Polvo comes to the Brillobox this Thursday with The Ceiling Stares

Plan Your Week Accordingly: August 9 to August 15

Monday August 9
- mewithoutYou with Murder By Death @ Mr. Small’s
mewithoutYou – Timothy Hay

Murder by Death – Foxglove

Thursday August 12
- Polvo with The Ceiling Stares, Broughton Rules @  Brillobox
Polvo – Beggar’s Bowl

- Horse Feathers @ Club Cafe
Horse Feathers – Blood on the Snow

Sunday August 15
We Are Scientists with Bad Veins, Satin Gum @ Brillobox
We Are Scientists – Pittsburgh

Bad Veins – Gold And Warm

Built to Spill

For the Week of July 26 through August 1st:

Wednesday July 28
Legowelt @ Brillobox (sponsored by Garfield Artworks)

Friday July 30
Bear Cub, Chad Stipes Stereo & Triggers @ Brillobox
The Triggers – Ready Or Not

Kaiser Cartel @ Schenley Plaza
Kaiser Cartel – Ready To Go

Sunday August 1
Built to Spill @ Mr. Small’s
Built to Spill – Goin’ Against Your Mind

Yo La Tengo @ Hartwood Acres
Yo La Tengo – Beanbag Chair

Photo by Hugh Twyman

We Were Promised Jetpacks possess probably the most thematically loaded band name in the pantheon of indie rock.  While FatCat label mates (and notable influences) Frightened Rabbit and The Twilight Sad also have names that emote in strange ways,  ”We Were Promised Jetpacks” is practically a short story in four words;  an absurdly funny/sad thesis statement for a band known to punctuate their most heart wrenching and sprawling compositions with a wry smile ripe with bracing wit.

After witnessing WWPJP play their first concert ever in Pittsburgh last Thursday at Mr. Small’s, it’s obvious the Edinburgh group’s particular brand of concision doesn’t simplify their music and emotions so much as focus them. What resulted was a blistering wall of potent indie rock that proved to be epic beyond the usual anthemic signifiers of surging guitars and sing along choruses.  Lead singer, guitarist and main songwriter Adam Thompson engaged the audience with his quietly devastating stage presence, blunt lyrics and steely dynamic musicianship, subtly revealing a performance of grand romantic gestures from a truly charismatic man.

The bulk of the set was comprised of highlights from the WWPJP’s 2009 urgent FatCat debut These Four Walls, along with a handful of promising new tracks, sporadically named but definitely in line with most of the group’s catalog.  The thunderous  “Quiet Little Voices” provided one of the show’s linchpins, exhibiting the group’s Spartan, post-punk influenced guitar work and accentuating the magnetic nature of the WWPJP’s best material.  The track’s towering chorus was supported and earned by equally desperate verses showcasing  Thompson’s ascending vocals (only slightly tinged with his native Scottish brogue) and penchant for repeating particular lyrics for effect (“I’m young again,” “I’ll die for you,” and “I’ll fall for you” are all repeated at least four times in succession).  It’s a muscular song heightened by emotion, pointed and effecting rather than heavy handed and melodramatic.

“It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning,” the side one, track one from These Four Walls, provided the show’s most thoroughly engrossing performance, arriving almost exactly in the middle of the set. WWPJP exerted impressive control over song’s quiet/loud transitions, slowly building the tightly spiraling guitar work into a barrage of pummeling storm winds.   Thompson again drove home the lyrical repetition,  (this time with the particularly violent “Your body was black and blue”) but focused his vocals into a sustained crescendo rather than devolving into an indecipherable howl.  When the pieces all came together for the rollicking finale’s pulsating conclusion, an extend soft outro was added and provided a stark contrast between the song’s fragile and pummeling moments, amplifying  WWPJP’s already epic composition.

We Were Promised Jetpacks played with a sustained conviction that gradually pulled the audience in song after song.  The amount of sheer energy and focus they exerted during their most intense tracks was palpable. Any time these native Scot’s make their way back to the Steel City, the show is simply a must see. Smoldering, passionate rock and roll played at its loudest and most sincere doesn’t come around very often, make sure you are paying attention.

We Were Promised Jetpacks – It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning

We Were Promised Jetpacks – Quiet Little Voices

Remember that time when you heard about that awesome show, but only after the fact, and then you got that weird feeling in your stomach, like when you went too high on the playground swings? Plan Your Week Accordingly is a new feature of Speed of the Pittsburgh Sound which aims to help you never ever have that feeling again (at least about shows). We highlight the “must-sees” from our perspective, give you the date and the locale, and leave the rest to your impeccable/implacable discretion. Shows and tracks after the jump.

For the Week of July 12 – 18

Tuesday, July 13
- Kurt Vile and Real Estate @ Garfield Artworks
Kurt Vile – Hunchback

Thursday, July 15
- Jon Spencer Blues Explosion @ Diesel
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – Orange

- Clem Snide and The Heligoats @ Club Cafe
Clem Snide – The Meat Of Life

Sunday, July 18
- Old 97′s @ Mr. Smalls
Old 97′s – Jagged

Washington DC natives Jukebox the Ghost bring their effervescent piano brand of indie power pop to Mr. Small’s on March 7th along with the overstated theatrics of Ann Arbor’s own Tally Hall. The band recently finished recording their 2010 yet to be titled release with the help of producer Peter Katis (The National, Interpol, Mates of State) and plans to make the rounds at SXSW later this month.

While the live show will most likely be a showcase for their unreleased material, 2008′s Let Live and Let Ghosts provides so many moments of slap happy, sugary piano goodness that I can’t imagine a lull in the proceedings. Heirs apparent to Ben Folds’s ironic, limber croon, all three of Jukebox members Tommy Siegel, Ben Thornewill, and Jesse Kristi take on vocal duties without missing a beat.  Their playful side does tend to slip a little too far into whimsy, but harder hitting tracks like “Good Day” and “Where are the Scientists” showcase the band at its unabashed best: operatic, anthemic and catchy as hell. check the tracks after the jump

Jukebox the Ghost – Good Day

Jukebox the Ghost – Where Are All The Scientists Now?

Regardless of my literary indifference, it’s been a quality summer for the Pittsburgh music masses, which was thriving even before the peak in concert activity that hit in late July/early August.  So this will be a summary of the first 3 shows I saw this summer in a some what spaced out order. Reviews and tracks after the jump.

White Rabbits, June 6, Brillobox

It was a strange night, A number of things aligned : game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final, White Rabbits playing the Brillobox, getting stuck working a dreaded Saturday night shift at the restaurant I loathed, and the reluctance of my friends to join me at the show.  I ended up ducking out of work around a quarter to nine, changing in the car, and hauling ass down towards the depths of Lawrenceville on what was an almost deserted route 19, as Mike Lange and Two Niner described the hockey disaster in vivid detail.

Long story short (I’ll omit details about the hockey game), White Rabbits came out to a slightly stunned crowd and apologized briefly for the loss.  What they unleashed afterward was simply one of the tightest, best sounding concerts I had been to in quite some time.  The complex percussion that drives so many of White Rabbits’ best tracks was front and center with group’s two drummers remaining almost completely in sync.  By the time “Percussion Gun” closed the set (the blistering lead track off the band’s excellent second album It’s Frightening) it was a done deal (whatever the fuck that means).  I could wax poetic about this show  for hours so I’ll refrain.  The fact is, next time these guys are in town, drop whatever you’re doing and get there dammit.

White Rabbits – Percussion Gun

The Black Keys, Point State Park, June 1

Before I say anything, the crowd was a work of art.  The age spectrum must have been at least 40 years and I mean that in the best possible way.  The Black Keys, more than any other garage/blues rock revivalists, exude a sound that’s retro classic, strutting with a swagger that will never go out of style.  If any band is apt to fill out a free concert at the Pittsburgh Arts Festival it’s these guys. The Black Keys connect with multiple generations and make it look easy.

Patrick Carney and a clean shaven Dan Auerbach ripped through highlights of their entire catalog (including my favorite barn burner “10am Automatic”) as well as the bulk of their extremely underrated 2008 LP Attack and Release. The burning image of that performance was Carney nearly obliterating his hi-hats with a tambourine, something I can honestly say I had never witnessed before. It was a muscular show, full of sweat and soul, two things that will never go out of style.

The Black Keys – I’ll Be Your Man

Yeasayer w/Ponytail, Ball of Flame Shoot Fire, July 21st, Mr. Smalls

So yes, I have heard many times before from many people about the severe ills that plague the sound systems at Mr. Small’s.  I almost always shrugged them off because I could not recall a single show that I hadn’t enjoyed thoroughly out in Milvale (save the moment this summer when Crocodiles missed their opening spot for Tally Hall).  But the honest fact of it this time around was that Ball of Flame’s set got butchered due to shoddy sound.  Background hissing, distorted vocals, and feedback in general (all of which was not planned) crippled the band’s complex arrangements.  It was especially devastating because the bulk of material at BOFSF’s show was new, and I could barely get a solid read on what most of the songs were about.

Interestingly enough, by the time Yeasayer rolled around, the sound issues were corrected and the pack crowd was treated to a synth heavy set split between tracks off their only full length album All Hour Cymbals and new songs from their next project.  Tracks like “Sunrise” and “2080″ were performed with vibrant new interpretations, with the group mostly shunning their usual world music vibe for heavy electronics, bass and shimmering guitar.  It was a compelling experience to realize this concert was a singular creation in and of it self, an idea the band has championed in many interviews.  I’ll be the first to admit that I usually wait to hear carbon copies of the songs I love at concerts, easily forgetting the wonders of improvisation or spontaneity that makes the best live shows so spectacular.  I am glad Yeasayer pointed the insignificance of my ignorance so beautifully.

Yeasayer – Sunrise

Yeasayer – 2080

pictures courtesy of Hugh Shows Redux

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This healthy trend continues through tonight as fun. (featuring former members of The Format and Anathallo) play Mr. Small’s with overgrown emo rockers The Manchester Orchestra.  The Format’s 2006 album Dog Problems continues to be one of my favorite and criminally underrated releases of the past three years and was due in large part to vocalist Nate Ruess’ (current member of fun.) mature song writing and Burt Bacharach-like ear for complex melody which elevated The Format above well above your run of the mill Alex Chilton ripoffs (I am looking at you, Chester French).  Mp3′s after the jump

Ruess brings his steady, taste-making pop sensibilities front and center on fun.’s first single “At Least I’m Not as Sad (as I Used to be)” which shows off a playful nursery rhyme call and response, seamless transitions between intricate bridges and extended choruses, and more dancey swagger than The Format ever possessed. A full length by fun. is expected in the immediate future, but for now, only the lead single is posted on their MySpace page.  Here’s a hint: go see fun.’s live show this Saturday and soak up ever damn song they have to offer.

fun. – At Least I’m Not as Sad (As I Used to Be)

Dr. Dog performing "Army of Ancients" off 2008's Fate

The mic stands and drum kit at Mr. Small’s  stood tightly wrapped in synthetic ivy, looking more like a fruitful product of the stage’s imaginary soil than a gaudy prop of Dionysian excess. Maybe the entire production had been grown rather than constructed. Maybe Drink Up Buttercup and headliner Dr. Dog (who both played barn burning sets this past Wednesday night) played this show together in some other life, some other era.

Is the music they make timeless? Do they overtly reference artists of yesteryear to the point of doppelganger similarity? Do they embody the spirit of rock and fucking roll!?!?!

Maybe some of those previous sentiments were delusions of grandeur, rapturous poetry of the moment that actually never was. Whatever.  But I still can’t shake this feeling of temporal dissonance, this feeling of organic occurrence, this feeling that these two groups have always been here.  

Dr. Dog’s music and image doesn’t necessarily intuit a sonic sphere of naturalism in the traditional sense (re: rootsy folk music and/or bluegrass), but does convince me that these fellas are analog souls operating in a digital world.  Their vocal chords and fingers are made of vinyl, dialing into their monitors with the scratch and detail of your favorite LP that hasn’t been heard in 20 years.  Dr. Dog’s performance was filled out with greater verve than their records revealed, allowing all those beautiful harmonies, “Taxman” guitars and deceptively simple drum parts to pour onto the crowd in perfect, mono synchronicity. It’s not a weathered sound by any means, nor is it nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake.  It is simply an aversion for rock music to be distilled in a more natural form.

With the spiraling, classically tinged opening piano riff of “The Old Days” Dr. Dog settled into a hustling mood. The entire band bobbed back and forth on the balls of their feet, decked out in cabana hats, flappers, and Ray-Ban rip offs.  Funk infused groover, “The Ark,” only heightened the shimmying beat, slowly opening with the foreboding declaration “God….He called for rain.”  More than a little of The Band crept into the performance but with good measure, very few musical influences could impose such a communal feeling of involvement than the rambling feel of an all night jam session mixed with some fervent religious undertones.

The set was full of soulful yelps, squealing guitars and even one moment of spontaneous spoken word(not sure who the author was, but lead singer, known simply as Taxi, managed to pass the book through the crowd to take a peak which I sadly missed), generating an atmosphere of welcoming sincerity that hipster-leaning indie music tends to shy away from.  The scene was a grassroots collection of devout fans and curious lookers on that embodied the same natural passion Dr. Dog exuded effortlessly.

For Drink Up Buttercup, however, that hint of naturalism translated into an undiluted primal joy, fully inhabiting their lacerating live show with seismic tantrums of crashing percussion(maracas and tin trashcans included) and one fateful march into the middle of the crowd to perform their acapella set closer.  They pushed and scratched at the confines of the stage, almost destined to rip through the side wall and go stomping off into the Pittsburgh hillsides, doe-eyed followers trailing in their wake.

Drink Up Buttercup performing "Sosey & Dosey"

At Drink Up Buttercup’s most maniacal height, the raging “Sosey and Doesy”  transformed from a campy carnival rant on the Farewell Captain 7” into an exuberant primitive stomp that was unstoppable.  Bassisst Ben Money flailed spastically on stage with a bandana covering his mouth, robber-style, Farzad Houshiarnejad beat the ever loving hell out of that tin trash can with a suprisingly durable maracca, and both followed the lead of guitarist/lead singer James Harvey, howling into the rafters of the rennovated church, elevating what they describe as “campfire metal” to unforseen new heights.

Being in the middle of an era that’s chalk full of too-fucking-cool bands who would rather pose  and evoke mystique than break a sweat, watching Drink Up Buttercup wear their inner six year old on their sleeves was exhilirating. My friends Rebecca and Julie convinced me to go to this show and I am seriously glad I didn’t make the wrong decision.  Twice in two weeks I have been treated to intimate, impassioned rock shows of the highest order.

Dr. Dog – The Old Days

Dr. Dog – The Rabbit, the Bat, and the Reindeer

Drink Up Buttercup – Sosey and Dosey

Drink Up Buttercup – Gods and Gentlemen

I have been both elated and disillusioned with the many forms it has taken over our decade plus engagement, pulling away many times only to stumble back into its sweat drenched arms, nostalgic for the raw and visceral.  Each renewed passion proves to be less fervent than the previous, the flame gradually smothered by a desperate exhaustion. After every break up we have had (and there have been many), I always seem to walk away shaking my head, wondering, “Can it ever sound new again?”

That was a fairly long preamble for what will essentially become an overwhelmingly positive concert review, but I guess I needed to lay the gauntlet down.  The Gaslight Anthem and Heartless Bastards took over Mr. Smalls on March 29, a cool Sunday evening that provided some much needed heat and excitement, injecting my weathered blues rock lover with a mainline of ardor.   The sound I had loved and left 12 times over was now strutting on stage, blasting me with gem after gem of tortured rock genius.  As much as I admire rapid experimentalism and the general mutilation of popular music that many independent acts today tend to showcase, I forgot how exhilarating it was to witness hearty, passionate, poetic rock and roll light the stage on fire.

I was seriously anticipating Heartless Bastards live,wondering if Erika Wennerstrom’s howl would be dwarfed by the larger than life guitar canvasses her band erects with nearly every song. Luckily, her vocals soared with effortless authority, especially on the stunning album opener from the Bastards latest, “The Mountain,” through a no nonsense set that provided very few lulls.  The guitar work was tight but expansive, showcased by the heavier tracks in the band’s arsenal such as “Came a Long Way” and “No Pointing Arrows” off their 2006 effort All This Time, and the barn burning “Early in the Morning” from this year’s The Mountain.

Heartless Bastards no frills, shit kicking music was embraced by the packed house for the robust volume of their set list, 14 tracks in all I believe, and the sheer, unmitigated aura of cool they omitted. Coming fresh off the marathon that is South by Southwest, Heartless Bastards put on a show that was economical and passionate in the same stroke, staying on just long enough to keep the crowd happy but never wearing out their welcome.  They easily crushed some healthy blues rock and laid significant ground work to establish a welcoming, passionate vibe for headliners The Gaslight Anthem, and everyone seemed anxious if the expectations would met.

Luckily, YET AGAIN, for the crowd, The Gaslight Anthem wasted no time to unleash a blistering rendition of “Great Expectations,” the staggeringly sweet, raucous, and rocking album opener from the band’s latest, 59′ Sound. The Jersey boys played the part, resembling punked up greasers, complete with tight dago t’s, tattoo sleeves, and enough mousse to make Jesse Katsopolis jealous.  By the time the album title track rolled around, and lead singer Brian Fallon pondered “Well I wonder which song they’re gonna play when we go”  the crowed might as well have been parked on the boardwalk in Asbury Park, NJ (unfortunately, some pittsburghers might gag at that thought) getting ready to cruise the strip in a beat up 62′ Oldsmobile.

Make no qualms about it, these boys are disciples of Bruce (and to a lesser extent The Replacements) especially Fallon, who actually related a few Springsteen anecdotes in between songs, including a surprisingly accurate impersonation of the patron saint of New Jersey rock.  He talked about the first time he met Springsteen, which was only a month ago, and how Bruce said he admired 59′ Sound, playing it in his car all the time when he would cart his daughter around northern Jersey.

Fallon sincerely confessed he had no idea what do with that information. Initially shocked that Bruce Springsteen had actually heard his band, he couldn’t get past the surreal image association of his band’s music with the day to day activities of  the Springsteen family. As far as concert banter goes, that’s the kind of shit the people want to hear, the soft humility behind mounting success. Along with the gushing appreciation for the crowd, the venue, which the band played with the Bouncing Souls a very, very long time ago, and the general honesty of the band’s entire package, the show felt more like a celebration of a local band who made a name for themselves than a national touring act wisping through Pittsburgh en route to fifteen other cities.

I’m surprised people weren’t hugging each other as they poured out on to the Millvale streets, promising each other they’d keep in touch over the coming spring and summer. One song, specifically, brought the whole experience full circle late in the Anthem’s set.  “Miles Davis & The Cool,” a somber, trembling anthem drenched in nostalgia (like all their best tracks) seemed to encapsulate the feeling of the night, with Fallon singing “Don’t wait too long to come home./My have the years of our youth passed on./Don’t wait too long to come home./I’ll leave the front light on./The night is our own.”

As sentimental and overblown as that statement may be, it reminded me about the ways in which rock music can become spiritual and transformative, capable of painting the perfect moment for thousands of people to revel in simultaneously.  The Hold Steady have done this for years, and The Gaslight Anthem have years to go.  I remember a quote from the legendary D. Boon of hardcore stalwarts The Minutemen, while he was discussing the different themes which appeared repeatedly in their music, which he summarized in simple but earnest statement,  “I’m not religious about god, I’m religious about man.”  The Gaslight Anthem and Heartless Bastards put on a show bursting with fervor from the outset, preaching a life affirming gospel even the most jaded rock purist will embrace as the truth.

The Gaslight Anthem – Great Expectations

The Gaslight Anthem – Miles Davis and the Cool

Heartless Bastards – The Mountain

The Heartless Bastards – No Pointing Arrows