The crowd for the Jay Reatard/Kim Phuc show this past Monday night at the Brillobox was a little more, how should I say this, meaner than the usual mix of indie kids the Penn Avenue mainstay is used to. A large, enthusiastic crowd, sure, but they had a bit of an edge. It’s a welcome change of pace from some of the more precious crowds I have seen at shows lately. I will say this was probably the direct result of a local concert promoter (and by that I mean OPUS ONE) facilitating the perfect union between a local band and a national tour.
I don’t think any Pittsburgh band could even begin to approach the pure viciousness of a Kim Phuc live show and for all those who have seen Jay Reatard in concert already know how similar their musical philosophies are. Between Jay Reatard’s pocket rock opuses disguised as shotgun blasts of hardcore rage and Kim Phuc’s zombie Stooges swagger, the show, simply put, did not fuck around. It was a heaving sweaty mess of the loudest music ever to come out of the Brillobox’s monitors, deliriously beaming with something too many Pittsburgh bands seem to lack: attitude. Keep reading →
Brooklyn bands Lights and Saadi make their way to Garfield artworks this Saturday which comes in the middle of an already busy November for the Pittsburgh music scene. But even as the Steel City continues to thrive, the music world’s attention is once again fixated on the Scene of scenes: Brooklyn.
The indie music blogosphere is currently buzzing with New York Magazine’s recent piece that all but canonizes Brooklyn as the indie rock Mecca we already knew it was (we just don’t want to admit it). Even as we resist to buy into all that hyperbolic bull shit, these two, damn fine Brooklyn bands come to Garfield Artworks this Saturday ready represent the borough by kicking the outsider cynics (myself included) in the nuts. Keep reading →
When I think of Delaware, I think of a beautifully manicured college campus in the northeast somewhere, complete with ivy-coated brick buildings, pretentious coffee shops and an easy going, all be it progressive, student population. For all I know, the entire state is like a sprawling, commonwealth version of Williams.
A ridiculous day dream I know, but the endearing charm of The First State’s own Spinto Band, who come to Garfield Artworks this Saturday along with Generationals and Pepi Ginsberg, has me recalling the most romantic days of my undergraduate experience. With Their latest release Slim and Slender, a four song EP out this past October, the Spintos continue their staggeringly consistent streak of three flexible indie pop releases over the past three years. On Slim and Slender, the group practically radiates the amber aura of a magic hour bon fire with three kegs to kick. Keep reading →
David Adamson, the man/ beat boy/freak folk/ hazed-out shaman behind Asthmatic Kitty’s Jookabox knows something about drums and bass. His reckless, primordial rhythms perforate the negative spaces of his music like steady cacophonies of jack hammers working simultaneously on parallel city streets.
Separately, the isolated layers of percussion may only appear to be dumb, blunt objects, but as Adamson’s compositions begin to coalesce (first beat, then song, then album) Jookabox’s unique mash-up of gypsy folk frenzy and hip-hop kick drums careen beautifully out of control.
With Dead Zone Boys, the group’s second full-length out November 3rd, Jookabox merge their kitchen sink aesthetic with nightmarish imagery and atmosphere, providing what is basically the musical equivalent of Raising Arizona and Night of the Living Dead having a baby: a manic, gleefully insane journey through a warped vision of America that sees the living and undead alike desperately groping at some kind of hedonistic pleasure. From song to song, it’s an album prone to outbursts of both half-crazed laughter and sinister threats, happily aware of its own emotional/motivational imbalances. Keep reading →
Last July’s Yeasayer concert at Mr. Small’s proved to be quite the telling experience. Half the set was new material that steered away from the world music and shaman-chanting influences that was the band’s trademark since 2007’s All Hour Cymbals. But while the new material focused on a heavy, electronic production (including new interpretations of “2080″, “Sunrise,” and “Waiting For the Summer”), Yeasayer’s M.O. for composition and song structure, as well as the group’s free spirit vibe, remained essentially the same.
Which brings us to “Ambling Alp,” a song I definitely remember from that fateful Mr. Small’s show. The first single from their forthcoming Odd Blood (out February 19th), the track is to be released as a 12” single by Secretly Canadian on November 3.
The song initially begins with an auspicious, ambient prelude before morphing into a cacophony of 80’s synthesizers, layered percussion, and chirping vocal loops appearing sporadically through out the mix. A motivational chorus chimes in with lead singer Chris Keating confidently relating some nuggets of wisdom: “You must speak up for yourself son! Nevermind what anybody else does.”
Talk about fanning the flames of anticipation. One track in and Odd Blood is already shooting for the moon.
Yeah, I’m a novice. Nicole Atkins is one of those dark, smoldering ingenues who converts humans into disciples with no more than a fiery glance. During her live shows these humans, guys and gals alike, swoon in measured droves, pray for their favorite songs and stand mystified, religiously mystified, as Ms. Atkins seduces the stage.
Along with her faithful backing band, The Black Sea, Atkins played a full room at the South Side’s Club Cafe Tuesday evening as the concert spot’s smokey corners and starry backdrop played a perfect supporting character (with the exception of a blown out monitor) to the bombastic qualities of Atkins best work (the street anthems, symphonies, and Patsy Cline homages alike) that were allowed to howl unmitigated into the rainy Pittsburgh evening. Keep reading →
For the first 7.5 seconds of Major Lazer’s video for the dancehall-dub by way of Billboard Hot 100 fever dream that is “Keep it Goin’ Louder,” off this year’s Guns Don’t Kill People, Lazers Do, all seems to be up to code with the Hip-hop Club Scene Video Cliche Mandate/Doctrine of 2004(that’s on the books, believe me), a bill that was authored and vehmently championed by the distinguished gentleman from New York, Cam’ron.
Ten seconds into the video, however, is a completely different story. That story is one filled with human hybrid cartoon zombies and evil, gravity-defying cartoon blowfish dancing, nay REVELING, with their normal hip hop club counterparts as Switch, Diplo and the crooning, auto-tuned, double trouble combo of Ricky Blaze and Nina Sky slowly melt minds.
This unholy (yet ridiculously stupid awesome) dance scene reaches a frenzy pitch just as Major Lazer himself saves the day and eviscerates all the cartoon zombie-dancehall human hybrids with his towering speakers of kalidescopic light and general bad-assery.
That description (which I’m surprised I could even write) doesn’t come close to the real thing. Guns Don’t Kill People is my favorite party album of the year for a reason.
I’ve always suffer from a hazy splash of deja vu when I listen to Lohio. Unfortunately, my initial response when listening to new music is fairly academic. I unconsciously begin to pick apart influences, arrangements, compositional elements and production touches when, before long, I missed any emotional resonance the song had to offer. I have never done that listening to Lohio.
I’m not saying they make dumb pop songs or pretentious pieces of shit that try too damn hard to do whatever it is they’re doing, I just can’t seem to ignore the emotional, nostalgic qualities of a song like “Sea and the Sun” off last years History, the Destroyer. Lohio crafts their music with a foggy warmth that avoids sentimentality, recalling the pleasures of AM radio pop and country with a sincerity that isn’t easily replicated or ignored. Basically, Lohio make you care. Keep reading →
It’s a bit of a slow news week here in musicburgh. Few national touring acts from now until the new year will warrant my attention. I have at least four local releases from the last three months that I plan on reviewing, yet haven’t. And honestly, I think I’m getting a touch of the fat pig cold.
While these factors would seem detrimental to the ongoing content of speed of the pittsburgh sound, they allow me to talk for a moment about a non-Pittsburgher of a musician who I can’t seem to get enough of. South Carolina resident Earnest Greene, otherwise known as chillwave bedroom composer Washed Out who is fresh off only the second performance of his young career, has produced what is essentially the coolest vacation post card ever created. The video for “Feel it All Around” documents what appears to be a whimsical Carribean day dream, complete with snorkeling, shots of Patron and lazy river shenanigans.
The lingering shot of a young, bikini clad woman floating idly in the foreground of a sunset was simply too much for my 23 year old mind to comprehend. Fly to close to the sun and you get burned, I guess. Damn my eyes. I’ll be wearing flip flops till there’s a foot of white on the ground without a second thought.
If there ever was a group that could embrace the carnival menace of the Halloween season, Pittsburgh’s own Black Moth Super Rainbow is it. Marshmallow Ghosts is a collaboration between BMSR and Graveface labelmates The Appleseed Cast, Dreamend, and Casket Girls, who conjured up the 7″ single “Shrieks” to be released on October 20th.
The project represents what is basically Graveface Records’ house band. “Shrieks” casually injects some macabre wonder into air via tumbling organs, horror movie samples, and marching drums that invoke the House of Usher in all its dilapidated glory. It’s a goofy one-off, for sure, but a total delight in the same measure.
I spoke recently of how singer-songwriter Jane Herships easily crystallized that emotional transition of the fall season as one looks toward the winter ahead. Marshmallow Ghosts, however, take a snapshot of the eerie October nights, haunted houses, graveyards and Vincent Price kitsch that permeate the best kind of Halloween spirit. It’s not especially sinister, just delightfully camp in an exceedingly creepy way.
I think we can all appreciate that our Halloween rests in the hands of seasoned experts.
