And so, dear friends, we come to part the second of my latest Philadelphia story, in which yours truly gets to take in the sonic reverie put forth by two most excellent bands. I've been a fan of both of these bands for quite a long while, dating especially far back with the headliners (can we say high school, anyone?!). To see both The Dandy Warhols and Hopewell under one roof, well, that's not something that happens everyday (though perhaps it should!), so naturally the mileage to Philadelphia was of little consequence. As was the whole having to be at work the next morning. The two different styles of these two bands worked gloriously together, and anyone who says otherwise is a damned liar. Whoever had the brilliant idea for these two bands to tour together should probably get a medal, at the very least. (And it should be noted that this show somehow got even better on night 2, but that's another story)
MINI RECAP: Hopewell = Heavenly! The Dandy Warhols = Hallelujah! Overall Score: B+
LET darlings Hopewell took to the Electric Factory's big kid stage (no lie, it's about a million feet off the ground, and probably the eliciter of many a sore neck by the end of the show) first, and I prepared for a grand set. Celebrating the release of a new live album (which, obviously, you should buy), Hopewell once more proved how special they are live. They can, and do, veer off in a multitude of directions during the course of a set, from the noisy, wailing washes of sound akin to the heyday of the Spacemen 3 to quirks of Mercury Rev proportions. But the bombast, the intricacy, and of course that voice are all unmistakably Hopewellian. They masterfully blend subtle pop intricacies with huge waves of sonic violence, and very often the result is a thing of beauty. Everything is done with understated flourish, even at their most tempestuous and unhinged this is a complicated band. The inclusion of a pair of older favorites, "Trumpet For A Lung" and "Calcutta" in their (too brief) set made me quite happy, and they steamrolled through bouth with much vim and vigor. I never get tired of seeing this band up close and in person, because it's almost as though they're a different band everytime. These gentlemen make a racket I do so verily enjoy. I'll close with the concise remark of one of the punters during the Hopewell set, because he got it in one: "Shit yeah!".
And then, it was time. Time for...The Dandy Warhols. Perhaps it's just because I've been a fan for such a long time, but I always feel a wee bit giddy seeing them live. Having first seen them live in the height of their new success, those golden days of the late 90s ago, I can't help but feel close to them. After all, this band has played no small part in influencing my musical tastes. The Dandys, too, are touring on the back of a new record, theirs being a retrospective of the Capitol (Records) Years. I couldn't wait to hear what they had up their collective sleeve, and the set did not disappoint, my loves. Pulling from all over the place, they included such delightful nuggets as "The Last High", "Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth", "Genius", "We Used To Be Friends", and "Horse Pills". And that's just the tip of the iceberg. And the inclusion of my all-time favorite Dandys song, "Good Morning", in all its' shimmery, fuzzy, slowburning glory was enough to make me smile for days. While it was a great set, it seemed to fall ever so slightly short of my expectations. But hey, nobody's perfect all the time. It was still a hell of a show, and any chance to see The Dandys is unmissable.
In closing, I must say that it is imperative, essential, and mucho importante that you see both of these bands live. If you get the chance to see them share a stage, well, I suggest you take it. Otherwise, just go see 'em. They'll both shake your damned peaches and your goddam tree, too.
Those of you that pay even the slightest bit of attention to my concert-going are well aware that I am in no way averse to putting some serious mileage on my car in the name of rock and roll. And when serious rock and roll beckons, such as, say, the undeniable psych rock revivalists The Black Angels, well, I feel totally and utterly powerless against their tractorbeam and subsequently get behind the wheel. So to Philly I went, for a wild and wonderful weekend that was pretty dang awesome, thanks in no small part to the live display of sheer magnificence that was The Black Angels. I was totally in love with this band before this show, and was even more enamored, if that's even possible, afterwards. I was also definitely more deaf than before the show, but that's not really here nor there.
MINI RECAP: The Black Angels = Gravity Defying! Overall Score: A
Beneath a brain-bending backdrop of aural hallucination-inducing red and blue (basically, a giant blowup of their Phosphene Dream cover), the Angels began to play. I had, of course, been tremendously excited to see them again, but I didn't realize until they strolled onto the stage just how very excited I in fact was. Their monumental set began with the sinister strains of "You On The Run", from the most excellent Directions To See A Ghost. It took me about 3 seconds to get goosebumps. Once again unable to find my earplugs, I stood at the very back of the room, against the soundboard. And I still felt the bass go through me, head to toe. It was just raw enough, while still maintaining that epic scale on the record. Hot damn, hot damn, hot damn.
A menacing rendition of another favorite, "The Sniper At The Gates Of Heaven", was another early inclusion in the set. The metallic, slightly unhinged vocals of Alex Maas were in full bloom, adding infinitely to the glorious disquiet. In perhaps a moment of silliness, they followed that with new song "The Sniper", much less growling but still very dark. I must confess, I heard these new songs live in my head a dozen times, but they never managed to sound this good. The fierceness of the guitar, the unbridled aggression of it all. Sensational. I'd have to say, I had one gripe with their set. During "Yellow Elevator #2", the band omitted my favorite part of the song, and launched immediately into "Black Grease". Now, this would be fine, but I do so love that unexpectedly, transcendentally ephemeral floating of the vocals in the midst of what kinda sorta sounds almost like a pop song (or as close, perhaps, as The Black Angels get to a pop song). Actually, I had two gripes. The other being that they stopped playing.
The band did a great job of mixing up the set and including greatness from each and every record. "Bad Vibrations" has rapidly turned into one of my most favorite Black Angels songs, so hearing the overpowering noise yet tightness of that song was a delight. The lull of the beginning gave way to an explosion of sonic savagery, and I hung on every note. The haunting swirl of "Phosphene Dream" filled every corner of the TLA. Maas once more proved himself a one of a kind singer, with that unholy howl of his creeping in among the controlled monotone. Another near-pop song, "Telephone", was next, its eerie dance vibe sending shivers up my spine. And while I hated to see their set end, they shut it down in the best, baddest, loudest way possible: A torturously noisy version of "Young Men Dead". With the sonic cadence akin to a forced march, it's no wonder that video game company picked this song to soundtrack their ad.
Now, it's no secret that my love for this band probably colors my opinion of them. But dangit, if you were at this show and didn't feel the earth move, even just a little, well I have no clue what the heckadoo is wrong with you. Maybe it's the sting of $7 PRB tallboys (really, Philly?!). Bottom line, my friends, is that this band is one of the best live bands around. Period. End of discussion.
I went to Philly’s Rittenhouse Square expecting nothing more than my second fantastic A Place To Bury Strangers gig. I left town a little shorter of hearing and pretty convinced that I’d just experienced the best gig of the year thus far (and that’s even taking into account the small group of juvenile delinquents intent on moshing). But those three boys of APTBS seemed hell-bent for leather on making this one seriously killer show, and succeed they did.
MINI RECAP: A Place To Bury Strangers = Deafeningly Diabolical! Overall score: A+.
Sure, driving to Philly the night before one has to be at work around 7:30 in the morning might, on the surface, seem like not such a good idea. But missing A Place To Bury Strangers for the second time this year was too unacceptable a notion for me, so up to Philadelphialand went I, with my bestie Laura, my most favorite of show companions. We strolled to the park and nabbed spots right near the stage in the middle of the greenery just in time, as the band was already setting up and testing the sonic barriers of the Square. Initially I wasn’t sure how the chaotic, intense sound of APTBS would translate to the open air, but when it was all said and done I felt silly for ever questioning.
I’m pretty sure this band could sound amazing just about anywhere you asked them to play. Taking the stage right as the sun had said farewell for the night, the trio pounced on their instruments and proceeded to tear their set apart for nearly an hour. It was a riotous set, nearly sixty minutes of blistering, beautiful aural ferocity. Think this band is fierce on record? You ain’t heard nothin’, my friends, til you’ve seen ‘em live. It was raw and powerful and violent and absolutely breathtaking. They chose four of my favorite songs from their gorgeous, must-own record Exploding Head (“I Lived My Life to Stand in The Shadow of Your Heart”, “In Your Heart”, “Deadbeat”, and my uberfave “Ego Death”), along with a bevy of first album tracks to boot. Each and every song was given the same careful attention to destruction, the band seemingly overtaken with a maniacal force driving them every onwards in their demolition. Every stake was raised, and they all delivered time and time again.
Singer and guitarist (and Virginia boy) Oliver Ackermann was particularly possessed, at times prone to a slightly deranged glint in his eyes just before he launched into a thrashing near-ruination of his guitar. Jerking around the stage almost as if in fits, he and his compatriots blew me away minute after minute. To quote a friend of mine, it was as if they had bellies full of hell. The guitar was searing, the vocals sneered menacingly, the bass inspired with its brutality, and the drums pounded without mercy. This was a band on the edge, and it was magnificent.
It all ended with a nearly incomprehensible wall of noise, as the boys turned things up to 11 and made with the never-ending waves of distortion that barraged the crowd for quite a while. I made the mistake of de-ear plugging a little too soon, and a few days later my hearing is still not quite right. The one real fly in the ointment? The smoke, which had been so effective when I had seen the band many moons ago at DC9, didn’t quite work as well in the great urban outdoors. But when a lackluster smoke machine is the biggest issue, you know it’s been a goddam good set. I felt the earth literally move more than once, and that can’t all be chalked up to my spot right near one of the speakers.
I’ve never been so happy to be experiencing some hearing loss. Ok, so there’s a few more months left in 2010, and plenty more shows where this one came from. But as of right now, this is it, folks. Show of the year thus far. No doubt about it.
I can’t lie about it, my little darlings, the Theatre of Living Arts isn’t one of my favorite venues. It’s the only place I’ve ever almost been ticketed for loitering, and something about the place itself just doesn’t work for me. But be that as it may, when my beloved Brian Jonestown Massacre announced their 2010 tour, I knew I had no choice but to suck it up and head to the TLA for the show. And of course, I’m so very glad I did. Any chance to see the BJM is a chance worth taking.
MINI RECAP: The Brian Jonestown Massacre = Still Better Than Just About Everyone! Overall score: A-.
Truth be told, it kinda felt like an off-night for the BJM. Not musically, just in terms of energy levels. That being said, even on an off-night, this is a band that is miles and miles better than the vast majority of bands out there. They could have played two songs and it probably would have been worth the four hour drive. Thankfully, I got the added bonus of quite a few songs more than just two. And they were all pretty darned well played. But of course, I’m preprogrammed to love this band. And not just because of my little crush on Matt Hollywood, mind you. But also because to my mind, as a collective they’ve got more talent onstage together than should be legal. And don’t get me started on the awesomeness that is Joel Gion.
Things got going with a really, really fine version of the most excellent “Super-Sonic”, off the most excellent album Give It Back!. The layers of sound in that one song…incredible. Most of the set, to my delight, was comprised of favorite Brian Jonestown Massacre songs, which given the size of the band’s back catalog is a pretty impressive thing to accomplish. “Vacuum Boots”, one of my all-time favorites, was second in the set, and was simply gorgeous. It nearly took my breath away. Not quite as much, though, as did “Got My Eye On You”, quite possibly my favorite BJM song, with that kicky, sassy little beat and the adorable, bespectacled Hollywood taking lead vocal duties. I dare anyone to listen to that song and not become immediately infatuated with its creators.
The fantastic “Here It Comes” was also included in the set, after some in-set tuning. Gion, ever the source of amusement, advised the crowd to “say hi to your neighbor,” while the strings were tweaked. The song itself was full and haunting, as one might expect. “Anemone”, another of my most favorite of the BJM catalog, added to my joy. The seductiveness of that song cannot be underestimated. It was one of the finest moments of the entire night, hands down. After steamrolling through a snappy little version of “Jennifer”, the band began breaking the rules by lighting up some smokes onstage. O, those naughty boys.
Still more favorites were to come, not least of which was “Wisdom”, which was so bloody good I wrote it in my notes as “WIS FUCKING DOM”. Methodrone is at the moment my favorite BJM record, so hearing this beautiful piece of psychgaze made me quite possibly the happiest girl in the room. They could have ended it there and I would have driven home with a huge smile on my face, but the set just kept going. “Going To Hell”, “Not If You Were The Last Dandy On Earth”, “That Girl Suicide”, “Whoever You Are”, “This Is Why You Love Me”, “Oh Lord”, and “Satellite” all were played, and all were varying degrees of goodness and greatness.
The Philly crowd was actually rather receptive and appreciative, and though the band themselves seemed at times not completely tuned in, the show was pretty amazing. It’s always a treat to get to see this band live, and my third time was about as much as I could have hoped for. I might not love the TLA, but if the BJM goes back there next year, I’ll be at that show in a hot second. If you’re anything like me, you feel the exact same way.
Ok, so, not really. But after the pair of Brian Jonestown Massacre shows I went to this past weekend/week, the idea of leaving work behind and following them around the planet on tour seems like a pretty darned good one. Anton Newcombe is my pied piper...
My enlightenment began the evening of Saturday, April 4th, at the Trocadero in Philly. My friend and I did our drinking beforehand, so as to not get stuck in the drinking pen (pardon me, bar area) the Troc utilizes to keep their alcohol in check. Whatever. Lame venue policies are not important. What was/is important is that I was on pins and needles to finally see the Brian Jonestown Massacre for the first time ever. From our vantagepoint at the side of the stage under the balcony overhang, we had a great view of everyone (save for Anton, most of the time). So when certain people (Matt Holllywood and Joel Gion) strolled and sauntered onstage, I had the perfect view, and subsequently nearly fainted from the sheer bliss of it all. It was, without question, the best show I've been to this year (excluding SXSW, of course). With the return of so many original(ish) members to the lineup, the songs sounded as they were meant to sound: thorougly beautiful. And really, I can't think of any other contemporary band that can pull off having four, sometimes five (count 'em: Anton, Matt, Frankie, and Ricky, with Rob splitting time between keys and guitar) guitarists and not sound like overindulgent assholes, or like a jumbled mess. I had been prepared to see just about anything at the Troc that night, but I hadn't quite been ready for how good the band was going to be. If you were to close your eyes and imagine the most perfect Jonestown gig ever, you might think of the Philly show. Anton's days of freaking out seem to be a distant memory; he even complimented the crowd on how "handsome" we all were. "Anemone," "Who?", "Got My Eye on You", "Not If You Were the Last Dandy on Earth", "Oh Lord", and "Servo" were all part of the extensive set. And hearing nearly a third of my favorite BJM album, Take It From the Man!, was glorious. I think I was smiling for the entire two hours I was at the show. Everyone there, band included, seemed to be having a great time. It was nigh on perfect, friends. So perfect, that I decided to scrap my plans to see Neko Case here in Richmond on the following Monday, and instead hit the 95 trail and see the BJM at the lovely 9:30 Club.
The show on Monday, April 6th, was just as perfect. The crowd was, astonishingly, even more raucous than in Philly. And I for one didn't expect the place to be as packed as it was, though it certainly made me happy to see all those smiling faces. The setlist featured many similar songs to the Philly show, though in a far different order. I had a wonderful vantage point for the show, up on the balcony to the right of the stage. I could see everyone well, including Anton, this time. They awed me once more, and I wondered to myself how it was possible for one single band to be so freakishly talented. Song after song after song, every single note was perfect. I also got a kick out of the band's collective blatant disregard for the no-smoking in DC thing, as band member after band member lit up and puffed away. Seeing Joel doing his thing with the tambourine and a drooping ciggy made my night complete. And then, after just over two and a half hours later, it was over. But it was sublime, friends. Sublime. And by the way, add Matt Hollywood to my list of crushes...
We've all seen "Dig!" by now. We're all aware of how shambolic this band used to be, how it teetered on the brink of implosion (not to mention greatness) every other day. But we've also seen how fucking transcendant this band can be when they're together. For my money, they're one of the best live bands out there, and one of a very exclusive list of bands that would induce me to drive all the way to Philly and back in a 24-hour span. And in a perfect world, I'd quit my job and follow them around like one of those wacky Phish fans. Just minus all the patchouli.
DC Set: 1. Whoever You Are 2. Vacuum Boots 3. B.S.A. 4. Nevertheless 5. When Jokers Attack 6. Sailor 7. Who? 8. Got My Eye on You 9. Servo 10. Yeah Yeah 11. That Girl Suicide 12. Wasted 13. Hide And Seek 14. Wisdom 15. Not If You Were the Last Dandy on Earth 16. A New Low in Getting High 17. Anenome 18. Nailing Honey to the Bee 19. Here It Comes 20. Prefab Ambulation 21. Telegram 22. Serious Matters 23. Oh Lord 24. Satellite 25. Swallowtail
And as a special treat, a little Brian Jonestown Massacre for you, live and in person. Enjoy.
Les Enfants Terribles is a Washington, DC music blog. It's run by a music-loving lady who answers to Megan Terrible.
Please note, if you're looking for Terrible Chris, try his new joint.
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Hear ye, hear ye.MP3s posted here are done so with permission wherever possible. If you like the bands you hear on this site, you should without question support them. Buy their music, go see them on tour, and/or buy their merch.
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And so, dear friends, we come to part the second of my latest Philadelphia story, in which yours truly gets to take in the sonic reverie put forth by two most excellent bands. I've been a fan of both of these bands for quite a long while, dating especially far back with the headliners (can we say high school, anyone?!). To see both The Dandy Warhols and Hopewell under one roof, well, that's not something that happens everyday (though perhaps it should!), so naturally the mileage to Philadelphia was of little consequence. As was the whole having to be at work the next morning. The two different styles of these two bands worked gloriously together, and anyone who says otherwise is a damned liar. Whoever had the brilliant idea for these two bands to tour together should probably get a medal, at the very least. (And it should be noted that this show somehow got even better on night 2, but that's another story)
