Oh, Greg Laswell, how I absolutely love thee.
Greg Laswell holds a pretty special place in my heart… I mean, you remember your first concert at the Showbox, right? Yeah, he was mine back in 2006 when he was opening for Sia. It was also my first time going to a not-main-stream show and the first reason I fell in love with finding new music. He talked about how his song “Sing, Theresa Says” was written about his grandma encouraging him to sing. He also talked about how special he thinks Seattle is before he played “High and Low” which mentions our sacred city. And let’s face it, I am a sucker for cute bearded men telling me they love their grandma and Seattle. Who isn’t?
But that was 6 years ago and since then Greg has released a few solid albums including his most recent, Landline, on April 24, 2012 and has apparently gotten a helluva lot happier from the first time I listened to him. In typical Greg fashion, his new album has strong moving melodies and rich, soothing vocals. This is his most diverse album which includes some fun, upbeat songs such as “Come Back Down” and has guest appearances by Sia, Sara Bareilles and a beautiful song, “Landline”, written and performed with his newly wed wife, Ingrid Michaelson. Rumor has it they wrote the song together when the power was out but I am too jaded and jealous to believe that. The album is a perfect addition to his already wonderful discography but for me, nothing can compare to how I feel when I heard “Through Toledo” as I heard his opening act. That album will always be so special to me.
His music is from the heart, his voice is equal parts powerful and vulnerable and his shows are always so memorable. The last few times he has played in Seattle, it has been at The Tractor, the perfect place for Greg to play his amazing music and be close to his audience. He will be there on June 3rd and I will for sure be the creepy fan pretending he is singing to only me.
“Firework”(<-Click to listen) is named firework because it originally opened with the line: “baby, you’re a firework”. I sang this over the course of a few rehearsals, thinking of the bathroom opposite my girlfriend’s room. Hanging in it was a home-made poster, drawn in crayon with the slogan, “Baby, you’re a firework”. I thought it was really clever to use that, given that the song was about being in love, which I was (and am). Over the course of a few practices, I still only had “baby, you’re a firework” and the chorus, “sooner or later is better than never”. Also “yeah, you turned 21/big deal I did that too”. I don’t remember what I sang in between; I would improvise at practices and shows. After a month or two of living with the song I got a text from my drummer telling me that “Firework” was already a song. In it, Katy Perry sings, “baby, you’re a firework”. No, I really hadn’t heard that song and now couldn’t bear to have people thinking that I’d lifted lyrics from her (especially not her publisher). So I rewrote the lyrics. I worked them out on paper, along with the lyrics to “Empty” and “If I Were Good” on her bed. I ran them past her. She said they were good. At that point, I had, “Baby, tell me does it hurt”, something about a bruise, something about tying, something about sunglasses, and the chorus. Most of those changed as I realized that they didn’t fit with the movement of the verses when sung. This is something I often don’t work out until it’s time to do vocals. Which is just as well because most times I’m recording them myself. The lyrics you hear on the record were composed as I recorded them at my mentor Bob Meyer’s house. He has a studio in the basement and was nice enough to let me drink his (very good) whiskey and use it while his family was at home on Christmas day.
I had something specific in mind when I wrote the song; a specific thing I was writing about. At the same time I wanted to play with writing something happy but a little perverted, without being explicit. Along the way, that very specific thing went away, which is fine! Now it’s about a lot of things. I hope people can relate.
José
Check them out at Hollow Earth Radio: Land of Pines/Neighbors/Mr.Elevator and The Brain Hotel (LA),Blooper. $5-8pm-AA on June 1st. For more info click (here).
In the embarrassing riches of the Pacific Northwest music scene Portland’s Brent Knopf (Ramona Falls,Menomena) stands out as a renaissance man, a prolific artist with limitless capacity. The former one-third of the much acclaimed experimental indie rock group Menomena, Knopf is a trendsetter whose array of contributions and collaborations read like a modern Da Vinci. Producer (Matt Sheehy and Dear Reader), tech innovator (creator of the Digital Loop Recorder), and curator (have you seen his Theo Ellsworth album covers?!), Knopf’s diverse interests are only trumped by his unmistakable musical compositions.
His greatly publicized departure from the open forum creative style of Menomena was an acknowledged risk that has paid off in spades. It seems that by driving the artistic process Knopf finally has the space to spread his albatross-sized creative wings. The emerging style is a collection of diverse instrumental contrasts and magnetically melodic twists and turns.
Ramona Falls’ 2009 debut Intuit was an opus, pairing Knopf’s beautifully eccentric multi-instrument ability with a penchant for over the top theatrics. 2012’s Prophet abandons the rollicking dynamic of its predecessor for a fuller sonic palette with greater pop sensibility. Knopf’s hallmark off kilter tension is still woven through the proceedings but the sound is more cohesive and interminably listenable.
Spend Thursday night at The Sunset Tavern staring through the sonic prism of Ramona Falls. It’s sure to be an unforgettable night of immersion into the beautifully chaotic vision of Brent Knopf.
Written By: Ian Stephens
Seismic “Song Dissection” With: Ryan Granger of The Grizzled Mighty for Song ‘Fancy Wine
So this is really the song that started The Grizzled Mighty, and was probably the first full song I ever wrote. I was having a rough go at it when I wrote this song. My car was busted, I had been laid off, and I couldn’t find work for the life of me. I was broke as shit, and to top it off I just got dumped for another guy. Normally I would have crawled inside a bottle and drank my face off for a few weeks, but that requires enough money to buy at least a bottle of whiskey… which I didn’t have. So instead I spent a lot of hours in my basement alone, playing guitar.
The song itself is pretty up-beat, but if you listen to the lyrics, it’s a hater song. “Don’t need your memories. I sold all your things” is very literal. I was tired of looking at my ex’s stuff; still at my house while she was traveling around with her new boyfriend. So the next day I took all of it to a pawn shop, and sold it. I finally had enough money to buy that bottle of whiskey. After drinking about half the bottle, I started calling up some of her friends to see if I could get one of them to come over… I called many of them, failure was not an option. I spent most of the next day depressed and hung over. The last of the money was used on a pack of Parliaments, a bag of weed, and a six pack of Pabst. Then I retreated to my basement to find the only solace I had left-my guitar. ‘Fancy Wine’ was finished four beers later.
Catch The Grizzled Mighty with Dead Ships Sailing and Sugar Sugar Sugar at the Crocodile, Thursday May 17th 2012.
For every new act breaking big you can be sure there are untold dozens of potential stars imploding under the pressure to be known. From maintaining a social media presence, to remaining on the cusp of relevancy, it’s easy to see how self-promotion can stifle creative growth. Every day the conveyor belt delivers songs stuffed with trend but void of craftsmanship. The music scene is not afraid to eat its young for the sake of moving on to the next big thing. Industry impatience means that musicians who develop an artistic direction rarely adhere to it, leaving us wondering what might have been.
In stark contrast to this paradigm Beach House has crept into the music scene with a divergent approach to success embodied by a sincere resistance to fame. The beloved gem of the Baltimore music scene has built an impressive resume but it’s what they haven’t done that separates them from other up and comers. Victoria LeGrande and Alex Scally outspokenly eschew the hype machine, choosing a near monastic devotion to their music-as-art. They feel this insistent focus has saved them from languishing under the myriad external pressures common to industry darlings. Over the past six years they have produced three albums, each one receiving significant buzz until their true breakthrough Teen Dream (the band’s first album with Sub Pop), peaked at #5 on Pitchfork’s Top Ten Albums of 2010.
Following up a critically acclaimed album is a daunting task but building on past success while spurning publicity opportunities is nearly unheard of. From its inception, Beach House insisted that the approach to Bloom would be paradoxically simple. “It’s all about the music.” is the band’s unswerving mantra. Coming from others, this kind of statement could sound trite. Then again, most bands don’t turn down lucrative deals with Starbucks and have cultural style drivers like Jay-Z and Beyonce rocking out at their shows.
Bloom is all about the music and all Beach House’s maturation into artists with the rare ability to refine and master material to the point of transcendence. Sub Pop Records’ May 15th release is a rare moment. Bloom is an industry defining turn that will be remembered as one of the most significant albums of 2012.
From the ethereal opening strains of Myth to the tempestuous finale of ‘Irene’, Bloom is an unforgettable drift through beautiful melancholy. In keeping with their penchant for paradox, Casio beats swell to symphonic proportions. Whirring insects and digital chirps become a continuum of aching amoebic sound that gradually absorbs the listener into boundless oceanic cosmos.
The story that emerges is carefully structured yet unpredictably primal. Like distinct primordial events, tracks form, distend and scatter. Kernels of sound literally bloom into watery nebulae until windborne seeds dissipate into oblivion.
LeGrande’s vocals are wistfully alluring. Her siren song of failed nostalgia lilts on the meticulous fluidity of Scally’s riffs and waves of lush synthesizers.
Previous Beach House albums feel experimental by comparison, like sketches for a masterpiece. The tightened sound is more evolution than departure. The sound scape befits The Persistence of Memory. Any twinges of adolescent uncertainty in Teen Dream have been honed into an emotionally mature force. The effortlessly cool rock of Wild, The Hours and New Year is the perfect dynamic compliment to the gorgeous landslide of Other People and cascading harmonies of Lazuli. The latter demonstrates the kind of rare heartbreaking subtlety found in the music of Nick Drake and Jeff Buckley.
In 2004 Beach House formed. That same year the iconic scene in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was that of a man frantically searching for his past in the dark ghost of an abandoned beach house. In the end futile his futile attempts at reconciliation ultimately succumb to the unrelenting tide that pulls the crumbling house out to sea. Bloom is the perfect companion to this imagery and an equally unforgettable work of art.
Beach House is a creative monster that’s here to stay. Do not miss this album.
Detective Agency makes these kinds of songs.
Seismic News: Bumbershoot Line-up 2012!!
Chris Porter and team have delivered!! I am so happy to be giving you a killer line-up for this years premiere Seattle Music Festival!!
Check out this brilliant video of the line-up!
Everyone in Seattle seems to drop everything once a year for this momentous occasion. On April 20th, we celebrate all things green and currently illegal (hopefully not for long) by getting as collectively stoned as possible and praising God for this beautiful creation.
I usually just use this day as an opportunity to see a good show and rock out. After attending a hazy 420 celebration on Capitol Hill involving far too many free samples to stomach, it was off to Olympia to see one of my favorite trashy live acts of all time, Japanther.
For all the negative reviews Japanther gets for their thrown-together records and trashy sound, they remain a coveted band in my book. From the trashy mess that is Dump the Body in Rikki Lake to their most recent and more polished effort, Beets, Limes and Rice, Japanther has persistently carried the punk rock flame for over a decade. Their shows are truly the only way to experience this band, as they choose to forgo traditional fame in favor of playing dingy DIY venues and unconventional spots like the Williamsburg Bridge.
For this particular show, the location was kept a secret, and was only available after inquiring through email. The password to gain entry? “Japanther.”
When we arrived in Olympia, we parked directly in front of the mysterious venue, which was housed within a large warehouse looking venue. A blinking neon arrow sign pointing down at the door ushered us in, and we entered expecting some sort of Holy Mountain situation (byob, teenagers smoking in doors, etc). This was not the case. The scene here could not have been further away on the spectrum from the 420 party back on Capitol Hill.
This was a true all ages show. The crowd seemed to be anywhere from age 1 to age 50. This dude literally had his infant strapped to his chest, sporting a set of those shooting ear muffs that rivaled the size of her tiny head. There was to be no smoking inside the venue, and absolutely no consumption of alcohol according to the door staff. Thank the heavens for the smoking tent behind the stage.
As Japanther was preparing to take the stage, a three-year old girl, also sporting ear muffs, walked up to the drummer Ian Vanek’s set and snagged the drum sticks. She began pounding out a beat on the floor tom, and bassist Matt Reilly took this opportunity to enjoy an impromptu jam session with a toddler. It was a beautiful moment.
Since the crowd could not have been more than 40 or so people, I was not expecting a high energy set. I was dead wrong. The band got off to a fairly laid back start, but once the fans started acting a little more punk rock and bouncing around, things got increasingly more intense and awesome. They ripped it up, playing favorites from their entire discography. I was not disappointed.
Opening with “Wasted Day”, the band made their signature quips about hating on the police, posers, and keeping kids off drugs. Part comedy duo, part punk rockers, I laughed nearly as much as I danced during their set. If the crowd and band seemed subdued at first, the show took a stark change for the epic when they dropped “She’s the One”. Nearly everyone in attendance seemed to know the lyrics, and Japanther’s telephoned shouts were drowned out by the audience’s own. Other highlights included “The Dirge”, “Challenge” and “Spread So Thin”. They took every opportunity they could to psyche the audience out by starting a song and stopping it two or three bars in, resulting in a series of more and more hilarious exchanges between the duo. And, in their signature ridiculous fashion, the closing song was the same as the opener. And it sounded just as kickass.
Seismic “Song Dissection” With: Sam Miller of Jenny Invert and Song “Still Life/Millet Seed
I have asked artists to partake in this project in where they write the lyrics on a sheet of paper and “doodle” on it, then explain the inspiration for the song. Well I love this band Jenny Invert and asked Sam Miller to do the same. As you can see that his sketch is far from a doodle, and I was very grateful for his artistic talents, and cooperation on finishing it. If you would like to see this incredible band … go to the Columbia City Theater tonight and watch them play with the fantastic ‘The Way We Were in 1989’ and ‘The Tiny Trees’. This will be a genius night of music.
Still Life/Millet Seed is the combination of two short songs I wrote back in New Mexico on sleepless early mornings, a few months apart from one another. I suppose Still Life is representative of my feelings toward the instinct to find stability and security in a fundamentally unstable and ever-changing world—and Millet Seed is inspired by an ancient Greek Philosopher, whose thinking was fueled by this instinct. Hence, in a somewhat ironic way, the two songs make some sense together lyrically/thematically—but otherwise, they’re pretty distinct. Still Life, like many of my songs, was written without any specific meaning/interpretation in mind, so I think it’ll be more interesting to focus on explaining the idea behind Millet Seed. The song is influenced by some ancient Greek philosophy I was studying at the time, namely, Zeno of Elea, who aimed to prove that our common sense experience of reality is false. He argues that the way we experience time, movement, change, magnitude, and distance is contradictory in nature. According to Zeno, all material things are made up of (and can be divided into) other smaller things, and since very small objects don’t make a sound when they fall to the ground individually, it’s an illusion that larger (composite) objects “seemingly” do. He uses a bushel (unit of volume) of millet seed as an example: an individual seed hits the ground silently, but a bushel being dropped is apparently audible. However, since a bushel is only a collection/product of many soundless individual seeds, Zeno argues that the experience of hearing a bushel of seeds drop to the ground must be an illusion. Ridiculous as it may be (and simply untrue because, among other reasons, small objects do in fact sound when they hit the ground—just too quietly for our ears to detect), this paradox has interested me. My actions contribute to something greater than myself, but it’s easy to lose sight of this because my affect on the whole can seem insignificant. It’s important to remember that instead of justifying what I do on the basis of my actions’ small affect on the big picture—I should be considering the consequences of the same thing being done by a large number of people. In the song, I compare myself to a single seed, and describe the whole/group several ways, including: “herd,” “masses,” “force,” “mob,” “cult,” and “bushel.” I enjoy Zeno’s paradox as a metaphor for describing an absurd consequence of not taking the idea of strength in numbers seriously. “As a single millet seed, I do not make a sound. When I fall with the bushel I am loud.”
Seismic Break: Mike Dumovich
I will be the first one to tell you that I have distanced myself from singer-songwriters; as well as the Americana and Folk genre of music that Seattle has graciously showered me with. It’s not that I don’t love it, cause I do, but there is so much more I love out there in the Seattle music world that I would like to focus on a bit more. With that said, here I am writing about the genius of singer/songwriter (composer), Mike Dumovich.
It wasn’t but a few months ago when I ran across Mike during one of my late night searches via internet when I stumbled across a couple of tracks … my mouth hit the floor and my heart broke immediately upon hearing title track “Acres”. “Who is this, and why hadn’t I heard of him?” I thought. Lyrically his music is heartfelt, but not impossible to grasp. A wonderful labyrinth of lyrical seduction. Musically, Mike’s guitar work is nothing short of brilliant, and poised. The weight of his fingers hitting the strings with precision. But its songs like “whiteout” that really capture the brilliance of his musical ability on every level. The construction of layering within that song had me mesmerized as if I were experiencing some sort of sensory “whiteout” myself. It was a storm of sound all somehow making beautiful sense. Starting out with a rhythmic pulse of a spaghetti western vibe…something you’d hear out of a Robert Rodriguez film, then slowly evolving into a beautiful wall of sound. Breathtaking.
Recently, I was able to interview Mike Dumovich, and find out a bit more about this brilliant musician that calls Washington home.
What were you like as a kid? I was a dirty little kid who liked the woods (I grew up on Vashon), music and drawing.
Best childhood memories? Going to see one of the Sonics finals game in 1979 with my Dad. Getting a ninja star from Pike Place Market and hucking it off the ferry. Getting to choose the color of the curly slide in 3rd grade. I was in a lot of local plays when I was young too, from then on it gets murky.
Seismic Rad-Libs With Kithkin (Bob and Kelton)
If I’ve said it once, I will say it again; Seattle is a hotbed of talent, and some bands just have that special ‘it’ factor. Kithkin(listen) is one of those bands, in which we have been lucky enough to work with on a series of upcoming mini-documentaries and a full on professionally shot live performance in a secret location as a part of our “Destination Unknown” series.
So make sure and catch them headlining this Friday (May4th) at Chop Suey, with Tom Ten, Nude and Feet. Now check out their bizarre Rad-Libs.
I don’t know if: you’ve ever seen the Swamps of Sadness on a midsummer’s eve, but, it’s still really sad. No light shall ever brighten that place.
It’s hard to tell the difference: between where the Swamp ends and your body begins in the midst of a spirit quest.
One time we just about: consumed our own arms when we mistook them for demon possessed snake wyrms.
One of these days we: will avenge the death of the fifth member of Kithkin. We miss you, Hrothgar. THE SNAKE WYRMS SHALL PAY DEARLY.
If we could: reanimate Hrothgar’s corpse without fear of retribution, we would, but obviously that’s not the case.
Best way to lose: a gaggle of persistent snake wyrms is to offer up as sacrifice anybody named Hrothgar, as prophecy dictates.
There is never enough: fennel. Everyone has felt this.
We’re not exactly sure when: all the fennel disappeared, but our swamp chickens remain unseasoned until it returns to our fields.
We’re not sure if: anyone has ever seen us without our human masks on.
There aren’t many: trans-dimensional gatekeepers in Seattle, but we are doing our best.
A Kithkin show has: no bassoon, and never will, for the Bassoon people have done great harm to us in the past.
The Way We Were In 1989 – Floating Islands
(Team Pegasus) Catch them at Columbia City Theater(CD Release) on May 4th.
Last night I was speeding down the road, pressed into the backseat of a light blue 1985 Toyota Camry when I realized it was all a dream. The fabric interior matched the grey sky. The only color outside was tall grass lining the desolate road. What gave the dream away were the immaculately dressed Asian gangsters in the car. The driver looked over his shoulder from the front seat. He asked if I remembered the way. I leaned on the window, watching the raindrops racing across cold glass, and decided not to wake up because I wanted to see where we were going.
Two tracks into the beautifully haunting dreamscape of the “Floating Islands” EP, I was fascinated to see where The Way We Were In 1989’s Kelly Dale (Daniel G. Harmann & The Trouble Starts, Strong Like Woman) and Joyell Dunay (Tart) were taking me.
Floating Islands is a mesmerizing artistic vision, a six track slow build with dark velvet skin and the brooding heart of a film score. New Wave, folk, electro-pop, and house beats snake in and out, twisting together until seams are no longer visible. The result is music that does more to meld genre than bend it.
The cinematic side of TWWWI’89 blends avant-garde visions of David Lynch with the commercial sensibility of David Fincher. The gradual reveal and unorthodox structure are as compelling as the impressive gamut of delicious hooks. Listening to “Floating Islands” recalls the quiet, brooding confidence of Nicolas Winding Refn’s 2011 triumph, “Drive”, whose Europop inspired retro-electronic soundtrack was as important to the success of the film as its stunning visuals.
As the name suggests, “Floating Islands” is permeated by themes of ghostly isolation. Opening tracks lure listeners upriver into a digitally laced ‘Heart of Darkness’. Spare prose lyrics sift through introspective ash in a nuclear winter of nostalgia cut from a Cormac McCarthy novel. This is heavy content but the presentation is never heavy handed.
TWWWI’89 is at their best mining beauty from melodrama. Dale and Dunay voice aching characters whose harmonies become dissonant echoes reverberating through an emotional apocalypse. Conventional moments are fleeting, teased but never trusted. Upbeat melodies shimmer with optimism before yielding to house beats that throb like a tell-tale heart.
Any inspiration Floating Islands draws from Sydney Pollack’s 1973 blockbuster “The Way We Were” has been wholly re-imagined. Picture the bodice-clad apparition of Barbara Streisand on an ill fated rendezvous with Robert Redford in the dark confines of a purgatory-perched Parisian bordello. Whatever comes next is a dream within a dream…and I want to see where it goes.
8.4
Ian Stephens
High On Fire – De Vermis Mysteriis
Every now and then, you hear a record that sort of helps you separate the wheat from the chaff, the men from the boys, the mighty amongst the meek. You get the idea. In fact, you can shove your pumped up kicks right up your ass. I got your Gotye right fucking HERE, pal. Simply put, people who listen to records like High On Fire’s face melting “De Vermis Mysteriis” are a different breed – part cockroach, part glutton, and 100% metal. Warriors. Survivors. 2012 finds High On Fire in a decidedly more whiplash-inducing mood than 2010’s stellar “Snakes For The Divine.” In fact, the band’s last offering is downright poppy by comparison – by degrees, pick your poison, would you rather be drawn and quartered or decapitated? “De Vermis Mysteriis” (Mysteries of the Worm) isn’t easy listening – Matt Pike and company have concocted a more dense, obtuse record here. Both musically and lyrically, it’s initially far less accessible, as great records often are. It’s clear there’s been more attention paid to every haunting detail – a dense underbed of swirling, ghostly distortion is pervasive, and Pike’s vocals are a desperate howl, lower in the mix and blending with the unsettling chaos.The album’s first three tracks are absolutely devastating – ‘Serums of Liao,’ ‘Bloody Knuckles’ and ‘Fertile Green’ display High On Fire’s relentless, breathless tenacity and are where it seems they’re drawing a line in the sand – “you’re either with us or you’re against us.” (affirmative, check) Blistering slabs of thrash metal, tempered by accelerated Sabbath riffs and evil leads, all driven home by a mammoth rhythm section and doom/dirge bells and whistles — this shit is state of the art. Pike’s lyrical mysticism is also on display – weirder and more stoner Tolkien meets Cthulhu than ever. If you’re into time travel, alchemy, or, in the case of “Fertile Green”, appreciate a sort of origin story of the kind bud, well, ‘Dopesmoker’ fans rejoice.
“Plant the seed, growing breed, within the turning weed, manifest oracles light
Harvest moon, Winter chills, strengthening breed that kills, fertile female gives sight
Sacrifice of males undone, slays to waste, what’s been called unsung
Manifestia, green girl gives the way to follow, growing hollow. Smoke weed!”
“De Vermis Mysteriis” isn’t a one-trick pony, either – the anthemic, plodding thunder of “Madness of an Architect” is an album highlight, showcasing a little more restraint from jackhammer drummer Des Kensel (for my money, one of rock’s finest players) and bassist Jeff Matz. Album closer “Warhorn” finds Pike at his most vulnerable – he sounds like a soldier bleeding out on the battlefield, short a limb or two – and also provides the best dynamic on the record, as the mounting chorus echoes: “Leading the charge, running them through, soldiers death be true.” It’s a dense, tangled, intense work, and one of the finest of the band’s career. It’s not for the candy-assed, the soft, or the pretty. If your kicks are pumped up, look elsewhere.
8.7
Scott Wagner
Black Breath – Sentenced To Life
(Southern Lord)
On their sophomore Southern Lord release, “Sentenced to Life,” you get the feeling that Black Breath are just scratching the surface – laying the promising groundwork for a legacy of brutality. This could be one of those records you listen to in 10 years and say “The new one is killer, but rememeber ‘Sentenced to Life?’” It’s a testament to the band’s punishing hybrid of black metal, thrash and punk that I’d even suggest they’ll exist in 10 years – but these local (by way of Bellingham) heavyweights seem to shred with such ease, you can’t help but wonder what’s next.What separates Black Breath from a lot of similar sounding bands (think modern takes on Entombed, Agnostic Front) is that they’re not afraid to add just a touch of butt-rock to the proceedings. They’ll be mid-way through a 3-minute hard charger like album opener “Feast Of The Damned” and then drop in a drums-and-vocals only moment – “My flesh! My blood! You’re dead! Feast of the damned!” and you can almost see vocalist Nate McAdams clapping his hands over his head and a fist-pumping legion destroying public property in the pit. Not only does “Sentenced to Life” totally slay, it’s a goddamned good time. There’s enough chuggah here to satisfy rock and roll fans, and enough off-the-line speed and aggression to give death metal and hardcore fans their fix.If it all feels a little bit retro – the leather-gloved fist clutching a sledgehammer shattering glass on the album cover, and song titles like “Home Of The Grave,” “Of Flesh” and “Endless Corpse” – it’s clearly intentional. This is a band that’s paying respects to their heroes, with a fresh take on heavy that’s rife with sturdy chops, ample menace, and balls of steel. If there’s a knock on ‘Sentenced to Life’ it’s that it’s so true to itself, that you might like to hear a little variation on the theme. That’s probably where this band is headed, and one day we might actually miss something as singular and focused as this record. Here’s to a bright future in a black, black world.
7.9
Scott Wagner
After a small taste of what summer is really like here in the PNW this past week, it’s probably fair to say that people will be itching for some outdoor music. Suffice to say, not only do we have Sasquatch, Bumbershoot, Cap Hill Block Party or Folklife Festival … we also have the elegant setting of the Chateau Ste. Michelle in Woodinville which is offering up some of the most nostalgic and legendary talent this summer will have to offer. Take a peek below.
Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery is proud to announce the following concert events. Tickets for all shows on sale Saturday, April 28 at 10:00 a.m. Number listed at bottom of page.
CHATEAU STE. MICHELLE 2012 SUMMER CONCERT SERIES
at Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery in Woodinville
JOHN FOGERTY
Saturday, June 16 • 7PM
$45.00 GA / $69.50 Res.
The Dukes of September Rhythm Revue DONALD FAGEN, BOZ SCAGGS, and MICHAEL McDONALD.
Friday, July 6 • 7PM
$50.00 GA / $80.00 Res.
STEVE MILLER BAND
Saturday, July 7 • 7PM
$49.00 GA / $89.00 Res.
An Evening With THE BEACH BOYS 50th Anniversary Tour
Friday, July 13 • 7PM
$69.50 GA / $125.00 Res.
RINGO STARR &
HIS ALL STARR BAND
Saturday, July 14 • 7PM
$57.50 GA / $99.50 Res.
LYLE LOVETT
& His Large Band
Sunday, July 15 • 7PM
$47.50 GA / $77.50 Res.
EARTH, WIND & FIRE
Friday, July 20 • 7PM
$50.50 GA / $100.50 Res.
CHRIS ISAAK
with very special guest
Shawn Colvin
Sunday, July 22 • 7PM
$45.00 GA / $69.50 Res.
STEVE MARTIN &
the Steep Canyon Rangers
EMMYLOU HARRIS
Tuesday, July 24 • 7PM
$49.50 GA / $79.50 Res.
ALISON KRAUSS
& UNION STATION
featuring Jerry Douglas
Saturday, August 4 • 7PM
$45.00 GA / $65.00 Res.
DIANA KRALL
with guest Denzal Sinclaire
Saturday, September 1 • 7PM
$49.50 GA / $99.50 Res.
BLONDIE & DEVO
Friday, September 7 • 7PM
$49.50 GA / $95.00 Res.
BONNIE RAITT with very special guest Mavis Staples
Saturday, September 8 • 7PM & Sunday, September 9 • 7PM
$50.00 GA / $80.00 Res.
CROSBY, STILLS & NASH
Friday, September 14 • 7PM
$50.50 GA / $80.50 Res.
CHICAGO
Saturday, September 15 • 7PM
$49.50 GA / $89.50 Res.
HUEY LEWIS
AND THE NEWS
Sunday, September 16 • 7PM
$45.00 GA / $65.00 Res.
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Tickets go on sale Saturday, April 28 at 10:00 a.m. at all Ticketmaster outlets, Ticketmaster.com, the Chateau Ste. Michelle wine shop, or charge by phone at (800) 745-3000. |
Rawkward by Blake Madden: Radiohead Vs. Thomas Dolby
Some part of me has always wanted to be cool, even while never understanding what this means. It must be what made me become a rock musician. After all, rock has been scientifically proven to remove panties/ win hearts and minds/ earn free beer. The grand irony is that I will never be a cool musician. I loose my balance when I jump around on stage. I binge on candy and ice cream instead of booze and hard drugs. My stage banter is a mix of cheesy one-liners and the types of things you might say when meeting your girlfriend’s parents for the first time. No matter what heights my music may achieve, I get it: You wouldn’t trust me with your convertible or to get beer for your party.
For this reason, Radiohead is an important band to me. Since The Bends, they’ve shunned and stunned their audience repeatedly, trading chunky rock riffs for synths, drum pads, and a host of warbling, ghostly, sometimes clumsy effects. Improbably, this made them infinitely more popular. That’s right: they got cooler by being weirder. This makes no sense by any societal metric, but provides great inspiration to rock musicians that want to avoid making beer-chugging anthems but still have fans. Maybe people don’t want everything dumbed down after all. Maybe they can stomach some weird every once in a while if it’s delivered with poise.
Still, I can’t figure out how Radiohead did this, why they are so damn popular, or who their fans really are. Sometimes, I still think it’s some kind of mistake. This is probably why I thought I could wait four whole hours to buy tickets to their Key Arena show, when they sold out in four seconds.
This should have been an omen of my concert experience to come. I’d never seen a real arena rock show in my life- if this was only the beginning of the process, it didn’t seem meant to be. A friend with extra tickets (all singles in different places due to demand) convinced me over time that I would regret it if I didn’t go.
My seat was about five rows from the top of Key Arena. An arena rookie, I knew things would be worse at that height, but didn’t know how bad. I didn’t realize that I would feel no connection to the band or their music whatsoever. Everything seemed to come out flat, delivered old and stale from some far away place. It didn’t matter if they were my favorite songs; there was no nuance, no impact. The movements of the tiny band below didn’t match the delayed and processed sounds that eventually made their way up to me. When I finally snuck down to my friend’s level during the last encore, it hit me: I may have missed a really good concert, even while being here.
Of course, you can’t blame the band. Or can you? In Steve Martin’s memoir Born Standing Up, the comedian acknowledges that it was the apex of his popularity itself that pushed him away from standup. Martin had worked his way up to sold-out arenas, but on such grand stages, his nuances, gestures, and delivery would get lost. What was more frustrating: people didn’t seem to care. His jokes had become so ubiquitous that the punchlines could be anticipated, sometimes with premature hysterical laughter. The joy and challenge were gone. It was no longer cool to be cool.
Does Radiohead live and work through this prism, but just continue to plough through? Or more interestingly, does the amount of pushback in their music correlate directly to their growing popularity? Is it a coincidence that they are leading their biggest shows ever with material from King of Limbs, their least overtly tuneful, least conventionally arranged album ever?
An answer of sorts came later. A friend went to an afterparty, met Thom Yorke in the flesh, and asked politely for a photo. Thom’s reply: “Sorry. I don’t feel comfortable with that.” Poor Thom- after all these years, hundreds of shows, and significant fame and fortune, he’s still being put in situations that are uncomfortable for him, still trying to accept the difference between what he is and what he thinks he should be. He’s a more patient and polite Kurt Cobain, still not ready for when the bright lights of cool hit home.
There must have been at least fifteen seconds in Thomas Dolby’s life when he was as cool as Radiohead, or it felt that way. His 1982 debut album The Golden Age of Wireless hit #13 on the US Billboard charts; he toured the world and did all the things that pop-stars do. These days, Dolby commands a half-packed house at the Showbox on a Wednesday night, with an audience of mostly-seated mostly 40-somethings who mostly know him as “that one-hit wonder who made the quirky synth tune about ‘Science’”. Before Wednesday, I myself could only name one and a half Thomas Dolby songs. But I love synths. And I love that ‘Science’ song. And I love seeing people after the cool has gone.
Dolby certainly had the appearance of a novelty act past its expiration date as he took the stage. He wore what looked like a miner’s light over a spandex cap and a big puffy coat, the kind of thing that might have seemed ‘cutting edge’ in the 80s. His accompaniment, and older guitar player and a younger drummer, could have just as easily slid into a wedding band or some other type of session work. Half of the set was older, better-known tunes, while the other half was Dolby’s newer Americana- tinged efforts. The synths and samples were bombastic and dated. I knew very little of the older stuff and none of the new stuff. And yet, halfway through the performance I realized something strange was happening: I was enjoying Thomas Dolby, the one-hit wonder, more than I had enjoyed Radiohead, the band I had grown up with.
Let’s be clear: I didn’t find Dolby’s music better, or even more important than Radiohead’s. Dolby just had a better grasp of both his physical venue, and his figurative role as a performer in it. He worked harder at earning our attention because he knew he had to. He was no longer cool, so he might as well be good. He talked as much as he performed, telling funny and/or poignant stories before every song. Perhaps Thomas Dolby is just a good storyteller and an old-fashioned English charmer, but the stories worked; I was invested in the songs before he even played them. And for every story he told of a highlight of his bygone pop-star days, there was always some awkward moment in there to balance them out.
He recounted being flown to Spain to lip-sync in front of hundreds of teenagers on a Spanish television show (pop-star), but not knowing any of the words because it was a Spanish version he sang phonetically off of cue cards in the studio (awkward). He talked of being interviewed by a New Orleans radio station due to the popularity of one of his songs there (pop-star), but then being called-out and embarrassed by some of the geographical factual inaccuracies in the song (awkward). He talked of meeting a bar proprietor who had been briefly famous in 1961 for writing “The Mother-in-Law Song”. ‘I heard you had a hit once, too’, the man told Dolby in the story, which of course got the biggest laugh from the crowd.
By contrast, Thom Yorke’s only real attempt to connect with the Key Arena crowd was his thoughts on a new song entitled “Daily Mail”: ‘The Daily Mail is a UK tabloid paper that goes through people’s trash, which is shitty’. Radiohead did what Radiohead does: live and perform in their own imagined vacuum. Thom Yorke will continue to pretend the college meatheads screaming “Radiohead! Fuck Yeah!” over his tense piano intro to “Pyramid Song” don’t exist. The band will pretend that their music translates as well to the top of an arena as it did when they were starting out in small clubs. They will pretend that they aren’t playing disjointed electro-afrobeat grooves to packed arenas now because of a pop song that a million sixteen year-olds liked over a decade ago. And they will still be uncomfortable with some photo requests even while being the most photographed band in the world.
What both acts have figured out: work faster and harder than the criticism around you. When the noise (or lack thereof) around your work becomes overbearing, sidestep it by moving onto the next idea, next project, next album without thinking twice. This is what doomed hair metal. When Kurt’s guitar threatened to end a thousand careers overnight, instead of hair bands digging in and saying: “Well, fuck it. Let’s just keep doing what we do,” they all reacted as if they were caught with their hand in the cookie jar, backpedaling, fixing their images, getting “harder” or “softer” as they saw fit, but generally fading away. If Dolby wants to invent something, or make a video game, or add fiddles and banjos to synth pop for a new album, he just does it and moves on. If Radiohead wants to make an album where they masturbate all over a bunch of loop stations and delay pedals, they just do it and move on. Who cares what we say; they’re already on to the next thing.
What only Thomas Dolby seems to have figured out, though, is this: own everything you’ve done, past and present. He owns the elephants of his past, neither clinging desperately to his brightest successes nor overcompensating with ‘newness’ to prove he isn’t a one-trick pony. His songs and stories reflect his career accurately: Some are cool. Some are awkward. All of them are uniquely him. His self-awareness allows him to combine the novelty of his past and his continuing music exploration into one harmonious whole.
Radiohead live in a weird fame construct, sharing none of the musical/ aesthetic/ lifestyle choices of the Taylor Swifts and Kanye Wests that occupy the same arenas on different nights, but all of the popularity. If they admitted they were cool, it would probably make them less cool.
So is it great? Is it awkward? Do they embrace their past or hate it (the Key Arena show contained no songs from Pablo Honey or The Bends)? Are these the stages and shows they always dreamed of or is it some sort of twisted nightmare? Do they own the fact that they are an arena rock band now or are they just resigned to it? How would we even know? Anyone who has followed their career and attitudes knows these are legitimate questions to ask. My inability to find answers may be as much to blame for me not enjoying the show as Key Arena’s shitty acoustics. In the end, I’m left with a humorous and dead-on take from a friend seeing the band in similar circumstances years ago: “I didn’t think it was going to be a good show, but it was Radiohead; it was the right thing to do.”
If you have paid attention to popular music during the last decade and noticed and appreciated a huge anomaly in the middle of it, going to see Radiohead is the right thing to do. It is the cool thing to do, meaning you should do it, even if you don’t necessarily enjoy it or understand why other people do. Meanwhile, Thomas Dolby has found the one loophole that allows you to be cool even when you’re not naturally anymore (or never were): do what you do, own what you do, and don’t give a fuck about how it looks to other people. Always be comfortable in your own skin, otherwise all the interest and attention you garner will be fleeting.
I hope Radiohead figures this out at some point before they are done being the biggest band in the world. Right now, they are a newly-crowned King Macbeth: still paranoid to opposition even with no enemies left. Maybe in another twenty years we’ll see a relaxed band, playing a half-packed venue on a Wednesday night, telling engaging stories about their heady days as the world’s biggest draw. They’ll laugh and joke about how surreal it all was, and about how seriously they took it. They’ll play any and every song from their catalog they feel like playing, without hesitation or fear of what it says about them now or what it said about them then. Tell me: Which group of musicians would you rather be in? Which show would you rather see?
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Seismic-Sound Album Reviews: Out On The Streets and Unsane.
Out On The Streets~ (Self Released)
4-21-12
The last time I saw Out On The Streets they were playing with my band, and the always-amazing Keaton Collective rounding out our mish-mash rock and roll bill, in an extremely sleazy bar in Bellingham that shall remain nameless. The night was sweaty, soaked with booze, and overall hard to remember. Therefore, it was no surprise that I completely forgot the name of the band, their sound, and all of their songs by the time I listened to their most recent EP, We Buy Gold.
I’m glad to say that it totally made my morning. Their bouncy, infectious blend of brit-pop and 80’s anthem rock is just the type of thing to get your day going. Despite the obvious influence of bands like The Clash and The Smiths, they take their songs in some fairly heavy directions, adding dirt to their music that complements their gleefully spastic moments.
Besides making you want to get up and jump around, there is a certain amount of retro spice to this record that keeps it from ever sounding too commercial or mainstream. While the band clearly embraces the concept of the rock anthem, they’ve paid attention to all the other details that make a song decent and palatable. “Effigies” is definitely the cut on this EP, sucking you in with a sweet bass hook and really picks up the pace once Kelly McShane (vocals) drops in and spits his lovable British-English all over your ears.
The band will undoubtedly be playing a myriad of shows around the Northwest this year, and I highly recommend you get your dapper butts out to support these guys. They just received their first rotation on 107.7 The End’s Local Show, and I can’t imagine any reason they won’t be some sort of mainstay on KEXP in the coming months.
6.9
G.K.
Unsane~ Wreck (Alternative Tenatacles)
3-20-12
An overturned, rat-infested dumpster gathers flies in a urine-soaked alley. A faulty wiring strobe light illuminates a spatter of blood on the tiled wall of the Subway station. A severed limb on smoking blacktop, the burning automobile, a helpless scream from a steel inferno. A clown with smudged makeup shooting junk in a construction site porta-potty. A harmonica solo. Wait, what?! Oh, and there’s a time machine over there, too. Pretty sure it’s a time machine.
You might think you’ve stumbled on all of the above with one spin of Wreck, the new Unsane record. NYC’s finest purveyors of hardcore dirge, grime, and urban violence return with their first since 2007’s excellent Visqueen. It’s easy to file this one in the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” category – it’s essentially a very slender variation on the type of solid, scuzzy records Unsane has been putting out since 1991. Here, Chris Spencer’s distorto-shriek and Telecaster caterwaul certainly have a vehicular feel – the lurching rhythms reminiscent of a runaway blues train. Sure, there are a few new wrinkles, the brooding poetic license of “Decay” and the stoner Skynyrd slack of “Stuck.” But for the most part, it’s status quo, big bashers like “No Chance” (featuring, yes, the mandatory harmonica squall) offer little for optimists – equal parts punk, noise and hardcore, it’s music for ex-cons, all blue collar tendon and gristle.
If you’re a fan from way back, Wreck will provide you with a taste of yesteryear. Believe it or not, there was a time when Unsane was a scary band – from album covers and lyrics to live shows that left a legacy of stitches and scars the world over – this was an outfit notorious for not only playing but also living the part. For the uninitiated who might be reading about these semi-legends for the first time – you could do worse than to start with Wreck and work your way back. It’s far from their best record – most would argue it’s 1995’s Scattered, Smothered and Covered– but there’s still plenty of fight left in this dog.
7.9
S.W.
Seismic-Sound’s Newest Addition: Guy Keltner
Hello. I’m Guy Keltner. I’m a struggling musician living the dream in Seattle, working in online advertising during the day and playing with my band at night. I’ve been involved in the local music scene for well over a decade now, and I can honestly say, I wish there were some more decent rock and roll bands around town. This isn’t to say that I am not a fan of the immensely talented acts peppered throughout this city’s fine music scene. I could just really use a few more face-melting solos from time to time. Unlike a lot of music writers (especially in the Northwest), I don’t intend to provide any real negative criticism of bands or shows, unless someone is exceptionally awful and worth mentioning. More specifically, I’m hoping to provide some insight into the scene from the perspective of someone who’s really getting a great picture of the many trials and tribulations of what it takes to be a working musician at every level of the game.
Seismic-Sound Rad-Libs with: Galen Disston of Pickwick
6-8 hours on the road puts: hair on my face. Not really, but oh holy god please give me hair on my face.
Galen Disston can: be mistaken for a woman.
The term “blue eyed soul” has: never made sense to me. The Spencer Davis Group does though.
Seattle could never: lose its luster. I still feel butterflies about this place.
My hair tends: to cause me to be mistaken for a woman.
3 things about me, people might be surprised about are: I have 2 kids, I love the Grateful Dead, and I am actually a man.
if I could collect anything, at any cost it would be: Chad Vangaalen’s Skelliconnection on Vinyl.
The state of our music scene is: pretty incredible. Excited for Thee Satisfaction, Damien Jurado, Kevin Long, and of course, Campfire OK.
Pickwicks new album has: Luke Skywalkers blessing.
A perfect day consists of: not going to my day job, make believing with my son, eating cheesecake, listening to FOXYGEN, making money, flying (sans plane), winning the lottery, seeing the WAR ON DRUGS live, and taking a shower.
The Grizzled Mighty play this Saturday on Audio Oasis at The Sunset Tavern. April 7th, 2012.
Kris Orlowski at Columbia City Theater ( currently working on a new album)
Japanther play April 21st at the Blacklodge.
Seismic-Sound 