem to ever feel like attaining – the entrance by the door. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” is nearly drowned out by the undeservedly large crowds personal discussions. That’s what happens when A) You don’t really rock and B) Your music has found its way onto the iPods of douchebags.
“A Punk”
“Walcott” I really can’t relate to the feeling of just having to get out of Cape Cod. Sorry.
“One (Blake’s Got A New Face)” I really can’t relate to a guy named Blake either. What is it with these yuppy fucks?
Langerado was not in the cards for me this year so I took solace in the fact I could see Vampire Weekend and the new Blind Melon in intimate venues.  As reported here, VW cancels to play to a captive audience of millions…jerks, but the better band was to crush the tiny Back Booth in downtown Orlando.
I had reservations, as anyone would, which concerned Shannon Hoon’s replacement. Shannon Hoon’s presence is unmistakable and a key part to Melon’s sound, but the band is far too good to be held back without him. They have an incredible rhythm section. Glenn Graham and Brad Smith are amazing – tight jazzy and funky – and lay the backbone for some of the most innovative guitar work of the 90’s. Rogers Stevens and Christopher Thorn, weave their 70’s Saturday morning cartoon fuzz-sound in and out of each other creating truly impressive melodies as good as Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood ever did (Yes, I said that). Independently the guitars are creative, intricate works of swirling chord progressions, but together they make Blind Melon.
I remember standing outside The Edge in Orlando when Blind Melon opened for Lenny Kravitz because I couldn’t get tickets. Then cursing myself for missing the show I pledged to drive to Cocoa when they were playing a fair or festival 2 years later in 95. Shannon died in New Orleans 2 weeks before they returned.
Now, 13 years later, I would see one of my favorite bands. The show started early and I missed the first song or two. I entered during “Galaxie” and was instantly struck with chills as the vocals poured around the corner before I could see the stage from the double doorways by the bar, “And your givin’ me, a hated identity-y.” Eerie and magical it seemed like the ghost of a band long gone reaching across planes of being and throttling my collar.
The music was impeccable as they tore through classics like “Paper Scratcher,” “Drive,” and “The Pusher.” What was more impressive is Travis Warren’s voice, powerful, sad, and gravelly. Like seeing the Tennessee 3, Blind Melon presented the same paradox of closing your eyes during a song and daring you to think it could possibly be anything but the original. What is great is that it is not a carbon copy or weak imitation but a perfect fit. Where Shannon almost sounds fragile or vulnerable (that being part of the charm), Travis possessed the same sound with much more ferocity and power. There were rock moments of fierce howling and guttural screaming that shook the walls of the small bar. The crowd seemed to share my opinion with constant remarks around me like, “holy shit” and “wow!” The new material was impressive too as they peppered them in between older tunes. The audience sang nearly every word with the force of a much larger crowd. Warren summed it up best saying, “I’m not here to replace Shannon, nobody can. I am here to keep this great band going.”
Article originally appeared in REAX # 23, April 8 2008
The night began with troubles at the door. I guess my press credentials are somewhat suspect because my name apparently was not on the list. Now I don’t want to point any fingers – huh-hum cough REAX cough! Whoo! -Excuse me. Finally, thanks to the superior customer service of Club Firestone’s stellar managing partner, Mike Feinberg, I was able to experience the Wu.
I missed DJ Kittybat’s set, surely a crowd pleaser and perfect match for this show. Regrettably, I was able to see Black-182′s – sorry I mean Whole Wheat Bread’s – set in its entirety. Although I dig their energy and their “I Love Black People” T-shirt is one of the best merch items I ever saw, I was completely over re-hashed inoffensive neo-Green Day mall punk before it was invented.
The Wu took their sweet time, taking the stage sometime after 11:30. Prior complaints I boasted about hip-hop shows rang true. Poor sound and a poor mix lead to a bungled, bass heavy yell fest. The cool laid back flow of Method Man and the trademark nasal attack of Ghosty were all but lost. Moreover, Wu Tang’s unique, elaborate, layered textures of loops, beats and samples – their stony musical charm – was washed away in a sea of thudding low-end dissonance. Feedback and volume issues plagued the bakers-dozen of performers who passed mics like batons at a relay race throughout the entire set trying to find one that worked. The WTC should really be RZA, Method, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon and maybe Cappadonna just because of ODB’s earthly departure. The full crew is superfluous overkill, draining efficacy from the star performers.
That being said, no one can argue the star power and crowd rousing abilities of this experienced NYC crew. Despite audio issues, the crowd was pumped, eating out of WTC’s hands, especially Method Man. The hour and a half performance turned into the Method Man show. He was taunting and baiting the audience, climbing on speaker stacks, getting beers from the bar, crowd surfing and standing upright on top of the crowd as they moved through mostly classic Wu tunes such as “M-E-T-H-O-D Man,” “Bring Da Ruckus,” “Protect Ya Neck,” and “C.R.E.AM” mostly avoiding 8 Diagrams material (some of which I was anticipating). Another highlight was the tribute to Ol’ Dirty Bastard with a medley of hits including ‚ “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” with ODB’s brother 12 o’clock. I tipped my foe-tee in his memory and wondered what it would be like on that cramped stage with the kinetic, unpredictable ODB there as well.
Article originally appeared in REAX #21, February 9 2007
“M-E-T-H-O-D Man” Live
Method Man walks on the crowd at Firestone
“Shimmy Shimmy Ya” part of Ol’ Dirty Bastard tribute
There are times when music can change your life, change the world even. The Beatles played the rooftop of the Apple Building, then there was Woodstock, and for a while … nothing. Then, on December 19th 2007, the world gaped in amazement as the last walls between the past and the future, between enslavement and liberty, between dogs and cats, between what people considered music before and what was defined that evening were obliterated – forever – by 5 people (rock gods) with a vision:
“When the Lights go Out” – The Black Keys (sorry)
(end of) “Helter Skelter” – The Beatles (really, really sorry)
“Your Touch” – The Black Keys (again)
“Add it Up” (Me screwing up Violent Femmes brushwork on drums)
Well it;s another year and we witnessed another stellar Anti-Pop Festival. As with previous APF’s, I was mildly aware of most of the performers and scratching my head in simian confusion over others. Again I was completely blown away by the artists and performances. This festival is truly becoming something special. More than an aggregation of similar identities, it’s a wide and varied showcase of true underground talent with amazing performances night to night and all the bands bringing it – almost in attempts to not be outdone. This atmosphere is a veritable cauldron of stewing talent, bubbling and brimming with attitude, vibe and excellent shows.
Anti-Pop Past has a rich history to uphold with past mind blowers that include; Kasabian, Brit-poppers who are stadium headliners in the U.K rocked the Social despite the sardine can conditions inside, Saul Williams, known for spoken word, devastated a packed audience with a scathing hip-hop show, and The Elected which combined Blake Sennet’s powerful songwriting and intensity in a performance that made me buy Sun, Sun, Sun the next day.
This year, the festival had its work cut out for it. I started making the rounds on Wednesday evening, beginning at The Social to check out Jim Fairchild (Grandaddy) and David Bazan (Pedro the Lion). JF’s show was an intimate acoustic gig sans the spacey flourishes Grandaddy is known for. As for Bazan, I’m just surprised at how many people are crazy about PtL.
Next at AKA Lounge, Daedelus, named after Icharus;s more sensible brother, put on an awesome show looking dapper in a white blazer. Busdriver’s intensity was reined in by maybe the worst soundboard execution my ears ever witnessed.
Thursday evening brought The Bravery to Firestone and I could hardly breathe because they stunk up the joint. Sometimes great songs can be juiced by stripped down, rocked out versions but it only emphasized The Bravery’s lack of skill. Still, it was nice to have such a big name that early in the week.
The ghost of Johnny Cash
Next I scurried down Orange Avenue to catch Unknown Hinson. Personally anyone with mutton chops (they looked to be fake which was disheartening), a pompadour, black suit, a Fender Strat in one hand and a snub nose .38 Special in the other is more than OK on my book! I was let down because he wasn’t quite as creepy as I expected but elated to find he was a true shredder with the gee-tar doing most of the talkin’.
I was anticipating Friday all week. Spoon impressed me with a wonderful set. Their glossy, well written pop was recreated nicely for an eager crowd. My one gripe is I hate when newcomers to Orlando say, “you guys are really cool‚” like they’re surprised we are not all wearing Mickey ears. Yeah, no shit Spoon.
Now I faced the biggest dilemma of the entire festival. Aesop Rock and MC Chris at midnight on opposite sides of downtown and the Tennessee 3 smack dab in the middle behind The Lodge at 12:15. Just like a real festival, the artists understand the problem and also want to be heard and stagger the performances; so as I make my way to Aesop at 11:45 he is already playing. I get in check out a few songs and vibe off the crowds intensity. Five songs in I hear “None Shall Pass‚” and beeline to MC Chris. As I move down Orange I hear music ringing off the buildings and down the avenue from every direction. This year the shows are contained to downtown Orlando lending it a more festival-like feel.
MC Chris is a complete surprise and has the AKA packed wall to wall, front to back and side to side. Everyone knows the lyrics. Crowd participation is some of the best I have seen and at one point Chris has the entire audience doing the robot on command.
I shoot out of Chris and down Court St. behind Wall Street. I see the Tennessee 3 in a semi-circle around the drum set then I notice Fighting Records man and organizer of Anti-Pop, John Youngman. He is sliding in the rear entrance as the band starts the opening lines of “Folsom Prison Blues.” “Hey can I come with you,” I shriek. I do not want to miss any of the show. I sneak in, and man I tell you, I have seen some shows my friends, but that night in the alley behind The Lodge was magical. From song to song I can’t wipe this stupid grin off my face. “Ring of Fire,” “Orange Blossom Special,” “Ghostriders in the Sky,” “Walk the Line,” “Five Feet High and Rising,” and so much more played with its original grit and Bob Wooten’s uncanny guttural mimic of Cash. To those who witnessed the show, we could close our eyes and be visited by Johnny’s ghost; it was spiritual. It was fitting to have the History Center as a back drop as everything we know about rock n roll originated with the guys on stage. Stories of playing with Elvis and Carl Perkins and walking into Sam Phillips recording studio with Cash supplemented the sublime music. Wooten’s wife explained that he is responsible for the “boom-chicka-boom” guitar riff that makes the Cash sound. Once while Wooten’s amp blew, she entertained the crowd with a solo “Hurt” (of NIN fame). Awesome! W.S Holland, Cash’s drummer for over 40 years and 70+ years old dropped a wicked drum solo! I walked away awed and glad as I was able to witness that.
Saturday Explosions in the Sky took a break from touring with the Smashing Pumpkins to fill up Firestone and play a mesmerizing set that sometimes sounded like one long song. Soliloquists of Sound headlined the Social and put on a great show. They have really come together to be a solid act with solid music, not just a guy going apeshit on a beat machine. Craig Wedren of Shudder to Think played his graceful set to an alarmingly small crowd.
Despite all that rock there were still bands I regret not seeing. The Stills, Black Moth Super Rainbow, Summerbirds (got there too late), Spacebar, my friend Thomas Wynn and his Believers, Jacksonville’s Black Kids, and IAMX were all missed. Again like a true festival, the glorious conundrum of too much great music too see and too little time.
This festival rivals and should be true competition to others. I really look forward to the time between Halloween and Thanksgiving for the great weather and the emergence of the Anti-Pop lineup. I believe John Youngman will have streets and Performing Arts Centers named after him 20 years from now for his labor of love which bestows such culture and art and action on our starving little city.
Article originally appeared in REAX #20, January 3 2007
Queens of the Stone Age descended upon the House of Blues in Orlando and promptly blew the doors off the joint. They kicked off the show with a track from Era Vulgaris, the punky “Battery Acid.” Their gritty, grinding sound translates so well to the live experience that they seem to coast between monster crowd pleasers with crushing force. Next, Josh Homme, beneath a canopy of gothic chandeliers with fiber optic lighting, declared, “I just wanna dance” and slid into “Little Sister” (more cowbell!). The show consisted of a large dose of the new album with a handful of songs from 05′s Lullabies to Paralyze with “Medication” a viscous little bopper being a surprising highlight. They left out a good portion of Rated R. No “Lost Art of Keeping a Secret,” no ‚”Leg of Lamb,” or “Feel Good Hit of the Summer,” but tore the ass out of “I Think I Lost My Headache.”
QOTSA thankfully didn’t forget their roots and sprinkled in a healthy dose of songs from the first album; “Avon‚” “Mexicola” and an extendo-metal-jam of “Regular John” and “You Can’t Quit Me Baby.” Era’s first single, “Sick, Sick, Sick” proved to be just that, completely sick. The band is super tight and Troy van Leeuwen and Josh intertwine and call/respond guitar riffs with elegant ferocity.
Although Joey Castillo is a powerful drummer and an excellent fit for QOTSA, I can’t help to think that Dave Grohl should quit his day job and elevate QOTSA even higher and relegate the Foo Fighters to their true domain, a great side project.
The show was a rousing display of rock fury and the 80 capacity crowd ate it up. I was on the Loge dining on pate (hot dogs) and champale (Stella) and could actually see the show‚ Yay! I must say they may have sounded better here, but at The Tabernacle in Atlanta it was a full-on party replete with chicks in the audience dancing on seats, bars, tables and an alarming number of people vomiting from various degrees of inebriation. Next, I continued the party QOTSA style by dropping my rent money at the Cheetah. Long Live Rock! In Atlanta they played 7 or 8 songs different from the Orlando set. “I Wanna Make It Witchu” and “Suture Up Your Future” were a couple of different tracks and the setlist was in a completely different order – no cookie cutters here my friend. They closed both shows with crushing, face-melting jam-outs of “Song for the Dead” and I was glad to be alive.
Article originally appeared in REAX #18, April 8 2008
The Black Crowes at Langerado Festival 2006 w/ Marc Ford
It can be argued that The Black Crowes are the greatest American rock band of the past 20 years. The band emerged from the imploding vortex of hair metal’s fizzled star with timeless, straight-up rock n roll. They stood their ground as grunge surged and eventually dissipated, then held hands with alternative and jam all the way to indie’s door. Knock Knock! Who’s There? Rock and Roll bitch!!
The Black Crowes are basking in their granddaddy status, comfortable to do as they please. Toying effortlessly with a grab bag of extremely popular songs, they make bands like Gov’t Mule and Widespread seem so boring (There has to be at least one hippy that dropped his glass piece and blew granola nuggets in his hemp shorts just now). The Crowes reward fans with long, masterful explorations of melody and theme with grandiose bridges back into songs that are actually great on their own merit ‚ all while rocking. Performing is not just an excuse to practice in your town and noodle your face off, but a great rock band serving up an order of blues boogie-woogie with extra southern gravy.
That said, the Crowes waltzed into the H.O.B. to bestow some of their majesty upon us. As I moved through the crowd during the opener, Amorica’s “Wiser Times‚” I noticed they sounded really good, but not as smooth and masterful as expected. Once I found a spot ‚a nearly impossible task in Orlando’s H.O.B. (not to get on a soap box but, isn’t it funny that it’s in Buena Vista and there is not a “good view” in the house. If you are not on the Loge [not rich enough] or in the middle of the floor [not early or young enough], you either have a pillar or a drunk asshole in your face. Then you end up watching it on a monitor anyway. So if anyone preaches H.O.B’s superiority to the Hard Rock as a venue, punch them in the sternum). I realized that Eddie Harsch, bad ass piano man, and more importantly Marc Ford, guitar god, are absent from the line-up.
Marc Ford is such a vital part of the BC’s charisma. A virtuoso and prodigy, Ford’s guitar work with Steve Gorman’s Gonzo-ish drumming, Rich’s melody and overlooked rhythm guitar mastery and Chris’s classic front man panache and golden pipes elevated the band from powerful southern rock to the sublime. They rock without Ford and Harsch, but fail to reach that graceful ethereal realm.
The Crowes play two kinds of shows now: three hour plus mega shows and two hour crowd pleasers with more singles, less jam. The H.O.B. show was the latter. They played solid versions of “Good Friday” and “Sting Me” and rollicked through extended workings of “Soul Singin’” and Southern Harmony’s “My Morning Song” without the mesmerizing ferocity of Marc Ford. No matter what, the BC’s are a great night. Hesitant to spend 50 bucks only a year and a half after seeing their monumental show at The Hard Rock and closing Langerado, I asked my best friend, “How many times can we hear “Sting Me?” He replied, “As many times as we can.” Three cheers for rock n roll.
Article originally appeared in REAX #17, September 15 2007
