Steve Forbert/Sam Llanas; February 25, 2012; Café Carpe

The Café Carpe’s charming curmudgeon/owner Bill Camplin began the show by cautioning us that the two acts playing tonight were great musicians who have written a number of great songs over their careers, so while we may want to hear some of their earliest songs, we should be patient and allow them to play some new material for us. I didn’t quite do it justice, but it was a well worded introduction intended to stop people from yelling for “Closer to Free” or “Romeo’s Tune.” Still that didn’t stop people from calling for the latter when Steve Forbert asked if there were any requests halfway through his set.

No one would blame him if he didn’t play it. The song had been a hit in 1980 (it reached #11 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart), a constant on the radio then, and he was branded yet another “new Dylan.” Though he’s released two dozen studio, live and best of records since then, he never duplicated that song’s success. He must have played it a million times by this point, even so, there it was, the last song of the night. He went into it from another song, so we were unprepared, caught off guard. There was something downright magical about it. Hearing his distinctive voice singing that oh-so familiar song in front of an appreciative sold-out Carpe crowd, yep, magical is about the only word I can think of to describe it.

Thing is, I think we all would have been OK if he hadn’t; the set had been pretty terrific without it. Even so, Forbert is an eccentric performer. There was definitely some OCD on display when he insisted all of Llanas’s stuff be off the small stage before he began, and even though I had okayed taking non-flash pictures with his tour manager, I still half-expected him to yell at me. He contorts his face and body while he plays, not quite to Joe Cocker’s painful proportions, but it did look uncomfortable and some of my furtive pictures were not flattering. But none of that could take away from the fact that he is a truly entertaining songwriter playing great songs.

I don’t know much of his catalog, in fact I only have two records, so I was delighted to hear one of my favorites, “Your Time Ain’t Long” from Rocking Horse Head. It’s a song about living your life and not believing in nonsense like fortune tellers, and it’s catchy as hell. One crowd request was “The Oil Song,” and it was a good one. He says he first wrote the song about an oil spill in 1977, and he’s been adding verses ever since. There are fifteen now. “Don’t buy it at the station, you can have it now for free, just come on down to the shore where the water used to be,” he claims. He encouraged sing-alongs throughout the night, and the best of these was a newer song “Jessica,” where the audience spelled out her name like the most tentative backing vocalists ever.

Forbert looks terrific, his face still boyish, his hair still thick. In fact, at one point when he asked if there were any questions, one smitten female asked “How do you stay so cute?” It was hard to believe that opener Sam Llanas had listened to Forbert as he was growing up. Formerly of the BoDeans, Llanas has aged since I last saw him. His hair has thinned and grayed, and he looked older than Forbert. He still sounded exactly the same though, and I recognized the first two songs as ones he used to play during a residency at Linneman’s in Milwaukee nearly ten years ago. He had just played the Carpe two weeks earlier and I got the feeling this was a last minute addition. He talked about how his songwriting had been influenced by Forbert and even sang a little of one of his songs. “He said I could do that,” he smiled, before ending his short set with the perfect “Far Far Away from My Heart” to prove his point.


Sam Llanas



Steve Forbert

Elliott BROOD; February 24, 2012; Schubas

Every so often a band name just catches my attention. Without knowing anything more about Elliott BROOD other than that they were a Canadian trio, I noted all their shows on my 2010 SXSW schedule. Of course, I didn’t actually make it to any of them, but when I got back home I picked up their most recent release 2008’s Mountain Meadows. I liked it, silently wished I would have tried harder to see them, and put it on the shelf. I didn’t get it out again until earlier this week when we decided to see them instead of the Flat Five, nothing against them of course, but without Gerald it didn’t seem right. I liked it more than I remembered, and found myself listening to it over and over, alternating with the new Shearwater record I had just picked up. It’s catchy stuff, bluegrass-y rock with a propulsive beat and a vocalist who sounds like a less whiney Sam Llanas. Wikipedia calls it "death country", "frontier rock", or "revival music," all of which are close enough I suppose.

So I was a little surprised when they started the set with a hushed number. “That was a quiet, introspective number to start the night,” guitarist Casey Laforet announced before they broke into one of their signature banjo-propelled hoedowns, and they never looked back, from then on it was nothing but a party. Their new record Days Into Nights, which comes out on Tuesday, continues where that record left off, more infectious toe-tapping numbers that everyone should love. On this one I hear hints of the Cash Brothers, another Torontonian band I loved years ago who seem to have slipped quietly away. As it turns out both Laforet and lead vocalist/guitarist/banjo player Mark Sasso both sing, and their voices are remarkable similar. While Sasso switched between acoustic guitar and banjo, Laforet alternated between electric and acoustic. Early in the set he broke a string and rushed to replace it. “I don’t even know if it’s the right string,” he admitted as he threaded it into place, “it was the first thing I grabbed that looked like a guitar string.” After several attempts to tune it between songs on the electric, he gave up and sheepishly found the correct string.

It was obvious early on that the guys in Elliott BROOD really enjoy what they do, and they seem like the nicest guys ever. When I mentioned that to my friend, he replied, “of course they are, they’re Canadian.” Within the first fifteen minutes Laforet had asked three times how we were doing, but it didn’t feel like idle chatter, I think he really cared. And their audience obviously cares about them. It wasn’t packed, but everyone there was completely into the show. They also seemed to be quite drunk and/or Canadian. Sasso seemed surprised to a response he got when he mentioned a theater in Victoria and everyone hooted as if they had actually been there. For the last three songs drummer Stephen Pitkin, who looked an awful lot like actor J.K. Simmons (in a good way of course), passed out metal pie plates and wooden spoons to the crowd and told them to keep time. Many of the recipients took the task to heart, banging on the plates till they were dented and their spoons shattered into pieces.

As I was buying the (white!) vinyl and a bottle opener from Pitkin after the show, I complimented them on their well done merch display and told him I’d be happy to do merch on their next tour. I hope he knows I was serious, I bet being on tour with them is a ton of fun.

Taping the 30 Minute Music Hour with Icarus Himself; February 21, 2012; Wisconsin Public Television Studio

Shearwater/All Tiny Creatures/Coo Woo; February 19, 2012; High Noon Saloon

After ten days in China I definitely needed to see a show. While some of my trips to foreign lands have revolved around music, OK, around the Wrens, this trip was solely to see the country. China was absolutely terrific, but there wasn’t much chance of finding a band I wanted to see in either Beijing or Shanghai. After a red eye flight back from LA and a six hour nap my clock was reset and I was off to the High Noon to see Shearwater. I hadn’t seen them since they had opened for Okkervil River at the Catacombs a million years ago when half the band members were pulling double duty. I bought their first record, Winged Life, and half expected that they had been following the same sleepy path since then. Sometimes I like being wrong. Lead singer Jonathan Meiburg was as adorable and charming as ever, his departure was one of Okkervil’s great losses, but the band has certainly kicked it up a notch.

They were touring in advance of Animal Joy, due to be released next week, “but we have it with us tonight of course” he grinned. I hadn’t planned on buying a CD, in fact I’d only brought enough money for cover and a couple drinks, but after their terrific set I wasn’t leaving without one. Other than an uncomfortable vocal exercise early on, I found myself turning to my friend after every song, nodding, affirming, “that was a good one.” Meiburg’s voice switches from baritone to falsetto with ease and lends a cheery bravado to the songs. His band was also uniformly excellent, and he introduced keyboardist as “a bit of a genius.” I can tell Animal Joy is destined for many many plays. Hopefully they won’t wait so long to come back to Madison, but after this show I’ve decided they would be worth a trip to Milwaukee or Chicago.

Shearwater has been touring with Sharon Van Etten and was playing Madison on a night off. Since they didn’t have their own openers, two locals filled out the bill and they were well chosen. Milwaukee’s Coo Woo was poppy and catchy, reminiscent of long gone Madison band Rainer Maria. Their female vocalist didn’t seem to quite know what to do with her hands while she sang, and looked slightly uncomfortable though she didn’t sound it. Madison’s All Tiny Creatures generate dreamy soundscapes. There are vocals, but the words indistinct, Thomas Wincek’s voice just another instrument. With the array of equipment, and the various cords running between them, Wincek almost could be a one man band. Luckily though he isn’t since his bandmates make the songs complete. Their sleepy showgaze may have been a more obvious match for the old Shearwater, but that’s what made this pairing so interesting.

It’s good to be home.

Coo Woo



All Tiny Creatures





Shearwater

Jeff Mangum/ ; February 7, 2012; The Athenaeum Theater, Chicago

I was quite late to the Neutral Milk Hotel party. I remember In the Aeroplane Over the Sea being released, and seeing a poster of the album’s iconic cover in the window of a Chicago record store advertising an upcoming show. I didn’t buy the record and I didn’t go to the show. I didn’t regret it, heck I didn’t even think about it again until years later when I finally got a copy of Aeroplane. Then I regretted it. It’s not for everyone that’s for sure, but it was quite definitely for me. Mangum’s voice is not always easy to listen to, it could almost be described as a powerful whine, but I find it intoxicating. There’s an undeniable energy behind it, a force of nature. And it’s one I never thought I would see live since Mangum became famously reclusive after that record.

He didn’t seem at all the hermit at the Athenaeum tonight. He was relaxed, conversational and still more than a little surprised at the status his music has achieved. From the middle of a circle of acoustic guitars, he frequently encouraged the sold out crowd in the big, old theater to sing along, and many did. Luckily most seemed as hesitant as I was so it was never loud enough to be annoying. The few people I told about the show that I thought might actually know who he was, responded with “oh, well, I only know that one record.” My first thought was “isn’t that enough?!” My second, “what else is there?” Mangum answered both of those questions. Yes, just knowing that record was certainly enough. The bulk of his too short (just over an hour) set was drawn from Aeroplane, and it was positively breathtaking. Hearing these songs live was an experience I never thought I would have. I had heard that Neutral Milk Hotel’s other studio record On Avery Island was spotty at best, but the songs he played from it tonight made me want to buy it on the way home.

His voice hasn’t lost a thing over the years, it was strong and oh so recognizable, and it sounded exactly like him. The Athenaeum doesn’t host many, perhaps any, shows, but its less than perfect sound was perfect for this lo-fi artist. While he played most of the set solo, occasionally other musicians would wander onstage for a key part, a warbling flugelhorn, an unhurried drum beat, or a soulful cello. It was perfect. Most of these guests were part of the opening act, a trio made up of members of Elf Power, Gerbils and NMH. I missed their first couple songs getting a beer and a T-shirt and stopping to chat with several people I knew. When I returned my friend told me I hadn’t missed much. However, I quickly fell for their off-kilter, low-key charm. I’ve always been a fan of Elf Power live and Andrew Rieger continued that streak. While Scott Spillane from Gerbils could occasionally be a little over the top, and one song was flat out terrible, he got me back with a cover of Frank Sinatra’s “When I Was 17.” Perhaps even better was a heartfelt version of Randy Newman’s gorgeous “In Germany Before the War.”

It’s still very early in 2012, but I’m saying show of the year right now.

Peter Mulvey/Paul Otteson; January 29, 2012; Kiki’s House of Righteous Music

After seeing Peter Mulvey in the middle of his bike tour last fall, I was convinced that pedaling all those miles was what made him so hilarious. Turns out, he’s just like that all the time now. Tonight’s show was my favorite of Mulvey’s three appearances in the basement. His first had been one of the Letters from a Flying Machine shows, a very well-done but more scripted affair where he read letters he had written to his nieces and nephews as a means to tell a story and introduce a song. His second, last winter, was an excellent show but almost solemn compared to tonight where his wit was non-stop.

Perhaps the most hilarious moment was when he was talking about Wisconsin Lieutenant Governor Rebecca Kleefisch who said that gay marriage was like letting someone marry a table. “I agree,” he said, “because my brother is dating a table and when they come over it’s really awkward, because look at our table, it’s working.” He’s always been political, and prone to voice his opinions during a show, but tonight it was with a lot humor. In between off the cuff remarks like that, he wowed the crowd with what he does best, play and sing. His voice, which is addictive enough when he’s speaking, is a drug when he sings. Mulvey often seems a man out of time, as likely to sing a Hoagy Carmichael song as he is to cover U2. The former he did tonight, the latter on his covers record. He drew from his extensive catalog playing some of my favorites, from the tongue twisting, mixed clichés of “Simon Stinson” to the reflective homesickness of “Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad, and Far Away from Home.”

He started his set by thanking opener Paul Otteson and praising his well-trained voice, before claiming that unfortunately that all ended now. Mulvey protests too much of course, his voice is amazing, but it’s true that Otteson’s is a wonder. It’s an instrument all its own, his high notes so perfect and so easy. Last year he released his debut record February Fables at a house concert and he revisited many of those songs tonight. The record is based on a number of Aesop’s Fables, and therefore all the songs have similar names, inevitably “the something and the something,” that I find difficult to keep straight. Even so, the songs are instantly recognizable and the record made my best of the year list. It was a pleasure to have Otteson back and the house.

Paul Otteson





Peter Mulvey