Cool Blog No. 1

Originally posted @ Consume Media

Those who watched MGMT play at the Tabernacle last Sunday night witnessed a band that has finally come into its own. They are at home with their sound. At home with their place in the musical world, each piece of the band finely, precisely settling around singer, guitarist Andrew VanWyngarden and synth czar, Ben Goldwasser. After just releasing their third, self-titled album, MGMT has become a band aware of their limitations, their strengths and their reach. Knowing when to please the crowd with chart toppers like “Electric Feel”. Knowing when to sprinkle in deep tracks like the twelve-minute opus of “Siberian Breaks”. All holding down the attention of the starkly different fan base that ranges from high school dance fiends to psychedelic beatniks.

This international tour seems to have completed the band in more ways than one. Their last two records showed a massive departure from their 2007 breakout, Oracular Spectacular, a split that sort of estranged them from their electro-pop duo reputation. 2011’s Congratulations even had a marked cynicism toward that label and what was beginning to feel like reluctant success. But this year’s release, MGMT, shows a maturity, a unified progression. It is a concrete step forward into a sound that allows an embracing of the old, as well as a deconstruction of the past, and a comfort found only in a future of recognition and self-fulfillment.

And this show, this tour, was a manifestation of that. Tourmates, Kuroma, originally the solo effort of friend and collaborator Hank Sullivant, is a big part of that. About half of it to be exact. Sullivant, along with Will Berman and James Richardson make up the bulk of both Kuroma and MGMT. Richardson opens the night on bass, swapping to guitar for the headliner, and Berman stays on drums for both sets, but Sullivant is the real missing piece. He completes the full chemistry of MGMT, fleshed out since their early Memphis beginnings by filling out the vocal melodies and rounding out the guitar parts to recreate the studio sheen that makes the group such a shining example of psych/dream-pop.

                             Kuroma (L to R: Simon O'Connor, Hank Sullivant, James Richardson, Will Berman)

The band has garnered a crowd, a following that loves them for a sound they’ve defined. They’ve been comfortable in the studio since day one, but line-up changes and fast-growing, turbulent hype, seemed to jar their live shows in the past. This performance at the Tabernacle was something new. It was confidence beyond their years. It was a strength found by surrounding themselves with songs and people in which they believed. There was no rejection of the premature hits of “Kids” and “Time to Pretend”. Early deeps cuts like “Weekend Wars”, “Pieces of What” and “Of Birds, Moons and Monsters” were re-explored. “Dan Treacy” and “Flash Delirium” were flawlessly executed, and new songs “Your Life is a Lie” (with special fan appearance) “Cool Song No. 2” and “Alien Days” showed up as the band finished up the set. They worked from material from three absolutely distinct albums, three different eras and mindsets, and managed to sound like a cohesive, moving force. It was inspiring to watch.

A veritable sea of cell phone videographers emerges to capture "Electric Feel". 

Ironically, it prohibited most from actually dancing to the song.  

It’s almost always too early to speculate as to what will remain a classic. But there’s no doubt that MGMT is a defining band in this generation of music. This is the type of band that grows by creating a community of artists and fans, firmly rooting it in the audio aesthetic of the era, extending its influence as a source, and resurrecting a recurrent sound while dodging the spoiled nature of over-exposed pop. Whatever the group creates next will follow in that path. MGMT seems to be a band of conviction. But this tour and this lineup represent a definite high in the both their and Kuroma’s careers.

Be on the lookout for Kuroma’s next studio album, Kuromarama. And be sure to grab a copy of MGMT at your local record store.

Jonny Fritz. Gentleman, Craftsman, Showman.

Going to see Mr. Fritz perform live is like stepping into a space/time continuum of undiluted songwriting and soulful country twang. It can even transport you past the awkward, shuffling, Converse, plaid mass that tried more than once to interject into some of his freeform vocal performances with an unwanted clapping rhythm.

"Stop that," he spoke in a stanza break.

Clap....Clap.......Clap..Clap...clap...

"Please. Stop it." He broke out in a grin.


The crowd laughs and is still. I don't think they know whether or not to take the man seriously. One moment he's singing about the doggone trash. And with the next verse, his words cause a heart-racing silence through the club. That's when you realize that Fritz has much more to him than meets the eye.

The EARL was his final show on a stint with Langhorne Slim, supporting his fantastically dark Dad Country. That perpetual grin is only partially covered by a half-grown beard. His slogan could be "Smart-Ass Lyrics with a Smile". He's wearing a magnificently embroidered cardigan, hiding, I would later find out, an even more magnificently embroidered denim shirt baring the likeness of his right-hand fiddleman, Josh Hedley. If his guitar didn't have "Jonny Corndawg" written in pearl down the fretboard, I'd think he stole it. His father actually made it.

But that's Jonny. Rough n' tumble, every-tattoo-tells-a-story-and-I-got-some-good-stories kinda country. These aren't tall tales, though. They weren't bought. Dad Country deals with some shit. Real shit. Stinky shit. The songs are frank. They're a glimpse into Fritz's life, both on the road and at home. Women come and go and some are missed more than others. God and hope are found and lost.

The album is great, don't get me wrong. I have the glow-in-the-dark vinyl on my turntable to prove my love. But when you strip away the production, layered harmonies, drums, bass and pedal steel, you get to see uniquely crafted duo bang out some one of a kind performances. The lit snob in me wants to call it poetry. And it's not just the lyrics. The words are powerful, but the delivery is the followthrough. It can knock you out if you let it.

Offstage, Fritz is probably one of the nicest dudes you'll ever care to meet. My girlfriend...let's call her "Holly"...tried to buy one of his guitar straps for my last birthday. He had just signed to ATO and was a bout to start the tour. He couldn't do it then, but he wrote her a friendly email apologetically declining. He remembered her when we approached him after his set. I was drunk and wanted to tell him how much I appreciated him carrying the torch of Waylon, Merle and Billy Joe. I ended up telling him how much I liked his sweater. He showed us the stitching of Josh's face on his back.

"Idn't that cool?"

He bought us a drink. We talked for a good minute. I bought a copy of the vinyl.

"Make sure they get the gift bag," he said to the lady behind the merch table. Turning to Holly, "We got these great gift bags made up for the tour.

"And make sure they get the glow-in-the dark one. And the oatmeal pie. Do you guys want a poster?"

Of course we do.

No, no, Jonny. Thank You a lot.

Set me Free, Cass McCombs

Easily one of the best songwriters in this era of music, singer/poet/public man, Cass McCombs has really struck gold with Big Wheel and Others. 

Earlier this evening, my friend...let's call him "Clint"...texted me.

Clint: "What do you think about the new Cass McCombs album?"

I, in the midst of editing a paper for my girlfriend...let's call her "Holly"...was entrenched in the bowels of MLA formats, rhetorical fallacies, and academic vocabulary (the kind of tunnel vision induced flowery language that walks the fine line between relative brilliance and positive bullshit), responded.

Stephen: "It's really just extras from his last album from what I see/hear. Cass has really hit a point where he can do little wrong in my eyes. It's like Jeff Tweedy. He could poop on some wax and I would find something artistic about the shape of the turd. Maybe I'm a little biased in that respect. But I think it's fun and has some really solid tracks. I really like the direction he's going and I f*cking love the production on these sessions. It's f*cking interesting, too. Mike Gordon from Phish is on some of these takes."


Surprisingly, 'Clint' didn't respond with "Why would anyone type that much in a text or speak in such disgusting idioms?"

And we ended up making plans to see Cass up in Nashville later this year.

My response was longwinded, but I stand by most of those comments. At that point, I'd only really listened to a couple of tracks on the way to work today. Needless to say I was impressed. Cass has never let me down thus far. It is fun. It's experimental and lively. It's inspired, different. Karen Black kills...again. Also, Bringing Mike Gordon in was a brilliant move, and the Phish bass man, as well as Joe Russo, one of my favorite drummers from way back, really rubbed off on Cass's songs (see "It Means a Lot to Know You Care", that could be a Hampton Jam next year, man.) PR-wise, I think it opens Cass up o a whole new audience. And I do still love this production. It's natural, as natural as two Cass McCombses singing in either ear can be. It's clean. Quiet and clean.

But calling them "just extras" from Humor Risk was doing the album a disservice. After a much needed (for every album) headphone session, I knew they were much more. "Risk" is a theme that runs through McCombs' songwriting. Betting it all on red. All the marbles. It seems like he is at risk of losing his at any time. He puts it all on the line with these songs, swinging with conviction from jazz to post-rock to pre-rock, R&B and everything in between. Destroying whatever's left of the walls of conventional songwriting at this point. As a songwriter, I'm jealous. As a fan, it's a real thrill ride.

Now, I have to admit, while I was hooked up to my laptop, I started to read Pitchf***k's review of this album. The writer talked about this influence and that. Dropping obscure 90's avant-garde references left and right. But after a while, I closed the window. You can't just reduce it to that. Songs like this have an air about them that deserves to be experienced.

So do.

https://soundcloud.com/dominorecordco/cass-mccombs-brighter

https://soundcloud.com/dominorecordco/cass-mccombs-there-can-be

          Good to know Cass and I have the same taste in NetFlix documentaries. 

Falling in Love Too Late

All the wasted moments, the lonely days, the silent hours. Lost. All the time, my whole life of almost two decades that I could have been listening to Gram Parsons, and I hadn't been. And yet, up until a few long years ago, I walked around, fancying myself some sort of musical expert, an alt-country connoisseur. I gobbled up everything I could get my hands on from the Bottle Rockets to Uncle Tupelo. I'd gotten close to Parsons with Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Sure, I'd read his name on some track credits. But there was a time, not too long ago, when I didn't know the difference between Gram and Gene. I thought Roger McGuinn or David Crosby had fathered the sound that I so blindly sought in my own songwriting. Now, a life where the Flying Burrito Brothers is just a mexican restaurant in New Zealand seems to me a sad existence.

The band I played with in college was often pegged as "alt-country", which was triumph for my songwriting aspirations. I was, and still am, a huge fan of Wilco, so to even be lumped into the same genre as my heroes was great for me. But I didn't understand where it all came from. I knew the Bakersfield sound. I'd heard Merle Haggard. But I couldn't see where the leap was made. What made the genre new? How did the "alt" come to be? The answer, of course, is Gram Parsons.

Arguably, it came about from the first time ol' Sneaky Pete plugged his pedal steel into a fuzz box. Kleinow has been hailed as the Hendrix of pedal steel for more reasons than that. He really brought an edge to the Burrito Brothers that was missing in contemporary acts like the Byrds. McGuinn and Co. were too pop oriented. Certainly, what they did could be considered country/rock*, but alternative they were not. Country music has always had a love affair with the Bad Boy, the Outlaw, the Drifter. They drink and fight and leave their women (though they often regret that decision). But all those characters have charm, charisma. They didn't have songs about the lonely kid in the corner, lost in a dark thought, or crying with a woman they love. They didn't talk about succumbing to a world of narcotics or issues of the day. Parsons brought this voice to life. He blended heavy elements of country twang and R&B soul with the free thought of a new generation and the tortured dichotomy of a cynical gospel.

Parsons became the grievous angel, a label that only really makes sense after you've immersed yourself in his music. A love song has never been as true to the heart as "A Song For You", and "Juanita"; Don't even get me started on that song. The arrangement, the lyrics, and that classic but compelling chord progression that provide a full, dusty canvas for Pete's rhythmic rolls and perfect sweeping bends. Parsons and Chris Hillman are really on point in this track, too. Each soulfully wandering around those harmonies, occupying their own side of the stereo. It's perfection. That whole album (Guilded Palace of Sin) is close to perfect.

But perfect wouldn't be the Burrito Brothers. It wouldn't be Gram Parsons. His songs *may* have been perfect. I say this only because I stumbled upon this fantastic compilation several months back. I really enjoy Beck and Emmylou on "Sin City", really I do. It just doesn't even compare to this. And I thoroughly appreciate Whiskeytown's version of "Song for You", but c'mon (skip to about 1:19 if you don't enjoy vintage crowd fodder). There isn't that melancholy, that soul of that original voice (a voice that even came through in his covers.  It's all too polished, too sterile. Gram and Emmylou had a special connection that is so rare to witness. I wish I could have been at one of The Fallen Angels shows. It must have such an inspiring performance. Sometimes I think about what it would have been like to live in that era. Then I realize that if, on the off chance, I happened to have heard of Gram Parsons when he was still kickin' around in 1973, I would have had to travel long distances to see him. 2013 offers me the opportunity to discover music like Gram. Music that has a real, profound effect and resonance. I guess it's never too late to fall in love. Some might say I lack any imagination in my time-traveling fantasy. Maybe. Maybe I just don't know how to end this post.

*Not like the Eagles. Gram greatly disliked the Eagles.

Television

No. This is not my long awaited op-ed about the evils and perils of TV. This is to announce (or need I say brag about my acquisition of tickets, seeing as there are only a few left) the seemingly out-of-the-blue Television show at the Georgia Theatre. Word is that they are only playing three shows in North America, and they will all consist of playing their pinnacle album, Marquee Moon in its entirety. This is a once in a lifetime show, and one that I never thought I would be able to see.

People tend to lump Television in with the Patti Smith/ Ramones/CBGB crowd. They did grow out of that scene, but geography was about the only thing they had in common with those other bands. The sound is timeless. When I first listened to their '78 debut, I thought it sounded more modern than anything new stuff I was listening to at the time. The groove was so complicated and yet so soulful. The guitars had a distinct but familiar interplay. I was smitten. It's a shame that Richard Lloyd won't be playing with the group, but Verlaine is the main component of the group. It would be a bit like seeing Hendrix at the final show in Berkeley with Billy Cox on bass. Yeah, it wasn't the Experience, but it was fuckin' Hendrix. Verlaine and Jimi are kindred souls of the musical world. It's hard to say what would have happened had Hendrix carried on into the 70's and 80's, but odds are, by 2013, he would be working the nostalgia circuit coming to an outdoor amphitheater near you.

This isn't trying to be disrespectful of Hendrix. He is and always will be the greatest and most groundbreaking guitar player to ever grace this planet. He singlehandedly changed music forever and continues to this day. But he existed in an intersection of both time and space where guitar technology, culture, drugs, his songwriting and popular music taste all aligned in a glorious three or four year harmonium. Had Hendrix lived any longer into the 1970's, the world would have combusted. Or, more likely, he would have innovated himself into obscurity. He would have gone the way of Clapton in the 80's and 90's. Maybe even the wretched path of Steve Winwood. He would have been on the forefront of synths and drum machines just because that was how his brain worked. Once technology had let him off of his leash, he would be free to delve into projects and ideas that the world wouldn't have been ready for. He moved quicker than most musical minds, there was just a brief period in the beginning where we could catch up to it. Hendrix's music, though, has the benefit of being frozen in time.

Verlaine does not have that luxury. And his time of alignment was shorter. But where Hendrix took the blues, soul, fuzzed out guitar and LSD, and morphed them into the Experience, Verlaine took punk, avant-garde, minimalistic production and literature and turned them into Television. Critics at the time were hip to the importance of their sound, but they only really rose to attracting a cult-following for a brief period. Television broke up and got back together a few times over the years, but none of the members garnered much more attention. Verlaine went on to create several albums that stumbled into the 80's, but they got bogged down in the production standards of the decade.

On some level, it's sad to see an act rehashing an old album on tour, but at this point in Television's career it's a healthy way to look back at the unrivaled piece of art that came together in 1978. Creating an album at the caliber of Marquee Moon is worth a lifetime of achievement. It was and still is something larger than the band. If you can catch one of the shows in this country, please do. It will certainly be a high point in your concert-going career.

Shame, Shame Jack White

The exploitation of celebrities and stars by the paparazzi and sympathizers like TMZ or the like is disturbing to me on the deepest of levels. I certainly don't buy into their formulated and manipulative opinions of people whom they choose to raise up or demonize. Mostly because I don't really care about the people that frequent the tabloids. But I must admit that when my friend Connor sent me a text message all the way from Brooklyn concerning Jack White's latest divorce craziness, it sent me into a bit of a frenzy. White was calling Dan Auerbach, 1/2 of the Black Keys (official) lineup, an a*shole "ripoff" for "copy[ing] me and push[ing] himself into my world" (exact quotes). I don't mind admitting that I lost a sizable amount of respect for the president of Third Man Records, whose logos were all over those damn emails, upon reading that quote.

Now, I'm having a difficult time seeing why White was bringing up Auerbach in the first place. The email is about a mediation concerning their separation gone awry, so maybe I'll give Jack the benefit of the doubt and assume it's Stan Auerbach, Dan's brother, who stole his wife and all of his peppermint-candy-themed undies. Those are the only circumstances under which I would grant White the right to talk about a man named Auerbach and get away with it.



Otherwise, it would seem somewhat hypocritical for a man who has openly professed his reliance on classic blues. If anything, early Auerbach and Carney sound more like Junior Kimbrough (they even recorded Chulahoma: The Songs of Junior Kimbrough). Regardless, they've gone in a whole new sonic direction. From Danger Mouse's experimental production of Attack and Release onward, the Keys had developed something all their own, and something radically different. Even rap. It eventually turned into an over-produced, fluffed up outfit that indulged in elements that the duo had only flirted with before (Brothers represents the threshold there). I'm not personally a fan of them now (I only have enough love for two band members), but I felt Auerbach needed some defense in this case: The Black Keys sounds nothing like the White Stripes, whose definition of "over-produced" is adding a piano or letting Meg sing.

Even the Keys' covers of old blues standards hold a much more raw tone. More cutting and muff'd guitars. Dirtier, more technical drums. Certainly more distorted, compressed vocals.

Auerbach was a bluesman. White was songwriter well-versed in the blues. Today, Auerbach is a pop songwriter with a blues background and White is a songwriter who has made the full transition into the logical next step of Rock-n-Roll. He's even dumped his Airline for a Gretsch and his Silvertone for boutique amps.

White went on to Dead Weather and Raconteurs because the Stripes' sound had run its course. They had taken the vintage fuzzed-out 60's cheapo guitar, caveman drummer formula as far as it would go. The man is not only a fantastic musician, but also a smart business man. He treads a fine line there, and somehow still stays cool. I just hope that he has not been carrying around these sentiments since the Black Keys came on the scene. That would be incredibly disheartening. I hate losing respect for people. Especially those whose music I enjoy so much.

But I'm not fit to judge the man's character. So, I'll let you all decide whether or not White is justified in his comments, just having an off-day and blowing off steam 'cuz he inherited Jay-Z's only non-problem, or if he is just mad that the Dead Weather is just not that amazing of a band. Feel free to comment.

The Futurebirds are like a(n even more) stoned Neil Young and Co.

plus a bit more reverb...especially in this Hear YA session.

Just check out those caterwauling harmonies in Serial Bowls, and Neil Young's For the Turnstiles.

And tasteful Lap Steel parts are always key to the best songs. Kudos to Ben Keith and Dennis Love. Examples include: really most of the Birds' tunes, and Neil's classics, but hell I love this song: Harvest

Let's be honest, Futurebirds has fantastic production on their albums, but anyone who has seen them play will agree: they are best live. Ex: American Cowboy. Those raw vocals, Thomas. Hot damn. They sound worn out, road tested, smoked and barbequed. Much like my main men Neil and Co. Tonight's the Night's Come on Baby Let's go Downtown (They also had multiple vocalists in the band, in this case it's Danny Whitten).

What Brannon Miles and Billy Talbot (and even Rick Danko behind Neil) have in common: Understated bass lines that f***ing deliver- Death Awaits, Roll Another Number (for the road).

They switch it up live, or slow things down, but they still keep it Toit like a Toiger. See: Tan Lines, Everybody Knows this is Nowhere.


Futurebirds takes some of the key elements of Neil Young's classic (some Stray Gators, some Crazy Horsi) band and sound and puts them in a more euphoric light. This isn't to say that the lyrics of the Birds can't get dark. They can. Especially in their latest release. Somehow, even songs like "Death Awaits" and "Heavy Weights" (probably one of my favorites from Baba Yaga) have an uplifting quality to them (even those both songs literally sound heavy---weights, awaits. Ha ha). There is a lot more that the 'Birds have in common with StrazyHorse. Including sounding great on vinyl. This HearYa Session is free, but bands need and deserve support.

And if you haven't checked out Hearya.com. Please do. They have other fantastic sessions like
This one. This one. And this one. (even this one).