Monthly Archives: October 2008

The Walkmen

Man Man
 Richard’s on Richards August 29

Review By Adam Simpkins

The moronic (oxy or otherwise) usage of the term “controlled chaos” by lazy journalists to describe occasionally erratic bands has been bandied about so often that its intended meaning, if any, is a misnomer at best. Man Man’s sound has been described as this far too often. You see, the Philadelphia quintet may seem a bit primal, slightly savage, perhaps even prone to foam at the mouth, but also come across as rather restrained. Always decked out in white T-shirts and variable face paint, the band straddle that fine line between cannibal-chic and rejects from the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club. Like those upper-class knucklehead kids in Lord of the Flies, these castaways are getting back to their feral tribal beginnings while tweaking the limits of modern indie rock, but still in a frustratingly conservative and reserved fashion.
To be honest, I was expecting a little torn flesh and hysteria from Man Man; instead, their set had occasional moments of brilliance, but ultimately was too long and more Ringling Brothers than Donner Party.

As for the Walkmen, if you’ve seen them before you know how their shows transpire. Five former prep-school chums (and teenaged next-big-things) don smart attire while ably showcasing mostly new material from their recently pressed album (in this case, the understated and moody You & Me). They throw in a few polished gems for the old fans: the brassy “Louisiana” here, the raucous crowd-pleasing “The Rat” over there. All this and you’ve got yourself a by-the-numbers Walkmen show.

But no matter how many times you may have seen them, the band consistently delivers a well-rounded and engaging set. And if it’s controlled you’re after, the Walkmen always play it very cool: barely breaking a sweat (or smile for that matter) while resisting the urge to fall into typical rock-and-roll clichés.

Battles

Richard’s on Richards September 2

Review By Benjamin Luk

Richard’s on Richards. 10:30. No opener. That’s the kind of confidence the N.Y.C. math rock outfit Battles can afford now that they’ve spent a year doing nothing but getting music critics on their side. Coming from a blessed musical background though, who could expect anything different? After all, Battles are a bit of a supergroup. The band’s Ian Williams used to belong to Don Caballero back in the ’90s, Tyondai Braxton is the son of legendary sax great Anthony Braxton and drummer John Stanier used to play for rock heroes Helmet. Obviously, Richard’s was packed balls to the wall.

For all that they’re worth, Battles are a sight to behold. Watching the sweat drip from Stanier’s face as he shreds his drumsticks into a fine sawdust—as he crushes your eardrums with every snare hit—is a bit like being sexually violated by Hillary Clinton. It’s like years of pent-up passive-aggressiveness finally exploding out in bursts of spasmodic energy, and you don’t really have any choice in the matter of being stunned, even though you’re in terrible pain.
Or what about Braxton, with his underwear-model looks and fingers tapping so fast on frets and keys that you’re certain he’s never had anything short of his own private harem waiting for him back home? It’s a shame the sound guys boned themselves as badly as they did on his vocals, because when he started singing the bits from “Atlas,” all we heard was everything else. You had to be at the far end of the bar to make anything out.

And the crowd—Jesus Christ, Battles fans are violent. Who knew moshing was still popular for kids out of high school? You can’t blame ’em though. Short of the asshat sound production, Battles were near goddamn remarkable.

Mogwai

Commodore Ballroom September 6

Review By Brock Thiessen

There was a time when you could expect to leave a Mogwai show with more than a just slight ring in the ears. In some ways, this was welcomed, with the gloomy Scots turning post-rock jams into red-lining aural assaults that would stick in your head literally for days. But with this louder-than-thou approach the band lost the subtlety and tenderness often found on record, making Mogwai shows a bit disappointing for those who appreciate them for more than just rock action. It was surprising then that this far into the band’s career, the five-piece could learn a few new tricks, as they turned their recent Vancouver stop into a performance that, believe it or not, was actually kind of gentle.

Showcasing their new The Hawk Is Howling material, the band traded much of their usual harshness for an inviting set that drew you closer to the stage rather than drove you away from it. This wasn’t to say the band didn’t occasionally bring the noise—like during a raucous, kick-you-in-the-teeth rendition of their new single “Batcat”—but they balanced it with those tender moments, sounding looser and warmer than you would ever expect. For once, you could actually pick out what was going on in the seven-minute-plus endurance exercises instead of just being clobbered with a deafening wall of distortion.

Making matters even better was Mogwai’s live resurrection of their Young Team debut, from which they delivered several classics such as “Tracy,” “Like Herod” and the show’s highlight, a beautifully rendered “Mogwai Fear Satan.” In fact, the band played little other than tracks from Young Team and those from The Hawk Is Howling, which played surprisingly well off each other.

Ironically, while Mogwai succeeded by toning it down, openers Fuck Buttons could have pushed it a bit more. The set by the electronically charged U.K. duo often felt on the edge of blowing up but never quite got there. Nevertheless, their performance was hardly a disappointment. It just got overshadowed by what was Mogwai’s best Vancouver show by far.

TV on the Radio

Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson Commodore Ballroom September 7

Review By Simon Foreman

The day TV on the Radio’s latest album, Dear Science, leaked, Tunde Adebimpe and friends wowed the audience at a sold-out Commodore Ballroom. There was a surprising amount of talk at the show about the leak—apparently everyone was on the ball with their downloads. The band tried out four or five of the new songs, and while a few didn’t come off quite as polished as they do on the album, each one was greeted with a rapturous response.

Actually, the crowd never wavered in their shrieking devotion, from the first “oohs” of “Young Liars” to the last strains of “Staring at the Sun.” And with good reason, namely that TV on the Radio are almost impossibly tight on stage. They owe it to a total focus on the music, with each member immersing himself completely in the performance. There were moments when four out of five musicians had their eyes closed, lost in the feeling—a state lesser artists aspire to reach, but that TVOTR seemingly cannot exist without. Moreover, it meant that the elegiac “Dreams,” hard-hitting “Wolf Like Me,” and new tracks “Halfway Home” and “Dancing Choose” were as powerful as ever.

It was fascinating to observe the contrasting but complementary personalities within the band. Adebimpe was jovial, almost bubbly, in interacting with his bandmates between songs, while second vocalist Kyp Malone was stone-faced and stoic throughout the evening. Meanwhile, Dave Sitek tended to stay in the background, providing a steady undercurrent of guitar and keyboard textures.

Before the evening’s main attraction, Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson presented a collection of driving, big-sounding rock tunes. He pulled off his yelpy vocal delivery well enough, but it was clear that he was fighting through some serious throat illness. Admirably though, he didn’t hold anything back, leading his band in hitting a lot of the right notes and capping it off by chugging a beer before his final song.

The Juan MacLean

Richard’s on Richards September 9

Review By Simon Foreman

Richard’s never looked so huge. It was 9:30 p.m., and there were more staff than customers in the place. Much of the upper section was blocked off by stools, and only two of the bars were staffed. Sure, it allowed time to admire the wood grain of the normally packed dance floor, or watch the mildly confusing images on the BarNet.tv screens, but it was hardly a good omen for DFA stalwarts the Juan MacLean. Thankfully, the final turnout was enough to half-fill the floor (at around 70 or 80 bodies), but still, the mighty Juan deserved better.

With Less Than Human, the last full-length release, hit shelves in mid-2005, interest in the group has been slow to rebuild over the last few months, as the lacklustre showing at Dick’s plainly demonstrated. But people obviously don’t know what they were missing.

The drummer pumped out deep, steady beats; another guy worked some vintage synth sounds; MacLean himself worked keys and a theremin (!) with an expert touch; and LCD Soundsystem’s Nancy Whang added vocal colour to the mix. When all four members going full-blast—which happened a lot of the time, particularly during the shout-along chorus of “Give Me Every Little Thing”—the party was just waiting to break out, if only the crowd had been big enough to make it happen.

Cuts from Less Than Human and earlier singles were interspersed with newer material, and each song transformed into a fireball of New York-style dancing energy. The appropriately named disco-house epic “Happy House”—12 minutes long in recorded form but stretching much longer in a live setting—truly launched the show into space. The devoted fans in attendance were left with the firm feeling they had made the right choice that evening.

[ed. Low attendance at the show may have been due to the fact that the last three shows Juan MacLean booked in Vancouver were cancelled.]

Kellarissa

Hello, Blue Roses Les Beyond VIVO September 13

Review By Jordie Yow

Three bands came together for Kellarissa’s CD release party at VIVO and put together a beautiful evening of relaxing music.

Larissa Loyva, a.k.a. Kellarissa, was the highlight of the night. She spent her performance seated in front of her Yamaha SK-15 synth, but her quiet demeanour masked a mesmerizing presence. VIVO didn’t have an empty seat and all eyes were on Loyva’s performance. She plucked a few friends from her other band, the Choir Practice, to sing backup as she played music from her new album Flamingo.

Before the backup singers joined Loyva, she used extensive looping to provide her own backing vocals, which made for an unsettling—but compelling—audio experience. She compounded the unfamiliar feelings you get while listening to her music by occasionally singing songs in Finnish. Loyva’s music was strongest when she created a sound of eerie beauty using elements of carnival music, looping effects and heavy reverb on her vocals.

Loyva’s openers were hit-and-miss, but they complemented her performance nicely.

Les Beyond—Shearing Pinx member Erin Jane Ward’s side project—kicked the night off with a long instrumental guitar soundscape. It was pretty, but it would make a better movie soundtrack than a live performance.

Hello, Blue Roses battled with technical difficulties and what appeared to be inexperience playing their songs live. Though they took a little too long getting from one song to the next, their music was good when it got going. Singer Sidney Vermont brought a ’60s folk aesthetic that she blended with Dan Bejar’s (of Destroyer and the New Pornographers) glam rock stylings. On tracks like “My Shadow Falls” and “Hello, Blue Roses” this worked, but sometimes the stylistic pairing seemed out of place. A particular highlight of their set was a cover of Destroyer’s “Foam Hands,” which was amazing enough to forgive any lack in other parts of their performance.

Spiritualized

Commodore Ballroom September 13

Review By Freddy Harder

Not looking worse for wear, considering a fairly recent brush with the reaper, Jason Pierce led his seven-piece band of spiritual conduits through a career-spanning set at the Commodore. And with the understated ease of someone who has seen the light beckoning and decided to come back down, clearly his work amongst the living is far from finished.
Even with the noticeable absence of horns and a string section (not to mention maybe a hundred more people in the congregation), the night was complete. The trademark white light sonic freak-outs were there, as too were the waves of feedback and spectral washes of synth noise, inevitably breaking down to a simply strummed acoustic guitar only to spiral back up to the heavens. With gospel harmonies supplied by two visions in white, and lyrics about the Lord, drugs, loss, redemption and love, everything bled together to create the expected Spiritualized experience. The stark, semi-circular stage arrangement (which in a strange way resembled a set of headphones) and the subdued yet otherworldly lighting scheme worked in unison with the dense, warm sounds to multiply the emotional force that is released when shamelessly baring one’s demons and delusions to the world.

All grandiose and religious metaphors aside, it surely wasn’t the second coming, it was merely a rock ’n’ roll show, albeit one with true heart and soul. And it gave the Vancouver audience a chance to do what we do best, kind of just stand there, feet rooted to the floor, swaying, with crooked little smiles on our faces. Amazing grace, indeed. Amen.

Shindig #1

Against Civilization Analog Bell Service Zombie Pistolero and His Guns Railway Club September 16

Review By Nick Pannu

It can be a daunting task for unknown bands to secure bookings, which makes Shindig a chance for local acts to prove they are worthy of more exposure. On the event’s inaugural night, three bands competed with what at times seemed like fierce tenacity, but in the end only one would come home with this night’s Shindig crown.

The night started off with Against Civilization. In the beginning, they sounded as psychedelic as their wardrobe looked, pumping out some great bass and drums. But their early psych tease ended up standing in sharp contrast to the melancholic exercise that dominated the concluding set.

The second band, Analog Bell Service, possessed a vast repertoire. Band members mixed banjo and piano with bass and guitar, along with some welcomed whistling. Both lead vocalists sounded good and demonstrated great timing as they alternated back and forth. Analog Bell Service were passionate in their delivery and connected well with the audience.
The last performance came as a solo act. Zombie Pistolero and His Guns demonstrated an authentic voice, as well as a genuine conviction in his lyrics. Yet, compared to the first two bands, Zombie Pistolero’s style and delivery was more subdued, making the performance more fitting for an open-mic night than a rock show.

In the end, it was Zombie Pistolero who came out the winner on the opening night of Shindig. However, Analog Bell Service gave the best performance. They played so many different instruments, had great chemistry and showed a lot of substance in their lyrics. The band were adept at changing tempo between songs with little effort, while Zombie Pistolero played the same style throughout his performance. It would be interesting to find out how the decision was made.

Shindig #2

Hermetic Stephanie Lang Mr. Chancleta & the Bitter Litter Babies Railway Club September 23

Review By Becky Sandler

Even though the lineup for Shindig’s second night was rumoured not to be as strong as the previous week, the Railway Club was still busy with CiTR aficionados. Hermetic, Stephanie Lang, and Mr. Chancleta & the Bitter Litter Babies provided an eclectic night, but the competition was more amusing than fierce.

Hermetic took the stage first. The two-piece relied mostly on drums and guitar, mixing in some synchronized whistling and a harmonica here and there. They played mostly simple songs with catchy riffs and soft vocals. The connection between guitarist Eric Axen and drummer Bart Newman made the set easy to enjoy, but it was the mesmerizing energy of Newman, also a member of Vancouver’s Animal Names, that made it memorable.

Stephanie Lang and her guitar quickly took the stage after Hermetic made their exit. Although the Railway Club can feel as cozy as a coffee shop, Lang’s music felt out of place. Her voice was strong and her songs were well-written, but as Shindig values the interesting, she was not received too warmly. She finished her set with a Tegan and Sara cover, disqualifying her anyway.

Mr. Chancleta & the Bitter Litter Babies were undeniably unique. The Bitter Litter Babies added an extra Macbook, guitar, bass and vocals to Mr. Chancleta’s turntables; however, whether or not they were beneficial is questionable. As one concert goer pointed out, their sound came across as “really bad international music from 40 years into the future.” Some audience members held a look of confusion for the entirety of the set, but others were dancing on-stage by the end.

At night’s close, Hermetic took first place. Perhaps their victory came as a result of Lang’s disqualification and the sheer ridiculousness of Mr. Chancleta’s set, but their performance gave hints of excellence. If they manage to build upon it, night two will not have been in vain.

Civet

Hell Hath No Fury (Hellcat Records)

Review By Alex Hudson

It’s all in the title: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and the ladies of Civet are out to prove it. Rage is in plentiful supply on Civet’s fourth album, their first for Tim Armstrong’s Hellcat Records. The band is clearly at home sharing a label with the Rancid front-man, as every one of the 13 tracks is a blistering punk-rock workout, with fuzzed-out guitars and breakneck drums. Singer Liza Graves proves that she has vocal chords of steel; grunting, growling, and screaming herself hoarse on every song. There are scarcely even pauses between tracks, as the band launches from one bile-fueled diatribe to another, most of which are unapologetically directed against the opposite sex.

But for all its righteous anger, Hell Hath No Fury falls a little flat. Without any dynamic shifts, the up-tempo rockers lose some of their punch, and the songs end up blending into one another. After 13 tracks of the same, Civet’s formula becomes tired—there are only so many times a band can use the “group shout-along chorus” trick and get away with it. Even in the rare moments when Civet lightens the subject matter, as on the female solidarity anthem “All I Want,” the music is the same distorted power chords and frantic rhythms. If Civet had taken a moment to ease back, listeners would perhaps be more inclined to join in their shout-alongs.

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