Sled Island Day 3: Mainstage + Les Savy Fav

If you were to happen and look around at the lobby in which you are sitting here at WHYH, you might notice four other people in the room with you. One is a kid on a cellphone who can't stop telling his friend all about his personal life over the music playing, two are doing the cuddly couple thing and paying no mind to anything other than their grossly inappropriate PDA, and the third is a crazy homeless guy wearing a box hat who just happened to find his way in when he smelled the mini donuts.

If you've been to more than one outdoor/festival concert, you might find these figures familiar; after all, they're ALWAYS THERE. No matter how hard you try, how many cool people attend a show, these four will find a way in.

Did I mention the incredible police presence at the entrance and exit? No? Look again. Yes, it's not unusual that you didn't notice beforehand; they managed to quietly come in when you were distracted by the box hat hobo just to stand around, looking intimidating. They're sure you have drugs (you probably don't but they'll never believe you telling them that someone could go to an outdoor festival just to enjoy the music).

Yes, outdoor festivals have their drawbacks. But, to be honest, the minute Fucked Up started playing, all these manifold distractions were forgotten in a wave of blistering guitar and vocal awesome. Within five seconds, I'd forgotten everything except rocking out as hard as possible; within one song I'd added the performance to my list of "so awesome live that you can't exactly believe it just happened" bands; within three songs, lead singer Pink Eyes was climbing up on the framework of the stage; four songs in, and I forgot that I was wearing open-toed sandals and ran into the ensuing mosh-hug when he climbed out into the audience (that one I kind-of wish I HADN'T forgotten, but I guess there has to be disadvantages to completely losing your shite somewhere). The band played through most of their set with Pink Eyes moshing and singing with everyone in the audience, pouring free Dr. Pepper all over himself, slowly getting progressively more naked (until finishing the performance completely naked onstage whilst covering the inappropriate bits with the pair of shorts he was attempting to re-don), aind in general making it a performance not soon to be forgotten.

Oh, yeah, the music was pretty awesome too, I guess.

But in all seriousness, Sled Island Day 3 was a day of uniformly hard-rocking bands exceeding expectations musically and performance-wise; from Ted Leo & The Pharmacists' aggressive punk-edged performance, to The Thermals breaking the sky with their awesome and causing a sudden rain shower, to Built to Spill kicking it in the sun and ending said rain (also, playing multiple tracks from my all-time favourite "Perfect From Now On", as well as finishing up the set with the immortal "Carry The Zero"), Olympic Plaza Main Stage was uniformly and incredibly unbelievable.

Afterwards, I headed out to the Distillery to catch Turbo Fruits and Les Savy Fav; once again, the club sound guy was an unbelievable tool who seemed convinced that by playing crappy metal at full volume he might convert the oh-so-ignorant show-goers of the error of their ways. After this, I highly hope to never meet these people in person, lets I be tempted to do something terrible, but it says something that the minute Turbo Fruits, and then Les Savy Fav took the stage, my ears seemed to magically recover, my tiredness fled, and I was once again completely overcome by just how incredibly and unexpectedly godly a band can be live, even when you generally like their recorded material.

Now if tonight is HALF as incredible as the last three days have been, I can safely say that this year's Sled Island has been the best festival, and quite possibly the best musical, experience of my life.

~Ju

Sled Island Day 2: Mini Mansions, Women, The Posies

Day 2 of Sled Island saw us at The Republik, a local venue with a complicated history reading as a local, lamer version of the very movement its name implies, that has nevertheless re-emerged as one of the most likely to host touring indie bands. Larger than most other local pubs/bars/clubs, it's the natural choice for shows likely to attract big audiences (such as The Melvins on July 3rd, and Wolf Parade on July 22nd). The layout is relatively well-suited for accommodating a large audience while allowing more than half of them to actually see what's happening on stage (a feat not many venues can boast of). Now, if only their sound guys would rise to the occasion and not mix every instrument into a high-volume soup, I could wish for nothing more.

The combination of Deerhoof closing out the bill, and local hometown heroes Women playing earlier in the evening made for a large turnout, even for the first band to hit the stage, which is a personal relief. After Deerhoof's set the night before, the opening set came in second for biggest surprise of the festival so far.

Mini Mansions are a trio from Los Angeles, California, and one of the incredible number of high-level bands to hail from that state at this year's fest (such as the incredible Sleepy Sun, who we featured here on WHYH earlier this year). I had taken a cursory listen of their myspace and deemed them decent enough to be worth watching, at least.

Their recorded material barely prepared me to see them live; on record, they could pass for a dreamy "Lucy in the Sky With Diamons"-era Beatles, with a slight turn in the vein of recent successes such as Fleet Foxes. Live, they are a force to be reckoned with; energetic, aggressive, melodic and dissonant by turns in the methodical manner that only the best bands seem to understand: noise takes composition the same way melodies do. They played their hearts out, even when doing an incredible cover of Blondie's "Heart of Glass". Bless them for having the cheapest merch at the show, too.

Nest came Women; one of the best bands Calgary has to offer, their playing was tight and energetic, melodies coming in and out of the ensuing wall of noise as well as ever. The only complaint I had (which was not their fault at all) comes back to the sound mixing I mentioned earlier: the vocals were even more difficult to hear than they should have been due to the sound guy mixing everything loud enough to distort beyond what was required. Sure, Women are known for their lo-fi/noise rock aesthetic, and for playing a loud and rocking show, but in this one instance it actually affected the songs, which was a bit disappointing.

This trend continued with The Posies as well; a legendary Seattle band reunited, with a long and well-respected history. We ended up having to leave our great spots near the stage and go to the back of the club just to be able to enjoy their music, because it seems that after Women's set, the sound guy had adjusted everything by turning it all UP; I'm amazed that the vocalists Ken Stringfellow and Jon Auer managed to make their singing heard over the mix; to be honest, the blistering volume made it difficult for us to enjoy what would have otherwise been a wonderful set. Mind you, I could just be getting old and senile, but I'll admit, I'm all for loud music, just as long as you can still hear and enjoy everything that's going on.


~Ju


Mini Mansions
On Myspace Music

Women
On Myspace Music

The Posies
On Myspace Music

Sled Island Day 1: Lorrie Matheson, Wild Choir, Deerhoof

It's that time of year again; the week or so at the end of June that every semi-cultured person in Calgary prays for all year, and the memory of which they then hold onto with both hands during the ensuing horrors of Stampede.

This is the fourth annual Sled Island Music, Film, and Art Festival in Calgary, and possibly its most mature incarnation yet, will well-rounded and incredible lineups in all three areas of interest. The festival has always been great from its very first year, but it seems to finally be settling into its most fully developed and finalized form this year.

And if the kick-off show is any indication, we're in for an absolutely incredible four days.

As anyone who's read WHYH's Sled Island coverage before would know, our favourite venue of the fest is probably Central United Church. Sure, the usual Christian accommodations leave much to be desired in the form of physical (or spinal) comfort; at least there were cushions this year.

No, Central United shines because it has that natural advantage that a sandstone/wood church will have over many a modern club/pub/venue: considered (and excellent) acoustics. Also, the strange combination of independent/avant-garde/rock music and an atmosphere designed to give a feeling of "sacredness" result in a feeling that whatever you witness there will be special.

Last night is no exception; in fact, it currently vies for one of the top spots on my list of all-time greatest shows I've ever had the good fortune of witnessing.

Lorrie Matheson opened the evening, starting strong and not letting up. For those unfamiliar with him, he's a local singing/songwriting institution, with a great lyrics, and excellent rock/bluesy/psych-at-times sound...he describes himself as Western Swing, Shoegazer, and New Wave all rolled into one. As this plethora of genre comparisons might indicate, trying to pin down an exact description of his music is perhaps a futile quest.

Nest came Wild Choir (formerly known as Georgiana Starlington), a Brooklyn group with an interesting 50's-vibe garage rock/surf rhythm vibe and an excellent drummer; I found myself looking at him most of the time, truthfully, which was probably an excellent set-up for what was to come.

See, we were all having a decent time, and then Deerhoof appeared and blasted all previous comparisons, bands, experiences, and expectations out of the water and into the oblivion of outer space.

There are very few bands of which I can say their live show has fully taken all my expectation and thoroughly surpassed every single one with cute Japanese vocals, jaw-dropping start-stop-on-a-dime instrumental proficiency, and possibly the most demonically possessed drummer I have ever seen play (and you may remember, I have some experience with possessed drummers). Recorded material does them no justice, can never describe just how absolutely unbelievable Deerhoof is live. They were bigger than the room, bigger than the audience, bigger than the festival itself.

After about three songs, Greg Saunier stood up from the drum kit he had been pounding into oblivion and proceeded to tell us that we were an incredible audience, in an endearingly awkward and hilarious/rambling manner, ending with "I just realized the number of people I was addressing, and suddenly got stage fright; you'll notice that when I get stage fright, I tend to express myself in a condensed way." Satomi Matsuzaki, not to be outdone, proceeded to be as adorable and endearing as an incredibly small, charming, and energetic female bassist/singer executing the occasional Para-Para routine can possibly be.

And just when we all believed the band couldn't possibly amaze us any more, they all switched instruments and proceeded to further amaze us with their versatility and talent.

Other bands are lucky to have one member with the effortless charisma that every single member of Deerhoof seems to have in spades. Not many bands could get away with playing not only one, but TWO cover songs in their set, let alone classic songs like "Pinhead" by The Ramones and "Going Up the Country" by Canned Heat, let alone with such aplomb. Or pulling out the grand piano in the church for the encore...

In the end, we just went to eat something and grab a drink at the Unicorn, because we felt it just wouldn't be fair to whichever band we saw next to hold them to that kind of comparison.

All in all, an excellent night; I can only hope that more surprises like this are to come.

~Ju


Lorrie Matheson
On Myspace Music
On The Web

Wild Choir
On Myspace Music

Deerhoof
On Myspace Music
On Kill Rock Stars

[Live] Final Fantasy + Timber Timbre @ Knox United Church

So, if one were to peruse all the way down to the LAST live review this blog did, one might get the impression that churches are the new 'it' venue.

And while that review was done over a year ago and by someone not writing for this blog anymore, this impression would still be correct.

Churches are in. Hip. Cool, even. Not so much when there's churchgoers IN them, maybe, but who can blame the indie scene for wanting to pillage those considered acoustics and (probably) lower rental fees in an almost *gasp* ungodly and impure fashion?

I for one have been rather spoiled by these types of shows (bar shows are a sad shadow, unless Sunset Rubdown happens to be playing); with the exception of two other shows written about on this blog, actually, probably some of the best shows of my existence have been held in churches.

Final Fantasy ranks on that list. Twice.

Back in June, the venerable Owen Pallett graced our humble Central United church (along with Slim Twig and some band named after Tigers which I forget) and proceeded to melt the faces off the sold-out indie gawkers within. A rather astonishing feat, since face-melting is usually reserved for bands with hair long enough to get caught in the rafters when headbanging, one member of whom usually plays the guitar (for the uninitiated, Final Fantasy aka Owen Pallett has neither). The question this time around sat at: was it a one-time magic thing, or would it happen again?

I suppose it's rather unfair of me to pose a question I already know the answer to (I've seen Mr. Pallett, or "Owen" as my sister might call him TO HIS FACE -brave girl-, a previous four times. And he's been amazing precisely the same number of times).

Admittedly, this musical event DID have the benifit of lighting that could do more than just "on" or "off", going as fancy as "fade from one state to the other". Thus, when the lights dimmed, the entire church went silent.

...I mean it. DEAD SILENT. No coughing, or shuffling, or adjusting...DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF WHAT I'M SAYING HERE, PEOPLE? This is about as likely my dad forgiving me for the time I dragged him to a Frog Eyes show. Which is pretty fricking unlikely. Think about the last show you went to, even a quiet acoustic one, where everyone LITERALLY SHUT UP COMPLETELY. Even that annoying girl who usually feels the need to call her friends and talk to them through the entire thing, ruin the mood, and squee about how hawt Dallas Green is (I'm looking at you, annoying cell-phone girl *death glare*).

This is even more amazing when you consider that the people ascending the stage were actually the opening band, Timber Timbre. Not the headliner. At all. I think my head just post-exploded.

At the time, however, (before my head exploded thinking about it) I saw fit to observe that this band is wonderful. A true, delightful surprise. Generally, Final Fantasy would be a difficult act to open for and actually have people remember what your band was called afterwards, but this trio from Toronto managed it with aplomb and flawless execution. Especially suited to those lovely acoustics, their recorded material pales by comparison, where the tiny echoes and details are lost. Theirs is music that inevitably made me think of mysterious bayous if an uncroaky Tom Waits decided to suddenly become a Voodoo preist. But still all its own.

A far cry from Pallett's classical-influenced vaguely victorian-styled poetic reflections on life and Canadiana (sometimes), but still somehow fitting.

Asfor the main event...how can I describe the feeling of having the most impossible of high hopes and having them fulfilled completely? Despite Owen Pallett being horribly ill, there was nary a bum note, a rythmic mistake, a misplaced stroke of the bow anywhere. Even people who have professed to not be terribly fond of his recirded material *cough*myinsaneboyfriend*cough* have admitted that seeing him live and watching him literally re-create his songs from the bottom up, solo, from scratch (and, occasionally altered and modified just to make it MORE difficult and interesting) is an amazing experience. That he then proceeds to sing like an angel while playing furious and flawless violin lines and timing his layers just right is beyond my ability to fathom.

Furthermore, hearing "The Butcher" (my favourite thing he's ever done, ever) in such a venue is something that cannot be put into words. I consider it one of the greatest crimes in our present music scene that Final Fantasy doesn't garner as much recognition as the band for whom he composes flawless string arrangements (The Arcade Fire). The man even played an encore despite his state (though I suppose the sound of a church full of people pounding their feet and applauding could be somewhat terrifying to deny).

Seeing as I'm back at school full-time once again for my last and final year before I'm actually supposed to go out and "be a professional" (they still don't have lessons for that, really >.>), it would take the most sublime of sublime shows to bring me to feel as if keeping it to myself is a selfish thing to do. Even more so to do more than feel vaguely guilty about not writing about it and actually write about it.

This was just that show.


~Ju


Timber Timbre:
On Myspace Music

Final Fantasy
On the Web
On Myspace Music

[Live] Okkervil River

Walking into Central United Church last Thursday, I couldn’t help but be overcome with a sense of pride. For a city that, three years ago didn’t even have one half-decent indie music festival, Calgary has matured quite a bit musically. As we shuffled into a pew near the back of the church, I paused to reflect on how lucky I felt. Okkervil River (THE Okkervil River) was playing this tiny little venue in my almost culturally devoid city. For a moment I considered kneeling and saying a prayer (God bless you Zak Pashak. God bless your children. God bless your children’s children.) but instead I decided to take advantage of my situation and watch The Consonant C play the end of their set. After a couple more opening bands, (all of which Ju has already covered, so I won’t bore you with my impressions) Okkervil took the stage.

A month ago, if you’d asked me whether or not I thought a church was an ideal local for a band like Okkervil River to play, I probably would have said something along the lines of “I’d rather watch them play in a bar.” However, if at any point in my life I’d actually said that, then I would now be forced to devote the next forty years of my life to discovering a way to travel back in time so that I could kick myself in the nads.

Okkervil’s set began with their latest single, “The President’s Dead” and from there on in they played every damn one of their songs that I wanted to hear live. From the epically soaring song “The Latest Toughs” to the introspective suicide tune “John Allyn Smith Sails” and finally finishing with the spaghetti western themed “Westfall”. Will Sheff’s voice rang out across the chapel and perhaps it was just the setting but the band’s performance seemed to take on a hallowed air.

I’ve heard Okkervil River described as a great many things in my time. People have affixed them with the labels of Indie, Folk, Country, Alternative Country, and straight up Rock. At one point I would probably have affixed them with a label myself, but after seeing them play live, I can honestly say that none of the above labels can even begin to describe their sound. Not to mention the fact that Will Sheff’s lyrics are beyond poetic. Their weight live transcends anything that you could hear in a recording, making these Austen, Texas darlings a must-see.

Check them out this fall on their tour for their new album, The Stand-Ins, available September 9th in the USA and Canada and on October 13th in the UK and Europe.
09-12 Lawrence, KS - The Bottleneck
09-13 Omaha, NE - Slowdown
09-14 Madison, WI - Barrymore Theater
09-15 Fargo, ND - Aquarium
09-17 Seattle, WA - The Showbox
09-18 Vancouver, British Columbia - Richards on Richards
09-19 Portland, OR - Crystal Ballroom
09-21 San Francisco, CA - Treasure Island Festival
09-23 Los Angeles, CA - Henry Fonda Theatre
09-24 Solana Beach, CA - Belly Up Tavern
09-26 El Paso, TX - The Blue Iguana
09-26-28 Austin, TX - Austin City Limits Music Festival
09-30 New Orleans, LA - The Republic
10-1 Birmingham, AL - Matthew's Bar & Grill
10-2 Athens, GA - 40 Watt Club
10-4 Richmond, VA - The National
10-6 New York, NY - Webster Hall
10-7 New York, NY - Webster Hall
10-8 Northampton, MA - Pearl Street Nightclub
10-9 Millvale, PA - Mr. Smalls Theatre
10-10 Buffalo, NY - Tralf Music Hall
10-11 Montreal, QC - Les Saints
10-12 Toronto, ON - Phoenix

~Phil

[Local Feature] Intro: Sled Island

For those who have been following the map thus far, Sled Island isn't news, exactly.

However, we here at WHYH are fully aware of how large the internet is. What is obvious and well-known in one area can be totally unheard of in another; local heroes who get tons of coverage and credit in one city might be virtually unknown or less appreciated in places where people can download a few tracks, but not necessarily witness the magic of said bands live.

So, with this fact in mind, I believe a quick rundown of what, exactly, the Sled Island festival is, is in order. An introduction to the festival (now in it's second year, and growing), before we dive into the thing head-first.

First things first: there is, in fact, no place called Sled Island here in Calgary. The real Sled Island is a small island in Northern Alberta where the Cree used to get the birch trees to create toboggans; no one has actually HEARD of it unless you count Zak Pashak (the Sled Island festival founder)...and even he only heard of it when googling interesting names of places in Alberta.

Despite this, the name does serve its intended purpose: it implies an air of fun and youthful energy, which is exactly what Sled Island has by the bucketful. While other older, more established music festivals may strive for a specific ambience, or follow a similar successful template (see Virginfest and Lollapalooza, to name a few), Sled Island's festival identity is something of a breath of fresh air. Modeled after Austin's SXSW, it borrows the showcase structure, but never feels like it's imitating or trying to be anything but a distinctively "Calgary" event.

Very much, Sled Island is about communicating exactly what that means to a community that often sees the city as a once-a-year rodeo and home of the white cowboy hat. While bringing in international-grade talent (not measured in record sales, but honest-to-god musical ability), the festival also seeks to give exposure to some of our most exciting and vibrant local artists, both visual and musical. Overall, Sled Island is about building a Calgarian identity that is more accurate and less stifling than the outdated one that often leads international sources to patronize or underestimate the city as a whole (witness, for example, the Virginfest lineup sent to town >.>).

With this in mind, I hope I can communicate at least to some extent the indescribable feeling in the air at the performances this weekend. A humming excitement that gets inside your bones.

[Live] Sled Island Kickoff: No Age + guests

So, much like everything in life, personal music politics (yes, even those! Wait, it might just be me that has those, but anyways, I digress) are subject to slight hypocrisy every now and again.

"What does this have to do with No Age?" you might wonder.

See also: "What's this I hear about you guys doing endorsement deals?"

See also: "Is this going to be another long anti-Pitchfork rant? Because then I'm leaving."

The answer to all those points, and more, lies beyond this magical gateway of wonder you see just to your left. The one edged with delicious feedback and vocal layers and sprinkled with a touch of avant-noise dust. No...you missed it. Your other left. A bit more...closer...too far! THERE!

Once the distracting faeries and candy-coloured fog has cleared (magical gateways always seem to have this, though at least this one has no annoying rhyming jingle accompaniment), you see a crowded, dimly-lit rock pub with a small stage set across from the booths. There is a sign reading "No Beatniks" above the bar. You might recognize this place...after all, you've been here before, if only in that Sunset Rubdown live review that WHYH did way back.

The place is Broken City; the DJ sucks, except when someone temporarily distracted him from his 70's/80's songs long enough to throw on Mudhoney's "Suck You Dry" for an all-too-brief reprieve from generic radio rock (this probably didn't happen, but I rather like the idea of some mysterious caped crusader sweeping in to knock out the guy that thinks that the crowd at a No Age show are quite obviously fans of Heart-ripoff bands >.>).

You are there, very much because of the force in indie music who you have sworn to revile and loathe for all eternity (especially after that shameful and pathetically shallow-minded review of the new Wolf Parade album...more on that later >.>).

Yes, I owe Pitchfork for my own personal discovery of No Age; I'll give credit where credit is due. This is where the hypocrisy comes in: though I think their outlook towards music, their elitist posturing, and the crippling nature of said outlook on the state of indie music today is somewhat as ridiculous as the gargantuan influence of dinosaur Rolling Stone was back in the day, I generally don't disagree with them when they say something is pretty good. The exception to this is when they gave Justin Timberlake's Futuresex album an 8+ score, whereupon I decided that the blog's fancy touring budget was obviously funded by nefarious means. Apparently, they do endorsement deals too (once again, more on that later >.>).

Anyways, this is ruining the mood, so ignore it as a long, Shakespearean Aside.

The opening acts are perfect warm-ups; excellent local band The Dirty Dirty North (ex. Pants Situation, with the same hooks, more percussion, and more moxie) bring the rock like only they know how, getting the crowd energized and pumped, while Toronto-based progressive no-wavers dd/mm/yyyy (pronounced Day Month Year) clearly remind everyone that anyone expecting traditional verse/chorus/verse song structures devoid of layered effects had better go home. The pummeling of soundscapes immersing an at-capacity bar in sonic texture until you feel it like a solid presence in the air around you is also a good lead-in to the sensory attack of No Age.

Between the arresting energy and passion of the two men onstage, the fever-dream of montage images projected over the scene with lo-fi pixelation and fragmentation, and the kick-to-the-chest of tightly interwoven effects, feedback, vocals, thrashing guitar, percussion, and sheer volume , one doesn't know where to focus, where to look, or listen...it's let go and be taken over by the experience, or perish trying to fight it.

And truthfully, it's a hell of a lot more fun to give in and, to borrow drummer/vocalist Dean Spunt's expression, "lose your shit".

An hour and a half later, partially deaf, disheveled, and feeling almost as if you've been hit with a wave of sound before nearly drowning in it, you leave the tiny bar, a big stupid grin slapped across your face. There's no way you could regret it.

And this is only day one of a four-day multivenue sprawling festival curated by none other than Pavement's Scott Kannberg (i.e. Spiral Stairs) featuring some of the brightest local and not-so-local talents around (Chad Vangaalen to Mother Mother to Wire to Mogwai).

I can safely say I've never been quite so happy that I live in Calgary.


~Ju

P.S: the endorsement deals aren't true. Not a word. Well...unless you count being offered a free Zune in order to market-test the thing. However, in my defense, I state that any and all opinion stated on here in relation to the product will be completely honest. I'm quite neutral when it comes to mp3 players, being a vinyl-junkie and all. XD

Dirty Dirty North
http://myspace.com/thedirtydirtynorth

dd/mm/yyyy
http://myspace.com/ddmmyyyy

No Age
http://www.myspace.com/nonoage

Live: Calgary Folk Fest, Part 2

Elliot Brood - picture taken by Mariella Villalobos (c) July 2006

Part Deux: Elliot Brood, and the arcane magical nature of "folk" music

Day two of Folk Fest was, basically, same procedural layout as the day before; things kicked off in the afternoon, though this time there were other acts in addition to the mainstage. For which, we all must thank whatever higher power is out there. O_o

This means, of course, that we tried to avoid the mainstage as much as possible, going out to watch Elliot Brood's show at the Sunterra Stage, far on the distant fringes of reality. No kidding. O_o You had to walk across half the park, and under a bridge, and perform many arcane ceremonies of unusual nature in order to reach it. >.>

The show itself, however, was definitely worth it. Even if we missed most of "Second Son" due to the ridiculous nature of reaching the stage, the rest of the songs were just as wonderful to hear live. Though you won't find any crazy stage antics here, the boys of Elliot Brood play with a sort of straightforward earnestness that's both charming and endearing. Less desperation than I've seen in other bands, and while desperation is definitely something incendiary to watch onstage, the fact remains that these guys really don't need it. The music itself is, while not exactly laid back, a kind of dusty, solid presence that just seems to want to jam out, labels be damned. Plus, their drummer plays suitcases. SUITCASES. COME ON!

The mainstage itself, however, was a bit of a letdown in the way that...well...to be fair, we had just watched Feist and Broken Social Scene create magic there the evening before. By comparison, having Bedouin Soundclash and Macy Gray to look forward to is akin to eating at the most amazing restaurant ever, then being hauled off to eat at Earls the next day.

There were unexpected surprises, of course, like the previous day. Robbie Fulks, for example, and Jeff Healey's Jazz Wizards were actually quite enjoyable...though by far not the kind of music I usually listen to, I know when to surrender and admit that, yes, it doesn't have to be "rock" to kick ass. Though rock would kick my ass to hear me say that. >.>

Also a surprise were the in-betweeners: especially Kris Demeanor and Chantal Vitalis. It was only later, however, that we would learn of just how decent these guys were...but that, of course, is another story. In the mean time, we just figured that, yeah, they weren't that bad...better than that unfunny comedian from the day before, anyway.

At this point, however, Bedouin Soundclash took the stage; from our perch on the haunted/cursed picnic table near the gates (inside joke, don't ask), we listened and realized two things: one, DAMN they wish they were Bob Marley, and two, it's such a shame that they're the ones who wrote "When The Night Hears My Song". Though not a bad band...well...personally, I just have to say that I find myself, once again, on the outside of understanging indie tastes. Here is a band that many people, friends of mine who have introduced me to WONDERFUL bands or whose opinion I usually highly respect, are crazy about...and I just can't see the attraction. It's like the flurry of attention around Gnarls Barkley, or the 'Fork's obsession with the Pipettes, or Liars. Sure, I understand that people like it...a LOT of people like it...but it just doesn't make sense to me the HUGE deal that is made about these artists. Every time you read something written about them, or see the overwhelming numbers of people tuning in, you get the impression that somewhere, someone thinks that these bands will save music from the jaws of oblivion.

As if they were all Spencer Krug, or something. Keh. >.>

In any case, the band finished playing...and we then proceeded to run out the gates as fast as the gravel road would permit. See, our location was a strategic one. Regardless, we almost didn't make it; the strains of Macy Grey seemed to chase us down, across the bridge and down into Eau Claire Market like the plague of dark locusts. You know...those ones that eat your soul.

I'm kidding, of course. That was a close one, though.


Next: Part 3, in which we meet Feist and Elliot Brood, and discover the evils of wisdom tooth removal.

Live: Calgary Folk Fest, Part 1

Funny how a chance to reflect can make you realize just how much things have changed in a year. In this case, the reflective shiny time surface of doom being Folk Fest. For one thing, one year ago, we didn't even know there WAS a Folk Fest in Calgary. And even if we had...well, folk still tends to conjure up images of old guys in ZZ Tops beards and the occassional hippie holding hands around the ol' Bob Dylan shrine.

Not that that doesn't happen now, of course. But now, what with all those sound experiments happening in Indie music, you'd be shocked and appalled to learn some of the acts which have managed to sneak in under the 'folk' label. Or, I guess, in our case, pleasantly surprised.


Part Un: Feist, and Malfunctioning Societal Grouping (if you want to get technical)

Day one basically consisted of adjusting to the fact that we now might be classified under the label of "folkies", and waiting in seizure-inducing excitement to see Feist and Broken Social Scene. There were other acts lined up, of course...but we suck in the way that we didn't even bother checking out if they were any good beforehand. >.>

As luck would have it, though, they were actually much more enjoyable than expected. First was Frigg, a Finnish/Norwegian/Celtic-sound ensemble that opened up the event nicely by getting everyone into the listening mood. Then Dan Bern; Dylanesque vocal style, with witty songs figuring many recognizeable cultural icons such as Marilyn Monroe, Hitler, Jesus, and Kurt Cobain. Specifically Marilyn Monroe. XD Niyaz followed, with Iranian/electronic fusion music that, though definitely cool, provoked the argument whether or not caring bongos makes one automatically cool (I still maintain that I'm right: though they are cool when played well, they don't, in fact, guarantee you such status Xp).

Finally...the moment of truth. Leslie Feist took the stage, whereupon the next 45 minutes or so were spent in rapturous wonder at how someone could possibly encapsulate so much awesome without breaking some law. So much so, actually, that she was called back for an encore (one of the only artists throughout the weekend to achieve such recognition.

And last, but not least...Broken Social Scene. Ahhh...what really needs to be said about them that hasn't been shouted enthusiastically from the tops of mountains? Though I am still fiercely determined to see "Windsurfing Nation" played live one day, I am perfectly content with the fact that every other song selection seemed to be a favourite of mine. From the energetic strains of "Major Label Debut (fast)" to "Almost Crimes to" to "Ibi Dreams" to "Fire-Eyed Boy", there wasn't a single moment where us "Scenesterer than Thou" indie kids didn't have to fight the urge to dance. I kid, of course...>.> We gave in.

So very, very easily. XD

Next Up: Day 2, whereupon we discover that the guys in Elliot Brood are wickedly cool, that it really is too bad that "When The Night Hears My Song" was, in fact, written by Bedouin Soundclash, and we escape Macy Grey by the skin of our teeth.

Live: Sonic Youth

Anyone who hasn't given up on this blog...god bless you. It's been a long stretch with no updates; that last Flashback is starting to grow mould, I think...Phil hasn't written anything new since about the time I realized that Raine Maida used up all his talent years ago (trust me, it HAS been that long). In fact...he might seriously be dead.

We're looking into it. >.>

Despite the questionable life status of the founder of WHYH, however, we have decided to push onwards. We have also decided to continue his neverending battle against Pitchfork, or "The Devil", as he used to say (Ohoh, we sure had some good times...we'll miss him, we will). That's another story, however, and completely irrelevant to the remainder of this piece.

The point of all this, I suppose, and one which I would have rambled over to eventually, was that Sonic Youth will never play Alberta. Ever. So, following that whole Mountain & Muhammad visiting each other in some random arrangement analogy, I took a trip down to Seattle to watch the 'Youth rock it up at the Moore Theatre. And ohoh, is that city wonderful and beautiful and everything I could have imagined it to be. However, that's ALSO not the point of this article. Let it just be said that my suitcase came back twice as heavy, full of music-ey goodness. (Wipers Rarities 45", anyone?)

Despite the fact that their name might now be considered ironic (Ohoh, youth...), the band was absolutely incredible. Whatever Pitchfork said about Rather Ripped, the album plays incredibly well live...thus proving that once again, those jaded critics have their heads up their rear ends. (Philip's dying wish WILL be carried out, dammit!)

Even though they only played two older songs, the crowd was still nothing less that ecstatic about the whole show, which was wonderfully executed and incredible to watch. Especially the 10-minute noise-collage that constituted the end of the second encore. XD (You haven't lived till you've seen a guitarist drop the guitar on its head in order to coax feedback, while another drags it around upside down on the floor, the bassist fiddles with the rig, and the drummer just goes ahead and holds it all together while doing his own thing.)

After the show, I stuck around and got to talk with Lee and Thurston for a while...and I really have to say this straight for anyone that might have any doubts: they were nothing short of incredibly friendly, down to earth, and totally cool. After how long they've been onstage, and hearing people tell them how amazing they are, it's definitely a feat to be so approachable.



So, to sum it all up, Seattle might be the greatest city ever built, Awesome Colour opened for the 'Youth, and were quite good (what a tough opening gig, though...>.>), Sonic Youth rock so hard that I think I have bruises just from listening to the awesomeness live, and Thurston and Lee might just be the coolest people since the guy that invented sliced bread.

So, all around, good times on the whole. Well, minus the Phil being dead part...the fight against indie elitism will continue in his memory, and we'll miss the big guy.

Well...if we ever get around to it. Probably.

Live: The Constantines

Well, I really thought I might pull it off this time.

That is, until those U.S soldiers found my hiding place, pried me out of the hole, and dragged me, blinking and bearded, into the sunlight.

...Or, in this case, politely pointed out to me that it has, in fact, been two weeks since I even went to the show, and as such, I really should get on with writing this thing. Or else.

Curses. Xp

But here I am, on the morn of my grad day, telling the tale of that saturday two weeks ago whereupon the guitar-playing angels of the LORD descended to me, bringing the good news that rock can, in fact, Be Saved...gather 'round, children, and list' well.

It all started last summer, during a show by a little-known band titled roughly after People Who Battle Something Named Foo, fronted by the drummer of another little-known band who may or may not have saved rock/brought about its destruction (depending on who you talk to). Anyways, the point is, opening for this band of little renown was a group who, at the time, seemed decent to my ears...though what really caught my attention was the fact that their drummer played like the fate of the world depended on him beating the crap out of his kit. Kinda like the slightly-crazed ghost of Keith Moon, John Bonham, and the presently living Grohl (yeah, you figure it out how that last one's possible >.>) had taken possession of his body in order to help avert our Impending Doom.

Evidently, their efforts worked, since the world DIDN'T end that night, and now, several months and countless shows later, I was given the opportunity to see this same band play again. It was a tough, decision, of course...yeah. Real tough. >.>

As to the experience, it took place in one of the smaller venues in our very own MacEwan Hall...which was nice, and rather intimate. I must admit, though, that I'm still adjusting to the concept of crowds who don't, in fact, mosh into you and perform spin-kicks in the middle of a crowded gig space. >.> Regardless, however, the show opened well enough, with the Blood Meridian, who were decent and set the tone for the evening despite severe jetlag from having driven straight from the airport to the gig. Nice, but not astounding.

Then came the second opener, Chad VanGaalen...and here is where my mild expectations for the evening were slowly and ritually crushed by the sheer greatness of what was happening onstage. Whatever thoughts I might have had beforehand about his music were blown away by the fact that, not only can the guy play, but play REALLY WELL. And there's a certain gravity in his stage show that is as attention-holding as any act of wanton destruction. The whole audience was in awe.

...Well, despite that one guy who knew Chad, and Proceeded To be The Life Of The Concert. You know...like that one friend you can never get to just shut up, even if they do say amusing things? Good to know that being an indie Star does not make one exempt. >.>

Finally, however, this wonderful performer with an unpronouncable last name left the stage, and we of the audience scarecly had time to recover our jaded sensibilities before those Byzantian Rockers appeared, set up their gear in record time, and began to play.

Whatever my job description is on this blog...I just can't communicate in words the experience of seeing the Constantines play live. Listen to their records and you gain an appreciation for the sheer capacity of their music..."Gutter Poetry", I believe our 'good' friends over at the The 'Fork
called it >.>. However, the songs gain a certain dimension onstage that no amount of tracks and studio tricks can create...it's almost like they come alive, and proceed to overwhelm you with their awesomness until you become that screaming Beatles fangirl you always promised yourself you would NEVER be.

...Which, I'm not sure is a GOOD thing, but it definitely says something about their stagemanship. Whatever else can be said, or written, about this band, it all comes down to the simple fact that they can PLAY. Not just play their instruments...they can play music. Can undo all that jaded hoo-hah about Rock being dead, or dying, or whatever...they ARE Rock and Roll.

And yes, their drummer still played like he was possessed by the above three spirits. Maybe even gained a few along the way. >.> Which maybe makes me think that the Impending Doom is still apparent, up there...maybe it's a constantly Impending Doom, and as such, the moment bands like The Constantines aren't in existance anymore, the world will, in fact, end.

With fire and burning and all that fun stuff. And the Guitar-Wielding Angels of the LORD will ride forth and inflict His wrath upon the Nickelbacks and Theory of a Deadmans and Pussycat Dolls of the world...

it's a pleasant dream. XD


The Constantines - Nighttime, Anytime, It's Allright
The Constantines - On To You
The Constantines - Soon Enough

Live: Frog Eyes and Sunset Rubdown

Well, there seems to be no help for it.

Despite procrastination, heavy sighing, and the occasional tearful refusal (as well as a feigned case of lysdexia), I am finally getting around to writing the live review for the two bands I saw play Broken City on tuesday: Frog Eyes and Sunset Rubdown.

Not that I didn't totally enjoy myself (more on that later). However, I am possibly the world's number one believer in the way of the slacker. ...Or at least, the version where you slack off for most of the time, then frantically try to finish everything on time (and WELL), all while berating life in general at top volume.

It's an art. XD

Anyways, the setting for our little tale was this smoky little dive bar known to the local musician set affectionately by the moniker "Broken Shitty". (hahah, aren't we witty) But really, I probably inhaled enough secondhand smoke to put me forward to the "two packs a day for ten years" mark of lung disease.

The reward for my martyrdom, however, was definitely worth it. First, Sunset Rubdown (Spencer Krug, of Wolf Parade fame, in an increasingly recognition-winning side project) took the stage. Or rather, "the boxed in, designated area of the bar floor". Whatever. The fact remains that even though this four-piece didn't talk overly-much with the audience, or swan-dive into their drumkit, they have this certain desperate edge to their performance that is both incredible and immediate to watch. Spencer Krug's emulation of a music-enduced epilleptic seizure while playing...just about any of his parts, really, is as visually arresting as any stage gimmick adopted by less genuinely-eccentric bands. Even his few statements made to the audience had this genuine, naive edge that's both endearing and funny. Lastly, the presence of, like, half his family in the audience lent the gig a feeling akin to a music recital, rather than a steriotypical show. Only, like, the coolest, most intense recital you've ever been to, where the little kid lights the priceless Gershwin instrument on fire at the end. Yeah.

Frog Eyes were more of the same kind of desperate stagemanship that makes you worry about whether the artists are just performing, or REALLY having a heart attack onstage. Krug played keyboards for them, leading me to learn that he had, at one time, been in the band, before forming Wolf Parade.

That's one mystery solved. >.>

So, wicked show overall. The wierdest thing, though, was probably the way that it didn't feel like any other show I've ever been to...part crazed recital, part bar show, part worrying about the mainstream accessibility of the music (my dad was in the audience...THAT's a new one. >.>). So, definitely worth the $10 I paid for tickets. And yes, I would (and probably will) do it all again.

Even the lunge disease part.


*EDIT* On the suggestion of teh Philip, here's an mp3 each, from the bands, for your listening pleasure. ^^

Sunset Rubdown - They Took A Vote And Said No

Frog Eyes - Sound Travels From The Snow to the Dark