Creature Comforts of The Walkmen

R and Lu are out of town for a conference and to visit some of her family in Michigan. I'm contemplating Dude's Night Out II, but just getting some time to rest might be enough for me. Either way, I started the week off right yesterday.

After surviving this lineup of beers with a friend, I headed out to Mojo's for The Walkmen gig.

Recently, I've come to recognize that I keep turning to the same, old music over newer, possibly more innovative work. Records arriving in the mail have primarily been reissues of albums I had in the nineties or new material from bands I've listened to for five or more years. Even a lot of the new records I've only liked because they remind me of the stuff I've always listened to.

Going to see The Walkmen was no different. I've followed this band ever since I heard them do this...



I've seen them on a consistent basis for the past seven years and I keep going back. I missed Grizzly Bear and left the Andrew Bird show early (he's new to me), but I showed up and stayed around for the Walkmen's set.

Something can be said for bands and music that provide you comfort. The music feels familiar. It's gratifying to hear them pick and choose from a catalog with which you've grown so accustomed. Sometimes it's just nice to play that record or go to that show of the band that makes you smile. It's the same band you have several memories seeing live, driving to Detroit or checking them for free at a festival. These experiences fill our memory banks. It's less to do with the excellence on stage and more to do with that feeling you get when one of your favorite bands hit the stage.

"Comforting" is the word I use to describe The Walkmen show last night. They played some favorites and mixed in some new material. As usual, the band was workman-like. They always dress like they work for Sterling Cooper not play in a rock band. It felt like it usually does and that was fine.

I'm glad The Walkmen stopped in COMO for the last night of their tour. I was disappointed that maybe half of Mojo's was full, but I was glad that I was there.

Andrew Bird and St. Vincent

Due to some early returns on my poll, I chose last night's Andrew Bird/St. Vincent show over tonight's Grizzly Bear/Beach House gig. I based my decision mostly on the fact that I prefer St. Vincent over Beach House. The headliners don't mean much to me either way.

I don't usually arrive in time to see an opener, but St. Vincent had me intrigued. Her albums are wrought with difficulty and confusion. I mean this in a good way. St. V, aka Annie Clark, has a varied past which includes stints with the Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Steven's touring band, not to mention a Texas upbringing. These experiences have provided her with a unique sound that is challenging even to the most obsessive indie geek.

Then there's her voice. Both classical and enchanting, Clark draws you in past the cacophony of her music to that warm space in her center. Thankfully, despite some road-weariness and a crummy sound system, her voice rang true.

While the performance wasn't particularly urgent or dramatic, the material did translate well. In fact, St. Vincent's sound actually rocked more and created noise I didn't think was possible.

I'm new to Andrew Bird. I purchased a couple of his albums on iTunes earlier this week to get a sense of what I was about to see/hear. Bird's music reaches some incredible heights. There are moments of sheer brilliance scattered throughout his work. Some of his arrangements are incredible, urgent, massive. The lyrics can be quick and witty, sometimes surprising. Conversely, mediocrity is also there. There a certain amount of accessibility that is certainly supported by Bird's turns on the festival circuit. This mediocrity attracts college dudes and hippies who like a jam band or four. Similar has been thought of Ben Folds or Mason Jennings. These men are all quirky, incredibly talented, but way too pleasing to their audience's whim. So, for me, the jury was still out on Mr. Bird.

To be honest, I don't have much to say about Andrew Bird's set. It sort of bored me and never grabbed my interest. Though the crowd certainly love Bird, they didn't seem all that moved to me. I don't know. Maybe I just don't get it or maybe I've just been to too many shows. Whatever it is, Andrew Bird did nothing for me.

So, I left part-way through the set. I ended my evening where it started earlier with a beer at the new Broadway Brewery. I was home before R was asleep. Maybe I would have had a better time making Grizzly Bear this week's show, but I'll never know. Next up: The Walkmen at Mojo's on Sunday.

Emergency Umbrella Showcase, etc.

Last night was the Emergency Umbrella Showcase at the Note. A small-but-loyal crowd showed up so see 67% of the EU lineup. Of course, one would expect that the crowd would be larger had classes been in session. Still, it was a nice way to spend a Friday evening in July.

A couple of or more things before I get to the rock...

I think my latest (and second) batch of beer is ready for consumption. The Simcoe-dependency was sampled and labeled after work and before happy hour. It's so deliciously bitter and grapefruity that I puckered all the way through.

R and I hit the 'Tag for happy hour. (Sorry that we missed so many people. We would have enjoyed the company.) Barry has added some taps behind the bar, giving the 'Tag six great craft beers on tap. And I didn't drink any of them. I had heard through the hop vine that the Old Rasputin XII Bourbon Barrel-Aged Imperial Stout was now available at the 'Tag.

What a lovely bit of bourbon barrel yumminess this beer is. It reminds me a lot of Schlafly's own bourbon barrel imperial stout, but not as sweet. It's so good that I'm trying to scheme another trip to the 'Tag before it disappears.

Of course, there will be more details on these beers and others at my beer blog Bottles and Cans.

After putting the Lu to sleep, I slipped out for the showcase. There is video of all the bands, but time and my upload limit at Vimeo will cause you to wait for all the footage to make this blog. In the meantime, enjoy Billy Schuh (The Foundry Field Recordings) doing a Big Star song, 3/4 of COMO legends Kingdom Flying Club with Schuh, and a song from new EU signees Netherfriends.

It's been a long, long time since I've been to a club where I knew so many people. I ran into folks from several COMO circles from the EU crowd to the failed ComoMusic takeover to some beer enthusiasts to one of R's colleagues. For all the complaining I do about this town, I do like a homegrown event with homegrown talent.

As far as the rock music, the Foundry (or this version) were loose, not perfect, but good. A couple of members of Malone and a cellist joined Schuh on stage for most of the set. I felt like I've been listening to versions of the next record for over a year, but it will be fully appreciated once it arrives. Look for a change in the sound. I'm hearing Shins all over this thing. That may turn some folks off, but it is what it is. I'm OK with the Shins, so the new material is fine for me. Now, if the record could just arrive.

Billy Schuh does Big Star from comoprozac on Vimeo.

3/4 Kingdom Flying Club from comoprozac on Vimeo.

Netherfriends put on a raucous set that screamed "We're from Brooklyn!" Of course, they're not, but a lot of the influences I heard were Brooklyn-based. Imagine all those bands like The Walkmen, White Rabbits, Delta Spirit, etc. wrapped up with a considerable dose of Animal Collective experimentation. Additionally, with the band being from Chicago, they had moments that reminded me of the Coctails, Sea and Cake, and Joan of Arc. They are a really enjoyable outfit and I look forward to hearing their record, particularly their opening track from last night.

Netherfriends from comoprozac on Vimeo.

As for the rest of the show, Gentleman Auction House and Bald Eagle killed as usual. I don't know that I'm a big fan of GAH's music, but I really respect what they're doing. That and they are maybe one of the more professional bands with great potential for stardom that I've seen in a while. There are always rumors of bigger labels showing interest and I can understand why.

Bald Eagle is just ridiculous live. They're unapologetic as they convert hipsters and indie nerds into rollicking metalheads. Unfortunately, I could only stay for the first three songs of BE's set as I promised to take the baby when the ten-month separation anxiety and teething would cause her not to sleep.

Boy, that last sentence just stripped me of any rock 'n roll cred I may have had.

Today, the party continued as all the EU folks and friends got together for a barbecue. We had some great ribs and some nice conversation. Folks played bocce ball and lobbed water balloons at each other, showing that EU is more than a label.

I've always been a big local music supporter - well, in theory anyway. It's nice to see a healthy scene here in COMO with EU at the heart.

Connor Oberst at the Note

Is there an iPhone app for zooming in?

I caught the Connor Oberst show last night to mark one of the very few times I've been able to get to a rock show. (And this marks one of the very few times I've actually posted on this blog lately.) R and I were supposed to go together, but the challenges of parenthood left me to fend for myself. That's fine. R doesn't really care for Bright Eyes much.

We did, however, sneak out for a little drink as R sipped on a Manhattan and I had a New Belgian Dandelion Ale.

Once I finally made it to the Note, I found a warmed up crowd not unlike that at a Wilco concert. Several beards, pseudo-hipsters, and plenty o' bros were on had for Oberst and his post-Bright Eyes project. Actually, the kids in the crowd didn't surprise me so much. What surprised me were the elderly in the audience (of which I am not yet a member). Oberst's come a long ways since 15-year-old girls sneaked into clubs to catch a glimpse of the boy wonder jumping from drum kits and metaphorically slitting his wrists on stage.

Anyway, you can say what you want about Connor Oberst or his Bright Eyes material, but you can't bag his ability to put together a great band. I've been going to Bright Eyes shows for years and his bands were always of a higher-than-usual caliber. Last night's group topped them all. They were tight, loose, professional, jubilant, precise, etc.

Last night's show made me really appreciate the material Oberst has put out on Merge. It was such an impressive show that I think it may help sneak his album onto my mid-year list. (Yes, I realize this year's list is late. Give me a break. I have a baby and am taking three classes this summer.)

Hiatus Over

Last night, I ate my own ice cream, said good-bye to some friends, and saw White Rabbits play to a huge crowd at Mojo's.

We've actually been making ice cream for several weeks now. R's made concoctions of lavender, chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla with real vanilla bean. They've all been good, but I had to get in on the action.

Using a recipe from Perfect Scoop for a Guinness Stout ice cream, I made a batch. Guinness is a little on the light side for me these days, so I upped the ante. I used a Bell's Expedition Stout. The Expedition is a Russian Imperial, meaning there's more alcohol (10.5% ABV as compared to 4.2% for your typical draught), notes of chocolate and coffee, and more alcohol. Said alcohol caused the ice cream to be softer than usual, but it was oh-so-good. The creamy alcohol in this treat reminded me of the vanilla gelato I once had in Italy that was potent enough to knock me on my ass.

So, the ice cream was good.

After the baby was asleep, I slipped out to the 'Tag to see some friends off. I taught with K for a couple of years and became pretty good buds with her partner TJ. He recently landed a gig with a university in Colorado, so they were packing their newborn twins for a move to the "Centennial State."

While we talked, I made the mistake of telling them how hard it is to leave your home and set up shop in a new town that's not quite as cool as your previous town. (Have you read this before?) I quickly backtracked and cited all the reasons my friends will be fine. And they will.

Listening to them talk about leaving made me dream of greener pastures. The fact that two of the cooler people I know are leaving COMO makes me a little sad to be stuck here. I sometimes dream of the day I'll close down this blog as I pack boxes for an exotic locale like Louisville, Pittsburgh, or Milwaukee.

Meh. Moving on...

The winning streak is on. Earlier this week, I won two tickets to see White Rabbits at Mojo's. A message on Twitter popped up, encouraging followers to enter the drawing. My call came Monday.

The strange part is that I went through three or four people before somebody finally joined me for the free admission. They missed out.

I don't know I've ever seen Mojo's as packed as it was last night. It seems COMO-ians have finally realized that we have a buzz-worthy band who happens to make great music. They even live in Brooklyn and tout Britt Daniel-produced records. Of course it was packed. (See photo below.)

The Rabbits were good, too. Aside from an unwelcome Walkmen snark I heard, the crowd seemed to enjoy it as well. The band was tight. They whipped through a blistering set of favorites old and new. There was even an appropriately timed encore.

The best part for this daddy of a nine-month-old was that I was home by midnight. You can't beat ice cream, good friends, and rock 'n roll squeezed between 7:30 and 12:00. You can't.

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BTW-Last night marked maybe the second or third time I've been spotted as "that comoprozac guy" or something. Bob (I hope I'm not butchering or misremembering that.) was gracious enough to introduce himself and compliment the blog. Hence the end of the hiatus.

Still, there are changes to come. Just look along the right-hand side of this blog and you'll start to notice some changes.

Jason Molina and His Terrible Hawaiian Shirt

I haven't been out to see a show in a while. Luckily, someone reminded me that Magnolia Electric Co. was scheduled to play Mojo's last night.

Also playing was Old Light, an alt.country band from STL, and COMO local alt.twangers Malone. Both bands were good. Maybe I'm over being over alt.country. Old Light gave away a demo for signing their email list. They showed promise as a new band and won over a few folks with the free tunes. I know a couple of the guys in Malone and had been meaning to make it out some time to see them. They did not disappoint with their three-headed songwriting attack.

This all brings me to Jason Molina and his Magnolia Electric Co.

Molina showed up donning an ugly Hawaiian shirt. On top of that, he's rather short and has a receding hairline. I don't point these faults out to make fun of Molina, rather I want to illustrate just how regular he is.

This is why I love indie rock. The brightest and best artists are just regular Joes trying to make ends meet like the rest of us. It makes their work all the more authentic, accessible.

I was once talking to a friend about his encounter with his Tori Amos. As he struggled to explain how in awe he was, he turned to me and said "Well, you know how it is when you meet one your bands." I didn't and I don't. I've talked with tons of musicians who've I've also idolized, but I was rarely speechless or humbled...Well, except that one time I met members of Sonic Youth. I knew they were just trying to get my like me. They weren't better than me. I wasn't better than them. We were equals in a lot of ways.

My point is that I prefer things that are great but accessible, like indie rock or beer or whatever. You can enjoy the best indie rock and see the bands live without paying an arm and a leg just to sit two miles away. Similarly, I can drink the best beers in the world without spending a small fortune. This is how I like to live. I like things that can be great, yet accessible.

So, this brings me back to Jason Molina and his Hawaiian shirt. His genius was even more captivating in that bad shirt. Here he was: a regular guy. His songs, as always, were true. The meaning behind them held more authenticity knowing that he was capable of feeling the real human emotions found within his songs. All of this in that damn Hawaiian shirt.

Handsome Furs Mildly Enjoy This City

No, Dan Boeckner does not have multiple faces. It's just a crappy action shot taken with my phone.

Going into last night's Handsome Furs show at Mojo's, I did not really know what to expect. It was a Tuesday, St. Paddy's Day, and right in the middle of SXSW. The turnout was predictably low as young professionals opted to stay in on what may be our best evening of the spring so far. Plus, I was about to hear a two-piece band consisting of guitar, synth, and drum machine. It could have gone terribly wrong either way.

I had a pre-show beer at the 'Tag, a Coney Island Sword Swallower. It's a really good lager, hopped so much you may confuse it for a pale ale. Actually, the sad part of the beer is that I feel like I swallowed a sword as the morning-after hop breath has set in. It's still a good beer. I suggest head over to the 'Tag and have one before the keg is empty.

After unsuccessfully trying to talk some of those aforementioned young professionals to join me at the show, I ventured over to Mojo's all by my lonesome.

First off, let me say that Dan Boeckner and Alexi Perry are as handsome a couple as you might expect. Sure, they're not classically beautiful or attractive enough to be Real World cast members. No, their beauty is a rock n' roll beauty, an attractiveness that comes more from the gut than the face. They are rock 'n roll hot, way more compelling than the average model/actor. Maybe it was the sparsely equipped stage, but I was mesmerized by the couple/band's presence.

The Furs' style can be described as "post-Perestroika punk". There are a lot of kids in Brooklyn dressing this way nowadays, but Boeckner and Perry pull it off genuinely. This was no fashion show disguised as a concert. The Handsome Furs gave off the impression that they go to the bank in the same clothes they wear on stage.

There is no pretension here. The band was so appreciative of the crowd that did show and were friendly to the Vox reporters directly after the show. The club wasn't even half-full, but the Canadian couple kept thanking folks for the wonderful turnout.

Oh, and there was music.

Whenever I see a synth-heavy act, I shutter and worry that I will become bored watching "musicians" turn knobs and push buttons. A synth band is often just a step above the laptop-wielding set. If you recall, I hated - HATED - the Fuck Buttons with their card tables and MacBooks and Fisher Price tape recorders. There is something soulless about simply pushing buttons to make dance music.

The Handsome Furs figured out how to make the synth thing work. Besides the fact that they are compelling individuals, the Furs actually play their instruments and rock as they do it. I know this seems like a simple distinction, but it's really not. I go to shows to see and hear rock 'n roll, not to watch you play with GarageBand.

So, my point is that the music translated well to a live setting. Boeckner's voice and anthemic guitar playing fulfilled my yernings to rock, but he shared the stage with his partner. Perry rhythmically beat on synth and drum machines as if they weren't working. Together, the band played a show that deserved a larger crowd than COMO provided.

Last night marked the 16th anniversary of my first concert. I was as thrilled to be at a rock show in 2009 as I was in 1993. That's not an easy task for me as I keep going back to rock clubs in search of that first high, but Handsome Furs gave me a little bit of the thrill once again.

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Scroll through my Tweets for the real-time story.

Some of the bathysphere kids were there. I'm sure they'll post something.

Link

The Vox folks will get to writing something up eventually.

Broken Social Scene on a Friday

After hanging out with my father-in-law and his wife for the evening, I helped R put Lucia to bed. R was too tired to go to the show, so I went solo. I promised to buy her a T-shirt or hipster tote bag or something to that effect.

I arrived late at the Note, but I don't think I missed much, besides the two openers. As I entered the venue, I heard the cheers of either a crowd celebrating the band walking onto stage or a crowd cheering the last nine songs. I hoped for the former.

Of course, this morning, I received an email from Zach of the bathysphere letting me know that I missed almost 40% (including five great songs from You Forgot It in People and three tracks from Brendan Canning's forgettable solo effort). The set list he emailed me is below. Thanks, Zach.

Solo stuff is in parentheses:

Chameleon (Canning)
Late Nineties Bedroom Rock for the Missionaries
Shampoo Suicide
KC Accidental
Cause=Time
7/4
Fire Eyed Boy
Hit the Wall (Canning)
Churches Under the Stairs (Canning)
Farewell to the Pressure Kids (Drew)
Three Thousand Miles (Goldberg)
Looks Just Like the Sun
Charles Spearin's sound experiment
Love is New (Canning)
Back Out on the... (Drew)
Superconnected
Anthems for a 17 Year Old Girl
Stars and Sons
Ibi Dreams of Pavement
(encore)
National Anthem of Nowhere (Whiteman solo)
I'm Still Your Fag
rocking jam
It's All Gonna Break

Anyway, the band (about ten shy of their typical 17-member crew) ripped into "Farewell to the Pressure Kids" providing great promise for the rest of the set. The song opens with a wall of guitar, keyboards, and feedback before warping into a psychedelic bridge that finally winds back up to a steady beat and conclusion to the jam.

The band's next song was not their own and did little for me, so I skipped out to the merch table. The Canadian dollar is certainly doing better than our own judging by the $25 price tag on t-shirts. Being the bourgeois, aging hipster I am, I bought two (one for me, one for R).

I returned in time to hear an actual BSS song ("Looks Just Like the Sun") before Charles Spearin's (of Do Make Say Think) little sound experiment. He invited neighbors over to chat while he recorded their discussion. His goal was then to write music to the melody of their speech. With some saxophone accompanyment, it was mildly interesting, but I was sleep-depraved and in need of some rock 'n roll. So, this did not fill my needs.

After another Canning song (I'm sorry; I just don't get his record.), the ship was righted with Drew's infectious "Backed out on the..." and the rocking "Superconnected." The next three were classic BSS songs that satisfied my need for more great music, including the surprisingly well executed "Anthems for a 17 Year Old Girl."

As the band removed themselves from the stage, Kevin Drew made an announcement I have always thought at this point in a show. He announced the encore portion of the evening and suggested that the crowd cheer in order to get the band to return. I'm that guy who does not cheer for the encore. Bands decide way before they play whether they'll play an encore. Sometimes they decide not to play if the crowd or venue has pissed them off. I saw the Blues Explosion once play four songs in Cincinatti. There was also a time when Archers of Loaf said enough because all the moshing (this dates me) was irritating the band. However, most bands write an encore into their set list anymore.

Anyway, Andrew Whiteman of Apostle of Hustle came out and played "National Anthem of Nowhere" while the rest of band slowly worked their way back to their spots to help him finish the song. Surprisingly, BSS played "I'm Still Your Fag" (not sure whether any frat boys sang along) and jammed for a while.

Luckily, the band read my post from the week where I suggested they finish up with "It's All Gonna Break." I listened to the rocking opening, the jammy bridge, and the chaotic end. However, as is my habit, I left before the song completely unravveled into what I imagined to be a 15-minute jam.

It was not a great set - uneven in parts - but it fed my hunger for a live show and one from a band I had yet to experience. For complete coverage of the BSS Toursplosion (or whatever the kids are calling it), return to the bathysphere.

I think I have finally out grown alt.country

I snuck into Mojo's last night to see the new Foundry Field Recordings' lineup and to see whether Dr. Dog was all they're cracked up to be...by friends and acquaintances, not the 'Fork. I even recorded some of the festivities for all to see. (And by "all" I mean the 35-40 people who read lim regularly.)

The Foundry included two members of Bald Eagle and a new drummer as well as front man Billy Schuh. It was sort of strange to see BE's Danny and Justin play such tame music and appear to be rocking out a bit at the same time. Overall, the band sounded very tight, even professional. I only say this because so many locals are often a mess on stage. Of course, as I write this, I seem to remember a Bald Eagle gig last month that was positively rawkin' without sounding towny or amateurish. Although this town has a small rock community, it makes up for that lack quantity with quality.

Anyway, here are two songs from Foundry Field Recordings. The first is "On Wings of Gold and Bone" and the second is "Quiet Failures." I had heard demos for both songs previously and have to say they translate well live (although the sound quality of my video would dispute that claim). "On Wings..." will feature a few more layers of percussion, guitar, and strings once it's released. I really love the bass playing on the demo for "Quiet Failures," but it didn't come through live due to the questionable sound system. Either way, I doubt Dr. Dog will get too many sets from openers as good as this one was.
Foundry Field Recordings at Mojo's #1 07/29/08 from comoprozac on Vimeo.
Foundry Field Recordings at Mojo's #2 07/29/08 from comoprozac on Vimeo.

Now, I can get to the main point of this post: I think I have finally outgrown alt.country. I didn't think it would ever happen, but it sort of has. It may be the change in the genre that seems to value the Beatles more than MC5 or the fact that I just don't feel the same angst I did in the 90's. Alt.country bands used to look to Johny Cash or Merle Haggard as their influences. Now, they look to Wilco. Wilco's a great band, but they have drastically watered down the alt.country aesthetic. Gone are the days of cow punk and Uncle Tupelo. Today's alt.country sort of bores me.

Enter Dr. Dog. I have had people telling me for the past couple of years how great this band is, but I don't see it. Sure, they have an interesting sound and seem to be a fairly accomplished collection of musicians, but I'm just not feeling the alt.country vibe right now. Maybe it will return, but Dr. Dog just doesn't excite me.

As for last night's show, Mojo's was pretty packed for a Tuesday in July. Folks drove in from all around to cheer on the Dr. It's a testament to the band's prowess and fan base that the joint was so full of hippies and alt.country enthusiasts despite being 'forked. (I'm trademarking that one. With their terrible rating of 3.3 from Pitchfork, one can now close the book on The Black Kids. Consider the one-time blogosphere darlings 'forked!)

Even though my appreciation for alt.country is going under faster than No Depression, I did feel an obligation to film at least one song for a couple of my readers who could not be there. I appologize for the shitty camera work, but it got really crowded rather quickly...and I just wasn't in the mood. I hope that you can get the main idea.

Dr. Dog at Mojo's 07/29/08 from comoprozac on Vimeo.

Gentleman Auction House CD Release Party

It's a rare day when I can say that I reviewed an album a good two months before its release party, but that's the case with Gentleman Auction House's Alphabet Graveyard. The album is loaded with indie pop giddiness and the band doesn't disappoint when they play it live.

Foundry Field Recording's Billy Schuh, Bald Eagle's Justin Nardy, and I drove to St. Louis' Bluebird to catch the band's official release party...and hang around for the after-party. I took some videos of GAH and one of the openers, Colormusic. Neither video do the bands justice, but I've posted them anyway. I only have enough space on Vimeo to upload the GAH video, so the Colormusic vid will have to wait.
Gentleman Auction House at Bluebird in StL 07/05/08 from comoprozac on Vimeo.

BTW-Whoever took my new BPA-Free Nalgene bottle should return it. Just give it to one of the GAH members to send on to Billy. Thanks.

Iron & Wine at the Pag'

I hadn't planned on attending the Iron & Wine show last night at St. Louis' Pageant, but a connection provided me with a free ticket that I couldn't refuse. So, I made the two-hour trek to the "Gateway City" to see bushy-bearded Sam Beam perform his brand of folk rock for his one stop in Misery.

Now, it should be noted that I have both seen Iron & Wine before and have just missed them on occasion as well. The first time I saw Beam was in an opening slot for Isaac Brock's side-project, Ugly Casanova. No one, including me, paid much attention to the quiet band as we drank and talked through their set. It never occurred to me what I had missed until my sister gave me their debut on Sub Pop several months later. After that, I was hooked on Beam's back porch, southern style stories about ashes, sleeping dogs, and intoxicated mothers.

The next time I had a chance to see the band was at the Wexner Center for the Arts' Black Box. Iron & Wine opened for Broadcast for a very odd pairing. Anyway, in the very, very intimate setting of the black box, Iron & Wine put on as beautiful a selection of music as I have ever heard. The hush tones that drew me in from the beginning were there and the emotion behind Beam's dark, southern tales were present as well. I remember my sister crying the music was so captivating. Needless to say, we were spent by the time Broadcast played and left for the evening.

Since that memorable show, I have had near-misses with Beam and co. While searching COMO for a home, we learned that Iron & Wine were playing the Blue Note and there were tickets still available. The problem was this thing called "work". Going to the show would have required me to miss an additional day of work just to drive back to Ohio. It didn't happen.

Then, later that same year, in the middle of the summer, Iron & Wine came to Columbus. There were two problems with this. First, the band was playing the Newport. The Newport is this larger version of the Note with the distinguished title of longest running rock venue in the US. They have also kept the same shitty sound system for all those 40 or 50 years (don't quote me on the years). this meant that the soft, intimate sounds I liked so much in Iron & Wine would be lost and badly distorted by the Newport's lame-ass system. Secondly, I really needed to study for my Master's exam. Luckily, a very drunk "friend" called me that night from the venue to let me know I hadn't missed anything.

This brings me to last night. Openers The Uglysuit were OK. They were basically dirty hippies who tried to start a roots-rock band but discovered Pavement along the way. The band claimed that their album was coming out on Quarterstick/Touch and Go. I won't bash this band. They do what they do well, but I'm surprised they're on such a reputable indie label with such a mainstream sound. Either way, they intrigued me when they sounded like Explosions in the Sky but lost me when they threw the dirty mops atop their head like they were in Pearl Jam circa 1992.

Iron & Wine served the audience a treat by only featuring Beam and his sister for the first couple of songs. The Pag' did a surprisingly nice job on the sound. The hushed tones and quiet delivery of the Beam siblings came across well in the cavernous venue. The backing band eventually came out and unexpected intimacy continued. The show was so quiet I didn't even need my earplugs.

Iron & Wine played a well-rounded mix of old and new, making me almost wish I had purchased my ticket. And since the ticket was free and I have things to do this morning (blogging about it all being one of them), I left the venue early. Luckily, a service called PlayedLastNight.com recorded the show and will make it available (for a nominal fee) some time today. If anyone is interested, you can email me to get the code to download your own recording of the show.

I'll be back over the next few days with some reviews of both the long overdue (Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Joan of Arc) and the brand-spankin'-new (Silver Jews, Wolf Parade). As mentioned before, I have a beer tasting to attend that will surely inspire a post. I have my Laugunitas IPA and Southern Tier Trippel ready to go. Maybe I'll even write about that whole parenthood thing.

Stay tuned.

The Walkmen, Redux

One of the last bands on my list to see since moving to Misery has been crossed off. The Walkmen made their way to COMO for the annual Springfest held by Mizzou's own KCOU.

According to rumor, the band flew into St. Louis and drove the final two hours just for this one gig. Usually college gigs pay well, so this makes sense. I also hear they were told they had to fill an hour-and-a-half gap in the schedule when they only prepared to play 45 minutes. Eventually they came up 10 minutes shy of the requirement, but I don't think the KCOU folks cared.

The band played a very workman-like set of old and new songs. It wasn't their most inspired set, but it also wasn't terrible. Members moved through the set efficiently and performed well for the most part. The only thing more professional than their performance was their attire. As is usual for The Walkmen, the band members came out in suits...or business casual at worst.

What was disappointing was the fact that the bottom half of the Blue Note was hardly filled. It seems that a few fliers on campus and a Facebook group doesn't bring people out for a rock show. The free admission for students (or $2 for the general public) wasn't even enough to attract an audience. With such a pitiful turn-out, I doubt The Walkmen will be back any time soon.

Sorry, there just wasn't much to report. For some pictures, visit The Bathysphere. They had even less to say...unless you count the fact that a picture is worth a thousand words.

Thursday Night in St. Louis: Caribou

I feel I have very few opportunities left to see great live shows before I have another mouth to feed. Last night was the perfect opportunity to take in one of those shows. (Saturday will be another.) Caribou played the Billiken Club on SLU's campus and was featuring a bright new artist of the underground.

Billy, the two Justins from Bald Eagle and I piled into the BE van to see Ahmed Gallab of Columbus, OH's own and Emergency Umbrella signee Sinkane play drums for Caribou. I had never met the guys from BE, but I can tell you that they are honorable gentlemen with a sharp wit and sharper tongue. Again, another trip to St. Louis resulted in good conversation and some good rock 'n roll.

After arriving at SLU's campus and killing some time, we were able to meet up with Ahmed after his sound check. We added another guy to our group and headed to The Tap Room, Shlafly's downtown restaurant. The Vietnamese Po' Boy was delish, and the conversations humorous. We laughed and discussed everything from Canadian prog bands to the best video game controllers to the great white shark. All of this over a few sandwiches.

While Billy and Ahmed talked business, some of us took in the opening act, Fuck Buttons. Yes, you read that correctly. Fuck Buttons sounded exactly as you would imagine. While Caribou filled the stage with guitars, two drum kits, and various synthesizers, FB set up a folding table and some laptops.I don't want to be too critical, but it kinda sucked buttons. There's just something missing from watching two kids play iMacs. This was the twosome I suspected Rob Gordon signed to Top 5 Records in High Fidelity. Some kids apparently loved FB. I just didn't get it.

As Caribou began setting up, I wondered how their sound would translate to a live setting. I had only recently picked up Andorra, the most recent release from Daniel Snaith's project, and was somewhat unfamiliar with the rest of the discography. Ahmed had introduced us to "Danny" earlier and he seemed a nice enough guy. This was aprapos for the dreamy, nonthreatening soundscapes on Andorra. I wondered if it were possible to recreate such sounds in a live venue. I also wondered how two drum kits fit into the equation. My interest was peaked.

The Billiken's stench of "wet burritos", ridiculously high temperatures, and poor sound system did not dampen Caribou's phenomenal set of drones, big beats, and psychedelia. Snaith effortlessly moved between guitar, drums, synth, and recorder while handling a good part of the vocal duties. While the other players worked guitar, bass, and synthesizers from behind, the other star, Gallab, played his kit across from Snaith. Ahmed is easily one of the top five drummers I've seen in-person, in my lifetime. (I feel a blog post coming...) All in all, the band was incredibly tight and sounded even bigger than they do on record. It was like watching My Bloody Valentine if they came up in the late sixties and added Keith Moon to their lineup. It really blew me away.

Besides the thrilling set from Caribou, I discovered what many in the underground are already fully aware of: Ahmed Gallab has "superstar potential" written all over him. Not only is he a gifted drummer and musician, but Ahmed has a charisma rarely seen...well, anywhere. His friendliness is genuine. His knowledge of music is both rich and unique. Drum and cymbal companies want to sponsor him and bands want him behind their kits. Pitchfork even wants to break him. The man is going to be huge. Besides, he's from Columbus.

As you can see, the night was loaded with good times and will not soon be forgotten. If this happens to be one of the last shows I see for a long time while my kid grows up, that will be OK by me. Thursday night was enough show for me for a while...or until The Walkmen hit town this weekend.

Record Store Day, Okkervil River, and The New Pornographers

Yesterday was my indie rock day. All over the country, people were celebrating the national treasure that is the independent record store. Additionally, Okkervil River and The New Pornographers were playing The Pageant in St. Louis. It was to be a beautiful day. (Cue the U2 track...No, on second thought, don't.)

Blogging and COMO scenester friend Billy and his buddy D picked me up to make the two-hour trek to the rock event of the weekend and some record shopping. On the way there, we compared war stories of indie rock lore and concerts past. I hadn't had a day like this in a long, long time. Don't get me wrong. I love my partner and our conversations are very stimulating, but I love a good rap session on all things rock.
As we entered "The Loop", we came upon Vintage Vinyl, the record-shopping destination to which we so looked forward. They had a band playing out front, DJs inside (we missed sets by New Pornos and Stars), and free PBR. We did not need those distractions, however. It was Record Store Day and we intended on buying some records.

Billy had a plan to buy Gram Parsons and George Harrison LPs, while D was up for whatever and settled on a 7" by olde-time, COMO legends Ditch Witch. I, on the other hand, entered the store with no plan. Since we still had to eat and the show was to start early (thanks to an "all-ages" label), I felt overwhelmed by the task at hand. Luckily, I saw the Feist/Constantines 7" I was eyeing on Insound the day before and grabbed the Caribou record on Billy's recommendation. I didn't get anything interesting, but I did my part in supporting one indie record store.

After grabbing a bite to eat (and meeting up with D's crazy woman friend), we headed to The Pageant. Billy and I deposited our purchases in D's immaculate car trunk. (This is noteworthy since the rest of the car was dirty and smelled like foot. The trunk on the other hand, was so clean that one could eat out of it. I'm not kidding.) We eventually made our way inside as I bumped into another buddy, Chad and his significant other, B. I was actually at a show in Misery with several people I knew. This has been a rare occurrence since moving here. I'm glad to have some community once again.

Chad and B had been at Vintage Vinyl as well. While there, B noticed a guy who looked strangely like The Wrens' Charles Bissell. She approached him and asked what he was doing there.

"It's Record Store Day," Bissell responded. B quickly explained what she meant was what was a guy from New Jersey doing in St. Louis. As was revealed later at the show, Bissell was stepping in for Okkervil River's guitarist who was expecting the birth of his child any day.
Okkervil River opened with "The President's Dead" to an audience of hipsters, pre-teens, and their parents. (Technically, I don't really fit into any of those categories. Oh well.) The set rocked at times but tended to drag at others. I had never noticed how much Okkervil sounded so much like Wilco until last night. As they used noise and feedback to segue between songs, I kept expecting them to loop the noise and sit on their amps for a rest just like the aforementioned Chicago alt-country heroes. Instead they played on.

Okkervil's emotion oddly enough does not come through as well live as it does on record. Will Sheff tried hard enough to seduce the microphone but to no avail. As is usual for most opening acts, no matter how accomplished, the emotion and urgency is lost on an unsuspecting audience. Luckily, the band was tight and their harmonies were dead-on for the most part. They also played pretty much just songs I knew from The President's Dead single, The Stage Names, and Don't Fall in Love with Everyone You See. Their set thankfully finished on a high-note with "Westfall", properly warming the crowd up for a Neko-less New Pornos.
I had to go into The New Pornographers' set with certain expectations. Particular members would not be present, that pop sheen that pervades their records might not be possible in a live setting, and it might get boring with all those hooks and upbeat messages.

First of all, I had to get over the fact that Neko Case was not going to be there. No matter how much I wanted to see the hot, red-headed Canuck with those pipes that won't quit, I had to accept that her ankle was broken and the Canadian health care system would have to take care of her. In fact, aside from a couple of parts in a couple of songs, she was not missed...well, not entirely. Keyboardist and accordion player Kathryn Calder filled in admirably.

The only way that I thought the band could avoid suffering from the glaring hole left in Neko's absence and translating their indie pop to a live audience was to stick primarily with high energy songs and to keep the witty banter to a minimum. In other words, they needed to keep the momentum started by Okkervil River by not slowing things down. And they did just that. The band quickly moved from one upbeat song to the next, really making the Newman-dominated set rock more than expected.

Besides the pace and urgency of the set, The New Pornos needed something to hold the audience's interest and make the night memorable. Then, A.C. Newman asked, "Where's Will?"

Out sauntered Sheff with guitar in hand. The band played a fantastic version of "Myriad Harbor" with the Okkervil front man singing all the lead parts. I liked the song before, but Sheff's performance was riveting and he finally was able to seduce the audience with his earnestness and charm.

As the band played a brief encore, a sports analogy suddenly struck me. The New Pornographers had become the Houston Rockets. The Rockets looked doomed to miss the playoffs when their star center Yao Ming went down with a season-ending injury, similar to Neko Case going down. It looked as if their season would be a disaster, until the Rockets won 22 in a row. Last night's set was the New Pornographers' 22-game win streak. The kept the pace up, rocked out, and covered for their fallen comrade.

My indie rock day ended in fine fashion. We drove the two hours back to COMO with plenty of material to discuss. The day took me back to my college years of driving to Cleveland for an Archers of Loaf show or Bowling Green to see Modest Mouse. It was nice to have another of those days before I have to grow up and enter the next chapter of my life.

Last Night at Mojo's

I recently befriended one Billy Schuh of local heroes, Foundry Field Recordings. He invited me out to the vastly under-publicized White Rabbits show at Mojo's last night. I didn't make it on the guest list, but I did make it through the door.

Let me first get the White Rabbits out of the way.This band left COMO for the greener pastures (musically-speaking) of Brooklyn a couple of years ago. Since then, they have turned their sound (that falls somewhere in between Vampire Weekend and The Walkmen) into a recording contract with TBD Records (Radiohead's label). It's the classic story of small-town boys head to the big city to become stars only to succumb to drug-riddled orgies with random sea life and end up on VH1's Behind the Music right before their triumphant reunion tour. (Actually, I made up that last part. They will become big stars shortly.)

I was surprised to see the band so nervous and unsure on stage. I mean, these are their old stomping grounds. Their parents were in the audience. Thanks to what I assume was a sizable advance from their new label, they will never work a day job in their lives again. Playing Mojo's should be old hat. It should be comfortable.

It was tough to watch the band nervously look around and continually ask for monitors to be turned up. It's as if there's all this new pressure on them to succeed. Luckily, it did not affect the music. They played all the "hits" and kept the set short. I like short sets. Short sets leave me wanting more. The Rabbits' performance made me wish I could travel to KC to see them open for two of my favorite bands, Spoon and the Walkmen. Oh well.

Back to Mr. Schuh.I have to admit that I haven't always cared for Foundry Field Recordings. I had only seen them once in their previous incarnation, opening for Spoon at the Blue Note. Let's just say that I didn't find it inspiring. In retrospect, I had expected other openers and was mainly interested in seeing whether Spoon could play a good show for once.

Then, somewhere along the line, Billy contacted me on MySpace. We talked. We met up at the Eastside Tavern. He turned out to be a nice guy with similar interests in music and education (and a few friends-in-common as well). So, I decided to give Foundry a second chance.

I gave his record, Prompts/Miscues, a good listen. Earlier exposure to the record gave the sense of another shoe-gaze band with too many layers to determine whether the songs were any good or not. However, since Billy's such a nice guy, I listened again. Upon further examination, I found a pop sensibility that I had missed before. The songs tended to lean closer to poppier fair like Rilo Kiley or The Shins rather than be My Bloody Valentine or Ride rip-offs.

This is why iTunes (and its ilk) is bad for music. No longer do people take the time to listen to whole albums. 30 second samples make or break bands. We don't look for hidden gems anymore or listen to albums in their intended sequences. I forget to do this from time to time, but I think I found the Foundry Field Recordings with a little of that old-time effort.

Anyway, last night was another new TFFR discovery. Billy debuted a new version of his band, complete with cello and half of a drum kit. Acoustic guitar and singing duties were handled by Schuh, of course. What was revealed was that pop sensibility I had to search for in the recorded work. This time, the pop sheen was out in front. I heard pieces of the Shins and the Cure with some start-stop action and nontraditional song structures.

I gained a better appreciation for TFFR's older material, but the new songs have me really excited for future releases. I'm hoping Billy will share this material with me as it was the highlight of the evening.

It all goes to show you that sometimes you have to look a little deeper for the good in your situation...even if it is in Misery.

Built to Jam

What is it with aging indie rockers and their incessant need to jam? I have always been aware of the jam possibilities when electric guitars are put in the hands of creative, artistic people, but sometimes the jamming can go too far. I've even been blown away by ten-minute flourishes out of what is a three-minute song on record now and again, but enough is enough.

First there was the Stephen Malkmus album. You may recall that I gave the record a rather unsavory review (well, it wasn't that harsh) recently. SM's Real Emotional Trash is riddled with classic-rock style solos and ten-minute opuses. This is coming from a man whose first band didn't practice, live in the same city, and rarely finished a song much less turn it into "Freebird".

Then, there was the show last night at the Blue Note. One of my other indie rock heroes, Doug Martsch, brought his army of guitarists to the stage. The set started off well enough. He mixed the old with the new and rarely veered too far from the songs' original structures. It was pretty business-like and was absent the Reggae vibe in their last show at the Note.

Martsch was never much of a showman and last night didn't change my opinion. I will say though that his personality comes out more in a small club, not a venue as large as the Blue Note. He mostly played through the set in a straightforward manner, pausing periodically to tune, thank the openers, and grab a drink of water.

What he does do, though, is play a mean guitar. He is maybe the only true guitar hero of the indie world, even if he is unassuming and somewhat shy onstage. He doesn't toss the guitar in the air or do bicycle kicks, but he plays the instrument like few other musicians can.

But with the good comes the bad.

I remember being pleasantly surprised that Built to Spill hadn't really gone into any extended jams through the entire set. Then, it happened. Without warning, the encore turned into a 15-minute-and-running, feedback-happy test of my patience. (I only wrote that the song lasted 15 minutes because I didn't stay to hear the end.) The song was so long that I had forgotten what it was when it started. This jam didn't ruin the night for me, but it did put a damper on the experience.

Why do aging indie rockers have to jam? Do they all have a little Jerry Garcia sitting on one shoulder urging them to extend the song into tomorrow? Conversely, is there a little Bob Pollard telling musicians to stop the song and get on with the next?

Indie rock evolving into jam sessions only sullies the genre's reputation. The ten-minute guitar solo represents the excess indie rock has always strived to stamp out. DIY doesn't stand for "Done In a Year". Let's get back to the perfect two-minute songs of Minutemen and Guided by Voices. Let's get economical and cram twenty-four songs on a thirty-minute LP. Aging indie rockers, you know you want to.

Other than my crabbiness over a concert-ending jam, the show was a nice diversion from my misery over tOSU not making the NCAA. The first band whose name escapes me (That long encore did a number on me.) was passable and played a concise yet effective set. Really old indie rockers Meat Puppets played all the songs I knew from their days following Nirvana around, hoping for some scraps. And I discovered that my new earplugs are the greatest inventions ever. I could clearly hear the music and not have to deal with ringing directly after the show.

The Exploitation of the Ghost of Daniel Johnston

Saturday night, I found myself in Omaha, Nebraska to see Daniel Johnston. Yes, that Daniel Johnston. The show was at Saddle Creek's venue, Slowdown, within their hipster complex of shops and entertainment arenas near downtown Omaha.After a couple of forgettable openers, Johnston came out to play a few tunes on guitar. The sound almost didn't cooperate, but he eventually began playing. His voice was hoarse and the guitar playing was awful, but the songs were true. A session player joined Mr. Johnston on stage to accompany him on several older tunes.

Johnston took a break before returning with a full band to flesh out his bedroom, tape-recorded journal entries. He struggled to holler his once-personal songs as the band almost rocked like one of those Vegas reviews. This is when surrealism set in.

I began to think back to the documentary about Johnston's exploits that I had seen two years ago at True/False. The Devil and Daniel Johnston told the story of how Johnston craved fame and attention as he created deeply personal art in the form of songs, film, and drawings. All this occurred before, during, and after Johnston's many manic episodes.

One of the most important themes of the film, and Johnston's life was the idea of exploitation. Amidst mental breakdowns and hospital stays, Johnston's music was exploited to sell records (or in this case, cassette tapes) and concert tickets. Anyone from his manager to pseudo-girlfriends used this man's highly-inventive songs for their own gain.

Later, the same would occur with Daniel Johnston's bizarre drawings. He was hailed in the New York Times as the next big thing in "outsider art". His Crayola drawings of eyeballs and superheroes were fetching four and five figures apiece primarily because the man was looked at as a sort of idiot savant.

The film that depicts this artist's life even stinks of exploitation. Somehow the filmmakers were able to piece a narrative from Johnston's own home movies into a story of his lifelong mistreatment. The filmmakers used this story to further their own careers despite their original intent of exposing the world to true genius.

Even Johnston has exploited his own mental illness for his own fame. He found his way onto MTV in order to tell the viewing audience that he had written his album in the midst of a mental breakdown. His heartbreak and mental struggles have turned out to be his most profitable skills.

This brought me back to last night's performance. The show was highly orchestrated to include Johnston's most beloved songs with a Vegas-like showmanship never seen in the underground from which he rose. It was uncomfortable to watch kids gyrate to "Grievances", kids who weren't born by the time he first entered a mental hospital or dropped acid. They probably have no idea what a cassette tape is.

I wanted to know who orchestrated this tour. Who was exploiting Daniel Johnston now? Then I realized it was me.

Well, it wasn't just me, but I was one of many. The caricature or ghost of what was once Daniel Johnston was in Omaha to provide a place for hipsters to be seen. He provided a quirky artist for all of us to claim as our own. He is the topic of this blog post. Now we've all exploited this mess of a man.
The show was memorable but strange. Memorable in that who knows how many more times anyone will be able to see Daniel Johnston live? He is a living legend, the Bob Dylan of the indie world.

The show was strange in its practice and celebration of the exploitation of what Daniel Johnston is and was. Skinny kids who don't know what the man has been through or aging hipsters hanging on to their glory days both clang to something not even the performer was in touch with anymore. Daniel Johnston was a ghost of himself, grayed and misshapen.

Much like his fading voice, Daniel Johnston was a unique piece of American musical lore. The sad part is that he faded, broken and hoarse.

Six Hours for Thirty Minutes

I had two tickets for last night's Band of Horses show in St. Louis, but no one wanted brave the snow to see them.

Then, an eleventh-hour reply to emailed pleas gave me the permission I needed to take on Old Man Winter and make the trek to see Band of Horses. My friend TJ came through and together we headed to St. Louis.

The roads weren't actually that bad for most of the trip, but as we closed in on St. Louis, our progress slowed. It took us two hours to hit the city's outskirts which isn't far off the pace on a clear day. However, the snow was beginning to pile up and we found ourselves behind a line of snowplows that caused us to add another hour to our trip.

Somehow we found the venue, The Gargoyle, hidden in the basement of a student center on Washington University's campus. It was thirty minutes into Band of Horses' set, but we had arrived!

BoH were really solid live. Front man Ben Bridwell's voice sounded almost human without the heavily engineered effects of the band's two Sub Pop releases, but it was still powerful enough to hold its own among the guitars, bass, and drums. The band overall was tight but loose enough to cause the prerequisite head-bobbing one expects.

TJ and I had to laugh that although we had missed half of the band's set, we still got to hear the "hit", aka "The Funeral". But that wasn't even the highlight of the set. The band played a Credence Clearwater Revival b-side called "Effigy". This has to be one of my all-time favorite tracks, especially the version recorded by Uncle Tupelo for the No Alternative compilation. It was a pleasant surprise.

After the encore, we had to make our way back to highways which had only accumulated snow while we were at the Gargoyle. A drive that usually takes me just under two hours, took us over three. Between the drifts, fishtails, and iced over windshield, we were lucky to get out that quickly. It was so bad at one point that we turned onto an exit to clear the windshield and knock the ice off wipers that ended up placing us on a whole other highway.

We eventually made our way back to I-70 and back in COMO. It took us three hours to get there and three hours to get back. All that for thirty minutes of rock and roll, but it was worth it.

The Year in Music

The end of the year is finally upon us, and I, like every other hack out there, has a self-indulgent year-end list. Of course I would start off with music. If this blog has any running themes or topics, it’s definitely music.

Best Single that many of you probably are annoyed with by now because of all the commercials and air play it’s received: “1 2 3 4” by Feist
Yes the lyrics are simple and repetitive. Yes the video is too wholesome. But, damn, has a song ever been bigger for a Canadian songstress? Close second: “Young Folks” by Peter Bjorn and John
Come on. Enjoy it one more time…

Best song that almost uses a dirty word in the title only to scream it in the chorus with legendary indie rockers backing a soon-to-be legendary indie rocker: “Backed out on the…” by Kevin Drew
Dinosaur Jr backs the Broken Social Scene front man on this happy rocker.

Best cover of a Dylan song (right now): “I’m Not There” by Sonic Youth
This may change tomorrow, but the title track from that weird Dylan movie is a dead-on interpretation. It really connects Dylan to punk in a way I had never fully realized.

Best song that carried a much weaker album: “23” by Blonde Redhead
This song has urgency, beauty, and mystery…all the things the rest of the album failed to deliver.

Best Spoon song that should cause feet to move, critics’ heads to explode, and units to shift: “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb”
Kiss Britt Daniel’s ass, Poison!

Band that Pitchfork loves that I’ve been too slow to ride the bandwagon but feel that I will take the plunge any day now: Black Kids
I don’t know if I’m offended or aroused by the band’s name, but I do know that their sound excites me in a way the Clap Your Hands Say Yeah did when I finally gave in to their will.

New act that I missed this year that NPR thankfully reported in their year-in-review feature: Taken by Trees
I think I have just discovered the next Swedish Cat Power.

Best band that all the critics love that I’ve liked in the past but have yet to purchase this year’s release: Animal Collective
Difficult indeed.

Best Video – Classic Format: “Elephant Gun” by Beirut
This sad, dance-heavy video takes me back to all those vagabond Brit-pop vids back in MTV’s early days.

Best Video that didn’t make me go out and buy the band’s record: “What’s a Girl to Do?” by Bat for Lashes
Rarely has a dance routine been so expertly executed as in this super-cool video.

Best fan video: “My Body Is a Cage” by Arcade Fire, video by J. Tyler Helms
2007 was the year of green screens and fan videos. I don’t know whether this is a smart marketing ploy or a cheap way to make videos, but this is the best of the year by far.

Funniest video: "Can't Tell Me Nothing" by Kanye West

New dance music genre that will be old by February…I hope: Progtronica
I have had it with anything that sounds like Battles or LCD Soundsystem. Why is it that the hipsters get so happy over dance music that will be forgotten in six months when head-bobbing doesn’t count as dancing? There is a reason disco, trance, big beat, and techno all died.

Best show - Large Venue: Arcade Fire in KC

Best show - Medium Venue: Camera Obscura at The Blue Note

Best show - Small Venue: The Thermals at Mojo's

Best Albums from 2006 that I discovered late and listened to all throughout 2007: The Thermals' The Body, the Blood, the Machine, Beirut's Gulag Orkestar, and Band of Horses' Everything All the Time

Top five albums on my best 31 of 2007: Stay tuned...