I get it.
He invented dub, he's old, and he still really, really loves getting high.
I guess I wasn't high enough, because it got really boring after about 20 minutes. The backing band had undeniable talent, but Perry mumbled, stuttered and meandered through his set without rhyme, reason or much respect for tonality. I've nothing but respect for the occasional voyage of the mind, as well as the forefathers and pioneers of the music I enjoy today, but I'm a musician first and foremost, and I felt vaguely insulted--for unlike the majority of attendees, I was not taken anywhere. The magic bus apparently left without me, somewhere around song 3 or 4.
Since he's not a local musician, that's all I'm really going to say about it.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Well, now I feel like a loser.
At some point while I was in the process of composing my own write-up, Adam Schabow posted one of his own on Dane101. (...Aside from the questionable ethics involved in reviewing your own show, his is better, since--you know--he wasn't blitzed like I was.)
Dane101 Fundraiser, 8/16/08
In a nutshell: For the $7 I coughed up at the door--and despite the fact that I left early (missing Pale Young Gentlemen and El Valiente), and totally didn't win anything in the raffle--I still feel that I metaphorically made out like a bandit. Kudos to Dane101 for putting together a rather eclectic and very enjoyable lineup.
I do, however, have a few complaints.
1) Mayhaps I am alone in this opinion, but I think 5:PM is waaaay too early to open doors if the show goes to bar time. Really, what I'm trying to say is that I don't think it's very reasonable to expect me, your average red-blooded American male, to sit in an environment where alcohol is being served for 9 hours straight without my critical judgment being seriously impaired. What you did to me was just plain cruel, Dane101, and I hereby pass to your shoulders all the blame for any failings this write-up might have due to my intoxication.
2) I had the following conversation at least 6 times, and it was a little annoying:
Frequency Staff Member: Are you in a band?
Me: Yes.
FSM: Oh, ok. (Pause.) Wait. Are you in a band that is playing tonight?
Me: No.
FSM: Oh. Well, in that case, you owe me $(insert dollar amount here).
3) I had this conversation just once, and I was livid:
FSM: What would you like?
Me: Pitcher of PBR, please.
FSM: Are you in a band?
Me: Yes, but... Didn't we already have this conversation, like, three times?
FSM: I don't know. Are you in a band that is playing tonight?
Me: No.
FSM: ...Then you can't have any PBR, sorry.
Me: (Pause.) Whoa, hold up. I think I might have a hearing problem, or perhaps some sort of dementia, because I thought I just heard you say you can't sell me PBR--the workingman's beer, the heart and soul of the Midwest, the very spirit of all that is Red, White and Blue--as well as the only beer you have on tap that is priced below the others.
FSM: You heard correct, sir.
Me: Miss, is this some kind of bizarre hybrid of performance art and terrorism? Do you... do you hate my freedom?
FSM: ...How's the Dane Wheat beer sound?
Me: ...Fine.
4) Matt Joyce did not play--which was irritating, because I sort of promised him at my last show that I'd go see him play, and I was rather psyched about killing two birds with one stone. As they say in Paris, le sigh.
Well, then. On to the actual content!
Quick reviews of some of the performers:
Aaron Scholz and his comrades were excellent, and considering their bottom billing, phenomenal--I would have expected an act of this caliber to be higher up. I'm normally a bit turned off by groups without a rhythm section (usually because--you know--they lack any sort of coherent rhythm), but the three guitarists of ASB were tight and surprisingly quite complementary, where three less talented guitarists would have just sounded crowded and busy. I would be very interested in seeing him with a full band, though, and I think it might be time to replace that acoustic guitar...
At some point, we dipped out to Ians to get some pizza, and someone else played in there somewhere. When we left, it was this guy:
...who does not look like Clarity J from the Buffali, so I'm pretty sure it was the guy they tapped to fill in for Matt Joyce. But alas, I do not know his name [edit: mystery solved; Kyle Motor], and didn't catch enough to form any meaningful impression of his craft. To be true, a lot of beer had already been consumed, and things were becoming a bit touch and go.
[Alas, we totally missed Clarity J.]
When we got back:
The Takebacks, who had one of the most tolerable takes on dub that I've heard in a long, long time (Full Disclosure: I have an unbelievable bias against dub). I can't complain, actually--they were pretty cool, and a welcome respite from the more streamlined acts on the bill. The drums were sassy, the bass was funky, and the guitar... well, it was echo-tastic. Perhaps too echo-tastic, indeed; I began to feel vaguely sea-sick. Of course, that may have just been the beer.
Next up:
Ahh, finally, an act that sounded about as intoxicated as I was! Say what you may about liberties taken with pitch; The Schinker Family Soul Revival were fucking adorable, and we ate it up. It was just... sweet. It was really sweet, and I don't mean that in a pejorative way. Really. I'm being serious. It made me want to fall in love again, and I don't think it was just the booze talkin'.
The highlight our evening, though, was definitely The Shabelles:
I'm going to do something that really should never, ever be done; I'm going to compare a band to The Smiths. Cry foul if you will, but I heard silly-but-beautiful moods and tones a la 'Girlfriend in a Coma' and 'There Is a Light That Never Goes Out' in the irresistible and hilarious pop of 'Uh Oh' and 'Rightwing Girlfriend.' At some point, after professing his undying love for the drummer, my compatriot voiced some rather noisy complaints about the timbre of Schabow's lead vocals, and I think I may have punched him in the face for it. Or maybe he punched me in the face. I'm not sure. Then I woke up on my bedroom floor on Sunday morning, a little bit bloody in the mouth, with a crumpled ticket for 'disorderly conduct' still clenched in my fist.
As far as venues go, The Frequency is a huge improvement over the Slipper Club. Thank you, Darwin, for moving that stage back where it belongs. The improvement in both acoustics and visibility--not to mention performer safety--is immeasurable, and compared to other small clubs in the area, the mix was head-and-shoulders above the rest, with everything sounding clear and intelligible without being over-amped to the point of hearing loss.
But then again, everything looks and sounds amazing when you're hammered. I thank you for making my night, but curses, Dane101, for ruining my blog.
I do, however, have a few complaints.
1) Mayhaps I am alone in this opinion, but I think 5:PM is waaaay too early to open doors if the show goes to bar time. Really, what I'm trying to say is that I don't think it's very reasonable to expect me, your average red-blooded American male, to sit in an environment where alcohol is being served for 9 hours straight without my critical judgment being seriously impaired. What you did to me was just plain cruel, Dane101, and I hereby pass to your shoulders all the blame for any failings this write-up might have due to my intoxication.
2) I had the following conversation at least 6 times, and it was a little annoying:
Frequency Staff Member: Are you in a band?
Me: Yes.
FSM: Oh, ok. (Pause.) Wait. Are you in a band that is playing tonight?
Me: No.
FSM: Oh. Well, in that case, you owe me $(insert dollar amount here).
3) I had this conversation just once, and I was livid:
FSM: What would you like?
Me: Pitcher of PBR, please.
FSM: Are you in a band?
Me: Yes, but... Didn't we already have this conversation, like, three times?
FSM: I don't know. Are you in a band that is playing tonight?
Me: No.
FSM: ...Then you can't have any PBR, sorry.
Me: (Pause.) Whoa, hold up. I think I might have a hearing problem, or perhaps some sort of dementia, because I thought I just heard you say you can't sell me PBR--the workingman's beer, the heart and soul of the Midwest, the very spirit of all that is Red, White and Blue--as well as the only beer you have on tap that is priced below the others.
FSM: You heard correct, sir.
Me: Miss, is this some kind of bizarre hybrid of performance art and terrorism? Do you... do you hate my freedom?
FSM: ...How's the Dane Wheat beer sound?
Me: ...Fine.
4) Matt Joyce did not play--which was irritating, because I sort of promised him at my last show that I'd go see him play, and I was rather psyched about killing two birds with one stone. As they say in Paris, le sigh.
Well, then. On to the actual content!
Quick reviews of some of the performers:
Aaron Scholz and his comrades were excellent, and considering their bottom billing, phenomenal--I would have expected an act of this caliber to be higher up. I'm normally a bit turned off by groups without a rhythm section (usually because--you know--they lack any sort of coherent rhythm), but the three guitarists of ASB were tight and surprisingly quite complementary, where three less talented guitarists would have just sounded crowded and busy. I would be very interested in seeing him with a full band, though, and I think it might be time to replace that acoustic guitar...At some point, we dipped out to Ians to get some pizza, and someone else played in there somewhere. When we left, it was this guy:
...who does not look like Clarity J from the Buffali, so I'm pretty sure it was the guy they tapped to fill in for Matt Joyce. But alas, I do not know his name [edit: mystery solved; Kyle Motor], and didn't catch enough to form any meaningful impression of his craft. To be true, a lot of beer had already been consumed, and things were becoming a bit touch and go.[Alas, we totally missed Clarity J.]
When we got back:
The Takebacks, who had one of the most tolerable takes on dub that I've heard in a long, long time (Full Disclosure: I have an unbelievable bias against dub). I can't complain, actually--they were pretty cool, and a welcome respite from the more streamlined acts on the bill. The drums were sassy, the bass was funky, and the guitar... well, it was echo-tastic. Perhaps too echo-tastic, indeed; I began to feel vaguely sea-sick. Of course, that may have just been the beer.Next up:
Ahh, finally, an act that sounded about as intoxicated as I was! Say what you may about liberties taken with pitch; The Schinker Family Soul Revival were fucking adorable, and we ate it up. It was just... sweet. It was really sweet, and I don't mean that in a pejorative way. Really. I'm being serious. It made me want to fall in love again, and I don't think it was just the booze talkin'.The highlight our evening, though, was definitely The Shabelles:
I'm going to do something that really should never, ever be done; I'm going to compare a band to The Smiths. Cry foul if you will, but I heard silly-but-beautiful moods and tones a la 'Girlfriend in a Coma' and 'There Is a Light That Never Goes Out' in the irresistible and hilarious pop of 'Uh Oh' and 'Rightwing Girlfriend.' At some point, after professing his undying love for the drummer, my compatriot voiced some rather noisy complaints about the timbre of Schabow's lead vocals, and I think I may have punched him in the face for it. Or maybe he punched me in the face. I'm not sure. Then I woke up on my bedroom floor on Sunday morning, a little bit bloody in the mouth, with a crumpled ticket for 'disorderly conduct' still clenched in my fist.As far as venues go, The Frequency is a huge improvement over the Slipper Club. Thank you, Darwin, for moving that stage back where it belongs. The improvement in both acoustics and visibility--not to mention performer safety--is immeasurable, and compared to other small clubs in the area, the mix was head-and-shoulders above the rest, with everything sounding clear and intelligible without being over-amped to the point of hearing loss.
But then again, everything looks and sounds amazing when you're hammered. I thank you for making my night, but curses, Dane101, for ruining my blog.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Well, it could have been--should have been--worse than you would ever know.
Tomorrow (well, technically today), there is a Dane101 fundraiser show at The Frequency. I haven't seen it since it was the Slipper Club, and I've heard nothing but good things about the remodeling, so I'm encouraged to see (and hear). Cover is $7, and there's, like, 30 goddamn acts playing, at least three of which I can recommend on the strength of previous shows I've caught (those being Matt Joyce [of The Grizzlies and The Midwest Beat], The Shabelles and Pale Young Gentlemen). I'll hopefully have some pictures and a write-up Sunday evening. I also have plans to post write-ups on a downtown bar or two, should I feel particularly ambitious.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Abashed the Devil stood / And felt how awful goodness is
The Inferno is a quaint medium-sized club near the corner of Commercial and North Sherman, populated by your usual mix of people who would want to hang out at a place named after hell itself. If you don't know where N. Sherman and Commercial intersect, well, you probably know where Vic Pierce is, since it's the only place around here slinging beer after 9:PM.
In case you are confused, I have created a map of sorts:
Note the abundant lack of treasure.
Now, there are things to love about the Inferno. By and large, the patrons lean towards the sweet (rather than sociopathic) side of darkness (Fun Fact: I have never been punched in the face at the Inferno--a distinction unclaimable by many other establishments, such as the Paradise or the Irish!). As for the drinks, prices are reasonable, and they tend to contain their money's worth of liquor, if you catch my drift. Being technically outside the city of Madison, you can also smoke there, though whether that's a plus or a minus probably depends very heavily on whether you mind reeking of clove cigarettes when you get home. Perhaps most pleasing, however, might be the aesthetic touches; the walls (even above the urinals!) are covered in industrial-style metalwork, and artwork of all shapes and sizes can generally be found. To wit:
Those would be things. Hand-crafted, heavy, pointy things, hanging from the wall, presumably in case we are ever attacked by the Canadians in the course of enjoying a good turn of Covenant and Seabound.
Hell, even the pool table bears some sassy artwork, done by a local tattoo artist:
Unfortunately, I was too drunk to think to take a better picture of it.
Now, I confess, I was that awkward, pimply kid in high school who wore all black, so when I came of drinking age, this place was practically made for me. Back then, it was busier, and many of my current associates are of those who used to--but no longer--wile away their lonely evenings in its dimly-lit (yet strangely inviting) corners. Gradually, however, the scene seemed to atrophy. Those who spent their youths indulging in Siouxsie & the Banchees, Bauhaus and Skinny Puppy eventually gave way to Reznorians and Mansonites, who eventually gave way to... well, not many people. The popular musical heirs of 90s goth-industrial are probably the likes of My Chemical Romance and... Christ, I don't know, I don't listen to that shit, and no one else who goes to the Inferno does, either (because, thankfully, it isn't played there). We all grew up, and in the process, a lot of us either found new haunts (for genre reasons or otherwise) or actually grew up, by which I mean got married, bought a house, squeezed out a few rug rats and--you know--stopped going to bars.
To be fair, the scene is not dead. Saturday nights, particularly the 1st of each month, tend to draw quite respectable crowds, and as far as hearing or seeing darker electronic music goes, this is basically your only good bet in a 50-mile radius or so. Of particular note: the Reverence music festival will be occurring soon, having the distinction of being one of the largest electro-industrial/synthpop music festivals in the Midwest. The Inferno's sound system is respectable, but nothing to write home to mom about--and is often much louder than necessary (though there are plenty of other clubs just as guilty of this cardinal sin).
In any case, I'm not going to lie; that scene is rather specific (though some room has gradually been made for less darkness-driven genres, as evidenced by punk-themed nights and shows), and alas!--that scene is no longer mine. I still go to the Inferno, yes, but pretty much only because it's about 15 feet from my front door. In less than two weeks, I will be moving, and I suspect my last visit may roughly coincide--but even though I've long thrown away the wardrobe, I'll never be throwing away the memories.
In case you are confused, I have created a map of sorts:
Note the abundant lack of treasure.
Now, there are things to love about the Inferno. By and large, the patrons lean towards the sweet (rather than sociopathic) side of darkness (Fun Fact: I have never been punched in the face at the Inferno--a distinction unclaimable by many other establishments, such as the Paradise or the Irish!). As for the drinks, prices are reasonable, and they tend to contain their money's worth of liquor, if you catch my drift. Being technically outside the city of Madison, you can also smoke there, though whether that's a plus or a minus probably depends very heavily on whether you mind reeking of clove cigarettes when you get home. Perhaps most pleasing, however, might be the aesthetic touches; the walls (even above the urinals!) are covered in industrial-style metalwork, and artwork of all shapes and sizes can generally be found. To wit:
Those would be things. Hand-crafted, heavy, pointy things, hanging from the wall, presumably in case we are ever attacked by the Canadians in the course of enjoying a good turn of Covenant and Seabound.
Hell, even the pool table bears some sassy artwork, done by a local tattoo artist:
Unfortunately, I was too drunk to think to take a better picture of it.
Now, I confess, I was that awkward, pimply kid in high school who wore all black, so when I came of drinking age, this place was practically made for me. Back then, it was busier, and many of my current associates are of those who used to--but no longer--wile away their lonely evenings in its dimly-lit (yet strangely inviting) corners. Gradually, however, the scene seemed to atrophy. Those who spent their youths indulging in Siouxsie & the Banchees, Bauhaus and Skinny Puppy eventually gave way to Reznorians and Mansonites, who eventually gave way to... well, not many people. The popular musical heirs of 90s goth-industrial are probably the likes of My Chemical Romance and... Christ, I don't know, I don't listen to that shit, and no one else who goes to the Inferno does, either (because, thankfully, it isn't played there). We all grew up, and in the process, a lot of us either found new haunts (for genre reasons or otherwise) or actually grew up, by which I mean got married, bought a house, squeezed out a few rug rats and--you know--stopped going to bars.
To be fair, the scene is not dead. Saturday nights, particularly the 1st of each month, tend to draw quite respectable crowds, and as far as hearing or seeing darker electronic music goes, this is basically your only good bet in a 50-mile radius or so. Of particular note: the Reverence music festival will be occurring soon, having the distinction of being one of the largest electro-industrial/synthpop music festivals in the Midwest. The Inferno's sound system is respectable, but nothing to write home to mom about--and is often much louder than necessary (though there are plenty of other clubs just as guilty of this cardinal sin).
In any case, I'm not going to lie; that scene is rather specific (though some room has gradually been made for less darkness-driven genres, as evidenced by punk-themed nights and shows), and alas!--that scene is no longer mine. I still go to the Inferno, yes, but pretty much only because it's about 15 feet from my front door. In less than two weeks, I will be moving, and I suspect my last visit may roughly coincide--but even though I've long thrown away the wardrobe, I'll never be throwing away the memories.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
A very brief foray into politics;
It would appear the first shot in our looming civil war has been fired.
...Yes, I'm being provocative, but seriously, our culture war has been getting a bit out of hand lately. I'm almost reminded of the rash of abortion clinic bombings and shootings that have all but ceased. If nothing else, these kinds of incidents serve to remind me that, regardless of how peaceful discourse may seem at any given moment, we're always a cheap handgun and a bottle of Jack Daniels away from another reason to fear going out in public anywhere near the bible belt, because by golly gosh, some differences are simply permanently irreconcilable.
Naturally, I think I'll mark the occasion by drinking heavily.
...Yes, I'm being provocative, but seriously, our culture war has been getting a bit out of hand lately. I'm almost reminded of the rash of abortion clinic bombings and shootings that have all but ceased. If nothing else, these kinds of incidents serve to remind me that, regardless of how peaceful discourse may seem at any given moment, we're always a cheap handgun and a bottle of Jack Daniels away from another reason to fear going out in public anywhere near the bible belt, because by golly gosh, some differences are simply permanently irreconcilable.
Naturally, I think I'll mark the occasion by drinking heavily.
On Birthing;
Well, here we go, off into the cruel, cruel world of blogging.
Mind you, I don't anticipate this being particularly painful, and don't worry, baby, I've done this before--but as time wore on, it slowly became apparent that I could use a new beginning, for a few reasons:
1) My previous host does not allow for picture-hosting, and I've caught the shutterbug.
2) My previous blog dates back to when I was 17, when my proclivity for terrible, utterly unfocused writing was (I like to believe) simply unparalleled in the English language.
3) Everybody loves a fresh start.
So! Sit back and hopefully enjoy.
And now, here is a picture of a beer I recently drank:
Mind you, I don't anticipate this being particularly painful, and don't worry, baby, I've done this before--but as time wore on, it slowly became apparent that I could use a new beginning, for a few reasons:
1) My previous host does not allow for picture-hosting, and I've caught the shutterbug.
2) My previous blog dates back to when I was 17, when my proclivity for terrible, utterly unfocused writing was (I like to believe) simply unparalleled in the English language.
3) Everybody loves a fresh start.
So! Sit back and hopefully enjoy.
And now, here is a picture of a beer I recently drank:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
