New Music For Old People (aka the new classic rock)
White Stripes - Hello Operator
Hives - Hate To Say I Told You So
Modey Lemon - Feed The Babies
Black Lips - Hippie Hippie Hooray!
The Mooney Suzuki - In A Young Man's Mind
Black Keys - 10AM Automatic
Brian Jonestown Massacre - Open Heart Sugery
My Morning Jacket - One Big Holiday
Magnolia Electric Co. - Dark Don't Hide It
Nebula - Atomic Ritual
Comets On Fire - Pussy Foot The Duke
Black Mountain - Don't Run Our Hearts Around
Dead Meadow - At Her Open Door
Witchcraft - It's So Easy
Wolfmother - Where Eagles Have Been
The Sword - Freya
Witch - The Seer
Litmus - Rays Of Sonic Light
Earthless - Cherry Red
Awesome Color - Transparent
Thee Oh Sees - Ruby
Wino - Release Me
Priestess - Lay Down
Ladyhawk - I Don't Always Know What You're Saying
Red Cedar - Take It Back
Woods - Rain On
Astra - Ouroboros
I made this partially because I hate it when people say, "there's no good music anymore," or "music was way better in...(whatever time music was way better)." More importantly, I made this for my Dad. He's been surprising me lately. He's discovered Youtube since retiring and is getting onto all kinds of old bands he missed out on. He wanted to know about Motorhead the other day! I figured it'd be a while yet before he got to anything made in this decade unless I gave him some help.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Recap
So I'm back from Calgary's second annual Sled Island music festival. Due to lack of funds, I was only able to purchase a single-day wristband instead of staying for the whole event. What a trip it was though... I suppose I'll just recap the whole thing from the beginning. If you just we want to get to the bands I saw, skip ahead about three paragraphs, most of this is narrative for my own benefit.
I left on a bus at 12:30 on Wednesday night, a mode of transportation that guarantees a healthy mix of itinerant labourers, homeless alcoholics and haggard-looking teen moms. Somehow I managed to stay sane over the 18 hour journey, though I suppose I owe my survival to a mix of Irvine Welsh's novel Porno and a contraband bottle of rye. Arriving Thursday evening, I immediately had to orient myself in a city I haven't visited since I was 12. Luckily, with typical Albertan pragmatism, Calgary is laid out in a grid system with numbered streets and avenues and divided into quadrants. Without too much trouble I was able to meet up with my good friend Noah the White, and negotiate access to a show he was doing sound for as his assistant.
The fact that the band playing was none other than my dear friends Red Cedar did not hurt my chances at getting in. The Vancouver boys gave a typically strong performance to a rather sparse crowd, with their hazy roots-rock shuffles and rustic country twang going over well with the locals. The performance was somewhat subdued by their standards, but it fit the intimate room they played in and the relaxed atmosphere of a beautiful summer evening. Lead guitarist J.P. Doucet ripped out his gritty Neil Young-isms over a gorgeous bed of Leslie organ laid down by Bruce Ledingham. Their sunny, expansive jams were a perfect antidote to a long trip in a sweaty, confined bus. The group's harmonies were as tight and tuneful as I have yet heard, although gonzo drummer Colin Jones didn't wield the mighty hammer of Thor quite so heavily as I am accustomed to seeing him do. I suppose his trademark thunderblitzes would not have fit the mood of this particularly quixotic evening, but I am looking forward to seeing them make a triumphant return to Vancouver's finest venue, the Biltmore. That place always seems to bring out the heaviness in those boys. They are in the middle of a tour of Western Canada right now, getting tight and road-tested like all good bands must. Look for a new record from them some time this year.
The Cedar boys and I adjourned to our hotel room to drop off gear after the show.They were kind enough to let my crash there for free... their room at the Fairmont was being sprung for by none other than mister Chad Kroeger's 604 records. They were being paid to back an artist on that labels roster for a few shows at the festival, and a posh hotel was part of the deal. We were sure to raid the minibar. An unexpected bonus was the fact that many other musicians were staying in the same hotel, so I enjoyed chance encounters various musicians throughout our stay. Although my buddies were out to party, I was too exhausted to do much. I spent a little while walking around the city on my own to get familiar with my surroundings and picked up a case of beer, from which I proceeded to donate refreshments to a couple thirsty members of Oakland fuzz rockers Drunk Horse as they hung out in the lobby. I also managed to make a fool out of myself by accosting Lee Ronaldo on the street. I rarely get star-struck, but he's just so freaking cool. I probably could have reunited with my buddies in Red Cedar and joined them in getting trashed with members of the defunct Vancouver bong-thrashers Bogus Tokus who had curated the festival, as well as Matt Pike and Al Cisneros of Sleep, (and High On Fire and Om respectively) who happen to be two of my personal heroes. But instead I showered and went to bed. Drag.
Friday morning saw us longhairs out in the hotel in force. We were harassed by security for taking advantage of the spa options available to us. Bunch of dirtbags we are!
Ah yes, the shows. We began with a workshop on unconventional guitar techniques led by Sonic Youth godhead Lee Ronaldo at an art speace down town. I suppose if you spend decades dedicating your life to expanding the vocabulary of an instrument you'll pick up a few tricks along the way, but what I witnessed was still astonishing. He began by playing some videos of various performances, then proceeded to unleash a 25 minute storm of sound that peeled paint from the walls, all the while never fretting a single note. Here is an example of the kind of stuff he was doing. It simply consisted of him exploring the properties of the instrument in every way except playing it normally. He bowed the strings, hit it body with his fists, played cell phone messages through the pickups, created feedback loops and fed everything through an array of warping devices only he could comprehend, the whole time coaxing unimaginable sounds from his instrument. It was a magnificent performance from one of the instrument's most idiosyncratic and daring practitioners.
Across town we dropped into a pub so crowded I could only stand in the doorway with the stage out of my line of sight. Fortunately, Dead Meadow are loud enough that I could have heard them playing from the Saddledome. The power trio's heady stomp can transport listeners to fantasy realms like few else, and guitarist Jason Simon is the wah-pedal's foremost practitioner today. Dude uses two... don't ask me why. Steve Kille meanwhile worked his bass aggressively in and out of Simon's clouds of sound, but was always right there when it was time to hammer the riff home. People have referred to their sound as being similar to shoegaze, and though their dense wall of fuzz owes much to volume abusers like the Spacemen 3 and My Bloody Valentine Dead Meadow's jams are too hot and aggressively psychedelic to sink into stoned lethargy, despite what the band's detractor's often claim. The many layers of sound that the listener must penetrate are a sonic signifier for the band, but the musicianship here is top notch. Simon and Kille are master jammers, constantly exploring every colour suggested by their deceptively simple phrases and while pummeling the heaviest of riffs. They did a set loaded with old favourites, probably because they've recently been rejoined by original drummer Mark McLaughlin, and were in peak form throughout. Those guys bring it on stage all the time, every time.
I saw C'mon later in the afternoon on the main stage, and though I am not familiar with them, I was impressed. The power trio did a raging take on biker rock that served as a good accompaniment for beers in the afternoon. They were raw, powerful and sludgy, although perhaps they betrayed a bit of a lack of melodic inspiration. The songs did become samey after a while, but their set was short, powerful and enjoyable, ending before there was time for monotony to become apparent. A good, rockin' take on hard boogie that is seldom re-visited in this day and age.
Vancouver metal gods Bison hit the stage to entertain a small but enthusiastic crowd that happily lapped up the band's sludgy thrash. As usual, this band proved themselves a force of nature onstage, and is truly in a league with any metal band going right now. This is my first time seeing them since they got a new drummer, (they remain on friendly terms with the original skin-basher, who could be seen happily watching the set from the side of the stage) and there has been a noticeable tightening-up of their sound. The new guy looks completely psychotic while playing, another bonus. Where once these heshers added a good dose of groove to their metal, they now employ a more rigid and straight forward metallic attack. If anything, they've become more brutal, but they have not lost the crushing hyper riff attack and ability to downshift into gutpunching chugging rhythms that has always been their trademark. The solos from both lead guitarists were creative and intense, and the hardcore-influenced gang vocals full-throated and powerful. The set was comprised of songs from their last 2 excellent albums, Quiet Earth and Dark Ages, and the superiority of their material was immediately apparent. An excellent band that continues to develop its singular voice organically, these guys should continue to rupture ear drums for many years to come.
I'm not exactly a huge fan of the Buzzcocks, but they do have a handful of songs I enjoy. It's cool that such a legendary punk band would come to Calgary, but truth be told they seemed a little out of place amid all the heavies on the bill. Still, the crowd seemed happy to pogo along to crunchy pop-punk classics like "What Do I Get" and "Ever Fallen In Love." There were a few missteps in the set, making the band come off as under-rehearsed. Sharing a stage with so many younger, hungrier and more technically accomplished bands threw these mishaps into sharper relief, but the guys got over on enthusiasm and seemed to really be enjoying themselves. Aside from Pete Shelley, I have no idea how many members were from the classic late '70s lineup, so its possible there were some new members still getting comfortable with the set. Still, they did all the songs I had hoped to hear from them and delivered a totally satisfactory and enjoyable performance.
Texan myth-metal warriors The Sword hit the stage next, and their bludgeoning attack prompted a violent moshpit reaction from some members of the crowd. Unfortunately, their set was heavy on material from their most recent album, the disappointing Warp Riders. The disparity in quality between it and their first two albums was made even more apparent onstage. The set therefore came across as disjointed, as excellent fantasy themed sludge metal classics like "Freya", "Iron Swan" and "Black River" were interspersed with completely unmemorable dross. The performances were tight though, so even poor songs were somewhat enjoyable, and I must note that the bassist was intensely eye-fucking every member of the audience like vintage Nikki Sixx. Here's hoping these guys come through with some better songs on their next go-around.
I'll deal with Sleep's set in another essay. It was the best show I've ever seen.
Quest For Fire had the unenviable task of playing right after Sleep at a cramped underground venue across the street from the main stage. It was apparent that the band was doubly disappointed with their slot, because they clearly would have liked to have been at the Sleep show themselves. Nonetheless, they worked hard to put on a solid show, and their hazy psych builds served as a good come down from the relentless heaviness of Sleep. The crowd grooved as the band's crescendo-laden set ebbed and flowed. At times their fuzzy atmospherics did get a little faceless, a problem the Toronto quartet has on record, but for the most part an enjoyable show.
A friend and I ducked out of the venue to grab some air and a slice of pizza, but when we got back the venue was full, so we missed out on seeing Portland booze rockers Red Fang. That didn't really bother me, as I met up with some good friends, and we spent the rest of the night swigging red wine and reflecting on Sleep's astonishing set. A perfect end to what might be the greatest day of my life.
I left for home the following day, but not before paying a visit to Sloth Records, a great little store with a whole bunch of 80s underground and alternative rock, plus a pretty healthy selection of Hawkwind vinyl to boot.
I left on a bus at 12:30 on Wednesday night, a mode of transportation that guarantees a healthy mix of itinerant labourers, homeless alcoholics and haggard-looking teen moms. Somehow I managed to stay sane over the 18 hour journey, though I suppose I owe my survival to a mix of Irvine Welsh's novel Porno and a contraband bottle of rye. Arriving Thursday evening, I immediately had to orient myself in a city I haven't visited since I was 12. Luckily, with typical Albertan pragmatism, Calgary is laid out in a grid system with numbered streets and avenues and divided into quadrants. Without too much trouble I was able to meet up with my good friend Noah the White, and negotiate access to a show he was doing sound for as his assistant.
The fact that the band playing was none other than my dear friends Red Cedar did not hurt my chances at getting in. The Vancouver boys gave a typically strong performance to a rather sparse crowd, with their hazy roots-rock shuffles and rustic country twang going over well with the locals. The performance was somewhat subdued by their standards, but it fit the intimate room they played in and the relaxed atmosphere of a beautiful summer evening. Lead guitarist J.P. Doucet ripped out his gritty Neil Young-isms over a gorgeous bed of Leslie organ laid down by Bruce Ledingham. Their sunny, expansive jams were a perfect antidote to a long trip in a sweaty, confined bus. The group's harmonies were as tight and tuneful as I have yet heard, although gonzo drummer Colin Jones didn't wield the mighty hammer of Thor quite so heavily as I am accustomed to seeing him do. I suppose his trademark thunderblitzes would not have fit the mood of this particularly quixotic evening, but I am looking forward to seeing them make a triumphant return to Vancouver's finest venue, the Biltmore. That place always seems to bring out the heaviness in those boys. They are in the middle of a tour of Western Canada right now, getting tight and road-tested like all good bands must. Look for a new record from them some time this year.
The Cedar boys and I adjourned to our hotel room to drop off gear after the show.They were kind enough to let my crash there for free... their room at the Fairmont was being sprung for by none other than mister Chad Kroeger's 604 records. They were being paid to back an artist on that labels roster for a few shows at the festival, and a posh hotel was part of the deal. We were sure to raid the minibar. An unexpected bonus was the fact that many other musicians were staying in the same hotel, so I enjoyed chance encounters various musicians throughout our stay. Although my buddies were out to party, I was too exhausted to do much. I spent a little while walking around the city on my own to get familiar with my surroundings and picked up a case of beer, from which I proceeded to donate refreshments to a couple thirsty members of Oakland fuzz rockers Drunk Horse as they hung out in the lobby. I also managed to make a fool out of myself by accosting Lee Ronaldo on the street. I rarely get star-struck, but he's just so freaking cool. I probably could have reunited with my buddies in Red Cedar and joined them in getting trashed with members of the defunct Vancouver bong-thrashers Bogus Tokus who had curated the festival, as well as Matt Pike and Al Cisneros of Sleep, (and High On Fire and Om respectively) who happen to be two of my personal heroes. But instead I showered and went to bed. Drag.
Friday morning saw us longhairs out in the hotel in force. We were harassed by security for taking advantage of the spa options available to us. Bunch of dirtbags we are!
Ah yes, the shows. We began with a workshop on unconventional guitar techniques led by Sonic Youth godhead Lee Ronaldo at an art speace down town. I suppose if you spend decades dedicating your life to expanding the vocabulary of an instrument you'll pick up a few tricks along the way, but what I witnessed was still astonishing. He began by playing some videos of various performances, then proceeded to unleash a 25 minute storm of sound that peeled paint from the walls, all the while never fretting a single note. Here is an example of the kind of stuff he was doing. It simply consisted of him exploring the properties of the instrument in every way except playing it normally. He bowed the strings, hit it body with his fists, played cell phone messages through the pickups, created feedback loops and fed everything through an array of warping devices only he could comprehend, the whole time coaxing unimaginable sounds from his instrument. It was a magnificent performance from one of the instrument's most idiosyncratic and daring practitioners.
Across town we dropped into a pub so crowded I could only stand in the doorway with the stage out of my line of sight. Fortunately, Dead Meadow are loud enough that I could have heard them playing from the Saddledome. The power trio's heady stomp can transport listeners to fantasy realms like few else, and guitarist Jason Simon is the wah-pedal's foremost practitioner today. Dude uses two... don't ask me why. Steve Kille meanwhile worked his bass aggressively in and out of Simon's clouds of sound, but was always right there when it was time to hammer the riff home. People have referred to their sound as being similar to shoegaze, and though their dense wall of fuzz owes much to volume abusers like the Spacemen 3 and My Bloody Valentine Dead Meadow's jams are too hot and aggressively psychedelic to sink into stoned lethargy, despite what the band's detractor's often claim. The many layers of sound that the listener must penetrate are a sonic signifier for the band, but the musicianship here is top notch. Simon and Kille are master jammers, constantly exploring every colour suggested by their deceptively simple phrases and while pummeling the heaviest of riffs. They did a set loaded with old favourites, probably because they've recently been rejoined by original drummer Mark McLaughlin, and were in peak form throughout. Those guys bring it on stage all the time, every time.
I saw C'mon later in the afternoon on the main stage, and though I am not familiar with them, I was impressed. The power trio did a raging take on biker rock that served as a good accompaniment for beers in the afternoon. They were raw, powerful and sludgy, although perhaps they betrayed a bit of a lack of melodic inspiration. The songs did become samey after a while, but their set was short, powerful and enjoyable, ending before there was time for monotony to become apparent. A good, rockin' take on hard boogie that is seldom re-visited in this day and age.
Vancouver metal gods Bison hit the stage to entertain a small but enthusiastic crowd that happily lapped up the band's sludgy thrash. As usual, this band proved themselves a force of nature onstage, and is truly in a league with any metal band going right now. This is my first time seeing them since they got a new drummer, (they remain on friendly terms with the original skin-basher, who could be seen happily watching the set from the side of the stage) and there has been a noticeable tightening-up of their sound. The new guy looks completely psychotic while playing, another bonus. Where once these heshers added a good dose of groove to their metal, they now employ a more rigid and straight forward metallic attack. If anything, they've become more brutal, but they have not lost the crushing hyper riff attack and ability to downshift into gutpunching chugging rhythms that has always been their trademark. The solos from both lead guitarists were creative and intense, and the hardcore-influenced gang vocals full-throated and powerful. The set was comprised of songs from their last 2 excellent albums, Quiet Earth and Dark Ages, and the superiority of their material was immediately apparent. An excellent band that continues to develop its singular voice organically, these guys should continue to rupture ear drums for many years to come.
I'm not exactly a huge fan of the Buzzcocks, but they do have a handful of songs I enjoy. It's cool that such a legendary punk band would come to Calgary, but truth be told they seemed a little out of place amid all the heavies on the bill. Still, the crowd seemed happy to pogo along to crunchy pop-punk classics like "What Do I Get" and "Ever Fallen In Love." There were a few missteps in the set, making the band come off as under-rehearsed. Sharing a stage with so many younger, hungrier and more technically accomplished bands threw these mishaps into sharper relief, but the guys got over on enthusiasm and seemed to really be enjoying themselves. Aside from Pete Shelley, I have no idea how many members were from the classic late '70s lineup, so its possible there were some new members still getting comfortable with the set. Still, they did all the songs I had hoped to hear from them and delivered a totally satisfactory and enjoyable performance.
Texan myth-metal warriors The Sword hit the stage next, and their bludgeoning attack prompted a violent moshpit reaction from some members of the crowd. Unfortunately, their set was heavy on material from their most recent album, the disappointing Warp Riders. The disparity in quality between it and their first two albums was made even more apparent onstage. The set therefore came across as disjointed, as excellent fantasy themed sludge metal classics like "Freya", "Iron Swan" and "Black River" were interspersed with completely unmemorable dross. The performances were tight though, so even poor songs were somewhat enjoyable, and I must note that the bassist was intensely eye-fucking every member of the audience like vintage Nikki Sixx. Here's hoping these guys come through with some better songs on their next go-around.
I'll deal with Sleep's set in another essay. It was the best show I've ever seen.
Quest For Fire had the unenviable task of playing right after Sleep at a cramped underground venue across the street from the main stage. It was apparent that the band was doubly disappointed with their slot, because they clearly would have liked to have been at the Sleep show themselves. Nonetheless, they worked hard to put on a solid show, and their hazy psych builds served as a good come down from the relentless heaviness of Sleep. The crowd grooved as the band's crescendo-laden set ebbed and flowed. At times their fuzzy atmospherics did get a little faceless, a problem the Toronto quartet has on record, but for the most part an enjoyable show.
A friend and I ducked out of the venue to grab some air and a slice of pizza, but when we got back the venue was full, so we missed out on seeing Portland booze rockers Red Fang. That didn't really bother me, as I met up with some good friends, and we spent the rest of the night swigging red wine and reflecting on Sleep's astonishing set. A perfect end to what might be the greatest day of my life.
I left for home the following day, but not before paying a visit to Sloth Records, a great little store with a whole bunch of 80s underground and alternative rock, plus a pretty healthy selection of Hawkwind vinyl to boot.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Departure
I'm going to the Sled Island music festival in Calgary. Gonna catch a bunch of wicked bands, including a reformed Sleep and the Buzzcocks. Updates when I return.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Memorial
June 6, 1944. D-Day. Here is a small musical tribute in the form of Iron Maiden's "The Longest Day" dedicated to the brave men who charged into the grey mists that fateful morning 67 years ago today.
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