Posted: 02.23.2011 | Author: georg | Filed under: 2010, Band of Horses, Barenaked Ladies, David Byrne, Dr. Dog, Eels, Fatboy Slim, Horse Feathers, Joanna Newsom, OK Go, She and Him, The Black Keys, The Hold Steady, The National |
So… life, huh? After considerable delay – I had first hoped to finish this in July, then September, then at least by the end of 2010, but life has a funny way of getting in the way sometimes – I have finally finished my “Best of 2010 … So Far” list. Because I liked the format that I went with last year – splitting my top picks of the year into two lists – I’m sticking with what works!
Honorable mentions:
Barenaked Ladies, All In Good Time
I must admit that when Steven Page left Barenaked Ladies, and they announced they would be continuing on without him, I sort of lost interest – but only because the dynamic between the five Ladies seemed so strong, so without that crucial fifth member (and eccentric lead singer), this wouldn’t be the same band I knew and loved from high school. However, I listened with slight trepidation to All In Good Time, and while it’s true that the songs aren’t laced with the nerdy humor of yesteryear, there’s a certain maturity that is charming and endearing. Page’s presence is sorely missed, but Ed Robertson has stepped into the de facto leadership role with relative ease, writing the majority of the songs, many of which are laced with regret toward his friend’s troubles (‘You Run Away’) or some not-so-subtle jabs at the predicament (‘Golden Boy’). Luckily, he has strong songwriting contributions from Jim Creegan and Kevin Hearn, the latter who contributes the hypnotic closer – and best track – ‘Watching The Northern Lights’.
Defining song: Watching The Northern Lights
The Hold Steady, Heaven Is Whenever
Having had no previous exposure to the Hold Steady, I bought into their hype with a reluctant ear, wanting to write a discerning capsule instead of going all hog-wild for them, as most have seemingly done. Also being unaware of their history, I found that Heaven Is Whenever is a solid album, but not as good as it had been built up to be. There are a lot of loud, anthemic songs here, but nothing too discernible from the other. It’s one of those “listen to this with the windows down in the middle of summer” albums that I cherish, which is enough to get it on this list – because that means I’ll be returning to it next summer, and, with any luck, something will stick out to me. Until then, the epic closer, ‘A Slight Discomfort’, is the only thing that really stands above the (admittedly well-written and performed) rest.
Defining song: A Slight Discomfort
Top 10 Albums of 2010 … So Far:
10. Band of Horses, Infinite Arms
Having been a fan of Band of Horses with Everything All The Time, Infinite Arms was high on my list of anticipated releases for 2010. Unfortunately, it’s more of the same, which isn’t always a bad thing, but I like to see a band progress with their music, instead of just offering the same old thing. Still, if rootsy, autumnal folk is what’s desired, then Infinite Arms delivers in spades. There are even a few surprises, including the orchestra-led ‘Factory’, and the vocal harmonizing and melodies are all superb. However, there aren’t really any standout tracks, which is a shame, because this was one of those albums that had a lot to live up to after its predecessor. But it still serves as a wonderful late-night summertime soundtrack, to be listened to while driving around or staring up at the sky in a remote field.
Defining song: Laredo
9. Horse Feathers, Thistled Spring
I discovered Horse Feathers at the Philly Folk Fest back in August, where they were on the main stage, just prior to Jeff Tweedy’s awesome solo set. After a few acts of good quality but whose folk classification was tenuous, I was pleased to finally hear some authentic folk music with Horse Feathers. Their line-up of voice, acoustic guitar, cello, violin, and a handful of extraneous, unconventional instruments appealed to me, so I did what any curious music fan would and listened to their discography. Thistled Spring stood out to me, with its after-the-thaw production and refreshing performances all around; Justin Ringle’s voice exudes naked beauty and frailty, while his touching and often pain-tinged lyrics are augmented with the aural landscape of atypical (for folk music) instruments such as trumpet, saw, harmonium, and glockenspiel, among others. The result is as if a quartet of classically-trained musicians got lost in the woods in the beginning of April and decided to write some songs to wait for the snow to melt fully and for the nearby babbling brook to reach full coolness.
Defining song: Heaven’s No Place
8. David Byrne & Fatboy Slim, Here Lies Love
Leave it to David Byrne to write a conceptual album about Imelda Marcos, wife of former Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos and disgraced shoe addict, and her nanny, Estrella Cumpas. But leave it to Byrne to actually make it interesting, touching, comedic, and – most importantly – infectious. This is a pop record, for sure, less contemporary pop and more in tune with what was popular during the time frame; there are disco, Latin, soul, and club songs here, all written not just to be diverse for the sake of diversity, but to plant the listener squarely in the middle of the events. Armed with a handful of guest female vocalists – again, less to namedrop and more to serve the mood of the narrative and the song – including Tori Amos, Martha Wainwright, Natalie Merchant, and Cyndi Lauper, among others, Here Lies Love paints its tragic heroine as a well-meaning and misguided doyen of fashion, who legitimately believed that her jet-setting and high profile appearances would be a boon to her starving and impoverished people.
Defining song: Every Drop Of Rain
7. The National, High Violet
Up until the summer of 2010, I had never heard of the National. Perhaps I hadn’t been keeping my ear to the train tracks as closely as I had hoped, so when I heard the first single, ‘Terrible Love’, in anticipation of their new album, I became quickly enamored with it. As someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy repetition in lyrics or music, High Violet is an anomaly, because its lyrics are particularly repetitive, but there are nuances to the music that is sonically pleasing and engaging. The production touches give the album a rootsy, autumnal feel to it, and the subject matters that are tackled run rampant from proud fatherhood (‘Afraid Of Everyone’) to educated wartime guilt (‘Lemonworld’). It’s a diverse album for sure, and Matt Berninger’s monotone vocal delivery recalls that of Ian Curtis, where he emotes a world-weariness, no matter what he’s singing about – this works best on ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’, where the narrator has to return home to his parents; whether for economical reasons or for holidays, it’s a humbling and not very pleasant emotional experience, having to relinquish autonomy, if even for an extended weekend.
Defining song: Bloodbuzz Ohio
6. The Black Keys, Brothers
Abandoning the swampy, morning-after pot hangover of Attack & Release, the Black Keys return with a familiar blues crunch, with the duo of Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney managing to sound like a classic 60s blues quintet, by way of distorted guitar, thundering drums, fuzz bass, and the occasional stabs of organ. Channeling the spirits of Led Zeppelin and Howlin’ Wolf, Brothers still retains some of the psychedelic swirl of previous albums, but it’s more focused and concise, with a cover of Jerry Butler’s (not, sadly, Rick Astley’s) ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ thrown in for good measure. But it’s the haunting ‘Too Afraid To Love You’, which sounds like a slowed down amalgam between ‘Happenings Ten Years Time Ago’ and ‘For Your Love’, that combines the recent with the distant past the best.
Defining song: Too Afraid To Love You
5. Joanna Newsom, Have One On Me
Double albums have always been a record company’s marketing nightmare – it’s a lot of information to present to a typically ADD-ridden music-buying public – but the rare, elusive triple album has rarely been seen, outside of career retrospectives or live albums. Sandinista! was one of the first, and Joanna Newsom’s Have One On Me now joins the ranks. It’s not an easy album to get into – only three of the 18 songs are under five minutes – and Newsom’s voice may be off-putting at first, but its stunning lyrical construction and sparse and unorthodox arrangements (the harp, which is Newsom’s instrument of choice, has been replaced for the most part by the more conventional piano, though it occasionally rears its head) is magnetic. On top of that, Have One On Me tells a lengthy and painful story of a blossoming relationship and all its emotional rollercoasters, with each six-track disc serving as a chapter; the album, and romance, ends with the mournful ‘Does Not Suffice’. It’s a harrowing and ambitious listen, but Have One On Me is a beautiful album, and with enough patience, it’s a wholly rewarding listen.
Defining song: Go Long
4. Eels, End Times
From Joanna Newsom’s breakup album to Mark Oliver Everett’s divorce album, End Times is a painful and dense listen, and, having gone through my own emotional upheaval twice this year, the bluntness of this album strikes just the right chord. Even through the pain there is some joy, as E finds himself knocking around his house by himself, and even seems to sort of like it. However, it’s a broken heart record for sure, and there doesn’t seem to be much happiness; yet there’s very little self-pity, even as E laments that “in my younger days, this would have knocked me down / But I would have bounced right back, y’know?” Much like Have One On Me, this is a harrowing and emotional listen, and on ‘Unhinged’, E finally comes to terms with his loss: “We were good together, as good as it gets … You were more than my girl / You were my best friend”. By the album’s ender, ‘On My Feet’, he’s certain that he’ll be alright; “I just gotta get back on my feet.”
Defining song: Unhinged
3. She & Him, Volume Two
Two years after releasing the charming and adorable Volume One, the sequentially-titled Volume Two is a sugary sweet follow-up that conjures memories of the simpler days of radio, when reverb and echo were the tricks of the time. As I have a permanent schoolboy crush on Zooey Deschanel, my love of this album is gonna be biased, but – surprisingly – I don’t find it as immediately accessible as its predecessor. It’s got all the hooks and has a more polished feel to it, which should make it more attractive to me, but I think the coy, ramshackle approach of the first album gives it an edge over this one. Still, Volume Two is a superb album, with 11 self-penned tunes and two covers (‘Ridin’ In My Car’ and ‘Gonna Get Along Fine Without You’) which, unlike the first album’s covers, are tackled in such a manner that you’d be forgiven for mistaking them as originals. M. Ward is still suspiciously absent on vocal duties, only getting a line here or there, but considering he has his own parallel solo career, this is probably for the best: despite the band name, these are Deschanel’s songs, and it should be her show, but Ward’s masterful production is a definite benefit. Is it too soon to anticipate Volume Three?
Defining song: Home
2. OK Go, Of The Colour Of The Blue Sky
This is an album that I fell in love with almost immediately, and, for most of the year, I had this as my top pick of the first half of 2010 – and it’s because of infectious, hooky melodies, more of an edgier pop-rock sound, and the music videos, dammit! Beyond the gimmicks – and let’s be honest, OK Go has some brilliant gimmicks – the tunes here are substantial, full of pain and misery and joy and hope. ‘I Want You So Bad I Can’t Breathe’? We’ve all been there. ‘This Too Shall Pass’? A song of encouragement in dire times, and my own personal anthem for this year. But it’s ‘While You Were Asleep’ that resonates the most: “Can’t you love me? / Can’t you love me how I want, please?”
Defining song: While You Were Asleep
1. Dr. Dog, Shame, Shame
Up until the beginning of October, I had no idea that Dr. Dog existed. But after being introduced to them by way of someone who has a far broader taste in indie rock music than I do, Shame, Shame has been constantly played on my iPod, and served as my soundtrack to and from work for more than a week. Will I get tired of it? Probably, but I’m riding such a high with this album that I don’t care about the inevitable backlash. This is well-constructed pop, harking back to a simpler time of the Beatles and the Beach Boys, and sounds a lot like something Paul McCartney and Brian Wilson would have written, with the added benefit of having Queen as their backing vocalists. There’s still something wholly original about them, and it may be my bias to my return to Philadelphia, but the occasional landmark references to my hometown adds another layer of appreciation to the music. Each song is a winner on this album, and choosing one is difficult and damn near impossible, but it’s ‘Shadow People’ that’s stuck in my head right now, so it’s ‘Shadow People’ that gets the honor of “Defining Song”.
Defining song: Shadow People
Posted: 08.23.2010 | Author: georg | Filed under: 2010, concert review, Horse Feathers, Jeff Tweedy, Philadelphia Folk Fest |
If you asked me if I’d like to spend a weekend covered in dirt and sleeping on the ground with 5,000 people surrounding me, all under the pretense of seeing some live performances of people that I’m either only marginally familiar with, or have downright never heard of, you’d probably think that the response would be, “Oh, yeah, sure, that sounds like a great idea.” Except you’d have to say it while rolling your eyes and with a thick layer of sarcasm, because the idea of spending a weekend under those conditions sounds extremely unpleasant, right?
Well, I guess I’m not that normal, and neither is my friend Sarah, because we both spent this weekend at the 49th Annual Philly Folk Fest. It’s difficult to remember exactly whose idea it was; last year, she had told me that she wanted to go, and I was way into it, but the logistics of getting our group of friends together proved impossible, and it fell through. (She ended up going with her then-boyfriend, just so that she could see Iron & Wine – who, by her own account, was terrific.) This year, it was more to go for the sake of going, instead of seeing anyone in particular. Upon looking at the list of performers, the three I really wanted to see were Jeff Tweedy, Taj Mahal, and Richard Thompson – so I immediately bought two combination music/camping tickets for the weekend, and anxiously counted down Friday evening.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get off work that Friday, and Sarah wasn’t able to get to my house until after 8, anyway. So by the time we finally got to the festival, it was around 9 30 and we were both exhausted. (Did you know that carrying two duffel bags full of clothes and effects, as well as a tent, sleeping bag, and pillows, is a daunting task for two people?) On the shuttle bus ride from the satellite parking lot to the actual festival grounds, a seemingly burned out hippie from upstate New York informed us that this was the greatest thing ever, maaan, and we should totally see Gandalf Murphy. I made a mental note as I searched for a way into the damn festival, and where exactly we were supposed to set up; as we slugged our way up hill and looked for a place to set up camp, I was disheartened to discover that not only were most of the good spots were taken, but that light was non-existent, so I would be setting up camp in the dark – never a fun task for a camper. Still, with Sarah’s assistance, and the presence of a drunk twentysomething named Jesse (who offered us both a much-needed shot of whiskey), the tent was set up and the sleeping bag unrolled. Of course, that sleeping bag looked so comfortable, that we ended up not making it out to the stages, though we could hear the music from the stage as we drifted off to sleep.
It was throughout the night that I realized that our chosen spot wasn’t exactly prime. It wasn’t the people around us who bothered me – I was expecting there to be very little actual quiet time, and came prepared with a guaranteed sleep aide (thank you, Tylenol PM) – nor was it the very slight slope that we were set up on. No, it was the convenience of the port-o-potties (or Potty Queens, as they were known) which you’d think would be ideal, but in actual fact turned out to be a minor initial nuisance. The smell didn’t bother me – because I can’t smell! – but the constant slamming of doors as people entered and exited was a little unnerving. But it all became part of the ambiance after awhile, and before long, I didn’t even notice it.
The next morning Sarah and I awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and decided to forgo a shower (as there was a line with six people, and we decided that would be too long) and go off in search of coffee and breakfast instead. We had to wait until 11am for the actual concerts to start, so we just walked around for a bit, scoped out the grounds, and soaked up the experience of being at this festival. The actual campsite is quite nice, apart from the hills that I imagine would be a constant struggle to not slide down in a sleeping bag, with bridges that led to different parts of the farmland. We eventually went to the Ballad Stage, which had by this time opened up, and saw the Jake Snider Band, a peppy, poppy septet who were actually quite good – though not a folk band. I commented to Sarah, “It seems that the definition of ‘folk’ is pretty broad these days.” That’s not a drawback, however, as they were quite good, and ended with a lovely a cappella tune called ‘The Seven’, with the entire band situated around one microphone and harmonizing beautifully.
The heat on Saturday wasn’t that bad, but the humidity made it difficult for us to stay in one place for too long, so we made our way from the Ballad Stage to the Dulcimer Grove, where Carla Ulbrich was entertaining a very small crowd. This proved to be an inspired location, as it passed right by a collection of trees with hammocks set up and people slumbering peacefully or reading. Sarah and I looked on longingly at these people with amazing foresight, and I vowed to myself that next year I will have my own hammock. (Oh, yes I will indeed!) Ulbrich’s schtick was to take popular songs and rewrite them in a parody style, much like Weird Al, except with a more Rated G sound, and I found myself laughing quietly and feeling bad that there weren’t any kids around.
Once her brief set was over, we went off once again, this time into the main grounds to poke around the crafts area. This gave us an opportunity to kill some time and look at the creativity of the locals, which ranged from handmade jewelry to an artist who impressed me, who dips his drumsticks into paint and drums on a stretched-out piece of canvas; this is recorded, and both are sold as a two-for-one package. Sarah and I were hugely amused when a tourist who didn’t seem to “get it” loudly asked the artist, “So, y’ dip yer drumsticks into paint, eh?”
After grabbing some lunch and taking shelter from the sun, we decided to head back in the direction of the tent, but the humidity made it unbearable to actually stay in the tent for too long. So we caught a brief respite in the shade back in the Ballad Stage, where the Ben Arnold Band were playing. We laid on the sleeping bag for an hour and a half and just listened to the music and napped, which might not sound exciting to you, but, as far as I’m concerned, is one of the only ways to listen to folk music at a festival. Midway through the Giving Tree Band’s set, we woke up and headed over to the Martin Guitar Stage, to get primo seats for Jeff Tweedy’s set.
First up was a Portland, Oregon, band called Horse Feathers – and based on my own experiences, nothing bad has ever come out of Portland, and my theory proved to be correct once again. They had a similar impact upon me as the Low Anthem did last year when they opened for Ray LaMontagne: autumnal, earthy music, performed by a band who defies convention (the quartet is led by a vocalist/guitarist, with a multi-instrumentalist who performed mostly banjo, mandolin, percussion, and bowed things, as well as a cellist and violinist). I liked their music a whole lot, and will end up buying their album, Thistled Spring, though I really should have bought it while at the fest. Ah well.
Tweedy, meanwhile, proved to be a charismatic and engaging solo artist, charming the audience with a set of Wilco favorites (‘Hummingbird’, ‘I Am Trying To Break Your Heart’, ‘Jesus, Etc.’, and ‘I’m The Man Who Loves You’, among others) and stories of tawdry and bawdy rock ‘n’ roll moments: “You want rock ‘n’ roll?” he deadpanned to a vocal fan after he finished up a delicate, acoustic guitar-led ballad, before going into an elaborate story of how he was playing with his nephew the night before and was vomited upon after the child consumed too much pizza. “That’s not even the rock ‘n’ roll part,” he announced over laughter. “I woke up this morning and found a piece of pepperoni in my beard, which meant that I slept with vomit and pepperoni in my beard all night. Now that’s rock ‘n’ roll!”
After Tweedy’s set, the humidity and caked-on dirt and grime became too much to bear, so shower tickets were purchased (as well as towels and a bottle of Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soaps, which I have fond memories of hearing my dad loudly reciting Bronner’s “philosophy” while he took his showers outside at the Cape two summers ago, much to the undisguised disgust of his girlfriend) and as Sarah and I shuffled our dirty bodies over to the showers, we were dismayed to discover the line was three times as long as it had been this morning. This was apparently due to a malfunction with the showers, so to pass the time Sarah and I chatted with the shower goers, and were accosted by two sassy young girls who went painstaking measures to count up the people in line and brashly insist that we’d be waiting for a few hours. “A few hours” equaled about 20 minutes, of course, and let me just tell you that that shower was pretty much the greatest thing ever.
By this time it was early evening, and Sarah and I decided to listen to some music on her iPod while we intermittently napped (noticing a pattern yet?); before long, we walked around once again, and flitted from stage to stage before we ate some dinner and then laid on the grass and listened to the Harlem Blues & Jazz Band, and, finally, Taj Mahal. Mahal is yet another engaging performer, with the legendary bluesman picking soulfully at his guitar and occasionally plucking an electric keyboard, but it was his vocal and facial mannerisms which was the most entertaining.
By this time, however, Sarah and I were struggling to keep our eyes open, so we headed back to the tent early and once again slumbered peacefully. The next morning, we awoke to the sound of rain plitting off the tent, which I hoped would pass as a brief shower, but turned into a full-force torrential downpour – this naturally meant that the campsite had to be broken down, and trying to wrap up a wet tent is never a fun experience. Apart from being a little wet, everything went fairly well, and as Sarah and I scoped the grounds one last time, stopping by the general store so that she could paw through the handmade and colorful skirts, we walked back to the car with grins on our faces.
This morning felt strange to wake up by myself and in a bed, but it felt good to have gotten a good night’s sleep without the banging of Potty Queen doors or drunken girls stumbling over our tent. Still, I’m sad that it came to an end so quickly, but I’m eagerly anticipating next year. Not only was it one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to, the experience of being a hippie for a weekend was enlightening and enjoyable; it also helped that I had the best company I could have ever asked for. It was an experience I’ll never forget, and even though I didn’t bring a camera (stupid, stupid me), I have many images forever burned in my memory.
To answer the question posed at the beginning of this review, “Oh, yeah, sure! That sounds like a great idea!” You can bet that I’ll be going back next year for the 50th anniversary, with a new straw hat perched securely on my head and a hammock at the ready.
