Very Close to, if not actually in, the CD player:
stream full album ° seen/heard ° buy
seen/heard ° listen ° preorder
seen/heard ° listen ° preorder
stream full album ° seen/heard ° buy
?C?mon, Fuckface, Have a Good Time? (Live Music, 2005)
I think – no, I know – I saw more live music this year than any other. Making up for lost time, perhaps, or just availing myself of what the city has to offer. Whatever. No one ever comes to Jersey.
The “Best Shows?” Don’t think I could rank them (as OhMyRockness did) or even categorically award them (like Q. F. Yeti); it feels funny enough “objectively” ranking albums and movies (soon, soon), but what I hope for in a live show makes it sillysquared: I’m looking for something unique. It’s not that a band has to sound Like No Other, or play That Song they neverever do, or self-destruct immediately after the performance.
Give me moments. Ziggy Stardust himself needn’t drop from the sky, pick up a guitar, join in. But even the band that plays the same set every night encounters a whole roomful of variables when it walks out on stage. Say something odd, fuck something up. Acknowledge you’re not a recording, that music is a living thing, that we’re all in this together.
Below are some of the concertgoing moments I’ll keep with me from 2005. Where possible – I didn’t write up every show I went to – I’ve linked to the original entry. At the right – and more, at the bottom – are thumbnails of favorite photos I’ve taken at shows, this year; click on them for full-sized pics.
For Starters: Isn’t it great when you get wowed by an opening act? Sure, it can turn the headliner into one long denouement, but it’s so nice when a band comes along to show people that “opener” doesn’t equal “filler.” When I went to see Kinski at the Mercury Lounge in August... well, this is cheating: I really went to see The Most Serene Republic. I’d coincidentally gotten their CD that morning and had fallen in love. Live, they’re full of possibilities, and going to try some folks’ patience with their jazz/prog aspirations. They’d try mine if they weren’t so damned talented. But: White Tube Socks. The bassist shuffled smoothly around the stage without shoes. For me, it both underlined their youth and highlighted the activity and agility in their musicianship.
Also, just recently, I was wondering if I could take my time getting to the Merc for The Earlies’ show; I sampled some stuff from The High Dials and ran out the door. Anton Newcombe was there and joined in; they were good enough to not need him.
You Look So Much Taller on TV: It’s awful nice when groups that could fill a much larger space play a small one. Yes, it was cool to see Sleater-Kinney at the Mercury Lounge... but it was almost a dream come true when Nine Inch Nails played the Hammerstein Ballroom. Close enough that I could fool myself into thinking that it was, anyway. I’ve always wanted to be moshing in a small club to “Wish.” Hammerstein’s a pretty large venue, but this’ll do: Exhausted and crushed, I found my second wind and my sea legs when that song – the penultimate one in a lean, no-nonsense set – started blasting out.
There’s a Ghost in This Room: Jandek, Issue Project Room. There was absolutely no way to get comfortable. The floor was hard in that stuffy silo – this, after it had looked to be an outdoor affair, a garden party by the Gowanus Canal. And then he rose up out of the floor.
Benihana: Andrew Bird, Southpaw/Jon Brion, Canal Room.
He makes rich, gorgeous stuff; live, he’s like an octopus, slinging his guitar behind his back while he grabs his violin, pings his xylophone, wets his whistle. His is a two-man show: Jazz drummer Kevin O’Donnell does his bit on the skins (and takes turns on keys) while Bird builds his nest. Looping. Every song, by necessity, is about four times as long as its prerecorded counterpart, and this should get dull. It should feel like work. But it’s a humble sort of magic, watching a man accompany his 30-second-ago self. He tried out a couple new numbers, played my favorite non-Eggs tracks (“Action/Adventure” and “Why?”); he talked about how lucky he’s been in New York since he started playing Southpaw, promised to keep coming back (He lied). What I remember most, though, is that he screwed up. A couple times. And even though it meant scratching the thing out from the start, again, it was a relief to know he wasn’t some sort of well-oiled machine.
Brion’s having a blast, and he can’t help but let you know that. He, too, assembles his – and everyone else’s – music right before your eyes; his show is a sloppy craftshop stocked with every part ever made. His concerts are bigger on the inside than the out.
Wait ‘Til Your Mother Gets Home: Les Savy Fav/Thunderbirds Are Now!, Bowery Ballroom / TAN!, Knitting Factory Old Office. I’d never been to a Les Savy Fav concert, before; that alone would land the Bowery show on this list. It was a good, French Kiss line-up, and everyone had been impressed with the Thunderbirds... which is, perhaps, why Harrington ordered flock leader Ryan Allen to his knees for an old-fashioned belt-whoopin’. Just a few months before, Allen & Co. had turned a spare room at the Knitting Factory into your best friend’s basement.
And-and-and: Arcade Fire, Summerstage/Cloud Cult, 169 Bar. Sure, it was hot, and the crowd was CMJaded; and no, of course it couldn’t possibly compare to the first time you saw AF, last year. But Ziggy Fucking Stardust did drop from the sky for this one. So stop your fucking whining. As if that wasn’t enough – hey, that’s David Bowie, twenty feet from you – afterwards you could head downdowndowntown, where the architects of this year’s best CD were shoved into a corner of some bar you’d never heard of. Sure, their Pre-CMJ, BMJ show (for which we all owe thanks to the Vegan) might have been longer, and better – but hearing Happy Hippo music out loud, in front of other people, took some getting used to. And here, you could shake Craig Minowa’s hand and tell him all about how you just saw David Bowie sing “Queen Bitch” with the Arcade Fire.
I’m Against It: Hard to know how to feel about the CBGB’s mess; easy to know that people who didn’t feel anything at all are messed up. The high-profile “benefit” gigs seemed like a month-long wake, but it felt awful good to go pay my respects. The Living Colour show was a good one, and perfectly nostalgic: I’d seen them there back when I was in college.
But the first night was the one that mattered. Bands were wandering back and forth between the regular stage and CB’s Gallery. “Hey, did you happen to catch Debbie Harry, earlier? I think the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s on, next door, now...” Anything could happen, all over again.
Two perfect memories from that night: During Leo’s closing number, a solo version of “Dancing in the Dark,” two guys – no one special, just a couple punks – jumped on stage next to him and started reenacting the Springsteen-Courtney Cox moves from the video. Brilliant. Next door, in CBGB’s proper, a bunch of sorta-wuzzes were howling through time. As I entered, Lenny Kaye hopped up to join them for “Gloria.” I’m surprised they’re not all still there. I’m a little saddened they won’t always be.
So Long, Farewell: Hot Snakes, Bowery Ballroom / Rocket From the Crypt, Hard Rock Café. Neither of these John Reis bands wanted to be mourned, so let’s not. They each spent one last New York City night kicking the ass of Rock and Roll, and each did it differently. The Snakes were almost businesslike, pounding through their catalogue, through the crowd, through the walls. “They should play something slower, now,” a guy behind me said towards the end of the night. “Something long, and slow. That would be perfect.” And they did, breaking out “Luau,” and it was perfect. RFTC, OTOH, party-party-partied. After an tiresome night of Little Stevenry, Speedo came out and ordered fun into the room. Joyous, ridiculous, insane.
More? I wanted to talk about bands I never thought I’d see live – Slint, Gang of Four, the original line-up of Dinosaur Jr.... but I have, before, mostly. And I wanted to share the best crowd comment I heard this year (During Go4’s set at Across the Narrows: “These guys sound a lot like Bloc Party!”). Mean to talk about how Art Brut’s show actually made their CD better. About the best show that never happened (DFA1979/Man Man, Mercury Lounge), and the worst show I saw (The Wrens at the Bowery Ballroom – not the bands fault... it was these morons). But if I keep on I’m going to type right through my first show of 2006. So let me just wrap up with:
I Know You Like It Hard n’ Straight: Local H, Southpaw. Just like life: They’re here at the bottom, but they belong at the top. I only got to see them three times this year – I think I saw them seven, last year? – but this barely-attended Park Slope gig was one of the best H shows I’ve ever been to. Which means, of course, it was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.
I can’t help it: I love them. And I’ve gone on at length before, so I’ll just say this: The set-list was near-perfect, the energy was amazing, I got to help carry Scott Lucas to the merch table after the show. I never thought I’d ever want to hear that Widespread Panic cover again, but it killed. Three strings, he broke three strings.
No, wait, let me say this: You can (legally) download the show here. That’s two guys, putting out all that sound. And yes, there’s a lot of talking (which you can skip over, of course). But I listen to it regularly. Even though I don’t have to. Because I was there.
