lend me your ear

2011-03-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

tallest man on earth

2010-09-18T20:32:00.000-07:00

Damien Jurado, live at Sonic Boom in Ballard.

2010-05-26T15:53:00.000-07:00

last night kate and i went to see damien play a free show in our home neighborhood of ballard. we tried to see mr. jurado over the weekend at easy street records during kexp's hood-to-hood festivities but were late arriving after the photo-showcase thus causing us to be jammed way to the back of the store. we could hear him, but it was mostly a wash. the upside though, was that we got to buy copies of his new record Saint Bartlett in advance of yesterday's official release. last night's show was spot on. in a near pitch-perfect replication of his previous in-store for the release of Caught In The Trees, damien's son miles managed to humorously distract his father- necessitating the kind of goofy song restart one might imagine taking place at home, on the living room floor.

damien seems like a really interesting and complex person. his music has in my opinion been some of the most beautiful to be made in this country and abroad over the last 10 years. the more music he makes, the more i wonder about his life and experience. the first time i saw him play i still lived in the bay area. it was at bottom of the hill in support of his then recently released Ghost of David LP. I don't think i'll ever forget it - he opened the set with "Medication" - which literally brought a tear to my eye. the song remains a favorite of mine to this day.

i feel lucky to now reside in the same city as this amazingly talented musician.

buy damien's work HERE

damien's wife sarah is a real talent behind the mirror. See her work HERE

POLAROID

2010-05-20T15:08:00.000-07:00

Polaroid was my first love. Most every biography of any great photographer begins with an excited recollection of that first print hitting the developer under the amber haze of safe-lights and glowing clicks of time-o-lights. For me it was the pop, mechanical buzz and beautifully brief wait for an instant print. Don't shake it. Put it under your arm-pit. Something great is cooking in there.

After two + years with the 5D, memory cards and hard drives something inside me has once again sought out this very special medium. I recently got myself another craptastic land-camera that barely focuses and away I went. The polaroid positive is a fading only-child of the moment that separates itself from the bulk of mature photography. I just got a 5$ Sun 660 and won an auction for some film - and while there's a lot to be said for a piece of art existing on it's own, without duplication, my regrettably modern mind has begun to think about how to bring these little guys into a world of largeness and longevity.

More babies coming soon.

Jonathan Richman @ The Tractor Tavern

2010-05-10T15:33:00.001-07:00

the amazing jonathan richman played last tuesday in ballard. he was brilliant as always. larger images HERE.

Rocky Votolato - True Devotion - live @ kexp

2010-03-18T13:41:00.000-07:00

The following is a previously published post about Rocky Votolato's most recent release True Devotion. Accompanying the text are photographs I took Tuesday March 16, 2010 during Rocky's live in-studio session. Without sounding too godddamn corny I have to say meeting Rocky and April was an absolute thrill. It's so nice when an artist with whom you've related to for many years turns out to be kind, genuine and 100% grateful for the gifts this life has afforded him.

Sitting in the studio while he played his short 4-song set (Sparklers, What Waited For Me, Instrument, Sunlight) was no joke one of the happiest times of my life. When it was all over - I left KEXP feeling pretty fucking lucky.

If you're not familiar with Rocky's music go HERE, HERE or HERE

Rocky is playing:

this weekend @ SXSW.

3/26 in Pullman, WA.

(14) April dates throughout the midwest & east coast.

(15) May dates throughout Europe.

True Devotion marks the 6^th full-length record (out 2/23 on Barsuk) from Seattle resident and ex-WaxWing frontman Rocky Votolato. In the decade following the demise of his band Rocky has crafted some of the most beautiful and honest music to ever come out of the Emerald City. After what’s felt like a very long time away I’m happy to report that Mr. Votolato is indeed back.

In the years following the release of his last album – The Brag and Cuss (2007) Rocky went through a widely publicized dark time– characterized by the arrival our old friend’s self-doubt, depression and anxiety. Trapped within the four walls of his mind Votolato reportedly stopped writing and touring altogether opting instead to hole up in his apartment for months on end studying existential philosophy, physics and theology.

In much the same way that “Lilly White” opened The Brag and Cuss – True Devotion’s “Lucky Clover Coin” sets the tone for the album to come:

Your eyes are broken glass the shattered light

Shines on everything you see

There’s a world I want to leave behind

Where a sunset in a constant bloody winter

Gives the only light, and with it I hoped I would disappear

In just five lines Votolato paints a vivid picture of where he’s been for the last three years. Even more important than finding his way through the immediacy of these thoughts is the recognition of their lasting presence and a need to remain vigilant:
You’re keeping me alive
‘Till the sunlight shows spring roses in water
And for the rest of my life
I’ll put your broken pieces back together
Much thinner than the majority of his previous release (barring “Whiskey Straight” and“Silver Trees”) Rocky’s latest effort leans heavily on the minimalist instrumentation and vocal strength of his earlier work. Given the timing - this fresh take on Makers, A Brief History and Suicide Medicine makes perfect sense. Beneath somber strings and delicate strumming True Devotion’s redemptive arc becomes apparent:
I want to spend more time with you
Because you make me happy
It’s something I’d been so little of
But you showed me that I can be
It is the blood of this journey – through life’s loneliest, most desperate moments through discovery, reflection and change - that pumps within the hopeful chambers of True Devotion. One of the album’s highest points comes midway in the form of “Sparklers.” Flawlessly picked and reminiscent of “The Uppers Aren’t Necessary” (from Makers), “Sparklers” examines the finite nature of life’s peaks and valleys.
Everything is right, Everything is wrong
Letting go is the best way to hold on
So watch the light dance in the dark until it’s gone
Sparklers only burn for so long
Like “All Things Must Pass” before it Votolato reminds us that there can be no good without bad. No flowers without rain. No happy without sad.- the knowledge of which allows us to enjoy the individuality of life’s moments without fear or regret.

Through all of this clarity one gets the sense that Rocky is seeing the special people in his life through new eyes. “ Sun Devil” reintroduces us to the muse of “Before You Were Born” (from The Brag and Cuss). To his love of more than a decade Votolato shows his gratitude:
True Devotion and True Virtue will hold you at the center
As the waves crash over
Some things are forever
And your love is an Anchor
As the closing moments of True Devotion’s final track – “Where We Started” fade into same strings as its first we are once again reminded of the freedom attained from simply letting go.

Gandhi once said that the most important battle to fight was overcoming one’s own demons, fears, and insecurities. True dat Mahatma. I thought about starting this off by telling Rocky Votolato how important his work is. How his last two albums have been instrumental in my own discovery of love. How the tone of his voice has been a source of friendship over the last several years – high-fiving me through the light (Makers) and sitting up with me through the dark (The Brag and Cuss). My first inclination – after finally getting to hear Rocky’s latest masterpiece – is to just say thanks.
So here it is. Thanks Rocky.

Originally posted here on 2/22/2010.

Ce n’est pas un examen Califone: live at UW HUB Auditorium 12/3

2010-03-06T16:33:00.000-08:00

Here's a follow-up to my previous blog about Califone. It was originally published on KEXP 12.09.2009

I’m the kind of person that gets stuck on repeat. I’m the kind of person that get’s stuck on repeat. I’ll discover a song that walls up around me in a way that shuts all other songs out. Sometimes it lasts for days sometimes weeks. I think I listened to a song once for a month straight without the slightest consideration for what else I might be missing. These songs keep me up at night. When I finally fall asleep they inhabit my dreams. Yes, I have problems (but have you ever skated a full-pipe with Morrissey while reading the Sunday Times?).

Along the way these songs, always bouncing around inside our heads, become the soundtrack to life. The things we see and do. Each time we smile, every failure and every success, every look in the mirror, every hi-five given and every hug taken. However bizarre or mundane, each grain of sand has a song beneath it. We make them into mix CDs and give them to loved ones in hopes that they might better understand the complexities of our individual films.

Lately my film has been stuck on “Funeral Singers,” from Califone’s most recent album and feature film of the same name, All My Friend’s Are Funeral Singers (Dead Oceans). As the centerpiece to Califone’s cinematic songwriting Tim Rutili has always used poetic imagery and tone to provoke feelings. Despite its roots in folk, Rutili’s music is never overtly focused on a strict narrative, making shadowy songs like “Funeral Singers” all the more applicable to one’s own life. Waking up last Thursday morning, I wondered how the evening’s live performance and film screening at the University of Washington’s HUB Auditorium might alter my thoughts on the song. Would the application of specific imagery and dialogue fade the track from my mind once and for all?

As per usual we arrived early and had to wait just outside the auditorium’s double doors for a good little while before the show/film was to begin. Having spoken to the band earlier in the day during their (phenomenal) in-studio performance at KEXP, I knew that the second leg of the tour had employed a new sound engineer — the UW show being the first of his dates. As the boys tinkered, my date and I shared a bit-o-honey (despite talking a load of shit I discovered an affinity for this dinosaur) and discussed the comedic merits of backwards jokes and whoopee cushions. It’s what we do.

Soon enough, we filed in and found our seats amongst a rapidly filling theatre of excited guests. How often is one given the opportunity to experience a film score performed live? As Rutili, Becker, Adamik and Massarella walked out on stage I gave a look around and realized just about everyone was smiling. For once it seemed as though not a single person in the audience had been dragged there; no one was tricked, bribed or duped into seeing this film. Lovely. After a brief introduction the players took their places in near total darkness — individually angled backward as to keep all eyes on the film — and began to play the opening sequence.

he film centers around a thirty-something clairvoyant woman named Zel (Angela Bettis of Girl Interrupted, May). While Zel takes in the occasional mortal for Tarot Card readings and the like her main source of companionship is a relatively large and varied cast of ghosts, several of which happen to play folky post-rock (Califone). While Zel considers these apparitions to be her only family, Rutili hints at Zel’s underlying desire to live a normal life, often surrounding herself in moats of salt over which the spirits can not pass. At first the ghosts are a real bunch of Caspers, helping Zel make money contacting dead relatives and picking winners at the track. And your own personal band of funeral singers to boot? Could be worse in this economy, right? Well, things go awry one evening when the ghosts discover a magnetic light in woods surrounding the house. As they attempt move into the light, the ghosts discover they are in fact trapped within the walls of Zel’s home. Ghosts no likey being trapped. Believing it is Zel that has trapped them in this purgatorial halfway house, the ghosts decide to torture their apparent captor. Suddenly, the music becomes a continual barrage of noise. The lucrative perks of knowing ghosts? Also gone. After a creepy customer almost cuts her, Zel realizes that despite her attachment to them any hope for normality (or just some god-damn peace and quiet) hinges on the freeing of her ghostly counterparts.

While all of this plays out under the auspices of a loose narrative structure, the meat and potatoes of Rutili’s film, much like his music, is largely free-form and surreal. Similar to Luis Bunuel’s partygoers in The Exterminating Angel, and even Ingmar Bergman’s Knight and Squire in The Seventh Seal, Zel’s trapped ghosts are a boundless vehicle for the dreamlike discussion of larger philosophical questions. Greed. Freedom. Morality. Death. Desperation and loneliness. Emotional Purgatory. The presence of God. Simple Survival.

Broken up into verse-like chapters, the major movements of the film correspond to various human superstitions (three of which are also tracks from the album) and remind the viewer that questions are being asked. What are your answers?

Throughout the film and brief follow-up set, it was easy to see that the band was truly enjoying themselves up there on stage. Tim Rutili and the rest of Califone should be commended for the success of such an ambitious project. To conceptualize and write a double-LP’s worth of songs and a screenplay is an undertaking in and of itself, but to then fund, direct, act, promote and play live to the film in 20 cities? Holy shit, there’s something to hang your hat on, bub. Oh yeah, and as of Thursday the film was officially accepted to the 2010 Sundance Film Festival — so if you happen to be in Park City please do check it out. Redford and company usually have a good eye for this sort of stuff.

As you may’ve already concluded nothing has changed for me with respect to “Funeral Singers.” I’ve listened to it today more times than I care to admit. It’s still mine for exactly what it means to me — but now it means more. I’ve taken the song and added it to my experience. To that I’ve added the film to get to where I am now. Where I am now is good. Different than where I was before.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of art.

Dead Man's Bones @ The Triple Door

2010-03-06T15:53:00.000-08:00

Here's the follow-up to my previous blog on Dead Man's Bones. This was originally published on KEXP 10.23.09

I had a pretty killer Friday, October 23, 2009. This is probably news to you but I am once again unemployed! As a result I spent the greater part of my morning drinking coffee, listening to music, trolling ebay (anyone willing to donate an LCD monitor in support of the arts? How about a Hasselblad? Pushing my luck?) and Craigslist (this one for JOBS), all the while completely forgetting to eat solid food. So by the time I met my ridiculously lovely date for a drink or two — well, I sort of went tits–up on the alcohol. So without further ado, I give you:

NEVER LET A LACK OF TALENT GET YOU DOWN: DEAD MAN’S BONES PLAYS THE TRIPLE DOOR!

It’s the t-r-i-p-l-e DIZOOR, t-r-i-p-l-e DIZOOR, t-r-i-p-l-e DIZOOR…

So after the wine we made our way down the hill to Seattle’s famed The Triple Door for a show I’d been looking forward to for quite some time. I was a touch worried as I’d gotten a call the previous night notifying me of Ryan Gosling’s contraction of Swine Flu and subsequent cancellation of the band’s morning in-studio performance. Just kidding about Swine Flu (back off, TMZ) but he was supposedly feeling pretty sick which could in theory put a damper on the kind of spirited monster-rock extravaganza myself and the staff of Forever 21 were hoping for.

In case you missed my review last month — the Seattle show marked stop #8 of Zach Shields and Ryan Gosling’s “monster-ghost-love-story” for the masses in which each performance would feature a local talent show opener and band support from each city’s hometown children’s choir. By the time we’d found our seats (front row — thanks, Triple Door) I’d completely spaced the whole talent show thing and was in turn a bit surprised by the emergence of guitar-playing ghost MC — taking the stage to announce the evening’s participants. Now I’m not trying to sound like a jerk but the guy had a seriously thick, vaguely Latino ghost accent that made the mental notation of names somewhat challenging. The ghost was clearly talented — but not unlike the first few episodes of The Wire — I had no idea what the hell was being said until damn near close to the end the talent show. The pre-show entertainment was certainly terrifying — and not in the Halloweeny, spookadelic manner intended. There were only 3 acts (not 5-8 as advertised, but by the end I was okay with that); 2 of which had me flashing back to a traumatic outing with the parent’s to see Blue Man Group. What can I say, audience participation is not really my deal. Check that, not at all my deal. Neither is human-skat-jazz-poem-Tourettes-theatre. COME ON, SEATTLE, we could’ve done better than this. We produced Sir-Mix-a-Lot and Brandon Roy. Hell, we produced Kenny G and Doug Christie! As a side note: the first act, a young woman from the choir (ghost accent), sang, played piano — and was amazing. Stevie Wonder’s “Masquerade” never sounded so soulful. I was wishing for her return about 90 seconds into the second act. Shoulda batted cleanup, kid.

As Gosling and Shields made their way out onto the stage the sold out crowd let loose an odd mixture of screechy screamies and exuberant claps not heard since Blake Schwarzenbach’s heyday. One young lady even let Gosling know that she’d be drinking at Tavern Law after the show. He looked confused. To be expected, I suppose.

I have to admit I’ve sort of been wondering, since the release of their somewhat subdued studio album, how this would all pan out: for me the most stirring moments put forth thus far by Dead Man’s Bones have been in live moments (recounted via YouTube) of spontaneity — the vocal cracks, mistuned instruments, timing (unpredictably tentative and hyper) all mash together in a way that outshines an album of even the most hastily recorded/mixed songs.

Shields and Gosling clearly understand dynamic at play here. Accompanied by members of The Seattle Children’s Chorus the King County incarnation of Dead Man’s Bones at once harnessed the dark power of the unknown. As the band/kids choir (in costume w/ white-faced zombie make-up) made its way through their first several songs, it became clear to me that Shields and Gosling were subtlety shaking off complacency, switching instruments erratically, speaking to the crowd, directing the children, adjusting tempo, at times even surprising each other. Shields and Gosling rarely seemed to break eye-contact with one another. Clearly, these two were playing a sort of musical cat and mouse that kept the crowd and children guessing — this uneasiness fans the flames and makes inherently dramatic songs like “In the Room Where you Sleep” and “Lose Your Soul” thicker, richer and creepier live than they could ever hope to be on wax (no wax available BTW. WTF, Anti-?). Another high point was the hugely catchy synth-pop-stand-out of the album, “Pa-Pa-Power,” which saw singing, clapping and dancing in every corner of The Triple Door. “Dead Man’s Bones,” which honestly never grabbed me until now (theme songs always feel like filler), featured some of the most convincing crying I’ve ever heard — even Gosling was moved to compliment the kids mid-song. It’s amazing what a little impromptu theater can bring to a song.

I’ve got to be honest with you: this kind of thing — do-wop infused rock n roll theater — is not generally something I’d envision myself latching onto (I’ve been muttering the words “I’m not usually susceptible to shooby-do-wops” for weeks now), but by the time Dead Man’s Bones played their first encore song, “Name in Stone,” I was hypnotized by the perfect storm of organized chaos on the stage in front of me. The thing that really gets me about Dead Man’s Bones is the attitude. Never once did ANYONE on that stage stop smiling. It’s amazing to think about the potential brimming beneath the positive impact of each kid’s experience with Dead Man’s Bones. In their way, Gosling and Shields are doing for these children (12 local kids choirs) what was not done for them. They’re showing these kids what’s important: have fun first. Make music second. While the symbiotic nature of this relationship is clear, the band’s rejection of the mundane (see: playing the album on stage) and emphasis on the moment (random talent and structure) radiates above all else a sincere appreciation of those inexplicably pure feelings wrapped inside of music — the joyous discovery of something intensely beautiful, unique and fleeting.

I’m glad I got to be there.

Elliott Smith Re-issues on Kill Rock Stars

2010-02-26T15:21:00.000-08:00

Elliott Smith. Well, where to start?

You’d be hard-pressed to find a musician, an artist, a singular voice, that means more to me than Elliott Smith. Like so many others, Elliott’s music affected my insides with the kind of emotional force that made me an instant fan for life. Each of his whispered words a razor-sharp secret, Elliott’s compositions hang between speakers like stories spoken in confidence. I owned everything in his catalogue within weeks. I still remember the first song of his I heard (“Clementine,” from his self-titled release on Kill Rock Stars) and where I was when he died (blowing dust from the lens of an IMAX projector). Even though I’d never met Elliott or even seen him play a complete set (I was late to a show once and caught his encore — it wasn’t my fault, ugh) I used to look forward to his records like a proud best friend or brother. I think a lot of people felt that way about him. I guess the point that I am struggling to hone is that Elliott Smith was a special human being whose contributions to music can not be overstated.

On April 6th, Kill Rock Stars will rerelease Smith’s first and last records, 1994’s Roman Candle(originally on Cavity Search) and 2004’s From a Basement on a Hill (completed posthumously in 2004 by Rob Schnapf and Joanna Bolme for ANTI-). This will in effect bring the majority of his catalog (barring his two Dreamworks albums XO & Figure 8) home to the Northwest.

Often overlooked, Smith’s hushed Roman Candle is one of the most beautiful and telling records of his short career. Smith’s debut offers clues about the artist’s troubled childhood with the transparency of a young man that never expected to get his record made. Among his very best, these first three songs — “Roman Candle,” “Condor Ave,” and “No Name #1” — are the ultimate introduction to themes found throughout Elliott’s entire catalogue (Charlie, mom, withdrawal).Roman Candle is one hell of an honest record that showcases the primordial talents of a brilliant artist to be.

The new Kill Rock Stars version of Roman Candle has been re-mastered by Tape Op Editor and official Elliott Smith archivist Larry Crane. According to Crane, the updated version will be…

“more listenable. I felt that a lot of the guitar ’squeaks’ were jarring and very loud, and that many of the hard consonants and ’s’ sounds were jarring and scratchy sounding. I felt by reducing these noises that the music would become more inviting and the sound would serve the songs better.”

Important to note though is that 2010’s Roman Candle will not deviate from Elliott’s original mixes. Also important to note: this release also marks the first time the album will be available on vinyl.

In celebration of these recent additions, Kill Rock Stars has offered today’s featured song, “Cecelia/Amanda,” as a free MP3 download. The song, recorded by Larry Crane in 1997, is a lovely gift and elegant bridge between Elliott’s debut and final recordings. In 1997, Kill Rock Stars had just released Either/Or and Elliott was in the midst of what would become his highest level of mainstream exposure, beginning with his musical contribution to fellow Portlander Gus Van Sant’s film Good Will Hunting and culminating with an Oscar nomination (and performance) for his song “Miss Misery.” At this time, Elliott was working on the tracks that would become the shining apex of his discography, his Dreamworks debut, XO. It is with this fourth record that Smith’s transformation from thinly produced lo-fi singer-songwriter to multi-instrumentalist baroque pop master would come into full bloom.

Along the way Larry Crane recorded “Cecelia/Amanda,” a near complete lyrical reworking of a track entitled “Time is Ours Now,” originally recorded by Smith’s high school band Stranger Than Fiction. Despite its origins, this rework sounds like middle ground between Either/Or and XO. XOmarked the first time Elliott, a proficient pianist since an early age, chose to bring the pop-mainstay of his idols to the forefront of his own compositions. Suddenly, Elliott’s doubled vocals and skillful finger-picking found their perfect counter-part in colorfully upbeat piano arrangements. “Cecilia/Amanda” is a lost example of this musical big bang — a precursor of sorts to the brilliance of “Waltz #2,” “Baby Britain,” and “Independence Day.”

I realize I’ve said very little about From a Basement on a Hill. This may sound completely ridiculous, but I have listened to it very little over the years since its original release. Like most of his other albums, I think I bought it on the first day it was available, on LP, but decided to save it for a time when I really needed some new Elliott. I guess on some level I wasn’t ready for Elliott Smith’s last tracks. Sitting here tonight, listening to “Cecilia/Amanda,” Roman Candle, Elliott Smith, Either/Or, XO, and Figure 8, I think it’s finally time to dust off Elliott’s final gift.

*all images Autumn deWilde

Dead Man's Bones

2009-10-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

Here's a piece that originally posted to kexp a month ago today. Dead Man's Bones plays The Triple Door tonight!

BluetoothFriend:
“He is an asshole. The video is evidence enough.”

Phoenix0929:
“Dude. He’s so sexy playing piano.”

DubbedVideoDubbed:
“What’s wrong with you? YOU’RE the asshole. You probably like Miley Cyrus or something. You are just a crap person.”

Cokkiepartylennon93:
“I love this. It’s so Gothic but not annoyingly Gothic. It’s real interesting. Iove it and I love their voices.”

Montgomc:
“It isn’t horrible but I’d rather see Ryan Gosling act than listen to him sing.”

Heyyounewave:
“Ryan marry me. Please.”

Have I told you about my new favorite way to not work at work? You guessed it, youtube commentary. If you’re like me you need something to distract you from the fact that you sit at a desk 40+ hours a week burning your eyes out on spreadsheets containing data you really couldn’t give two turds about. I do declare that youtube commentary may just be your savior. Simply dial up the interweb and start searching. Before you know it you’ll be totally LOLing coffee into your keyboard. It’s amazing really, when you consider the whole thought process behind creating the user name coupled with the energy required to initiate and maintain arguments with people you’ll likely never meet. To quote Gwen Stefani, this shit is BANANNAS. B-A-N-A-N-AY – ES!

Dead Man’s Bones is the thus-far astonishing musical side-project of actors Ryan Gosling (The Notebook, The Believer, Half-Nelson [Academy Award nomination, best recanize), Lars and the Real Girl) and Zach Shields (The Most Beautiful Thing, Fox 7 at Fifty). Regarded as one of the most dynamic and talented actors of his generation Gosling’s potential as a songwriter is unsurpassed. All zombie’s aside there is a certain terror that takes hold when faced with the work of actor/musicians – but I assure you - Dogstarr this is not. Gosling (on guitar, piano and vocals) and Shields (percussion) have put forth something special here.

With just 4 songs floating around the internet some may remain skeptical of Dead Man’s Bones (hey, it’s your right) but the way I see it, even if the rest of the album is corpse shit (doubtful) these songs and videos can stand alone in this space and time as something unique, energetic and moving.

Port O'Brien - Threadbare

2009-10-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

You may remember a post from last year when I first experienced Port O'Brien...

Here is a new post - up today on kexp.org:

Earlier this month California natives Port O’Brien released their third full-length album Threadbare – on TBD Records (Radiohead, White Rabbits). Quite possibly my favorite record of 2008 this follow-up to the highly acclaimed All We Could Do Was Sing (City Slang Records) sees new emotional movement in the Port O’Brien camp. Those of you impacted by the boisterous, fun-loving, free-spirited anthems of last year’s breakout will immediately notice a shift in tonality, pace and subject matter within the hushed walls of Threadbare. I did. In fact I’m almost certain that after the first listen I turned to Kate and said “this sounds so different…almost muffled.” Indeed the sounds nestled amongst the grooves of this latest effort seem uniformly confined by overcast skies and high tides. These new songs are wrapped inside the kind of introspection that walks hand in hand with unexpected sadness - specifically the tragic loss of founding member Cambria Goodwin’s younger brother. Described as a freeform process, the early stages of Threadbare’s sessions soon gave way to the solitude of life’s slower moments. Recorded in large part with San Francisco’s Jason Quever ( Papercuts) the lion share of the record inhabits a space not much larger than the living room studio in which it’s tracks were laid. A longtime friend and tour-mate, Quever’s quiet contributions are palpable. He deserves a lot of credit for manning such a risky departure. While it may not soar to the erratic heights of it’s predecessor - Threadbare ratchets-up the humanity in a manner that solidifies it’s emotional impact and accessibility. Focused and deliberate Threadbare sheds the limitations of successful formulas while retaining the true essence of the band’s sound.

“My Will Is Good” is perhaps the apex of Threadbare’s likeness to last year’s All We Could Do Was Sing. The song – while surrounded in sombre(and elegantly arranged) acoustics and cello fog - finds Van Pierszalowski and Cambria Goodwin momentarily parting the clouds of loss with a beautifully softened burst of their uniquely of folked-up sing-along sound - all of the best bits are still here kids: toe-tapping intro followed up with a wonderfully catchy beat; Pierszalowski’s newly reserved voice (really maturing nicely, think of Conor Oberst’s transition from Letting Off the Happiness to The Story Is In The Soil…) humming (not enough of this in the world, anyone can sing back-up here) and lyrics that make really make you think.

All this is a good sign for Van, Cambria and the rest of the boys: with just three LP’s under their belts – Threadbare illustrates the band’s propensity for change. With change comes longevity. Sure All We Could Do Was Sing reached out, grabbed me by the neck and demanded my attention– but Threadbare – well Threadbare is really more like the arm of a sincere old friend – setting you down on the crappy old couch for some catching up.

PS – see them live.

catch with my favorite little amigo.

2009-07-21T01:43:00.000-07:00

it's a whole hell of a lot easier for an adult to save a kid's life than vice versa. at best i've probably saved you from a broken bone or a few lost teeth.

this dude has your back for life.

if you're gonna scream, scream with me.

2009-07-12T12:35:00.000-07:00

me and high-school really didn't get along. god, i hated that place. and that time. i graduated from the ironically named Elmira Free Academy a full year early - june of 1993 - and in the 16 years (uhm, wow) since have annihilated or overwritten most of those memories. lately i've been thinking about that shithole again. about the kid i was, the music i listened to and how it got me to where i sit today*. as the youngest of my three upstate siblings tries to find her way to the light at the end of study hall alot of the weird memories of high-school have been flowing back in.

by the time i became one of elmira's finest achievers i was WAY into collecting punk tapes. do you remember that gigantic waterproof sony walkman that was YELLOW with the locking mechanism on the side? why was it YELLOW? why, when cassette tapes were tiny and light as feather did this thing have to be a goddamned dictionary in your pocket? why was it YELLOW? yellow is basically the worst color on earth (fresh pee) and somebody at sony thought, let's make that shit YELLOW and way way bigger than it needs to be! let's make a PISS BRICK! i wore the most enormous pants back then and i can still remember straight struggling to get that thing out of my pocket. luckily it had cutting edge AUTO-REVERSE technology so tape-flipping was less of an issue but still - can you imagine kids on capitol hill using one of these? i think the yellow would go over fine, but actually getting it into a pocket of the modern trendsetter would be a physical impossibility. perhaps an ironic fanny pack is the answer. i dunno. i can't help you.

the thing i remember most about that walkman was the way it looked loaded up with my misfits Legacy of Brutality cassette. while most cassettes were that weird metallic clear plastic this shit was BLACK. you know what else is black? DEAD STUFF. man the misfits were my favorite band right around the time i had this stupid ass yellow walkman. thinking about it now, the thing probably looked like a goddamn bumble-bee but i remember thinking it looked so completely badass. I would listen to Static Age, Legacy of Brutality, Walk Among Us and Earth A.D. over and over until the AA's died or the tape got eaten.** I had at least 3 Misfits t-shirts including the classic skull shirt and an Earth A.D. shirt with several bloody wolf-man- zombies hanging from a nooses. ***

nowadays cassettes are long gone and i'm not sure why this happened but the misfits never transitioned into the CD/record collection for me. i thought for a while that maybe i had lost or let someone borrow my misfits CD's but i'm realizing now that i never had them. just the cassettes. i guess i just started getting into other stuff around the time CD's came out / i got into records and i just never replaced these formative classics.

over the years my taste has really expanded. to think that i really only listened to punk for years and years is pretty astonishing. I often make the mistake, when thinking about my own experience with music - changing tastes etc. - of thinking that i'm the only one that spent his childhood feeling songs like MOMMY, CAN I GO OUT AND KILL TONIGHT?, HYBRID MOMENTS and BULLET - despite a real inability to understand what the fuck Danzig was actually singing. Seriously, could you tell me the lyrics to those songs before Google existed? I don't think so. The misfits were ferocious and full of attitude; exactly what i needed at the time.

In the years following my taste slowly morphed - from clearly punk music (dead kennedys, bad religion, misfits, sex pistols, black flag, minor threat, minutemen) into sometimes poppier emotional punk of the bay area (jawbreaker, green day, crimpshrine, mohinder) -into whatever the sam-hell it is today. along the way i discovered a guy named david pajo. mr. pajo is probably best known for his contribution to/creation of the post-rock movement as a member of Louisville band slint (Tweez, Spiderland) and later tortoise (the amazing Millions Now Living Will Never Die and TNT). even though i love and admire all four of those records it wasn't until i heard pajo play alone, stripped bare as papa M that i really fell in love with his music. Live from a Shark's Tank, Whatever Mortal, Papa M Sings, Songs of Mac and his six singles (entitled 1-6, all on drag city) are an exercise in delicate and deliberate song writing that is on the surface completely at odds with my early years as a connoisseur of punk rock. pajo's most recent release is a collection of misfits covers. listening to Scream With Me has filled me with such happiness. maybe it sounds dumb, HAPPINESS and MISFITS unlikely sentence mates - but this record, just feels like going home. it has forced me to contemplate where i came from***** in relation to where i am today. perhaps more importantly it reminds me that there are others out there that have traversed similar territory in terms of music and perhaps more importantly - in life. what's the goddamn dif i guess, right? the songs themselves are triumphant in their ability to transcend the inherent brutality of a misfits song to create something aesthetically beautiful. it's amazing what slowing the pace and tone of a song like I TURNED INTO A MARTIAN will do to the feeling it exudes. as each note crawls by pajo asks us to reexamine danzig's lyrics beneath the cold light of one's lifetime -

possession of the mind is a terrible thing

it's a transformation with an urge to kill

not the body of a man from earth

not the face of the one you love

i turned into a martian

i can't even recall my name

sometimes i never hardly sleep at night

i turned into a martian today

- there is newfound disaffection in the words as pajo sings:

i walk down city streets

in an unsuspecting human world

inhuman in your midst

- i still consider myself to be into punk rock. it's just another kind of punk i guess. another feeling. i think ray barbee sums it up pretty well****: "[punk is more of] a way of thinking...if you've got a heavy metal show and you book a jazz band in there, that's punk." pajo's fragile covers have gotten me thinking about what glenn danzig was trying to get across more than i ever did as a kid. in that way this collection of songs is a completely punk rock record and i am more of a punk now than i was then. fuckin' a.

it's the very best thing i've heard this year. I really can not recommend it strongly enough. It's a limited edition vinyl release (1000 pressed at 45rpm) and comes with free CD of the full record.

Here's the tracklisting:

Angelfuck

Hybrid Moments

Where Eagles Dare

Bullet

Teenagers from Mars

Devil's Whorehouse

I Turned into a Martian

Horror Business

You can and will buy it here.

**i was pretty proud of my ability to fix cassette tapes when i was a kid. i wore these fucked up thick plastic glasses when i was young and was always having to use the mini-screwdriver to tighten them and what-not - presumably due to the unnatural weight of the thick lenses. anyway i quickly discovered that this little tool could also be used to dismantle audio cassettes. i would repair a friend's damaged tape in exchange for a dub of some other album. i remember i would lay the tape on the table as if i was about to perform a triple bypass. i think i washed my hands first. i'd open it up and untwist the tape and even do splices with my mom's scotch tape. i remember one time i had this fugazi tape - it wasn't 13 songs because that wasn't on cassette - OH -margin walker it was - i had that all laid out and i need some scotch tape to repair it and i asked my mom - who sent me on this wild search through the basement for a mystery roll of scotch tape that was left over from wrapping christmas presents. i remember searching around, STRESSING that margin walker was splayed out all over the table (should've secured my surgical materials prior to making the first incision) - any old breeze could come by and blow everything all to hell. luckily that didn't happen and i believe the repair was a success. thank god, fugazi tapes were like 6$ and not available at sam goody.

***I also eventually owned a couple of danzig shirts including one from the 2nd record LUCIFUGE that had the outline of an upside-down cross on the front with the danzig skull inside it. On the back were big blood red letters that read GOD DON'T LIKE IT. hahaha, oh man, i'd wear that today if i still had it.

****

*****epicly later'd is a brilliant video series about skateboarders, created by patrick o'dell. ray barbee's episode is here.

Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, Bill Callahan

2009-06-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

It’s crazy to think that Bill Callahan put out his first Smog album nearly 20 years ago. To say that his records have had a major impact on me over this span of time would be an epically understated understatement. Over the years Callahan’s prolific and meandering vision has provided me with the soundtrack to days both difficult joyous. Smog has always felt alive to me – heartbreaking bitterness and disparity or blooming positivity and inspiration– there is a humanity to Callahan’s moodiness that is impossible to deny.

It’s tough to imagine getting through some of life’s shittier moments without the support of The Doctor Came At Dawn (1996), Wild Love (1995), and Kicking a Couple Around (1996) crackling in the background.

On the flipside, albums like 1999’s Knock, Knock, and Dongs of Sevotion (2000) are a testament to the simple beauty found just around life’s next corner (B-L-double-oh-D-F-L-oh-double-you, BLOODFLOW! BLOODFLOW!).

Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, Bill Callahan’s second album since shedding the Smog moniker is his most ambitious work to date. Populated with all of the Smog mainstays – acoustic guitar, piano, cello and of course Callahan’s amazing deadpan vocals, Eagle’s instrumentation is focused much tighter than previous efforts.

While some may relish an apparent loss of rawness in his new work –Callahan is simply maturing as an artist. The bent unpredictability of the past has given way to purposeful arrangements and elegance.

Sometimes, I Wish We Were an Eagle contains some of the most amazingly understated guitar work I’ve heard in like, forever.

Country infused acoustics lay atop stringed arrangements to create a comfortingly orchestral musical backdrop.

Callahan’s lyrics are accessible – yet delicate and introspective as evidenced in Eagle's opening track "Jim Cain":

I ended up in search of/ordinary things

like how can a wave/ possibly be

I started running/ and the concrete turned to sand

I started running/ and things didn’t pan out as planned

“All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast” is an eastern influenced, dramatic throw back of sorts to the grittiness of Smog’s earlier albums. Lurching drums build below Callahan’s baritone and hints of distortion that recall “When the Power Goes Out” (Julius Caesar, 1993).

Just as the song appears to near full-blown explosion, strings bring ‘er back down to earth and remind us of just how far Mr. Callahan has come.

Originally posted to the KEXP blog.

Your's Truly, The Commuter.

2009-06-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

Jason Lytle is the best guy ever. I’ve never once met him and barring a single Grandaddy show many years ago I’ve never even been in the same room with the dude. With that said it feels like Jason is one of my friends. One of my tightest bros from way back when. Lytle is the same as me and those that I’ve known all my life – cut from the same jib, of the same ilk –WHATEVER, the guy constructed a brilliant song around a Neil Blender sample (Grandaddy’s "N. Blender"). Do you know how many times I watched that video when I was a kid?

LOTS.

Hell, I still have the VHS and I’m watching it now.

Despite my affinity for the push-push, skateboarding alone is not nearly enough for me to get fanatical about someone’s music. Over the years Jason Lytle has made some of the most elegantly raw, beautifully honest songs these ears have ever heard. Grandaddy’s second album, The Sophtware Slump is on my ridiculously short list of 100% perfect albums. Lytle’s songs have always been written from an immensely accessible position of solitude and vulnerability (you’ve been there)– his hushed vocal style, soothing keys and ingeniously plopped synthetic blips hang together to create songs you just can’t not like.

Yours Truly, The Commuter finds Lytle on familiar, but shaky ground. The album’s title track begins just as tentatively as Grandaddy’s final album (Just like the Fambly Cat, 2006) ended. The opening notes call to mind the most masterfully synthetic moments of his past while ceremoniously introducing us to the future. When Lytle sings -

Last thing I heard I was left for dead/Well, I could give two shits about what they said/I may be limping but I’m coming home

-he summarily acknowledges the sadness and alienation of his last years in Modesto (Grandaddy’s tumultuous demise, commercial pressures ,$, substance abuse) and announces that despite all the shit he’s been through that yes, he is giving this another go:

All work and no play mighta done me in/So I’m stoked I’m back after where I’ve been

Often seen as downer-rock there is a positive undercurrent to Yours Truly, not seen since the peak of his former band’s success; 2003’s Sumday. That being said the comfort level and pop-confidence of the aforementioned album is greatly understated here.

A lifelong skateboarder – I can’t help but think about blowing out my knee as a kid (Lytle himself tore his ACL skating), the subsequent surgery and recovery. I remember feeling like my leg didn’t belong to me anymore– that my mind knew exactly how to do all the tricks I’d learned before the injury – that I could see myself as I was before but nothing seemed to work. I remember feeling like a lifetime of accomplishments was gone forever. As I got stronger the successes of the past began to find their way the surface and eventually everything came back. It sucked but I’m better for it. Yours Truly, The Commuter is the onset of Jason Lytle’s recovery; limping forward through the crippling injuries of his past - relearning tricks; getting himself healthy. While musically the album is not much of a departure for Lytle it’s obvious that he’s revisiting earlier work in an attempt restabilize and grow. Yours Truly, contains some of the best songs Lytle has ever written. “Birds Encouraged Him” and “Flying Thru Canyons” recall the fuzzy catchiness of 2001’s Through A Frosty Plate Glass EP while the acoustics of “Brand New Sun” and “I Am Lost (And the Moment Cannont Last) fall somewhere between Under the Western Freeway and The Sophtware Slump. When I hear Jason Lytle’s music and look at his art I feel like we grew up together, watching skateboard videos, laughing and dreaming.

I’ve been unemployed since April and this is the only record I’ve bought since.

Highly recommended.

Originally posted here.

Mt. Vernon, WA 2009

2009-05-23T18:09:00.000-07:00

Not generally one for hippies or flower power but Mt. Vernon's tulips fields are really quite lovely. I think this was the highest concentration of cameras I've ever seen in one place. It was actually pretty tough to point your camera anywhere without another one staring you right back in the face. There was even a dude with strobes set up just in case you wanted a fancy portrait against the trippy-ass colors.

If you're a fan of color, this is the place for you.

tight bros.

posse.

more bros.

lots and lots to still go through - more to come...BOOSH !

(my flickr)

Brother Ali

2009-05-13T13:16:00.000-07:00

Below is a review I wrote for the latest Brother Ali release. A bonus DVD of Ali's Undisputed Truth Tour homecoming performance, interviews, commentary and music videos is also included.

xo.

The Truth is Here – Brother Ali, Rhymesayers Entertainment 2009

Born with a rare genetic condition known as Albinism Ali’s body lacks the pigment that gives skin, hair and eyes their color. An outcast from day one, Brother Ali grew up inside himself, constrained by the seemingly unbreakable walls of social acceptance that stood surrounding him at birth. Ali’s intriguing life as an albino has been the subject of unfailing autofocus within the media. With the arrival of his latest offering, The Truth is Here, we must begin to look beyond the uniform of the soldier to understand the heart and mind of the man. Brother Ali’s rhymes of personal hardship serve as a sonic catalyst for change from within; indeed these are songs for anyone that has dreamt of a mirror less world, hid his eyes with sunglasses or grown a beard to hide his face.

Intelligently structured, The Truth is Here crackles forth with the cinematic arc of brilliant sequel. On the opening track “Real As Can Be,” listeners break bread with Brother Ali as he brings us up to speed on the last year of his life. The conversational tone of this first song welcomes us with the sincerity of dear friend back from a long trip. The effective subtlety of this first act can be directly attributed to the landscape beneath the lyrics. The contribution of longtime Rhymesayers producer Anthony “Ant” Davis cannot be overstated. Ant’s ingenuity for beat-making, sampling and musicianship are akin to that of a psychological gardener. These are not factory beats made in Los Angeles cubicles. These are beats are organic and rich; made by someone that knows the story chapter and verse. Ant’s purposeful and informed backdrops are the soil from which Brother Ali’s rhymes naturally sprout.

On Truth’s ominous second track “Philistine David” Ali relates his personal isolation and indignation with the continuing struggles within the Holy Land. An early convert to Islam, Brother Ali’s dedication to the Qur’an is the backbone of his message. In another artist’s hands these songs might collapse beneath the weight of religious overtones. While references are abundant throughout, Brother Ali walks the religious line with the nimble skill of an educator, offering the source of his inspiration, but leaving the revelation in the hands of the listener.

Each track of The Truth is Here builds toward a triumphant climax. “Good Lord,” a musical high point of the album, gets to Ali’s central premise. When he defiantly asks “How ya gonna hate me for bein’ what God made me?” we feel the years of sadness and disenchantment overcome. At some point in our lives we all feel like we have no one. When it’s dark and things can’t be fixed Brother Ali reminds us “sometimes the hardest thing to be in this world is just yourself.” Brother Ali puts the listener in his shoes just to show we all wear the same size.

Ant’s Bill Withers sample at the head of “Baby Don’t Go” elegantly sets the stage for a playfully poignant reaction to the challenges of being single in your thirties. A follow-up of sorts to “Walking Away” (from 2007’s The Undisputed Truth), Ali uses humor, confidence and soul to positively affect the business end of loneliness. The vantage point of this song shows us that through healthy eyes even that which is furthest from our reach is still attainable. After all, who wouldn’t want to “sit on a wish and let [their] feet dangle?”

Before they were famous Brother Ali and Anthony Davis were fans of music. In even it’s most boastful moments The Truth is Here remains grounded by the pioneers of hip-hop, r&b and funk. Brother Ali’s sharpest corners are softened by Ant’s throw-backy, bass-laden backdrops. “Talkin’ My Shit” and “The Believer (featuring Slug)” are funky takes on classic bravado and comradery.

The very tallest peak of The Truth is Here waits patiently at the tail end of the disc. Those familiar with Atmosphere’s most recent LP When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold will notice a common tonal quality between introductory composition “Like the Rest of Us” and Ali’s final track “Begin Here.” Ant’s delicate keys, an understated beat and clap-track create a warm intimacy between Ali and the listener. Often seen bringing the young Faheem on stage for guest rhymes; Ali’s son is the namesake of his message. Translated from the Arabic, Faheem means “one that will understand with ease.” Ali’s mission is to strengthen others with the clarity of mind achieved through hardship and struggle. Brimming with emotion, confidence and sincerity, The Truth is Here see’s Brother Ali and Anthony Davis standing before the open elevator doors of their future.

vince mira live @ kexp 4/29/09

2009-05-04T00:03:00.000-07:00

i used to do this thing when i was younger.

no matter what show i went to i always tried to hang around and meet the band after they played. i'm not sure why i did this exactly; it wasn't your typical fan-out scenario:

i wasn't trying to sneak backstage to catch a whif of the culture club or have a beer with mick jagger -i was seeing shows that were small. if the bands at these shows had any merch they were usually trying to hawk it themselves right off stage. if there was a stage.

i'm sure alot of kids that grew up listening to punk and it's subsidiaries probably did this. the small show-culture seems to nurture this kind of behavior.

i feel fortunate to have learned about music in this way.

i found skateboarding and punk rock which led me to california, which led to free shows in libraries, basements and living rooms. microphones held together with duct tape and couches stacked on top of each other.

the intimacy of it all just made it feel so special. this is ours. it's weird, knowing i could go watch a favorite band play then tell them how it impacted me completely roped me into music. putting eyes, voices and mannerisms to these songs somehow made the music mine. made it real.

somewhere along the line i started going to bigger shows and seeing bands that were less likely to mingle. maybe i became less likely to mingle. adult mingling has never been my forte. eventually i stopped shaking hands with bands. even still, there is a thread of those early years that still flows through my choices today. sure i listen to david bowie and morrissey but most of the music i latch onto - the stuff i dig my hooks into - is made by real people.

shooting musicians in the kexp studios has made realize all of this. that little studio could be a basement or living room. i think i shook 17 year old vince mira's hand at least twice. this kid is real. and for real.

if you haven't heard of vince you should check out his website here. his is one of those "uhm, wait that voice comes out of you?" type situations.

i was really glad to hear him play almost entirely original compositions. if you are fortunate enough to live in the pacific northwest, vince plays every Tuesday (for now) at the Can-Can in Seattle.

He is also playing this year's Sasquatch Festival - attached are some photos from Wednesday's session. it was awesome.

X @ The Showbox, 4/10/09

2009-04-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

Last Friday I got the opportunity to see one of the most important and influential bands of all time. I’m not going to pretend to be some kind of lifelong X-super fan. I started listening to them so recently that when I bought their seminal album (LOS ANGELES) the waify Jacqueline-Black behind the counter looked down at me and asked “You don’t already have this?”

Built in part on X’s foundation, one of Seattle’s funnest bands to watch, The Heels opened the night.

This band consistently blows me away with its insane combination of loud clothes, plush horses and rrrrrraw garage sound.

Bring (2) parts Joan Jett to a boil.

Stir in (1) part Billy Childish in stilettos and fishnets.

Add (3) parts pure attitude and you got yourself one hell of a twangy meal bubbling over into your lap.

These ladies (and one guy) seriously bring the pain. The best kind of pain. The kind that keeps you coming back for more.

You will see them. You will like the pain. You will ask for more.

Watching X play in 2009 it is impossible to deny their impact on the countless incarnations of punk, hardcore and indie rock that have I have followed my entire life. Exene and John Doe’s poetic twist on punk rock laid the sonic framework for Sonic Youth’s most obtuse to Green Day’s most mainstream.

By 1977 punk rock was decimating the West Coast with hard-hitting aggressive songwriting that would become eventually become the framework for countless generations to come. Perhaps the most influential band to rise up from the Los Angeles scene, X was beating its unorthodox brand of urban-art-punk upside the skulls of fans long before I took my first steps. (ok, not that long – I’m old. )

X’s sound and influence can undoubtedly be credited to its diversity of players. Billy Zoom’s rockabilly touches infused Doe and Exene’s off kilter melodies jibe perfectly with DJ Bonebrake’s pummeling percussion to create a perfect storm of colliding influences. That being said, live Friday night The Showbox stage and that band belonged to X’s rhythm section. DJ’s hard-charging beats filled the air like drums are supposed to. Never for an instant did it feel like these songs could fall apart. At age 55 John Doe played and sang with a ferocity that could inspire a fresh-faced legion of Mike Watt’s to take up arms. To say he was really givin’er would be an understatement of epic proportions.

Do you play like that every night John?

I would be seriously freaked out if my Dad was sweating as hard as you were. Amazing.

I was a little disappointed with Exene and Zoom’s energy (or lack thereof) on stage. Don’t get me wrong Zoom played a flawless set with an enormous grin on his face. Unfortunately the grin was so creepy I had to look away (sorry Billy, I know it’s your thing and the ladies seemed receptive so more power to ya). Exene was the least animated of the crew but still found a way to come alive at all the right moments.

Seeing X power through a set-list chosen by their fans, it became clear that each of the personalities onstage was very different. Each of these players has seen a lot of life in the years following their initial successes. It is these very differences that made X so unique to begin with; and it’s the reason it still works today. If you get the chance, buy the ticket.

The Thermals @ Neumo's 4/11/09

2009-04-17T18:04:00.000-07:00

Last Friday The Thermals graced a sold-out Neumo’s crowd to an explosive night of incredibly tight-knit-Portlandly-punk-rock. Technically an all-ages show, the typical Sam Beam beard to neon side-cocked hat with bangs ratio was drastically out of whack – the former basically mailing it on the fandom. Probably a good thing at the end of the day as I had no problem getting a beer (ok, two) upstairs and the kids, well the kids kind of kicked ass.

Also hailing from Portland, Parenthetical Girls and Panther lit the emo fuse (it’s short, duh.) with showmanship and sweat-drenched, string breaking angst. As a performer deciding to come off stage and into the crowd is to walk a fine line between awkwardness and awesomeness –young kids that haven’t seen much tend to be a touch more receptive than dudes that saw Dinasoaur Jr.’s original line up the first time around.

PG guitarist, singer and overall performer at large Zac Pennington was rocking a sweater with the words “butterflies are free.” Say what you will about that, Zac knew how to work a crowd.

Starting the set off from the center of the crowd he moved back and forth from stage to floor to knees to drum kit singing and playing guitar with eyes that said “I’m astro-projecting. I’m not even here. I’m somewhere else.“

(verdict: awesome)

Kill Rock Stars label-mates Panther continued to warm up the crowd for Hutch Kathy and Westin. Guitarist and vocalist Charlie Humara pummeled his guitar to the point of breaking several strings within just a few songs. Panther’s somewhat stripped down emotional indie rock reminded me of going to south bay shows years and years (and years) ago. I’m pretty sure there was no such thing as indie rock when I was attending all-ages shows. I think they called it alternative back then. Whatever.

Having never seen Panther before, I was pleasantly surprised by their onstage rawness (is that word?). Again, audience interaction was employed: At one point Humara lunged his guitar forward more or less right in front of me (and many others) seemingly attempting to get one or all of us to attack the strings. Pretty great in theory unless you’ve got a giant camera in your hands. I was like “uhm, should I strum it with the 5D? This is sort of an expensive lens and he’s pretty god-damn sweaty.”

(verdict: awesome, with a touch of awkard)

I was really excited to see The Thermals. A longtime fan of Hutch and Kathy’s expansive catalog (Haelah, Urban Legends, AGSFB) I’ve been really psyched to see my old friends up on stage.

I was not disappointed. It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen a band play this tightly. The trio played with an intensity that sent the crowd into a rocking frenzy. The entire floor was bobbing up and down to Kathy Foster and Westin Glass’s finally complete, ridiculously cohesive rhythm section.

Early in the set I was launched into a modern day mosh-a-thon getting carried across the breadth of the entire stage - all in the span of just a single verse. Anyone that has heard the The Thermals knows how pervasive the vocals can be. Mr. Harris’s vocal style is the anthemic common denominator to intelligently penned, guitar-centric power melodies. Seeing the three of them wow this young crowd really felt good. It gave me faith in their futures. Through their continued success, The Thermals are the same kids that recorded in their kitchen, gave away cd-r’s and played in back yards on rotten couches.

You know when you’re at a sold out show and it’s so hot you’re sweating – and suddenly a bouncer opens some random side door next to the stage letting in all this fresh cold air? That’s what it felt like to see The Thermals Friday night.

(verdict: AWESOME²^₎

Matt Ward @ the ShowBox Seattle, WA

2009-04-07T22:52:00.000-07:00

about a month ago i started shooting photos and writing for local radio station KEXP. if you have ever spent any time in seattle you know that we're the best radio station west of the mississippi. actually, we broadcast from NYC too, so legally we can claim this whole damn country. below is a piece i wrote and shot for the m. ward show march 11, 2009.

Port O'Brien opened:

Sometimes music gives me insomnia.

Friday night at The Showbox California natives Port O’Brien opened for the Northwest’s own M. Ward (ok, technically he’s from CA too, but you had your chance; he’s ours now). Almost immediately Van, Cambria and the rest of Port O’Brien sent my jaw packing for the floor with their catchy, bluegrass infused folk rock. To say that front man/guitarist Van Pierszalowski’s delivery of these songs – many of which were penned aboard commercial salmon boats in Alaska - is honest and heartfelt – might be the understatement to end all understatements. Front man he is. Frontin’ he is not. Homeboy’s ability to belt out a red-faced chorus is matched only by the sincerity of his slower, twangier vocal deliveries.

It was about half-way through “Fisherman’s Son” that I started thinking this “song is going to get stuck in my head.”

I haven’t slept a full night since. The final nail in the coffin that is sleeplessness came during the band’s signature closing number “I Woke Up Today.” After distributing pots, pans and metal spoons to the audience Port O’Brien launched into one of the most raucous and memorable foot-stompers these ears have ever heard. Please send Sominex.

Primed and ready for more, the sold out audience welcomed headliner M. Ward with open arms. I don’t know that I have ever seen that many smiling Seattlites collected in one room.

From the weird hippy guy next to me eating dried fruit to the Samoan-Kirk-Hammett-with-John Waters moustache – M. Ward had us all eating out of the palm of his hand. Have you SEEN this man work over a guitar? As I stood there watching I actually thought to myself “that guitar is so lucky.” And that voice? His voice conjures thoughts of wood burning stoves and sleeping in. It’s hard to write about him without sounding like I’m in love. Floating back and forth across the stage, from guitar to guitar - then to the piano - Ward performed with the confidence and accuracy of a thousand man-crushes realized. After just over an hour onstage and two encores (Vincent O’Brien and an insanely perfect rendition of Roll Over Beethoven) it all came to a close.

What a night. Thanks KEXP!

originally posted here

lend me your ear. (an introduction)

2009-04-06T23:54:00.000-07:00

i don't know what the hell is wrong with me these days. i thought i had it all figured out. i thought everything would be ok. goddamned better than ok. after 33 years i'm now beginning to realize that nothing is ever truly figured out. i guess i figured that out a little late. go figure.

some smart dude once said that "the only constant is change." i've gone through some changes lately that have landed me in some seriously sketchball territory. i'm no regret stricken post-op tranny or anything; i just feel pretty lost. i made some wrong turns and just sort of forgot who i was and what makes me happy. my brains got broken.

the crap to appear on these pages will be an attempt to acknowledge and chronicle the things in life that have always made me happy. made me who i am. the things in life that flip the middle finger at what that smart dude said about change.

i don't even really remember much before the age 12. that was the year i got my first skateboard. suddenly my four friends and i had something that no one else could even fathom. unbreakable solidarity. unending creativity and x-ray vision. it's like that minutemen song: skateboarding changed our lives. that grey future primitive gave me a reason to live. a way to get through 5th period. a way to endure small town high-school life. a way to get by with one parent instead of two. friends and memories that last a life time. even when lifetimes don't last as long as they should. skateboarding will get you through that too. i'm here today because of the skateboard. plain and simple. i love the way a skateboard feels under my feet. i wear vans. they are turning my feet into flippers but guess what,

i don't care because i want to feel my board.

it's under there: i'm ok.

if you don't like skateboarding, i feel bad for you. please look away.

skateboarding is what first got me searching around in life's cracks and crevices. looking for new, different things. something more. when you're a skateboarder you've got a vision that looks past what's right there in front of you. you wash right over generations of football, SAT scores, proms and the grateful goddamn dead. fuck the sediment, you're in the rapids now son.

soon after i got with the push-push i found the punk rock.

my dad used to take me to a nearby college town to skateboard. when he was in night school i would try to wallride. at least that's how i remember it. regardless of how it happened this string of events: the future primitive (w/boneite), x-ray vision, the dad in night school - it all led to me getting that first cassette tape. the first punk tape i ever owned was bad religion's "how could hell be any worse?"

I still remember handing it to my dad and watching him look over the
cover and scan the song titles.

fucking post apocalypse, inferno red cassette and songs like "we're only gonna die" and "fuck armageddon...this is hell." i had never heard them but this was the tape i somehow got my dad to fork over 9$ for. the underproduced raw attitude and intelligence of that tape forever jacked my mind on music. before that day my ears knew only of john cougar and huey lewis: the musical equivalent of cigarette-smoking-gym teachers and two kids at 20.

i'll always love my dad for buying me punk rock tapes.

that 9$ has bought me 33 years and counting.

music is the best and worst parts of life purified. black-tar-life-concentrate. these pages will make every attempt to get you to listen to the music that makes my head spin. i will force it on you with words, photographs, and context.

you will succumb.