100 Shows of 2010 - #91: Spindrift @ Strange Matter, 11/21/10

Sometimes, friends, it is indeed funny how things work out. You might find yourself a little bummed out because your trip out of town to NYC fell through. But then, lo and behold, you discover that a band you've wanted to see for years will be playing not far from you. And all will be right with the universe. Lest you think this is all theoretical rambling, I assure you it's not. It happened not long ago, wouldn't you know. Yours truly was mourning the loss of a trek to New York City, when onto my radar blipped a band I think is nothing short of amazing: Spindrift. And not even a drive to and from Richmond on a work night was going to keep me from this show (also featuring pretty fine sets from Boney Loner, The Young Sinclairs, and The Diamond Center).

MINI RECAP: Spindrift = Sunbaked Bliss! Overall Score: A

I listen to Spindrift quite a bit. The Legend Of God's Gun to me is nouveau (spaghetti) Westernism at its absolute best. Much like what might happen should Ennio Morricone find himself strung out on various peyote-like subtances in the middle of the Joshua Tree National Forest. And so, as Spindrift took the stage, under a backdrop of a bleached blue Western sky and fog machine eminating just a touch of spooky atmosphere, I knew good things were in store. Singer/guitarist KP (Kirpatrick) Thomas looked the part, sporting a hat and an embroidered jacket that made me think of a dark side of the moon Gram Parsons. They began with "Girlz Booze Gunz", a slow rolling song filled with dusty deserts and faded mining towns. "Speak To The Wind", with its almost eerie jangle, had visions of jangling spurs, trails of sweat creeping down weathered faces, and itchy trigger fingers dancing through my head. I began to equate Spindrift as being the musical equivalent of Pioneer Town, in the deserts of California (if you've never been, go). Both more than a little quirky, unexpected, and yet breathtaking in their own ways. This song, and so many others, are spaghetti psych at its finest.

New song "Hellbound" came across like a train going full tilt towards the River Styx, a furious barn burner that made me imagine some down on his luck card shark selling his soul to Lucifer while this very tune was taking a turn on the player piano. It's as though this band has managed to capture the very essence of Western nostalgia and turn it on its ear into something nigh on magical. Some of the newer songs toned down the Western revivalism, but of course I loved them still. "Red Reflection" had a slink to it, but also a crazy sense of time slowed down as tumbleweeds roll by and the clouds float aimlessly, endlessly. This is the music you want playing when your car breaks down on some lonely desert highway, mirages shimmering on the baking blacktop. They ended with my most favorite Spindriftian nugget, the unfathomably awesome "Indian Run". The chanting and insanely frenzied pace of this song translates even better live than on record.

Spindrift, you sasparilla sweet cowboys and cowgirls, is a band that absolutely unquestionably without a doubt shouldn't be missed. They're incredibly talented, they play with something akin to an unholy possession, and the music they make might just blow your mind.

mp3: Speak To The Wind (Spindrift from The Legend Of God's Gun)

100 Shows of 2010 - #48: Interpol/Twin Tigers/The Postelles @ The National, 7/29/10

It was a dark and stormy night...literally. The heavens had clouded and opened and unleashed a whale of a storm front all up and down the East Coast, meaning nothing but trouble. Power outages, downed trees, and ponding streets greeted me on my arrival in Richmond, but thankfully the lights were still on at The National. It might have ended a whole lot later than planned, but this show with its pretty fine triple bill made the long distance drive well worth it. Once it got going, that is.

MINI RECAP: Interpol = Spooky! Twin Tigers = Mysterious! The Postelles = Kooksy! Overall Score: B+

The foursome of The Postelles was first to swagger onto the giant expanse of The National's stage, an hour late. Even before they started to play, they reminded me a whole lot of The Kooks - lots of skinny skinny jeans and pointy toes and even a couple of jaunty hats. Their sound, too, was rather Kooks-esque, frenzied yet polished poppy overtones to their indie racket, which I found somewhat entertaining but not quite captivating. The drummer won me over, though, sassy as he was back behind his drum kit. Truth be told, I'm not all that sure I would have stuck them on a bill with Interpol, they struck me as just a wee bit too safe. But perhaps, should I ever see them in a small club when I'm not impatiently waiting for other bands to play, perhaps I'll change my tune.

Next up was Twin Tigers, whom I was most excited to see, since it would be for the very first time. Sprung from that deep, deep well that is the Athens scene, I fell instantly and utterly in love with the band, even before they played a note. Why, you might wonder? Well, friends, they ambled onstage to "Runnin' With The Devil", and the campness of Van Halen just seemed perfect at that moment. Hence, my love for them. Musically, I couldn't have loved them much more. Their knack of lulling one into a false sense of security before exploding into a beautifully crushing wall of noise was incredible. I found their hybrid of crunchy, swirly, heavy heavy neopsych meets shoegaze meets sweet sweet indie nigh on irresistable. Also fantastic was the ferocity with which they attacked each and every song, a savagery that was downright sexy. They would repeatedly build a dreamy, delicate haze only to plunge unmercifully into beefy bass and gritty guitars and murderous drums. Stunning. The Twin Tigers presence onstage is magnetic, powerful, and they play their instruments masterfully. They might have been even better than I had hoped they'd be, dodgy sound and all. Their last song too quickly followed their first, and I hated to see them go. A great, great set, and I can't wait to see them again.

We waited and waited and waited and waited for Interpol. Around 11, we were informed that the band had been stuck in Newark for hours (poor lambs) trying to get a flight to Richmond. They were en route, and should be with us around midnight. After what seemed like an eternity, the much-thinned out crowd let out a gigantic roar, welcoming Interpol to the stage. They sure know how to make an entrance. I hadn't realized how good it would feel to see them again after so many years. Right away it was (almost) just like old times, the band decked out in their finest black, the sensational lighting, and of course, the music. There were two glaring issues to the set, which was otherwise pretty fantastic. Issue 1: The absence of Carlos D. Issue 2: Not so great sound. The lead guitar was WAY too loud the entire set, and it was more than a little distracting. But the songs, o the songs...

"Evil" was a triumph, with the crowd singing along and a kaleidoscopic effect to the lights to mimic the crashing crescendo of the song's end. "Say Hello To The Angels" was a little too fast, a little too frenectic, but after the day they'd had a little discombobulation was well understandable. "Narc" was simply glorious, "PDA" was one of my favorites of the set (which is appropriate, since it's one of my favorite Interpol songs). "Slow Hands" was another joy, lit by dizzying orange lights. After the set, which was split between the comfortable beauty of the old and the equally lovely new material, the crowd screamed for an encore. And the band obliged, delivering two of its' finest performances of the evening in "Hands Away" and "C'mere", the former hauntingly reminding me of how the stark glory of their sonic landscapes made me fall in love with them in the first place. A fine rendition of "Not Even Jail" completed the first encore, and after lustily demanding more the crowd was sated with one more song, the loud and choppy and jerky and sweeping "Stella Was a Diver and She's Always Down". And the it was all over, and I was sad.

Overall, despite the delays and the rampant sound issues, it was a mighty enjoyable evening. Twin Tigers battered my brain with their sensational rambling landscapes, and Interpol was, well, Interpol. I'd of course rather have seen them at the 9:30 Club, and Carlos D sure did leave one heck of a big void, but I was oh so happy to see them again. It had been too damn long. A girl needs her fix, after all.

mp3: PDA (Interpol from Turn On The Bright Lights)

100 Shows of 2010 - #16: Inter Arma @ The Triple, 4/14/10

Sometimes, friends, I need to have my brain melted into oblivion, my ears mashed into a bloody pulp, and my innards shaken and shook and nigh on ripped out. At such times, I turn to my old Richmond friends, Inter Arma. And they rarely disappoint (ok, there was that one time, buuuuuuut that's only cuz I managed to miss them play).

MINI RECAP: Inter Arma = Obliterationtastic! Overall Score: A.

Sure, I'm a gal that loves her some roadtrips, especially when bands are involved. But these days, there aren't all that many bands that can induce me to hit the road (ah, budgetary restraints). Inter Arma, even though I've seen 'em several times before while a Richmond resident, still has the power to make me hop in my car and make the angst-filled drive down to Richmond. I just can't get enough of their insanely, painfully, pulvarizingly loud mess. And I'm not even really into metal! Go figure.

The Triple was, not at all surprisingly, heaving when the band began to play. And as they spewed forth their ferocious, aggressive, full-throttle noise, the crowd stood, enthralled, hanging on every big ole bastard of a note. They absolutely killed their set, butchered it, hung, drew, and quartered it. They are so not my usual type of band, but damned if I don't love 'em (though my eardrums kinda hate them just a little).

With an Inter Arma show, you're always gonna leave happy. Even when your ears are ringing so loudly that everyone you talk to sounds like a Disney mouse, you're totally thrilled with what you've just witnessed. This, my dears, is rock on an epic, epic scale. Everything about them is, well, turned to 11. They are louder than most bands I've seen live. They are better musicians than plenty of bands I've seen live. They are showmen. They're just straight up goddam good at playing metal. They will tear asunder your insides, and you will love it. Guaranteed. There's no shortage of metal bands in Richmond, but I'd pretty much say that Inter Arma has staked claim on being, if not the best, one of the best. Absolutely no question about it.

mp3: Epicenter (Inter Arma from their upcoming Forcefield release Sundown)

Live Review: My Bloody Valentine @ The National, July 30, 2009

I first listened to Loveless, the seminal My Bloody Valentine record (and shoegaze record, for that matter; not to mention one of the albums that changed my life) years and years after the initial release. At the time, I often lamented the notion that I took to be fact: That I would never, ever get to experience the blistering, scrambling fuzz of wanderlust that was the MBV live show. Heck, I considered myself beyond lucky to have seen MBV's own version of Brian Wilson, Kevin Shields, play with Primal Scream, back in 2000.

But last year, this formerly iron-clad idea about never seeing MBV live was gloriously proven false, as I was privvy to what I can only describe as an awe-inspiring performance to close 2008's edition of All Tomorrow's Parties. I'm fairly certain I spent most of their set with jaw agape and eyes glazed, wondering how such an unholy noise could sound so perfectly beautiful. When it was all over, I counted my lucky stars, happy beyond belief that I could cross "see My Bloody Valentine live" off my "do this before you're dead" list. I never would have imagined that I would see them again live, and in my own backyard no less. My Bloody Valentine in Richmond? Nonsense.

Turns out, it wasn't such a nonsensical thought.

Eschewing all the traditional stops for a band of their legendary stature, Shields and co. opted to play The National, a superb venue in its own right, but hardly of the standing of any number of venues up and down the East Coast (and, for that matter, the whole of the U.S.).

I don't know that I've ever seen The National so packed, nor a Richmond audience rendered so enraptured. Walking into the place to the strains of "When You Sleep" was one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had, and as I collected my purple earplugs and read the signs cautioning me about the decibel levels and seizure-inducing strobes I felt like I was floating on a sea of splendid noise. Fairly early on, it was pretty obvious that there was something amiss with the sound of the vocals - despite the typical, mostly unintelligble muddle of MBV vocals, on this night they were at times flat-out inaudible. It wasn't enough to negate the performance by any means, but was noticeable all the same. Vocals aside, the band was glorious.

It was like being stuck in a time warp with no particular destination in sight, a lunatic whirl of feedback and distortion hell-bent on self-destruction but incapable of complete combustion. The best thing about My Bloody Valentine, in my humble opinion, is the effect they have: I feel, moreso than with just about any other band, that they can make time stop. I lost all concept of time, of space, of everything. When you're seeing MBV live, it's as though nothing else in the entire world matters. Their music is beyond hypnotic. Wave after wave of the crushing din crashes over you. It glows, it pulsates, it pulls you into places nothing else can. With MBV, I constantly think of the title of a Spacemen 3 album: Taking Drugs to Make Music to Take Drugs To. Except, in this case, the music is the drug.

I kept mentally pinching myself to make sure I was awake, make sure this was all really happening. Who among the crowd didn't get a kick out of the false starts of "Only Shallow", and I think I might have even spied a smile on the face of Kevin Shields (though, to be fair, I was about as far from the stage as you can get). And there's just something indescribably wonderful about hearing songs like "To Here Knows When" in a place where you wouldn't have ever guessed you would.

I'll be a little controversial here and say that a) I felt like the set I saw at All Tomorrow's Parties was a smidgeon more impressive, and b) will agree with Laura, who said she felt like The Black Angels set we saw at SXSW was louder. Never before have I so strongly felt as though the sound of a band would literally knock me down the way The Black Angels nearly did. But it was quite probably the best show Richmond will see in 2009, and to paraphrase my friend Mark, it's My Bloody Valentine in Richmond. Be grateful. And grateful I am.

Live Review: The So So Glos @ The Czar, February 18

A funny thing happened to me this week. I kinda sorta fell in smit with a little rock band from the north called the So So Glos. It wasn't anything I had planned, you see. In fact, it came totally out of the blue. I had merely been drafted to check them out, and instead I found myself not-so-gradually turning from casual observer into a fan. And now, well, pardon my pun, but I'm basking in a serious Glo.

After their in-store at Plan 9 earlier in the evening, I headed over to the Czar (in the space where the Nancy Raygun once resided) to check out what these four Brooklyn guys could do in a full set in a room tailor-made for noise (and my, did they make some noise. My ears were ringing all of yesterday thanks to them.).

True, they're young, but they sure don't play like it. The Glos have, somewhere along the way, picked up some serious rawk skills, not to mention an endearing collective stage presence. The foursome attacked their guitars with joyous aplomb, ripping ferocious chord after ferocious chord, plucking at the bass with gleeful disdain, and beating the hell out of the skins as if all possessed by some rock'n'roll demon, but always with smiles plastered across their faces. I found their songs to be extremely catchy, tuneful, and sparkling with promise. The set flew by, as song after song was played with copious amounts of energy and intensity. Who doesn't love a band that's obviously having a great time? It was positively infectious. The night was, dare I say, a rollicking good time. As I looked around the Czar at all the smiling faces (those of the crowd AND the band), I felt pretty darned glad to be a part of the show.

The So So Glos are in the midst of a pretty extensive tour right now, so if you find yourself in the path of said tour, I'd strongly advise you to go check 'em out. Chances are good you'll end up converted.

Pencil it In: The Search for the Next Great Metal Band

Lacking a little metal in your life, friends? Missing the sweet sound of painful, screaming guitars and shouty vocals? Me too. That's why I'll be attending the metallically delicious Search for the Next Great Metal Band, taking place Friday, February 20th, at Plan 9 Records in lovely Carytown, Richmond.

At stake is the chance to represent Richmond in Metal Blade Record's nationwide contest to find the Next Big Thing, metal-speaking. Of course, local bragging rights are also up for grabs. And while I'm not normally into the ole metal, I'll be there for damn sure. The three finalists are Inter Arma, Battlemaster, and the Jefferson Plane Crash (who gets my vote for best nomenclature).

Come out and see the panel of celebrity judges (members of Municipal Waste, Darkest Hour, and Alabama Thunderpussy/Parasitic) as they dole judgments onto this trio of superior Richmond metallurgy (thanks for allowing me these metal-themed liberties, y'all).

We're Throwing a Rock'n'Roll Show!

Yes indeedy, my darlings, the rumors are true! Your favorite DC/Richmond music blog is in fact throwing our first show, together with our dear friend Brett at Fifth Man Promotions. For all of you Richmonders (or surrounding area-ers), come on down to the Camel this Wednesday, February 11, for a simply delightful double bill. Our fearless duo is the Delicious (of Bloomington, IN), and Birdlips (of Charlottesville, VA).

The Delicious, stopping in Richmond whilst in the midst of a national tour, are of the jingle-jangly, pop-tinged rock genus, full of mirth and merriment (and one of my favorite characteristics, a hearty dose of cheekiness). I'm hoping "Accelerated Dickery" will be included on the setlist.

Birdlips, meanwhile, are a duo of the earthier, more pastoral variety. At times reminiscent of the Essex Green and the Rosebuds, Lindsay and Cliff make many beautiful noises together.

We're pretty convinced you'll love both of them. So come on out this Wednesday. A crisp (or somewhat wrinkled) Abe Lincoln gets you and yours in, where you can enjoy some high quality music (and make use of the Camel's bar and yummy menu).

mp3: The Delicious - Suspended in Air

mp3: Birdlips - Some Kind of Death

[Flyer by Laura O'Neill]

Basking in the Glow of Victory, Championship Edition

The first time I wrote about my team winning Cous Cous's Rock'n'Roll trivia was the first week of the year. Now, the last week in January, it's time for an update. The first month of 2009 trivia has wrapped up with the newly-instilled Grand Championship round, held after the final regular round this past Tuesday night.

My team, David Bowie's Nipple Antennae, has swelled to 7 members, and won for our third week (out of four). We also took the Grand Championship round, making us the first ever Grand Champions.

I've gotta say, being a Grand Champion feels even better than winning three of four weeks in January.

And kudos to the masterminds of trivia (otherwise known as Al and Morgan) for coming up with this Grand Championship. It's a great idea. As long as we keep winning, of course. And to all you Richmond loves, come out to Cous Cous on Tuesday, and see how you stack up against the trivia elite. Don't forget to tip your bartender.


So congrats and sloppy kisses to my darling teammates: Laura, Mark, Tracy, Chris, Patty, and our newest Nipple, James. Let's keep kicking ass.

Broken Social Scene: In Pictures

By now you've more than likely ascertained, being the smartypants that you are, that my dear partner and I had a pair of rather enjoyable evenings while taking in our respective Broken Social Scene shows. We decided to share with you some snaps from our show, but since Chris is still figuring out his fancy new camera, most of the shots below come from the 10/21 show at Toad's Place here in lovely Richmond.

The first six pictures were taken from my fabulous bird's eye vantage point in the exceedingly busy balcony at Toad's, while the last two come to you straight from the State in good old Northern Virginny.

We do so hope you will enjoy the photos.





































































































































[photos by Megan Petty and Chris Daly]

Live Review: Broken Social Scene @ Toad's Place, October 21

There are moments, relatively few and far between thankfully, where there appears a lapse in my musical cache so glaring that I cannot help but hang my head in shame. Let's just say that my never having seen Broken Social Scene live until this past Tuesday night can definitely be added to that small, but rather horrifying, list. It's true, friends, yours truly has gone years and years and years without ever once seeing one of Canada's most delightful musical exports (this statement actually applies to several Canadian bands, but one embarassing oversight at a time, eh?).

I was mightily impressed with both the headliners and their opening band, Land of Talk, yet another byproduct of BSS members (Liz Powell, for one). Liz also held her own as the only lady in the current BSS touring machine (and the lady plays a mean guitar). I've been hearing a lot of Land of Talk on WOXY these days, and for good reason: they're pretty darn good, a fact that becomes even more evident when seeing them live.

But BSS, oh my, BSS was splendid, sublime, superb, sensational, and pretty much any other positive adjective beginning with the letter "s" (or any other letter, for that matter). Because I am old, I left after about an hour and a half of the set, but I have it on good authority that the band was cranking out song after song until nearly 1:30 in the morning. On a Tuesday, no less. It takes a special band indeed to play for so long, at least such has been my experience. Most bands consider it a job well done to play for over an hour (naturally, exceptions are made for newer bands with less material to pull from). But no, not BSS. They delighted Richmond with a hearty mix of BSS songs and those of BSS offshoots, like several selections from Brendan Canning's new album (a favorite around these parts, you know). During the course of the set, the band seemed incredibly and honestly touched at how receptive and enthusiastic the crowd was, and played with smiles on their faces and a spritely spring in their collective step. I found their energy contagious (though not enough, sadly, to keep me around for the whole set) and their performance as a whole captivating.

While it might have taken me years to finally get my ass to a Broken Social Scene show, I've got to say this was a good one to have as my first. It was pretty much flawless, full of mirth and merriment, and I can now say I am safely ensconced among the plentiful ranks of BSS devotees. Come back soon, friends.

[photo by Megan Petty]

Live Review: Yndi Halda @ Ghostprint Gallery, August 18

It started off like any other Monday, that is to say inauspiciously and perhaps even somewhat badly. By the time the end of the working day arrived, I was in need of some serious soul-soothing. Thankfully, two things happened to completely turn the day around (and make me a very happy girl indeed): a friend told me about a show going on at the Ghostprint Gallery, and a band called Yndi Halda was one of the bands on the bill. It was to be a very good night indeed.

In true Richmond style, the Ghostprint Gallery serves several purposes; by day, a fully functioning gallery space, with an area behind the main wall for tattooing, and occasionally by night serving as a venue space. It’s a unique space to see a show, and it was perhaps the perfect place to see Yndi Halda’s first show in Richmond. At first, the gallery was pretty empty. Gradually, though, people began to fill the small room, and it’s lucky for those of us who were there that we were around to witness such as was about to transpire.

I’d never heard of Yndi Halda, but now having seen them live I can safely say I’m a believer. What happened that night at Ghostprint was nothing short of spectacular. One minute, a gaggle of youthful guys from across the pond is fiddling about with their instruments, and the next thing you know a wall of painfully beautiful sound hits you like a ton of bricks. They were magnificent. Straddling the oft-fragile beauty of Sigur Ros and the loud, louder, loudest noise of Mogwai, Yndi Halda presented themselves as a force to be reckoned with. The set was intense, only cracking when one of the band would glance at another and both would smile briefly, but beamingly. Their Violin mixed with violent guitar angle proved fiercely dynamic, and they stormed through a short (song-wise, not length-wise) set with vim and vigor. My ears felt like they might be blown off at any moment, so loud was the music, but it couldn’t have been any other way. I felt rooted to the spot, and was transfixed by what was happening in front of me.

When it was all over, there was a collective pause, as if we all had to stop and collect ourselves before anyone could move. It was one of the best Monday nights I’ve had in quite some time, and Yndi Halda are definitely one of my favorite new live bands. Maybe it was the right time at the right place, but oh what a show.

[Photo by Melissa Koch]

Live Review: MGMT @ the National, July 29

It took about a week to recover from four shows in five days (it’s no mean feat the older you get). The icing on that delightful, if somewhat ridiculous, cake of musical delectableness was my second absolutely yummy MGMT show in as many nights, this one at the absolutely gorgeous National.

I felt like half of Richmond was there with me, the place was so busy. We were treated to fantastic opening sets by Kuroma and Violens, both of whom you should immediately seek out and fall in love with. As for MGMT, well, they picked up right where they left off from the 9:30 show.

A very, very lengthy instrumental intro led into “4th Dimensional Transition,” which felt a bit fast but not horribly so. My favorite MGMT song, “Pieces of What,” was next, and the twang slayed me once more. It’s one of those songs that has the ability to turn my knees to jelly whenever I hear it. Before launching into “Weekend Wars,” the National was sanctioned as a “cool place to play,” which pleased the assembled mob greatly. As for the song itself, well, “Weekend Wars” was spotless as can be, with slightly less bratitude in the vocals than can be found on the Oracular Spectacular LP.

Hank from Kuroma ventured onto the stage to join MGMT for “Of Moons, Birds & Monsters,” and if there is one thing I think we’ve all learned over time it’s that you can never have enough guitars onstage. Hank was a welcome addition to the already full sound emanating from the stage. “The Youth” was next, which felt appropriate given the possible average age of the persons taking in the show.

The kids went absolutely out of their minds for “Electric Feel,” and you’re a stoic soul indeed if you’re not getting into the groove by the end of the song. Age and the need for sleep got the best of me, and as the strains of “Time to Pretend” filled the National, I stopped to ogle the adorable boy manning the merch booth before heading home, visions of electric eels dancing in my head. They’re not your grandparent’s lullabies, but MGMT works for me.

Live Review: The National @ the National, June 22

Evidently, the novelty of seeing the National play at the National was not lost on my fellow Richmonders. Sure, I haven’t actually seen all that many shows here since relocating last fall, but the National is a big place, and the it was heaving with people. I ventured up to the nosebleed section to avoid the creeping feelings of claustrophobia, and to enjoy a birds-eye view of a band I hadn’t quite realized I had missed so much. The cynical part of me wondered just how many of the assembled masses were here simply to see the double National, while the slightly less cynical part of me felt a little proud that my beloved quintet was now drawing such large crowds.

When last I saw them, the National was touring their absurdly good album Alligator, and the Black Cat was moderately full. The mood was somewhat somber; mouthpiece Matt Berninger was sick and unhappy, and though the show was phenomenal the aftertaste was not so sweet. But something was palpably different this night, from the moment the band walked onstage to the strains of Leonard Cohen’s “Famous Blue Raincoat” to the last note of the second encore. Maybe it was the crowd’s unbridled affection given voice in rapturous cheers before and after every single song. Maybe it was the band, enjoying headlining a show after a month spent opening for R.E.M. (as Berninger said, “it’s so nice to play inside at night again.”). Maybe it was just the goofiness of playing a venue with the same name as your band. Whatever it was, the band, and for that matter the crowd, was better than I ever thought possible. And believe you me, that’s pretty fucking good.

For most of the set, the spacious stage was full, the original five being aided by a trio of boys with horns, keys, and a violin. It seemed imperative the plus three were there, as they helped give the songs a richness beyond even what the albums offer. It took about half of opening song “Start a War” for me to start thinking how much I love this band. In a way, they’re a classic American rock band; poignant lyrics and strong, powerful instrumentation. Matt Berninger is a story-teller, a scene-setter, capable of writing beautiful songs about the little details in addition to standard song fodder.

It was a love-fest from start to finish. The band was jubilant, and even the most mope-inducing songs were played with an air of celebration. Thank-you’s were said after nearly every song, and occasional spates of endearing banter peppered the set. Naturally, the band/venue name thing came up, and Berninger jokingly said how nice it was to have the venue named after them.

High points abounded, from the deafening clap-along to Bryan Devendorf’s pounding opening drums in “Squalor Victoria” to the introduction of “Abel” as “not religious” and Berninger’s intensity therein while shouting “my mind’s not right,” to the dedication of one of my absolute favorites, the hypnotic “Wasp Nest,” to Mama Dessner. The whole show was breathtaking. Many of the songs were given the extended instrumental treatment, featuring various solos and played long past their original stopping points. At the end of “Ada,” one of my favorites from latest album Boxer, someone yelled “amazing,” and the band collectively blushed. Adding to their nice-guy mystique, “Daughters of the Soho Riots” was dedicated to opening band Centro-Matic. “Mistaken for Strangers” was one of the strongest songs of the night, ferocious from start to finish. And to my amazement, the crowd sang along to “Fake Empire,” the final song of the set. It was the perfect way to close, but the crowd wasn’t going anywhere.

Happily, neither was the band. Mere moments later they were back, greeted by a roar from a still-jammed venue. Berninger opened by telling a story about the R.E.M. tour, and how they longed to play encores but weren’t able to. The crew cleared their stuff as soon as they went off stage. Of the trio of songs in the first encore, “All the Wine” was the most impressive to me. I’ve heard it live before, but they absolutely killed it this time. “Mr. November” was dedicated to “Barack,” and I began to think of the song in a whole new way, since I’d never before thought of it as being remotely political. The song itself was a raucous racket, just the way it ought to be.

You might have thought that would be it, another great song to close out their show. But no. The masses weren’t going anywhere, and so the band came back once more. They launched into the lovely, not oft-played “You’ve Done it Again, Virginia,” which I had never heard before. But the piece de resistance came next, their nineteenth and final song of the night. It’s in my top five National songs, and I didn’t expect to hear it. It caught my off guard. “About Today” was so beautiful, it almost made me cry.

I’ve gotta say, if it hadn’t been for that little thing in California I went to earlier, this would be my show of the year. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been to a show where the air was as electric, and the love between audience and band so obvious. Matt Berninger said it was going to “suck to go play other venues after this,” and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to see a show there without remembering this one. As the theme from “Rocky” played, we all emptied out onto Broad Street, and I fell a little bit more in love with a band I thought I couldn’t possibly love any more.

Set List:

Start a War
Brainy
Secret Meeting
Baby, We’ll Be Fine
Slow Show
Squalor Victoria
Racing Like a Pro
Abel
Wasp Nest
Ada
Apartment Story
Daughters of the Soho Riots
Mistaken for Strangers
Fake Empire
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Green Gloves
All the Wine
Mr. November
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You’ve Done it Again, Virginia
About Today

[photo by Megan Petty – from 2006 Black Cat show]

Live Review: Foreign Islands @ the Canal Club, March 21

Sometimes it’s good to be dragged out by your friends. Hence my Friday evening spent at Richmond’s Canal Club in the company of friends and Brooklyn’s Foreign Islands. Sadly, the show was not well-populated (I guess the rest of Richmond didn't get the memo), which apart from boggling my mind was rather unfortunate, because Foreign Islands put on a hell of a show.

For me, Foreign Islands is one of those bands I’ve heard of, but I hadn’t yet really given them a listen. Now, having seen them, I am trying to correct the error of my ways. The evening began rather inauspiciously; the show was meant to start around 9:30, but I stopped looking at the clock on my phone once it told me it was after 10. Finally, despite a low turnout, Foreign Islands swaggered up to the stage and began to play. What followed were seven tracks heavy on taut guitar riffs, bratty vocals, and delectable danceability. For those of you requiring a gimmick genre, hows about “punk wave”?

Foreign Islands caught me hook, line, and sinker. For being a pretty new band, and with, from what I can gather, some new-ish members, they’ve got impressive stage presence, and handled the lack of a large audience with aplomb and a nice dash of indifference. In my mind, they saved the best for last, with the excellent “We Know You Know It.” Any song that has cooing choruses and makes me want to cut a rug is a winner for sure.

Here’s the set list, courtesy of FI’s Eric;

*Hold Onto Nothing
*No Holiday
*That’s How This Goes Down
*Congratulations
*Low Light
*“Untitled”
*We Know You Know It

I heartily recommend that if you get the chance, you check Foreign Islands out. Gotta love a band that’s even better live than they are on recorded form. Catch ‘em now, before they blow up and play huge shows that sell out before you get your hands on tickets.

[Photo courtesy Foreign Islands' Myspace]

Live Review: These United States @ Gallery 5, March 4

Let the Great Experiment begin. But what is the Great Experiment, you might wonder? In the world of These United States, the Great Experiment is simple. 33 cities. 33 shows. Why not try to make each show as special and unique as possible? Advance copies of These United States’ debut album A Picture of the Three of Us at the Gate to the Garden of Eden were sent to bands on each of the bills in each of the 33 cities to be visited, so that the bands could learn some of the songs. The plan was to have just a few songs done by the members of These United States on their own, before sharing the stage with some local talent for a truly personalized experience. Oh, and the local bands were given free reign as to which songs from the album they wanted to perform. Nifty, no?

And so, night 2 of the tour saw the Great Experiment roll into Richmond. Marionette was the local band chosen to partake in the experimentation, which made me happy because, having seen them before, I knew and liked them and felt they’d make sweet music with These United States. The traveling These United States foursome took the stage second, which was a complete switcheroo from what was supposed to happen (tUS were advertised as headlining), but there was method to the madness. Jesse Elliott, ringleader of the Great Experiment, explained that it made sense for them to go second so as Marionette could help out, and then Marionette would go on, with These United States reciprocally guesting on a couple songs.

As expected, These United States were as fantastic as I knew they would be, really expanding upon the foundation laid by the album. After doing their thing for a few numbers, the members of Marionette joined the lads, cozying up the stage. The addition of Marionette made it clear what’s so great about the Great Experiment: it’s all about the interpretation. Sure, I already loved the fantastical folky poppy rockness of the album on its own, but throwing new musicians into the mix added a richness and fullness, and new angles to songs that made for a special treat. My favorite moment of the night was “Burn This Bridge,” which with the members of Marionette partaking, filled every inch of Gallery 5 with its warm, steadily building noise. It was an especially beautiful song in a set full of them. This is a band that obviously loves what they do, and is just happy making music and sharing it with the world. If you’re in the path of the Great Experiment, I can’t recommend enough that you go experience it for yourself.

(photo by Laura O’Neill)