Cliffs of Insanity
Archie Powell & the Exports
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Conor Oberst & the Mystic Valley Band/Cory Chisel & the Wandering Sons; June 25, 2009; Summerfest
After the disappointment of Cassadega I had mostly given up on Conor Oberst and Bright Eyes. I figured the young genius had been tagged the new Bob Dylan too soon and had just burned out. Instead it seems that was just a minor setback while he rethought things. He came back last year with an energetic and entertaining self-titled album and a tour with The Mystic Valley Band. This year saw the release of Outer South attributed to the Mystic Valley Band. While Conor Oberst the album was terrific start to finish, MVB and their record Outer South caused me some confusion, basically why doesn’t Conor, one of the most identifiable voices in my music library, sound like Conor all the time?
The answer to that turned out to be pretty simple, it’s because it wasn’t him. Outer South is a true band record, and three other members contribute songs to the record. Not that there is anything wrong with the songs themselves, no they’re just fine, it’s just that I want my Conor records to sound like him. Luckily for tonight’s set he kept the contributions from the rest of the band to a minimum, with the two guitarists each contributing one song to the hour plus set. Conor came out wearing a giant Zorro-style hat, smiling broadly, looking adorable and dedicating every other song to Michael Jackson who had died that day. We figured it was only a matter of time before “I Don’t Want to Die in a Hospital” was a dedication, we were right.
Unsurprisingly, the set list consisted exclusively of the two Mystic Valley records. Which is fine, it’s good stuff, but it makes me a little sad to think I’ll never hear anything from the extensive and mostly brilliant Bright Eyes catalog again. I’ve seen him play entire shows of unreleased material and drive the kids away in droves, but tonight he seemed content to stick to what we knew. I’m not sure if the first record is actually better or if I just know it better, but those were certainly my favorite songs in the set, the short but manic “NYC- Gone, Gone,” the pretty “Sausalito” and the afore-mentioned “Hospital,” a manically catchy burst of pure pop fun. It had been years since I had seen Conor, and tonight’s very enjoyable set made me realize just how much I missed him.
The other thing I realized I missed was multi-instrumentalist Dan McMahon who is inexplicably no longer a part of the Wandering Sons who played on the Briggs & Stratton Big Backyard stage just before the Mystic Valley Band. The Fox Valley band is now actually referred to as Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons in case we had somehow forgotten the name of the band’s handsome and formerly enigmatic lead singer. Rumor has it the band has signed to a division of a major label, which is certainly exciting for a Wisconsin band, but they are a whole lot less interesting without McMahon. One good thing, their sleepy set did make it remarkably easy for us to get close to the stage for the final show of the night.
Riverboat Gamblers
Corey Chisel & the Wandering Sons
Conor Oberst & the Mystic Valley Band
After the disappointment of Cassadega I had mostly given up on Conor Oberst and Bright Eyes. I figured the young genius had been tagged the new Bob Dylan too soon and had just burned out. Instead it seems that was just a minor setback while he rethought things. He came back last year with an energetic and entertaining self-titled album and a tour with The Mystic Valley Band. This year saw the release of Outer South attributed to the Mystic Valley Band. While Conor Oberst the album was terrific start to finish, MVB and their record Outer South caused me some confusion, basically why doesn’t Conor, one of the most identifiable voices in my music library, sound like Conor all the time?
The answer to that turned out to be pretty simple, it’s because it wasn’t him. Outer South is a true band record, and three other members contribute songs to the record. Not that there is anything wrong with the songs themselves, no they’re just fine, it’s just that I want my Conor records to sound like him. Luckily for tonight’s set he kept the contributions from the rest of the band to a minimum, with the two guitarists each contributing one song to the hour plus set. Conor came out wearing a giant Zorro-style hat, smiling broadly, looking adorable and dedicating every other song to Michael Jackson who had died that day. We figured it was only a matter of time before “I Don’t Want to Die in a Hospital” was a dedication, we were right.
Unsurprisingly, the set list consisted exclusively of the two Mystic Valley records. Which is fine, it’s good stuff, but it makes me a little sad to think I’ll never hear anything from the extensive and mostly brilliant Bright Eyes catalog again. I’ve seen him play entire shows of unreleased material and drive the kids away in droves, but tonight he seemed content to stick to what we knew. I’m not sure if the first record is actually better or if I just know it better, but those were certainly my favorite songs in the set, the short but manic “NYC- Gone, Gone,” the pretty “Sausalito” and the afore-mentioned “Hospital,” a manically catchy burst of pure pop fun. It had been years since I had seen Conor, and tonight’s very enjoyable set made me realize just how much I missed him.
The other thing I realized I missed was multi-instrumentalist Dan McMahon who is inexplicably no longer a part of the Wandering Sons who played on the Briggs & Stratton Big Backyard stage just before the Mystic Valley Band. The Fox Valley band is now actually referred to as Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons in case we had somehow forgotten the name of the band’s handsome and formerly enigmatic lead singer. Rumor has it the band has signed to a division of a major label, which is certainly exciting for a Wisconsin band, but they are a whole lot less interesting without McMahon. One good thing, their sleepy set did make it remarkably easy for us to get close to the stage for the final show of the night.
Riverboat Gamblers
Corey Chisel & the Wandering Sons
Conor Oberst & the Mystic Valley Band
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Matthew Sweet; June 21, 2009; Vogue Theater, Indianapolis
Last night’s Atlanta Superdrag show had been cancelled due to poor advance ticket sales. A bummer, both because we had come a long way to see them, and because after seeing them in Charlotte I really, really wanted another Superdrag show. What we didn’t know was that it easily could have happened again tonight. Only nineteen advance tickets had been sold for Matthew Sweet’s show at the spacious Vogue Theater in Indianapolis. With a presale like that, they easily could have cancelled the show, instead the show went on and well over a hundred people showed up. Take that Atlanta.
They were all obviously Matthew Sweet fans, otherwise I would have expected some grumbling about the $20 ticket price for an hour set (if that) and no opening act. The no opening act part turned out to be a bit unfortunate. At first we thought it was a good thing, no opener meant home earlier, and well, after seeing the sugary sweet Bridges on Sweet’s last tour I didn’t really want one. However with our second longest drive of the road trip that day and an inexplicable delay on the Interstate we didn’t get there till 8:15. Of course it started on time. Luckily the first song on the set list had been “Divine Intervention,” perhaps the longest tune that he plays live, so he was only on the second song when we made our way to the front of the stage through a loosely dispersed, but attentive, crowd.
The last time I saw Matthew Sweet I was in a boot and on crutches with a broken foot. Though I wasn’t that far from the stage at the Park West, once the show started all I could see from my seat were the backs of the folks in front of me. Though it was a solid set, Sweet’s self doubt and deprecation got a little tiresome. Tonight despite a respiratory infection and what rumor had to be a poor showing the night before in Naperville, he seemed in good spirits, sure of himself and even willing to share a story. It seems a friend of his has decided that they are all going on a hunt to find Bigfoot, whom he is convinced is alive and well and just waiting to be found. Not to spoil their fun, but I’m pretty sure I know where he is- he’s sitting behind the drum kit.
I’d seen Rik Menck once before as a fill in drummer with the Pernice Brothers. I remember being impressed that he had learned all the songs on the plane from LA; I don’t remember him looking like a Neanderthal. For years, Menck and the rest of the band Velvet Crush have been Sweet’s backing band. Tonight however something was different. Usually both Paul Chastain and Peter Phillips play guitar (which along with Sweet is a lot of guitar) while Tony Marsico plays bass. Tonight Tony was absent and Chastain had moved to bass, which I thought made for a leaner sound as he powered through his greatest hits and selections from the new Sunshine Lies.
Other than the fact that it was very short, there was little to complain about in his set. While the true fans probably don’t ever need to hear “Girlfriend” again, I would be disappointed if he didn’t play it. “Sick of Myself” was a rocker and encore “Cinnamon Girl” a barn burner. After that disappointing set in October, this show left a much better taste in my mouth. Although considering Sweet’s outfit, Capri pants, ridiculous shoes and a shirt he must have stolen from Splitlip Rayfield’s bass player, maybe I was better off when I couldn’t see him.
Last night’s Atlanta Superdrag show had been cancelled due to poor advance ticket sales. A bummer, both because we had come a long way to see them, and because after seeing them in Charlotte I really, really wanted another Superdrag show. What we didn’t know was that it easily could have happened again tonight. Only nineteen advance tickets had been sold for Matthew Sweet’s show at the spacious Vogue Theater in Indianapolis. With a presale like that, they easily could have cancelled the show, instead the show went on and well over a hundred people showed up. Take that Atlanta.
They were all obviously Matthew Sweet fans, otherwise I would have expected some grumbling about the $20 ticket price for an hour set (if that) and no opening act. The no opening act part turned out to be a bit unfortunate. At first we thought it was a good thing, no opener meant home earlier, and well, after seeing the sugary sweet Bridges on Sweet’s last tour I didn’t really want one. However with our second longest drive of the road trip that day and an inexplicable delay on the Interstate we didn’t get there till 8:15. Of course it started on time. Luckily the first song on the set list had been “Divine Intervention,” perhaps the longest tune that he plays live, so he was only on the second song when we made our way to the front of the stage through a loosely dispersed, but attentive, crowd.
The last time I saw Matthew Sweet I was in a boot and on crutches with a broken foot. Though I wasn’t that far from the stage at the Park West, once the show started all I could see from my seat were the backs of the folks in front of me. Though it was a solid set, Sweet’s self doubt and deprecation got a little tiresome. Tonight despite a respiratory infection and what rumor had to be a poor showing the night before in Naperville, he seemed in good spirits, sure of himself and even willing to share a story. It seems a friend of his has decided that they are all going on a hunt to find Bigfoot, whom he is convinced is alive and well and just waiting to be found. Not to spoil their fun, but I’m pretty sure I know where he is- he’s sitting behind the drum kit.
I’d seen Rik Menck once before as a fill in drummer with the Pernice Brothers. I remember being impressed that he had learned all the songs on the plane from LA; I don’t remember him looking like a Neanderthal. For years, Menck and the rest of the band Velvet Crush have been Sweet’s backing band. Tonight however something was different. Usually both Paul Chastain and Peter Phillips play guitar (which along with Sweet is a lot of guitar) while Tony Marsico plays bass. Tonight Tony was absent and Chastain had moved to bass, which I thought made for a leaner sound as he powered through his greatest hits and selections from the new Sunshine Lies.
Other than the fact that it was very short, there was little to complain about in his set. While the true fans probably don’t ever need to hear “Girlfriend” again, I would be disappointed if he didn’t play it. “Sick of Myself” was a rocker and encore “Cinnamon Girl” a barn burner. After that disappointing set in October, this show left a much better taste in my mouth. Although considering Sweet’s outfit, Capri pants, ridiculous shoes and a shirt he must have stolen from Splitlip Rayfield’s bass player, maybe I was better off when I couldn’t see him.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Superdrag/25 Minutes To Go/Emotron; June 19, 2009; The World Famous Millennium Club, Charlotte NC
We’d been told the Mercy Lounge was a cool venue; and other than the temperature and humidity level, it was. We’d also been told the Millennium Club was a cool venue; that person must have been smoking crack. We were sure this couldn’t be the place, from the front it looked deserted, and from the back like graffiti crazy runaway teens were squatting there. Not to judge a book by its cover, but we thought getting murdered, or at the very least mugged, was certainly a possibility. Who would have thought my new fascination with Superdrag would lead me to such an unlikely end? As it was, the only thing remotely criminal was the lack of any semblance of air conditioning and the lack of people in the audience.
The last time I had seen Superdrag it was at Chicago’s Metro where several hundred screaming fans greeted the band like they were the Beatles (turns out John Davis used to think he was Paul McCartney, but that’s another story). Tonight several dozen, sweaty, mostly enthusiastic, folks were waiting. “North Carolina is a metal state,” a friendly local explained to us. “Really?” I questioned, “I thought it was the cigarette state.” “That too,” his girlfriend answered, without getting my humor at all. He was surprised that bands as popular as Emotron and 25 Minutes to Go were opening for the decidedly non-metal Superdrag.
It wasn’t surprising at all if you talked to 25 Minutes’ teddy-bearish lead singer , who reminded me of the Hangdogs’ Matthew Grimm if he had more tattoos and wore all black. “They’ve been my favorite band since I was 15,” he practically gushed when we talked to him after the show. And really his band was that metal at all, more of a catchy hard rock that ended up being an appropriate opener. The Emotron on the other hand was another story.
When I saw the decidedly out of place, more than slightly creepy dude with the stringy hair and a cowboy hat, I stage whispered, “that guy looks like a pedophile,” without realizing he was the opening act. His “act” consisted of spewing random thoughts while bouncing around an ever-widening circle on the dance floor, removing layers of clothing. His western shirt was shed to reveal a wind jacket emblazoned with a US flag, his jeans covered matching pants. Eventually he was down to a unitard, and then just a G-string, and then it got really weird.
He sprayed some sort of flammable material onto his large bald spot and then lit it on fire. Only briefly, but I still had visions of the whole firetrap venue going up in flames. I tried to take pictures early in his striptease, but they were mostly a blur of stars and stripes. While I wouldn’t want to see him more than once, it was like a car accident, strangely fascinating and I couldn’t look away. I posited that he would be a good tourmate for Har Mar Superstar, another, um, alternative artist who enjoys to stripping down to his underwear, though he prefer briefs to G-strings.
Funny thing was, when Superdrag took the stage and a skinny, but normal looking guy plopped on the floor right between us and the stage, he didn’t seem that strange at all, just another fan looking forward to the show. If I was worried that they wouldn’t put on as good a show as they had for the adoring masses at the Metro, I shouldn’t have been. John Davis is as magnetic a front man as I have ever seen and he had as much energy for tonight’s crowd as he did for the one several times larger. Despite my continuing enthrallment with Senator Tom Pappas, it is hard to pay attention to anyone other than Davis.
I’m still at a loss to explain my fascination with the Senator. Unfortunately the stage was too small for him to do his absurd version of the duck walk, but I still enjoyed his over-the-top performance. His turn on lead vocals for “Cheap Poltergeists” again seemed like a lot of yelling, but I found myself on a mission to decipher the lyrics over the next couple days. “Cheap poltergeists are always for sale/Burn every bill that you get in the mail.” Yep, just as I suspected, lyrical genius.
It was ridiculously hot in the room, I’d been dripping since we walked in, but when Superdrag’s adorable drummer Don Coffey Jr. (wearing his newly acquired 25 Minutes to Go hat) held up the box fan that was situated next to his kit and claimed, “It’s not hot in here!” I was willing to believe him. And for the rest of the night I (almost) forgot how hot it was. His enthusiasm was infectious throughout the show, but perhaps never more so than when they had a guest drummer for a song. He positioned himself in the front row and cheered like he was their biggest fan ever.
The only disappointment was that we did not get to hear lead guitarist Brandon Fisher do the one song that he sings, despite my subtle hints. Hints which pretty much went like this, “So are we going to hear “Ready to Go” tonight?” “No” “Why not?” “John made the set list already” “That’s not a good reason.” “We haven’t done it in a long time.” “You did it in Rock Island.” Oh well, it was a good try. I guarantee he will sing it when they play my basement, you know, if their booking agent would ever return my e-mails. Until then I see more ridiculous road trips in my future.
the Smoky Mountains
too bad we didn't have time to swim
the "World Famous" Millenium Club
Emotron
25 Minutes to Go
Superdrag
We’d been told the Mercy Lounge was a cool venue; and other than the temperature and humidity level, it was. We’d also been told the Millennium Club was a cool venue; that person must have been smoking crack. We were sure this couldn’t be the place, from the front it looked deserted, and from the back like graffiti crazy runaway teens were squatting there. Not to judge a book by its cover, but we thought getting murdered, or at the very least mugged, was certainly a possibility. Who would have thought my new fascination with Superdrag would lead me to such an unlikely end? As it was, the only thing remotely criminal was the lack of any semblance of air conditioning and the lack of people in the audience.
The last time I had seen Superdrag it was at Chicago’s Metro where several hundred screaming fans greeted the band like they were the Beatles (turns out John Davis used to think he was Paul McCartney, but that’s another story). Tonight several dozen, sweaty, mostly enthusiastic, folks were waiting. “North Carolina is a metal state,” a friendly local explained to us. “Really?” I questioned, “I thought it was the cigarette state.” “That too,” his girlfriend answered, without getting my humor at all. He was surprised that bands as popular as Emotron and 25 Minutes to Go were opening for the decidedly non-metal Superdrag.
It wasn’t surprising at all if you talked to 25 Minutes’ teddy-bearish lead singer , who reminded me of the Hangdogs’ Matthew Grimm if he had more tattoos and wore all black. “They’ve been my favorite band since I was 15,” he practically gushed when we talked to him after the show. And really his band was that metal at all, more of a catchy hard rock that ended up being an appropriate opener. The Emotron on the other hand was another story.
When I saw the decidedly out of place, more than slightly creepy dude with the stringy hair and a cowboy hat, I stage whispered, “that guy looks like a pedophile,” without realizing he was the opening act. His “act” consisted of spewing random thoughts while bouncing around an ever-widening circle on the dance floor, removing layers of clothing. His western shirt was shed to reveal a wind jacket emblazoned with a US flag, his jeans covered matching pants. Eventually he was down to a unitard, and then just a G-string, and then it got really weird.
He sprayed some sort of flammable material onto his large bald spot and then lit it on fire. Only briefly, but I still had visions of the whole firetrap venue going up in flames. I tried to take pictures early in his striptease, but they were mostly a blur of stars and stripes. While I wouldn’t want to see him more than once, it was like a car accident, strangely fascinating and I couldn’t look away. I posited that he would be a good tourmate for Har Mar Superstar, another, um, alternative artist who enjoys to stripping down to his underwear, though he prefer briefs to G-strings.
Funny thing was, when Superdrag took the stage and a skinny, but normal looking guy plopped on the floor right between us and the stage, he didn’t seem that strange at all, just another fan looking forward to the show. If I was worried that they wouldn’t put on as good a show as they had for the adoring masses at the Metro, I shouldn’t have been. John Davis is as magnetic a front man as I have ever seen and he had as much energy for tonight’s crowd as he did for the one several times larger. Despite my continuing enthrallment with Senator Tom Pappas, it is hard to pay attention to anyone other than Davis.
I’m still at a loss to explain my fascination with the Senator. Unfortunately the stage was too small for him to do his absurd version of the duck walk, but I still enjoyed his over-the-top performance. His turn on lead vocals for “Cheap Poltergeists” again seemed like a lot of yelling, but I found myself on a mission to decipher the lyrics over the next couple days. “Cheap poltergeists are always for sale/Burn every bill that you get in the mail.” Yep, just as I suspected, lyrical genius.
It was ridiculously hot in the room, I’d been dripping since we walked in, but when Superdrag’s adorable drummer Don Coffey Jr. (wearing his newly acquired 25 Minutes to Go hat) held up the box fan that was situated next to his kit and claimed, “It’s not hot in here!” I was willing to believe him. And for the rest of the night I (almost) forgot how hot it was. His enthusiasm was infectious throughout the show, but perhaps never more so than when they had a guest drummer for a song. He positioned himself in the front row and cheered like he was their biggest fan ever.
The only disappointment was that we did not get to hear lead guitarist Brandon Fisher do the one song that he sings, despite my subtle hints. Hints which pretty much went like this, “So are we going to hear “Ready to Go” tonight?” “No” “Why not?” “John made the set list already” “That’s not a good reason.” “We haven’t done it in a long time.” “You did it in Rock Island.” Oh well, it was a good try. I guarantee he will sing it when they play my basement, you know, if their booking agent would ever return my e-mails. Until then I see more ridiculous road trips in my future.
the Smoky Mountains
too bad we didn't have time to swim
the "World Famous" Millenium Club
Emotron
25 Minutes to Go
Superdrag
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