2nd November 2010

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The Strange Boys and Natural Child at the Knitting Factory

Well, this is a bit later than I normally like to post concert reports, and the next one couple will probably be kind of late too, but, well, shit’s busy, okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! New, cool stuff is coming up, we swears!

Natural Child, gettin’ all psychedelic…

Going into this show, I didn’t really know much about Natural Child, so, being a pessimist, I went in to things not expecting anything stellar. I’d also hyped myself up for the Strange Boys by listening to the songs “Be Brave” and “This Girl Taught Me a Dance” several times. I set myself up for a pleasant surprise and a kind of bummer, both in the same night.

A couple o’ the Strange Boys. God I suck.

I’ll get the bummer out of the way first. Strange Boys? Not that awesome. To be honest, I had sort of forgotten that, aside from a handful of genuinely awesome songs, they don’t really have a lot of great material. I’ve been kind of underwhelmed by both of their records, and their set at the Knitting Factory last Thursday was another not-as-amazing-as-I’d-like one. But, here’s the bright side of things. They do have some songs that I think are truly awesome (the aforementioned ones, in particular), and I get the feeling that they will be a great band at some point. The elements are clearly present, but, as things stand right now, they’re still just shy of awesome. Thursday-night-specific issue: I could have used more sax in the mix Thursday night, I couldn’t really hear it, and it was sorely missed on “Be Brave.”

Drummers (like the one above, from Natural Child) make the best goofs.

Now, the pleasant surprise: Natural Child fucking kills! They hit on all sorts of awesome — from catchy, Stooges-inspired riffs to acid-garage grooves — and the chatter in between songs was legitimately funny, in a personal, conversational way. Not “shtick” and not “banter.” I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised; guest-contributor Leigh mentioned the group in her write-up of Scion Garage Fest, and called them “an integral part of everything I currently love that’s coming out of Nashville lately.” Sign me on to the Natural Child-fan-party. They’re in it to win it. And any band that makes jokes about Eric Clapton’s baby has all the punk rock cred you need.

Tagged: Knitting FactoryNatural ChildStrange BoysWHATTA BUNCH A YUK-A-LUKShonkers and squeakersstuck in thee garagestooges

18th October 2010

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King Khan & the Shrines / Gentleman Jesse & his Men / LiveFastDie at the Bell House

LiveFastDie gettin’ all Ramones on yo’ ass.

Lost a guitar strap, but kept it goin’ like a pro. You should’ve seen the band teamwork utilized to get the strap back on. Brought a tear to my eye.

Not sure what the deal with the party shirt/Jersey beanie/mustache/sunglasses combo is about, but … I guess I’m fer it?

I arrived at the Bell House late, I’m sure well into the first set, but still managed to catch LiveFastDie blast out about a dozen songs. My first thought upon seeing the group of Jay Reatard-lookin’ dudes One-Two-Three-Four!’ing through cut after cut of Ramones tunes was that there wasn’t much going on here. But I realized after every song ended with about a minute and a half of faux-facemelting guitar noodles that there really was some second-order aesthetics going on. The group was making fun of guitar acrobatics, making fun of rock music in general, and the result was some abrasive Voidoidsian noise that was honestly pretty funny. Solid.

Gentleman Jesse and the Attractions his Men.

Goof-a-loof.

Gentleman Jesse and his Men pulled together janglin’ guitars; treble-y organ sound; tight, pounding drums; and sweet gang vocals to create a catchy set of pop songs that sort of ran backwards through time. By the end of their set, they were playing roots rock, but when it began, Jesse was clearly Elvis Costello-ing around the stage. The five-piece was tight as all hell, with, as far as I could tell, not a single stumble. Definitely one to watch out for, and as Jesse mentioned a couple times, the Atlanta crew will be coming back to the city for CMJ this week, so if you’re doing that thing, you might wanna check them out.

Lead guitarist Till Tim gettin’ ready to introduce the King.

A new dancer and a sweet-ass hat.

The ballin’est horn section in all the nations.

After much free-jazz noise-fanfare from the powerful horn, guitar, percussion, and synth combo that is the Shrines, King Khan took the stage wearing a five-feathered fedora and began to knock out some heavily rockin’ soul music. It sounded gnarly and everything, but the crowd was still a little subdued. You might have thought something was wrong, but the truth is you just don’t dance ‘til Khan tells you. And when he does, you fuckin’ get down. As the second number started, Khan ordered the crowd eruption, and from that point forward, things only got increasingly insane. The horn section was tight as is possible, and the whole band were nailing the falsetto pieces hard. The whole band was truly in top condition, and when they blasted through songs like “Land of the Freaks” at maddening speeds, it served only to knock home the fact that this band is unparalleled in funk and garage sound. Khan closed out the lowdown and dirty performance of a new song, “Bite My Tongue,” by shouting out “I’m the son of a bad muthafucka,” and he proved it time and time again. Near the end of the set, Khan delivered more orders to the crowd. “Everybody freak the fuck out!” he screamed, and everybody did. By the time the encore came around, Khan relinquished his control of the crowd, and they took to the stage. It was absolute chaos, with more than 25 people on stage dancing, picking up members of the horn section on their shoulders, and generally being insane. Looking into the often expressionless face of King Khan, it wouldn’t be obvious that the guy has the ability to command a crowd to do whatever he pleases, but after witnessing his skill in taking them from a fairly subdued audience to a riotous gang of psychopaths was one of the most impressive things I’ve seen in a long while.

Thanks to Liisa for taking all these photos, and hit the jump for some more. Check out her blog: Solving World Peace.

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Tagged: bell houseLiveFastDiegentleman jesse & his menking khanking khan and the shrinesgowanusstuck in thee garagehonkers and squeakers

12th June 2010

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Whoopie Pie OV Life at The Stone

Last time I was at The Stone, it was a considerably different crowd than that which attended last night’s performance. Then, it was hipster dudes, and a bunch of cute Bjorks, but the turnout for Whoopie Pie OV Life, a melding of experimental-jazz-metal groups Whoopie Pie and Angel OV Death, was a bit … hairier … plus, there were heavy metal t-shirts.

I’ll get this out of the way right now: Whoopie Pie OV Life — made up of Jamie Saft on keys, Mike Pride on drums, Bill McHenry on tenor sax, and Andrew d’Angelo on alto sax and bass clarinet — is a lumbering, powerful beast of sound, an unstoppable war machine powered by black powder and constructed on a frame made of heavy, heavy metal.

The Stone still has that same comfortable feel of your friend’s basement, rigged up last minute for a concert thrown for classmates and neighbors, yet still with enough know-how that everything works out alright, despite the “is this really cool that we’re doing this?” vibe.  And the bathroom still has convenient right-behind-the-band location, which I still find baffling. There’s no riser for the performers, but that’s part of what makes it cool; they’re there with you. In fact, before the show, when the awkward beardos were all sitting around silently, Bill McHenry invited us to “feel free to talk amongst yourselves.” Nice sentiment and everything, but not with this crowd, bud. Not until someone steps up to be dungeon master.

The show began when the performers wandered out of the back stage area, and, with no great fanfare or even signal to anyone that the performance might begin, just started going at it. Saft’s keys had the sound of a vintage, b-movie organ soundtrack, setting the mood for much of the set in a dark, atmospheric tone. He provided much of the bed from which the other performers would spring off and rest upon. Pride’s brush-work in the earlier moments of the set were the scratches and slaps of a tweaker, almost schizophrenic rhythmically and visually. For the first several minutes of the piece, d’Angelo took the lead, and the feel of it all was like Dracula’s worst trip. Eventually, d’Angelo sunk further back into the group, eventually ending up behind the drum set, letting McHenry pick things up for a while, occasionally jumping in for some tag action.

Soon, things became more and more aggressive, and Pride dropped the brushes and pulled out the sticks.  Throughout the set, he would occasionally return to the brushes, and at one point used a pair of mallets, but from here on out, it was pretty much all punch.  His frenetic style was impressive, and that made it all the more effective when it was time to drop the spazz fills a bit and fall into a groove. He held it down while still having his way with time.

McHenry and d’Angelo spent much of the set in the lead, d’Angelo lurching forward to positively squeal, bursting with energy, screaming like a demonic eagle before running all around the other musicians, really exploring the space, as Bruce Dickinson would have wanted, before leaving to rest off in a corner, letting McHenry or Saft do his thing. Saft’s solos were volcanic, heavy and unstoppable liquid rock. McHenry’s work was a bit more melodic than the others’, and his tone was deep.

During a moment of duet between Saft and Pride, d’Angelo dropped his alto and picked up a bass clarinet before strolling back into the mix to make the clarinet whine, squeak, and growl. Pretty soon, things went back into full force for some heavy dirge. At this point, the group really sounded like they were taking flight, a black airship cruising through the sky for several moments, only in preparation to rocket out into space. The set was full of moments like this, one moment, just chilling on a space trip, the next, combat between alien birds and out of control machines, their earsplitting digital screams piercing through the cosmic mud.

In all, it was a fantastic performance, but I was a bit disappointed that, when d’Angelo went into the bathroom to wipe the sweat from his forehead that he didn’t also blast out a solo while taking a leak. But I guess you can’t get everything you want.

Check out Whoopie Pie, Angel OV Death, and everything else on Veal Records.

Tagged: getting into a serious thinghonkers and squeakers