The Wrens/Poor But Sexy; November 20, 2009; Black Cat, Washington DC

It was a weird feeling. The house concert was over and everyone was in bed and I was wide awake. I was surfing the web, and thought I would check in on the Wrens site. I was already looking forward to the two sold-out shows they were playing at Maxwell’s next month and I was surprised to see a third show had been added that was also sold out. I was even more surprised to see a Washington DC show at the Black Cat two weeks before that. I immediately checked plane fares and was about to buy a plane ticket when I caught myself, I was a little drunk and besides, going to that show would be Nick-crazy. I shut off my computer and went to sleep.

The next morning I congratulated myself on being rational. Two days later I bought a plane ticket.

I’ve theorized before that the first show of any their two night stands is always a little less than mind-blowing as they shake off the rust of their very intermittent tour schedule (as in, they don’t tour), and I wondered how this one-off show would be. I’m not sure why I ever question whether or not it is worth it, because it always is, and tonight’s show was absolutely amazing. It may have something to do with those three Maxwell’s shows, one of which was to be an all-request evening and another The Meadowlands in its entirety. They had been practicing and this was a trial run of some of those songs.

Instead of being the “same old stuff that you’ve seen million times” as Greg had told me tonight would be, there was a healthy dose of very promising new material and seldom played songs from older releases. Admittedly, I can’t tell the difference since Meadowlands is pretty much exclusively all I listen to. And why not? It just gets better with every listen. Subtleties that I had missed on previous listens come to the forefront and my second favorite song changes on a regular basis, with the amazing “She Sends Kisses” always my first favorite of course. I’ve been waiting years to hear “Ex-Girl Collection,” so I was disappointed to see that it was on the “songs we know” list, but hadn’t been played. Oh well, they have to do it in Hoboken.

But that was my only disappointment. Someone I can guarantee wasn’t disappointed at all was my new friend 12 year old Darren and his dad, who had driven four hours from the middle of Pennsylvania for the show. I was expecting that it was dad who was the fan, but instead it was Darren who had found them on the Internet and gotten his father into their music. He had been waiting a long time for an all ages show and was in the very front row tonight. He watched the entire set with wide-eyed wonder but it wasn’t until the encore that it was guaranteed that every other show for the rest of life wouldn’t compare. Kevin returned for the traditional encore song “This Is Not What You Had Planned,” came over to our side on the stage, pulled Darren up, and sat him next to him at the keyboard. Maybe he showed him which key to plink, maybe not, but in that one song Darren stole the show. He returned to his spot after the song followed by a chant of “Dar-ren! Dar-ren!” from the audience.

And that is why I buy plane tickets. It is worth it every single time.

As usual the opener was a study in tediousness. This time it was Poor But Sexy, a DC based band with a penchant for Jason Mraz-type white boy hip-hop. The best thing about them was their name. As I stood in the front row, trying hard not to let my annoyance show, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the guitar player and guest musician looked very familiar. It made sense when I found out later that they were both in the Dismemberment Plan. And then it made me sad because that band was awesome, and this one was not. Luckily the Wrens are always good enough to make up for whatever opener I have to sit through.

Poor but Sexy




The Wrens

Jon Dee Graham; November 6, 2009; Kiki’s House of Righteous Music

Back in August I was excited to see the Mountain Goats were finally coming back to Madison. It had been years (four? five?) since John Darnielle and company had last played Madison, filling the cramped Catacombs with college kids eager to hear his smart, wordy songs. While the last couple shows I had seen were lackluster, I was still looking forward to a Mountain Goats’ show I didn’t have to drive to. Then Jon Dee’s new booking agent contacted me about having him play the house the same night. Oh well, sorry Mountain Goats, guess I’ll have to wait four more years.

In July ’08 Jon Dee fell asleep driving back to Austin from a gig in Dallas. Everyone from the state trooper who found him to the paramedics said he should have been dead, but it turns out he is too ornery to die. The first time I had seen him post-accident was several SXSW gigs back in March. The short sets seemed perfect for the still-recovering musician. A Saturday night show at the Saxon Pub found them packing up instead of coming back from a break. At Fitzgerald’s American Music Fest in July he talked more than usual during his early evening set, leading some to yell “shut up and play.” Note to that dude, never tell Jon Dee what to do. In the days leading up to the show at the house, he told me not only did he want to play Kiki’s House of Righteous Music, he needed it.

And what a show it was. It wasn’t the most polished show ever, but for sheer emotional intensity it would be hard to beat. Bass player Eric had played his first gig as a Fighting Cock just the night before in his hometown of Kansas City. The fact that they drove from Kansas City to do this gig was perhaps the best evidence that Jon Dee really wanted to play here. Having exhausted his exhaustive list of back-up bass players, Jon Dee eventually remembered “the guy who played with the Gaslighters that one time” (the band is actually the Gaslights). He sent him the CD and a list of other songs to learn, noting that they might not play any of them. Luckily Eric had seasoned Fighting Cock Joey Sheffield behind the drum kit to lead him through the set.

This was supposed to be the CD release show for It’s Not as Bad as It Looks, but as it turned out the official release date from Freedom Records has been pushed back to early 2010. Still, he had a box of the CDs they had given him for this short tour to sell after the show. Early in the night he had told me that he was only going to sell ten and save the rest for Chicago. By the second set he had relented and I sold every CD out of the box in just a few minutes. Sorry Chicago. If I had a dollar for every time a musician told me they thought their new release was their best yet, I’d have at least twenty dollars. But in this case it just might be true, and it has some pretty formidable competition from Summerland and The Great Battle. Most of these songs had been written before the accident, and in fact played for the first time live at the house last May, but somehow they seemed to have gained intensity since I first heard them.

The first three songs of the set were the record’s first three tracks which included the affecting “I Said” which he wrote for his oldest son Roy after he got his heart broken for the first time. It didn’t make me cry, since sad songs seldom do, it’s the amazing ones that kill me, but I heard a few folks in the audience got a little misty eyed. Tonight’s audience was raptly attentive to his stories, no one would have thought of telling him to play instead. Surprisingly most of the record is very upbeat. In the light-hearted, autobiographical “(Let's Get It) While It's There,” he directed the “I said maybe Kiki” at me after saying he would “maybe even dance." In "My Lucky Day" he names off the songs on the radio during a road trip like they are playing in his head right that moment. The aside he threw in tonight, a snide “all eleven minutes” after naming “Cortez the Killer,” was hilarious and indicative of his good mood.

For the second set he came back solo, first playing the pseudo-spiritual “God’s Gonna Give You What You Need” on lap steel before playing a handful of requests. He likes to say that “if you know my songs well enough to request one of them by name, I’m damn well gonna play it.” For the former he asked all of us to clap and stomp along, threatening that if we let up, he would too. I don’t think anyone would have begrudged him quitting early, but he played a second set almost as long as the first. I missed hearing “Airplane” and “October,” but no complaints here; it was still one of the best Jon Dee shows I’ve seen. Every show he does at the house reminds me how lucky I am, now more than ever.

Bishop Allen/Throw Me the Statue/Darwin Deez; November 2, 2009; High Noon Saloon

I still have dreams of having Bishop Allen play the basement. I felt I was close a couple years ago when they had a night off on a tour with John Vanderslice, but they ended up on the Terrace instead. Looking at the decent sized crowd assembled for a rare Sunday night show at the free campus venue, I figured my chances of ever hosting them were gone. Maybe not. Only thirty some, reasonably priced advance tickets had been sold for tonight’s show. The crowd was sparse through the openers, and only filled in slightly more before Bishop Allen took the stage.

I can certainly understand wanting to miss the openers, I know I wish I had. I arrived 45 minutes late and first opener Darwin Deez had just started. It’s hard to imagine a stranger looking band. There was the lead singer, Darwin I’m guessing, with his variable length curly hair reined in by what looked like a glow stick that had long ago quit glowing, and his ugly sweater contest winning sweater. Then there was the backward-cap wearing keyboard/guitar playing girl with a mustache who was way less enthusiastic about the synchronized dance numbers that finished every song than the cheerleader type on bass. Their bald drummer looked alternately bored, embarrassed and amused, all emotions that I could understand. Ultimately it just seemed they were trying too hard to be weird. Fortunately, good looking second opener Throw Me the Statue was completely inoffensive, but also basically unremarkable. Their lead singer looked distinctly Scandinavian so it was always a surprise when he spoke with an American accent.

I’ve seen Bishop Allen many times, and on a scale of best to worst (though still pretty good of course) this show fell somewhere just shy of the middle. The set list was good, a fair sampling of their last couple full lengths. Crowd pleaser “The Monitor” was a highlight, as was the unexpected “Butterfly Net.” Xylophone/melodica player/vocalist Darcy doesn’t always tour with the band, but the latter song alone is worth bringing her along in my opinion. I’m usually not a fan of the girl singer, especially one as girly and breathy as she is, but those qualities are perfect for the flit of a song. And with her brightly colored sleeveless dress exposing her thin pale arms, she actually looked a lot like a butterfly.

Bishop Allen’s most recent ’08 release Grrrr... isn’t as strong as their previous, the terrific The Broken String, but I can hardly fault them for that. Not only is String practically a perfect record, but by releasing an EP every month the year before they had 48 quality songs to select from. It’s hard not to be charmed by their catchy songs and by the band themselves. The only two constants in the band are the charmingly nerdy Justin Rice and equally endearingly geeky Christian Rudder. However, the rest of the line-up has solidified this year. In addition to butterfly Darcy, the adorably boyish bassist and the handsome drummer have been with the band the last couple times I have seen them.

It’s unfortunate that a bigger crowd wasn’t there to see them tonight. It has been awhile since they have played Madison and if that is all the support they get, it might be another long while before they come back.

Darwin Deez


Throw Me the Statue




Bishop Allen

Theodore/Jeremiah Nelson & the Achilles Heel; November 1, 2009; Kiki’s House of Righteous Music

Twangfest this year would have been a complete bust if it hadn’t been for Theodore. Sure, Sarah Borges & the Broken Singles were great, and Jason Isbell played the most entertaining set I’ve seen from him since he left the Drive By Truckers, but it all felt like “been there done that.” That is until the first band of the fourth night. Theodore was the only band in three nights of music that I hadn’t heard before that I liked. In fact I liked them enough that I gave lead singer Justin my card after their set, enthusing that they should come play at the house sometime. I gave my odds of actually hearing from him about 50/50, so I was pleasantly surprised when I got an e-mail.

My choices for show dates were the first three days in November. It’s nearly impossible to get people out for a show on a Monday or Tuesday, so I took Sunday, but only after Gina reassured me that her birthday plans were only for breakfast and maybe some early afternoon bowling before the Packer-Viking game. She ended up having an all day party at the Ohio Tavern and the game got moved to 3 pm, it quickly became evident that if anyone came to the show they would be drunk. Luckily the boys in Theodore didn’t seem to mind at all, playing a killer set to a handful of people.

They were even better than I remembered them being. Justin sings lead vocals, while the other three add harmonies and backing vocals. Even though only JJ had a microphone, drummer Jason and multi-instrumentalist Andy could also be heard, and many of the songs ended with all four harmonizing at full voice. The high and lonesome nature of the songs along with all four singing brought to mind The Band on more than one occasion. The second part of their intrigue was the bevy of instruments they utilized. Calling Andy a multi-instrumentalist doesn’t quite do him justice when he switched with ease between instruments as disparate as upright bass, banjo, trumpet and saw. The latter was particularly memorable, its haunting whine adding to the desolation of their songs. On the opposite side of the stage, JJ had guitar, lap steel, accordion and trombone at his disposal, all perfectly suited for the songs they appeared in. Not since Kullen Fuchs played with Ian Moore has there been since a menagerie in the basement. Perhaps even more remarkable was how quickly they loaded all of it in.

I was disappointed that my friend and best house concert patron Bill was out of town for work since he was the only one of our group at Twangfest who was as impressed with them as I was. Luckily my cousin Johnny was a more than adequate Bill substitute. I can’t count how many times he told me loved them, and despite being as drunk as Gina (who had to go home early) and his brother Frank (who passed out on the couch upstairs halfway through their set) paid singular attention to the music. Gina and Frank weren’t the only ones to make an early departure, much of the crowd who had come for the Achilles Heel drifted out before Theodore had finished. Still, in my mind, the show qualified as a success, if only because Theodore was as great as I remembered them.

Even though I adore Jeremiah Nelson and the Blueheels boys who back him as the Achilles Heel, I somehow had managed to see them only once before. Jeremiah had dismissed my absences, claiming they hadn’t played very well that night, not matter which night it was. After hearing him say the same thing about tonight’s show, I realized that he is a big fat liar because they were awesome. The songs I am so accustomed to hearing solo over a din at Mickeys work surprisingly well reinvented by the band. “Running from the Fuse” in particular benefits from the rock treatment, and made screaming “runnin’” back at Jeremiah seem perfectly natural. Gina questioning “why are they so good?” didn’t seem ridiculous at all. They really are more than the sum of their parts.

Jeremiah Nelson & the Achilles Heel






Theodore

The Low Czars as Cheap Trick; October 31, 2009; High Noon Saloon

The Low Czars are masters of obscure 60’s psychedelic rock, so their decision to go as mega-popular 70’s power-poppers Cheap Trick certainly didn’t seem like an obvious choice. But what I should have learned from their appearance as the Kinks for last year’s celebration and their shows covering Love’s Forever Changes in its entirety is that they can do anything, and do it well. I’m just not sure I realized how well.

But what to do when the band you are portraying has four members, and your band has five? Easy, you have two Robin Zanders, of course. Aaron Scholz and Bob Koch split vocal duties in the Low Czars, so it made perfect sense that they would both play the Trick’s charismatic lead singer. Both sported the requisite white shirt and pants and identical blond wigs. They were convincing enough that after a few beers it seemed less like there were two of them and more like an extreme case of double vision. Bassist James Leaver slid into his role of the always-sexy Tom Petersson with ease, while drummer Larry Braun in a striped tie and baseball hat was a convincing Bun E Carlos . . . if the Bun had joined a Weight Watchers program.

They were all good, but absolutely nothing could have prepared me for Peter Fatka’s turn as over-the-top guitarist Rick Nielsen. The ridiculously talented, but normally quite reserved, multi-instrumentalist was so perfect, from his turned-up checkerboard cap to his five-necked guitar, that when I showed my brother a picture on my camera the next day he demanded to know where I had seen Cheap Trick. Even though only one-fifth of Fatka’s multi-necked guitar was functional, he’d done an amazing job of re-creating the look of the hydra-headed guitar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nielsen use more than two of the guitars of his monstrosity, anyway.

The crowning glory of his portrayal was the souvenir guitar picks he rained on the audience. During their shows, Nielsen flings handfuls of the Cheap Trick-emblazoned plastic triangles over the first dozen rows; anyone who goes home without a pick didn’t really want one. Though he didn’t quite have the distance technique down—the flimsy picks seemed to defy the laws of physics—he did use many of the tricks I’ve seen during a Trick show, including batting them with the neck of his guitar.

The set list could have been pulled from any show of the last twenty years. Emulating At Budokan, they started with “Hello There,” one of the most perfect opening songs ever, and ended with “Good Night.” In my opinion Koch had the superlative tunes to sing, his sometimes surprisingly high voice perfect for hits like “Dream Police,” “Southern Girls,” and the oft-covered pop anthem “Surrender.” On the other hand, Scholz got their biggest hits, the power ballad “Flame” and the timeless “I Want You to Want Me.” No matter who was singing, every song was played without a trace of irony. I can hardly wait to see what they come up with for next year.

The award for best overall costume goes to the Low Czars!

Monsters of Folk; October 30, 2009; Auditorium Theater, Chicago

Coincidentally the last time I had been to the Auditorium Theater was to see Bob Dylan (who I had just seen the night before), the time before that was Julian Lennon in 1984 (don’t laugh it was awesome). I was in the first balcony both those nights and recalled thinking it wasn’t too bad a seat. However, I should mention that I am not used to being close to Bob Dylan, and that Julian Lennon show was a long time ago. In many venues the first balcony overhangs the floor so much that the front row is better than most seats below it. When I pulled a single front row balcony seat seconds after they went on sale, I figured that was a pretty good seat. Unfortunately I am used to being close to all three members of the Monsters of Folk, not to mention their drummer (who I was surprised to learn was Centro-matic’s Will Johnson, apparently drums were his first instrument), and my seat seemed an eternity away from the stage. Despite the distance it was impossible not to get caught up in the constantly changing line-up of solos, duos and trios and full band songs over the course of the nearly three hour(!) show.

When the Monsters of Folk tour was announced I figured it was just a cutesy name for the second tour that Conor Oberst, M. Ward and My Morning Jacket’s Jim James were undertaking. So I was surprised when someone told me they had heard a Monsters of Folk song on the XM radio. The three of them playing a show together was exciting enough, but a whole disc of their collaborations figured to be nirvana. And for most of the disc it is. It tends a bit toward the long side, but that is my only complaint with a disc that blends their three distinctive voices so well. I was impressed that the whole band had suited up for the show, only fitting given the beauty of the theater. All the kids seemed to be going nuts over Jim James, but I was there for the band’s other two members. Oberst may have stolen the show on record, but for me tonight’s show was all about M. Ward.

It was no surprise that cameras were not allowed at tonight’s show, few theaters of this size do, but I’m used to M. Ward requesting that we put away our cameras. I’ve seen him a couple times at the Pabst Theater, and both times signs politely requested that we refrain from taking pictures. When they ask that nicely I will always comply, even when I am used to being able to take pictures there. While I think he just doesn’t like having his picture taken, he claims it is so that we will concentrate on the show. He may be right- his last show at the Pabst and tonight’s extravaganza will make my year end list for sure. That last show was terrific, but he outdid himself tonight. I loved him on guitar, but even better was when moved to keyboards on “Whole Lotta Losin,’” where he played standing up and pounding the hell out of them with all the passion of a modern day Jerry Lee Lewis.

In addition to songs from the record, each member did some of his own material. Ward chose the fantastic “Chinese Translation” from 2006’s Post War for one of his selections, which is easily my favorite song of his. Some of the songs from their collaboration bear the distinct mark of who wrote them, for example “The Sandman, the Brakeman, and Me” is definitely Ward and “A Man Named Truth” is unquestionably Oberst, and they maintained that distinguishing sound live. Others are less easily sorted. First single and opening number “Say Please” sounds like all of them, but mostly like Oberst, while “Dear God” sounds like none of them. Granted I don’t know his output as well, but Jim James seemed to branch the most outside of his typical style. On songs like “Losing Yo’ Head” there isn’t a trace of the reverb-soaked Neil Young-esque voice which identifies the My Morning Jacket sound.

Interestingly, on songs where they all contribute, like “Baby Boomer” and “The Right Place,” I was reminded more of the Traveling Wilburys than I was of any of their individual output. It seems an apt comparison. It remains to be seen if they have the longevity or will make the same contributions to American music, but these artists are the Bob Dylan and Tom Petty of today. Which makes that $60 ticket totally worth it.

Bob Dylan; October 27 and 29, 2009; Metro Centre (Rockford) and Aragon Ballroom (Chicago)

After several disappointing shows in row, I dragged my feet buying a ticket to Dylan’s Summerfest show. But I was certainly glad I did, as it was a revelation. With a terrific new record out, he seemed reinvigorated in July, taking center stage after spending the last several shows off to the side, as if he were no more remarkable than anyone else in the band. His voice was the best I had heard it in years, he was blowing the harmonica frequently, dancing, and (gasp) even playing guitar on a couple songs. So when the Rockford show was announced only a few weeks in advance of the date, I didn’t hesitate to buy a ticket even though I had already bought one pricey ticket for the first of three Aragon shows.

Nothing about that Summerfest show prepared me for the surprise I got that night. I heard the announcement that greets him every show, you know the one about disappearing into a drug haze, finding Jesus, and returning to make some of the best music of his career, as I was in the pretzel line, and I returned to our seats in the half empty Metro Centre just as the band took the stage. “Look,” Michelle said, “your boyfriend is in the band.” Now, I know Dylan’s current band, not as well as I knew the band that played my favorite shows in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, but I know them. And other than maybe the slightly cheesy, nothing-but-trouble bass player Tony Garnier, there is no one I would call my boyfriend. I looked, and holy freaking sh*t, Charlie Sexton is back in Bob’s band. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten from someone who didn’t know they’d given me something.

If Bob seemed reinvigorated in July, he seemed twenty years younger tonight. His voice was clear and strong, every word intelligible, and he strolled from the keyboard to the mike stand to play harmonica with an extra spring in his step. The whole time Sexton seemed focused on him, often crouching down to make eye contact with him during the songs. Not only was Sexton easily the best guitar player Bob’s ever had- the rest just seemed to be going through the motions in comparison- but he is hands down the sexiest. When he played half a song crouched down with one long leg stretched out in front of him I almost passed out. No, really, I did, almost. And no one in the band wears their matching suits as well as he does. The show tonight and two nights later in Chicago were easily the equal of the eye-opener this summer.

They should have been even better, but the reason they weren’t was simply song selection. And that’s not his fault, its mine. I simply liked this summer’s set list better. It was good to hear new songs “My Wife’s Hometown” (as in “Hell is…”) in Chicago, and “Jolene” both nights, but “Ain’t Talkin’” from Modern Times is simply too long and redundant. I was I always prefer his earlier stuff, “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright” and “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue” were great in Rockford and “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again” made the show for me in Chicago. Unfortunately, since I didn’t allow enough time for Chicago traffic I missed the first two songs at the Aragon. It wasn’t the end of the world, they were songs I’d seen live many times (“Watching the River Flow” and “Girl from the North Country”), but I’d rather had them over “The Levee’s Gonna Break” or the monotonous “Ain’t Talkin.”

Additionally the crowds were far from perfect. In Rockford, we were asked to sit down after several songs, which always annoys me when everyone had been standing at first. Once we sat all we could hear was the nonstop conversation between the couple behind us who spent twenty minutes locating a friend in the opposite bleachers, which eventually led to us standing in the walkway above our section with permission from the usher. Oh well, at least we got to stand. In Chicago one member of the drunken couple that had been talking too loud all show, eventually staggered to the floor and had to be helped out. Hard to believe people pay $60 to get drunk and not remember a show.

Still, these are petty complaints. The fact that these recent shows are as better than any I’ve seen in the last five years, and as good as those from my favorite era, has restored my belief that Dylan is still worth seeing, and certainly worth the fifty dollar plus tickets. Shoot, now that Charlie is back in the band it might even be worth a plane ticket.