so messed up
For once I will not bury the lead. I was lucky enough to experience a solo performance from Aaron of Tall Firs (his first, apparently) and it was an unexpected beautiful experience. Sounding about halfway between vintage Xpressway material (This Kind of Punishment, Alastair Galbraith) and A THOUSAND LEAVES-era Sonic Youth (one of my favorite and most under-rated albums), with possibly a Dirty Three reference audible in the shifting feel of the songs when heard with full band. I am particularly fond of
"So Messed Up".
A little back story as to how this happened: Sonic Youth played a show Saturday night, once again presenting DAYDREAM NATION. I wavered about getting tickets because their performance in Barcelona left much to be desired, and once I stopped vascillating the point was moot: it was sold out. To add insult to injury, the opening act was announced as the Dead C., who despite living in New Zealand for four years I've never seen here.
Then, to remove insult from injury (if such a tortured metaphorical construction is permissible), the Dead C. announced their own solo gig the night before. Further tantalizing was the rumor that a "super special secret guest" would be playing prior to the Dead C. Given that Lee Ranaldo of SY and Michael Morley of Dead C. have recorded together in the past, that was one possibility. Perhaps a whole Sonic Youth secret show, busting out the jams from albums that didn't come out 20 years ago? At the Dog's Bollix, an intimate venue, there was no way this could be missed.
And so I got there ludicrously early after online warnings: "Door sales only! Arrive early! Special secret guest!" etc. With my general lack of persuasion skills, combined with a previous experience recommending a live Dead C. show to someone who still hasn't recovered from it, I found myself alone at a bar. Did I mention I can't drink at the moment?
(I forgot to mention: the special guest was billed online as "The Tall Sirs". Tall Sirs. Tossers. I get it. Funny self-deprecation.)
So I wait around a generally unpopulated club an hour plus to start, writing to myself in my journal and continuing to drown in self-absorption, notice Lee Ranaldo, think about saying, hey, I interviewed you a decade ago, decide against it, go back to writing, til finally Surf City starts. They're pretty okay, although the fact that I saw them just the night before opening for Interpol with a better light show dims my enthusiasm somewhat. They end, I wander back to a table, do some more writing, and then at some point I realize the guitar coming from the stage isn't the house mix but somebody's starting playing.
I make my way to the stage, where basically nobody is paying attention, and a guy's sitting in the corner of the stage, playing these songs. And ... well, this is where we started. Despite the asshole standing at the front of the stage with his back to the stage talking to the friends, or the charming lady who would rather look into the distance then look at the guy putting on a kickass show five feet away from her, it was pretty outstanding experience.
The punchline, I discovered later when I went to another club, was that a bunch of people had skipped the show when they discovered that the secret guest was ... Sonic Youth's soundman. The joke's on them - I enjoyed Aaron's set much more than I'd have enjoyed 30 minutes of Lee Ranaldo pouring feedback through the speakers.
(Summary of rest of week: The Dead C. were a lot of fun, body-shaking noise with plodding rhythms holding it together. I smiled. After the show I wound up at the Whammy Bar, my favorite venue in Auckland, where The Mysterious Tapemen rocked the house with their debased version of surf rock. Huge fun, though still kicking myself for completely dropping the ball with this cute blonde woman who unsolicitedly danced with me. This hasn't happened to me since Crash Worship, so I don't expect it to happen for another 16 years.
Thursday was Interpol, and it was about what I hoped for from an Interpol show - good sound, they played their best songs, decent lighting and video.
Monday was Explosions in the Sky, and I loved it. I wish I could live in their songs. Some locals complained the show was too long. In my mind, that's a ridiculous comment to make about a headliner unless they're playing games like Guided By Voices and saving their hit songs for the third hour of the show. Opening act Eluvium hid quietly in the corner and made nice atmospheres with looping guitars, noises, and keyboards. And I've forgotten the name of the opening band, but their atmospheric metal style was slightly leaden due to their drummer's overreliance on the metronome in his ear.)
"So Messed Up".
A little back story as to how this happened: Sonic Youth played a show Saturday night, once again presenting DAYDREAM NATION. I wavered about getting tickets because their performance in Barcelona left much to be desired, and once I stopped vascillating the point was moot: it was sold out. To add insult to injury, the opening act was announced as the Dead C., who despite living in New Zealand for four years I've never seen here.
Then, to remove insult from injury (if such a tortured metaphorical construction is permissible), the Dead C. announced their own solo gig the night before. Further tantalizing was the rumor that a "super special secret guest" would be playing prior to the Dead C. Given that Lee Ranaldo of SY and Michael Morley of Dead C. have recorded together in the past, that was one possibility. Perhaps a whole Sonic Youth secret show, busting out the jams from albums that didn't come out 20 years ago? At the Dog's Bollix, an intimate venue, there was no way this could be missed.
And so I got there ludicrously early after online warnings: "Door sales only! Arrive early! Special secret guest!" etc. With my general lack of persuasion skills, combined with a previous experience recommending a live Dead C. show to someone who still hasn't recovered from it, I found myself alone at a bar. Did I mention I can't drink at the moment?
(I forgot to mention: the special guest was billed online as "The Tall Sirs". Tall Sirs. Tossers. I get it. Funny self-deprecation.)
So I wait around a generally unpopulated club an hour plus to start, writing to myself in my journal and continuing to drown in self-absorption, notice Lee Ranaldo, think about saying, hey, I interviewed you a decade ago, decide against it, go back to writing, til finally Surf City starts. They're pretty okay, although the fact that I saw them just the night before opening for Interpol with a better light show dims my enthusiasm somewhat. They end, I wander back to a table, do some more writing, and then at some point I realize the guitar coming from the stage isn't the house mix but somebody's starting playing.
I make my way to the stage, where basically nobody is paying attention, and a guy's sitting in the corner of the stage, playing these songs. And ... well, this is where we started. Despite the asshole standing at the front of the stage with his back to the stage talking to the friends, or the charming lady who would rather look into the distance then look at the guy putting on a kickass show five feet away from her, it was pretty outstanding experience.
The punchline, I discovered later when I went to another club, was that a bunch of people had skipped the show when they discovered that the secret guest was ... Sonic Youth's soundman. The joke's on them - I enjoyed Aaron's set much more than I'd have enjoyed 30 minutes of Lee Ranaldo pouring feedback through the speakers.
(Summary of rest of week: The Dead C. were a lot of fun, body-shaking noise with plodding rhythms holding it together. I smiled. After the show I wound up at the Whammy Bar, my favorite venue in Auckland, where The Mysterious Tapemen rocked the house with their debased version of surf rock. Huge fun, though still kicking myself for completely dropping the ball with this cute blonde woman who unsolicitedly danced with me. This hasn't happened to me since Crash Worship, so I don't expect it to happen for another 16 years.
Thursday was Interpol, and it was about what I hoped for from an Interpol show - good sound, they played their best songs, decent lighting and video.
Monday was Explosions in the Sky, and I loved it. I wish I could live in their songs. Some locals complained the show was too long. In my mind, that's a ridiculous comment to make about a headliner unless they're playing games like Guided By Voices and saving their hit songs for the third hour of the show. Opening act Eluvium hid quietly in the corner and made nice atmospheres with looping guitars, noises, and keyboards. And I've forgotten the name of the opening band, but their atmospheric metal style was slightly leaden due to their drummer's overreliance on the metronome in his ear.)


20 Comments:
How did you drop the ball with the cute blonde? Any chance of picking it back up? If so please tell the story in the form of a Hugh Grant romantic comedy with you as the dashing too old for the part bad livered romantic lead ;-)
oooo I hate live drummers with click tracks or trying to keep time with something coming out of a laptop. At least when you can tell. I saw Mouse on Mars with a drummer. It was awesome, but maybe they were able to keep the recorded stuff syncopated with the live drums. I don't know.
Mmmmm.... the Dead C. You lucky bastard. I am living vicariously through you. Especially after the live music fiasco I caught last night. Fuck, this town is a toilet. Brief lowdown: vinyl pants, dreadlocks, Rollie Fingers mustaches, fairy costume, hippie gear, patchouli, devil horns, and that utterly moronic combo of skin tight tapered jeans, cuffed, no shirt, full body (bad) tattoos, and a tiny little military cap in case your sexuality was still in question. Murder. Absolute murder.
Hey! I'm wearing a fairy costume right now!
Who the hell did you see John??
Wednesday, no chance, don't have her name or any contact info. Although maybe we'll meet at some other show and I won't be struck mute that time.
Did she just walk up and start dancing with you? did you dance back?
Oh man I remember how it went. It's been a while of course. Although every once in a while I'll be talking to a girl at a party or something and sense interest (probably not really there but give me my fantasies). Anyway the first thing out of my mouth will be daughter-this daughter-that and suddenly the conversation takes an abrupt turn to either a vacuum or relief. Sometimes it's nice. Hair let down sort of thing.
Anyway I'm trying to come up with moves and/or lines you can use in sixteen years when you get your next dance floor opportunity. I'm thinking training to be a bad ass dancer is out on account of the sixteen years of body abuse you have to look overcome. But how about -
you get really into dancing with her then suddenly you keel over. She crouches down to see what's wrong and you clutch her tenderly and let her help you to the hospital. You are bed bound for a couple of weeks and she visits. In the sixteen years you have become either: a master painter, master pianist, really good at reciting poetry or some such nonsense. When she visits you impress the hell out of her with what you can do while sitting up right in bed. This way you also have no further need to impress her on the dance floor.
Charlie, it was a local showcase, the Kill Your Idols show. We caught some satanically awful rendition of At The Drive In, and then went over to the second stage and caught Amplified Heat doing Hendrix. Passable to decent musical renditions, but terribel sound and really terrible vocals. Plus, no one has ever done Hendrix covers that didn't make me rethink my love of Hendrix. No one.
But the crowd was where the real crazy was seated. I don't go to many shows anymore, and Saturday night confirms why. The crowd was stuck in some weird grab bag of the last 30 years as far as fashion goes. Doesn't anyone have any actual style anymore? FUck, I hate to get all Tom FOrd here, but god damn, dreadlocks aren't cool anymore (if ever), nor are vinyl pants, and all the rest.
Kids these days...
I guess I did bury the lead after all.
Carlos - we were standing near each other during one of the opening bands and exchanged a couple smiles, were dancing near each other. Then she wandered away. Later I saw her with another guy. Much later, we were standing next to each other again when the Tapemen started and sort of danced with each other for a bit, but then she wandered away.
At no point did I say anything. Because a) I was stone cold sober and b) I am inept at handling these situations.
Kilian - I'll go for painting. I was on a boat trip in the Bay of Islands and everybody's eye was focused on this guy who had a small journal full of watercolors and a special rig so he could paint as he went. It was awesome. I could imagine painting impressionist paintings of my female savior, who would be so impressed that she would gladly overlook my impending mortality.
Time to sign up for a painting class.
John - why do you give a shit what people wear? There was a guy at the Dead C. who was dressed up as one of the Village People or Freddie Mercury or something, complete with leather hat, all of it looking like he'd bought it that afternoon for a big night picking up guys at a Dead C. show or something. Boy did he have the wrong idea, though there were a lot of guys there to be fair. Was vaguely bemusing but didn't impede my enjoyment of the C. one iota. Although if the leather cap had been blocking my view of the stage might have felt differently.
My personal approach to style is to wear the same fucking thing all of the time. T-shirts and jeans never really go in or out of style. They also never get you noticed, except on Friday night, where half a dozen people were excited because I was wearing a Minutemen shirt.
PS. Did anyone like the Tall Firs song? Or listen to it?
I got so wrapped up in the later part of your post, i forgot you had linked a song. I just listened to it, and it didnt make me fall in love with it. a little too much like maybe Thurston Moore solo stuff or something. I was interested at the beginning before he started singing, it had a nice guitar/drums interaction, but then he starts singing and the drums/guitar promise doesnt really seem to deliver what i was hoping. I give it a C.... maybe C+.
Perhaps you are reading a little too much into it, DD. I mean, I did get to sleep that night. I suspect, however, that since you noticed Village People guy, you might have spotted the same oddities here on the night in question. Not that big a deal.
Hey Doug, enjoyed the post. The Tall Firs tracks were pleasant but nothing that made me go "WOW!" still maybe if I'd seen him live I'd change my mind.
And John,
Dude I could have told you to skip out on that show. Now if I could go see a show I'd go out and see Tambersauro tonight at Notsuoh. Those guys are fucking amazing math rock motherfuckers. Doug may appreciate them too...
http://www.myspace.com/tambersauro
But point is yeah Houston's a toilet if you go see glorified karaoke of bands that (in all but maybe three cases) have been covered ad nauseum. My advice? If you see a show where people are covering Kiss and Motley Crue, stay home and watch Metapocolypse reruns .
We went to support Trevi and Whorehound. They were covering the Melvins. Of course, they kicked their drummer out and thus didn't show. Amplified Heat was so dull we had to leave. The show was $12!
Next stop, Baroness, or at least Nile.
I thought about the Tambersauro show, but after the way this day has gone, I would probably be stabbed on my way in to the club. Best to bail tonight. I know my limits.
aw fuck don't tell me Whorehound is on the rocks. Hopefully just a temporary situation...?
That would drop the number of bands in Houston that I like to...well, let's just say that Tony Iommi could easily count them all on his remaining fingers.
Yeah I saw the post on myspace the other day that they were looking for a drummer. that sucks as that dude rocked.
DD, now that I think of it, who doesn't actually care what people wear? What if you walked into a club and were the only guy there wearing anything? In fact, what if everyone else was walking around with huge garden trolls sticking out of their asses? Might you care just a little? A smidgen, maybe? Am I a hypercritical asshole for noticing what people wear? Well, yes, but what the fuck do you care is the real question? What sensibility am I offending? Just sayin'. Baiting? Your call.
Cramer, I was going to let this go, but you said in your original post that the crowd - which you determine exclusively in terms of how they dress - was why you don't go to shows more often, and that sounds completely silly to me.
Do I notice when people are dressed oddly? Sure. Do I care? Not as much as I can discern, unless you somehow think "notice" and "care" are the same thing, in which case, excellent work Aristotle, you've trapped me.
Whether it's noticing or caring, is it enough to make me not go to shows? As of yet, no, and in fact so far away from it that the idea of me sitting at home saying, lessee, a band I'd like to see is playing ... but I don't like the way the crowd dresses, so I'm stayin' home ... well, that's just incomprehensible.
If I went to a bunch of shows in a row where people were wearing coats covered with exposed bloody syringes, or fecal matter, or whatever, then yeah, it might make a difference. But such trends haven't caught on here, and I have yet to go to a show where my sensibilities are offended any more often than when I go into a record store or walk down one of the major thoroughfares here.
So let me ask the question: why do you care enough that it would affect whether or not you would go to a show? Or was this all just a big baiting trap?
My actual issue with the show in question wasn't fashion, DD, it was the dull music. The retro time warp on display in the choice of dress was more baffling than anything. I would never not go see a show I wanted to attend just because I feared the garments the crowd would be wearing. I wasn't baiting there, just misunderstood. As for blood and feces, I would have to guess that it is already on all of us all the time, visible or not, though a visible amount might be a bit much. You know, unless you're into GG, DD.
closest I got to GG was playing Catal Huyuk the night after he played. So I've probably absorbed some of his feces by default.
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