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Album Review: Greg Lake — Songs of a Lifetime

Friday, May 10th, 2013

It’s been about a year since I made the trip to Durham NC to see Greg Lake in concert. In the run-up to that performance, I interviewed Greg, and while in the course of our wide-ranging discussion we spoke a bit about the tour, he wished to keep the details mostly under wraps. I knew it would be a one-man show, but didn’t know how exactly Lake would deliver the songs in this career survey of a show called “Songs of a Lifetime.”

As it happened, the show was a really well-thought-out affair. Lake appeared onstage amidst a “set” peppered with road cases (stenciled “Greg Lake, London”), subdued lighting and a bit of the good old dry ice fog. Alternately seated and standing, he moved between electric guitar, acoustic guitars, bass guitar and even a bit of keyboards. He was backed by recorded versions of his songs, though this was no mere karaoke performance. He sang all his parts, and the recorded backing wasn’t some soulless MIDI playback; these were modern re-recordings of songs from throughout his career.

Some tunes were classics closely associated with Lake: her performed abbreviated versions of King Crimson‘s “In the Court of the Crimson King” and “Epitaph,” plus “21st Century Schizoid Man and “I Talk to the Wind.” Those represented four of the total of five songs on Crim’s debut album, from a time when Lake was their lead singer and bassist. Along with each of the songs, Lake would bookend each with context and personal anecdotes, so that even those unfamiliar with his work outside Emerson, Lake and Palmer could appreciate the songs more fully.

Several ELP songs figured into the set, of course: the romantic ballads “Lend Your Love to Me Tonight” and “C’est Le Vie” plus the hits “From the Beginning,” “Still…You Turn Me On,” “Trilogy,” “Karn Evil 9, 1st Impression Part 2,” and – of course — “Lucky Man.” Sometimes Lake would sit down – usually for the acoustic numbers – but he was a commanding presence when he strapped on his bass and sang the more rock-oriented numbers, too.

Lake took to the keyboard for a reading of “People Get Ready,” and he covered a few other songs that were important to him, songs he’d never previously recorded (or, for that matter, played onstage any time in the last several decades). Elvis‘ “Heartbreak Hotel” and The Beatles‘ “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” (during which he enlisted the audience’s help on the “Hey!” parts) were covered, and for both Lake told interesting stories about those artists.

He even played one left-field original, “Touch and Go,” a song from the period in the 80s when Carl Palmer‘s drum seat was occupied by Cozy Powell. And to the delight and surprise of the audience, he took a fairly lengthy chunk of time to encourage and field questions. True, some of the questions had a Chris-Farley-interviewing-Paul-McCartney quality to them: “Remember the time you played in New York? It was great!” But the whole exchange nevertheless felt very organic, very heartfelt and real.

And here’s the most surprising part of all of this: an audio document of that tour titled Songs of a Lifetime accurately captures that vibe. Not just the music, singing and stories (Lake was ably assisted by André Cholmondoley, a master stage manager/factotum and renowned musician in his own right), but the feel of the entire evening. (The Q&A sessions aren’t part of the disc, which is fine.) For me, as a souvenir of the concert tour, Songs of a Lifetime ranks right up there with the photo I had taken of me and Lake, but purely as music it’s a fine listen, too. More song-oriented than your typical ELP album, even with the stories about Ringo Starr, Paris and the King Crimson album art, Songs of a Lifetime is a delightful album, one sure to please anyone who’s enjoyed any phase of Lake’s forty-plus years in the spotlight.

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Show Review: 50 Shades! The Musical — April 27 2013, Knoxville TN

Tuesday, April 30th, 2013

I didn’t know quite what to expect going into 50 Shades! The Musical. Was this stage show going to be a mere cash-in, a coattail-ride upon the popularity of the blockbuster novel? I figured that – at worst – it would be good for a few laughs. So on April 27 I made the trip to Knoxville TN’s Bijou Theatre, accompanied by my friend and reading companion.

As we waited in line to pick up our tickets, I did a quick survey of the crowd gathered in the lobby. As my friend (but not I) suspected, the audience was overwhelmingly female, primarily in the 35-60 age range. And (save four women) completely white. Once we were seated, and as the room filled to near-capacity (this matinee showing was nearly, but not quite, sold out), we estimated that the ratio of females to males was about 4:1.

As the house lights dimmed, an offstage announcer made the standard admonishments about cell phones and so forth, but put a delightfully salacious spin on them: “please turn off any and all vibrating devices; after the show you can turn them on in the lobby, and leave them on as long as you need.” The tone for the evening — lighthearted, broad and very very raunchy – was thus established.

It’s no overstatement to call 50 Shades! The Musical uproarious. From the opening scene to the final curtain, it was belly laughs all the way. Well-paced and flawlessly executed, the show riffed on the many cliches and preposterous plot elements of E.L. James‘ book, and wrapped it all in songs and dance.

The writers of the show did not attempt to follow the book’s story line; instead they used it as inspiration. 50 Shades! The Musical alternated between a portrayal of three members of a women’s book club and interaction between broad parodies of the book’s main characters. If one of those characters (say, Anastasia’s rooommate or Grey) had a particular trait, the actor overdid it to great effect (e.g. repeated cries of “That’s bullshit!” or “Laters.”)

The show’s casting was inspired: when the Christian Grey character first made an appearance onstage, the audience was surprised to find a large, roundish Asian-American man. His roundness would be accentuated mid-show, during his toe-tapping showcase number, “I Don’t Make Love – I F**k,” delivered in a bright red spandex workout getup. The effect was not unlike seeing an Asian Chris Farley leading a Bob Fosse dance number.

The show was most definitely not for the faint of heart. Simulated sex acts abounded, both onstage and off, and the language was no-holds-barred raunchy. But the show’s goals demanded nothing less. Being the sort of person I am, I loved that, and bore not one ounce of sympathy for the man seated next to us. Clearly accompanying his wife against his better judgment, he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat throughout the show, and I didn’t hear him laugh at all. I could almost hear his silent thought: “My goodness me, I certainly hope my pastor doesn’t find out I’m here.” Truth be told, his discomfiture made a hilarious experience even funnier.

It could have been worse for the guy, though. He could have been seated up front, where he might have been pulled into the action. When the Elliot Grey character was having naughty sex in the aisle with Katherine Kavanagh, he leaned over, grabbed the left hand of a woman seated at the end of the aisle, and put her hand to work “helping” him in his efforts.

The show featured many such interactive elements; sometimes the actors would point to specific audience members and explain (sometimes in song, sometimes not) exactly the manner in which they planned to copulate with them. The audience howled. Though they were occasionally drowned out by the audience’s laughter, the song’s lyrics were extremely clever, sometimes in an I-saw-that-coming way, other times in unexpected ways.

And the broad physical comedy worked well, too: stage shows of this sort don’t benefit from subtlety, and of course the subject material is wholly lacking in subtlety. So when Ana made repeated attempts to touch Christian Grey, he leaned back in an exaggerated fashion, often emitting a pained, “Ewww.” Funny, funny stuff.

A fairly small cast (about ten players) handled all of the onstage action, using the barest of stage props, including a couch that occasionally served as a bed, a raised stage for dancing, and an assortment of, er, accessories such as whips, handcuffs and of course a feather-on-a-stick.

Like any good parody, 50 Shades! The Musical deftly navigated the path between outright mockery of its subject matter and an unashamed admiration for it. The tension between those two points of view was the basis for much of the show’s comedy, and it served to move the plot (such as it was) along, too. While the primary characters acted absurdly and often looked, well, less-than-sexy, behind them strode some very sexy dancers (a few males and one very lovely woman) who engaged in intricate choreography that included tango dancing and (once again) simulated sex acts.

All of the players were accomplished singers, adept at handling several demanding tasks simultaneously. They’d deliver their lines – expertly sensing the crowd’s reaction, and this often pausing for quite a long time to allow the volume of laughter or applause to subside – while singing and/or dancing.

The book was referenced here and there, often in sly ways.  At one point, Ana says (I’m paraphrasing slightly), “This is real life! Because if it were a book, it would be…really awful.” Very true: the book is quite wretched (or as Anastasia might say, “triple crap”), and unintentionally funny. 50 Shades! The Musical, by contrast, is delightful, expertly written, and very pointedly funny. A working knowledge of the book’s story would be helpful for a full appreciation of 50 Shades! The Musical, but it’s certainly not required. Though when it comes to musicals I have long considered myself in the not-a-fan category, I simply loved this show. And thinking again of that disproportionately female crowd, all I could think was, guys, you’re missing out. This was one good time. See it sooner than, er, laters, baby.

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Concert Review: Black Angels, Allah-Las and Elephant Stone — Asheville NC April 5 2013

Monday, April 29th, 2013

I started attending arena-scale rock concerts back in the late 1970s. My first show was in October 1978, seeing Electric Light Orchestra with their hamburger bun/spaceship setup at Atlanta’s Omni. (In the words of Rob Reiner‘s Marty DiBergi character in This is Spinal Tap, “Don’t look for it; it’s not there anymore.) One of the things I remember from the shows of that era was the fact that the opening acts had it pretty rough. They often played to still-nearly-empty rooms, with the house lights still burning brightly, and the sound techs were generally even more indifferent to their music than the audience was. Worse yet, the biggest applause the opener would generally get was in response to, “Okay, this will be our last song…”

From my perspective, things have changed. Part of that has to do with time and general attitudes, I think. It’s also true that for the most part the arena-show era has come and gone. While some acts still play the big stadiums and draw massive crowds, in the rock idiom, smaller clubs are the preferred venue. That’s certainly true for me, living in the small city of Asheville NC. While we do have a civic center where big name artists can come to relive the terrible-acoustics vibe of 70s concerts (Bob Dylan will be here in a few days), mot of the quality acts play here at The Thomas Wolfe Auditorium, The Grey Eagle or The Orange Peel.

And the audiences at those venues – in my experience, at least – are far more receptive to opening acts than was the case in my Atlanta days.

Certainly it helps that headliners today seem to give some actual thought to billing opening acts who have some sort of aesthetic compatibility; long gone are the days when the record company (“What’s a record company, Daddy?”) would foist a labelmate of dubious quality upon the touring headliner.

A prime example of intelligent billing was the recent Black Angels show at The Orange Peel. The Austin-based group has made a name for itself with droney-yet-catchy modern psych. Their tribal beats (in other words, not a lot of cymbals) and minor-key arrangements conjure the vibe of late-late 60s psychedelia; their sound might well be described as the aural equivalent of a good “bad trip.” I like ‘em, and have seen and interviewed them before. Their show was predictably impressive, and the packed house loved it. The accompanying visuals were especially effective, a sort of modern rethink of the kind of thing Andy Warhol‘s Exploding Plastic inevitable tried to achieve.

Not to take anything away from The Black Angels, but where things got really interesting was earlier in the evening. Two bands took the stage before them, and both offered their own spin on selected sounds of the Sixties.

Elephant Stone took the stage first. The Montreal-based quartet wove a thrillingly authentic sixties vibe, and in fact upped the ante beyond how they actually did it back then. Starting with catchy tunes (always a good idea) and clear, gentle vocals that were mixed nice’n'out-front, the rocking band added something one rarely if ever sees in the rock idiom: sitar. No, not a Coral electric sitar, but the real, honest-to-goodness, crosslegged-on-the-floor, Ravi Shankar instrument. With a shimmering, jangling sound heavy on tambourine-shaking vibe, Elephant Stone brought the house down. And while Asheville audiences – perhaps because they often disproportionately represent creative types – are usually appreciative of opening acts, the enthusiasm with which the packed house greeted Elephant Stone was extraordinary. And well-deserved. The band easily rates a top spot billing when (hopefully) they return to Asheville.

The Allah-Las tread similar musical territory, but they too have style all their own. While not employing the exotic instrumentation of Elephant Stone, they piloted their wayback machine straight to mid 60s Los Angeles; their songs as presented onstage gave modern-day listeners the most authentic recreation of what it must have been like to see bands like Love at legendary venues such as Pandora’s Box and the Whisky-a-Go-Go. Delightfully unconcerned with updating the 60s garage/psych/punk aesthetic for the 21st century, The Allah-Las played a set of songs that not only sounded like they were written in 1966, but played then too. No small feat: While their album gets the production vibe just right, it’s not reasonable to expect that the band could realistically reproduce that feel onstage. But in fact they did: jangling guitars were the order of the night.

Whether a concertgoer showed up at The Orange Peel to see and hear The Black Angels, The Allah-Las or Elephant Stone, odds are high that they came away happy at witnessing all three. With complimentary sounds and musical approaches yet distinct identities, all three bands put on excellent shows. In the end, the evening felt more like a triple-bill than a headliner with two openers. It was one of the best local shows in recent memory.

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Preview: 50 Shades! The Musical

Wednesday, April 24th, 2013

Not long ago, a female friend – friend, I say – and I got into a conversation about the runaway bestseller Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James. Being a guy, I had only heard a little bit about the book; I knew it was very popular among a demographic one might describe as “bored housewives” (do those exist?) but the few women I knew who had read it described it as a poorly written book; one friend told me she put it down fifty pages in because it was so weak.

But my friend and I were a bit intrigued; after all, it has sold a gazillion copies – somebody’s reading it – and spawned a couple sequels. I hear there’s a movie in the planning stages, too. At some point during our discussion, she suggested that it might be amusing to read it aloud. So the next time we got together, we spent an evening with me cooking dinner, and her sitting at the bar – cocktail in one hand, trashy novel in the other — reading the book to me.

It was an hysterical experience. We were both laughing so hard; she attempted to voice the characters: the innocent first-person narrator nymphet and the intimidating, head-cocking, long-fingered titular character. My friend could barely contain her laughter; I didn’t even try. We both howled as this trainwreck of a book unfolded. About a half hour in, we both lost count of the number of times the hacktackular “author” described Grey’s long fingers, or noted that he (ahem) cocked his head.

All I could think – between peals of uncontrollable laughter – was, “Who reads this shit?” It’s perhaps best described as “a book for people who don’t read books.” I think I lost more brain cells having Fifty Shades read to me than I did my entire junior year in college.

The narrating character Ana is clearly meant to be portrayed – at least initially – as a naïf; but if E.L. James’ wring style is any indication, she’s none too experienced – in writing, I mean – either. Fifty Shades of Grey may be the most horribly written piece of junk I’ve ever had the occasion to read. It’s laughably bad, and James seems never to have been within a hundred yards of a thesaurus.

Now, there’s bad-bad, and there’s good-bad. Fifty Shades is good-bad, the literary equivalent of Ed Wood‘s classic Plan 9 From Outer Space, quite possibly the worst film ever committed to celluloid. (And a must-see.)

So – some weeks after our little book-reading – it was with great amusement that I discovered that a production company was mounting a stage parody of the book. Not just any parody, mind you: it’s a musical! From the press kit for 50 Shades! The Musical comes this grin-inducing teaser:

When you finished reading 50 Shades of Grey, did you think, “What that book needed was more singing?” So did we! Based on the greatest novel of all time, 50 Shades! tells the story of Christian Grey and Ana, chockfull of wrestling singlets, handcuffs, and helicopters with silly names. Come see a hilarious show full of BDSM (Best Damn Songs and Music)! If we’re as good at writing musicals as E.L. James is at writing novels, then everyone is in for a truly memorable night!

I wasted little time in contacting the show’s publicists, and I am pleased almost beyond description to tell you that I will be headed to Knoxville TN this Saturday to see the show (with my reading partner, of course). The show will be at Knoxville’s historic Bijou, with a matinee at 6pm and a late show at 9pm. Tickets are available here. Look for my review soon on these pages.

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Concert Review: Charles Bradley and the Extraordinaires — Asheville NC, April 18 2013

Thursday, April 18th, 2013

There exists a certain, special sort of concert. And in my experience, it’s extremely rare: the sort of show in which I find myself realizing a mere three, two or even one song into the set that this is an artist I don’t ever want to miss. On those exceedingly uncommon instances, I tell myself, “whenever this act returns here – or even close by – I will make a studied effort to come out to the show.”

That’s a very high standard. There are plenty of musical artists whose work I treasure, and whose live performances are fantastic. But what I’m describing here is something that transcends even that level of greatness. I’m talking about acts that are so powerful – so able to connect emotionally with their audience – that the result is a singular experience. It’s happened only a handful of times for me in recent years: Swedish fokrockpsych group Dungen did it for me; so did King Khan and the Shrines. And now Charles Bradley and the Extraordinaires can be added to that list of amazing shows.

Generally for me, it’s quite difficult to write a show review the morning after the concert; at that point I am still too close to the event. My thoughts haven’t settled, crystallized. And if the show went late, I might be tired as well. So in nearly all cases, I hold off several days before putting my thoughts down in words. But after last night’s show, I don’t feel that I can wait.

It’s not as if Bradley needs my help. One of those “overnight sensations” who had in actuality been toiling in obscurity (and near poverty) for decades, Charles Bradley now has two highly-rated and successful full length albums behind him (2011′s No Time for Dreaming and the brand-new Victim of Love), and he has toured incessantly to promote both. Though in hid mid-60s, Bradley is a consummate, athletic showman: on every song, he puts his heart, voice and body into the performance. In the hands of a lesser artist, his onstage moves and persona would be laughable shtick; described in words, his jumps, splits, mic stand acrobatics and endless gesticulations might seem silly and over the top. But in person, they’re nothing of the kind; few artists are so “real” onstage.

The band really cooks, too. In a clear nod to the approach employed by the mid-60s Stax/Volt Revue (Booker T & the MGs with the Mar-Keys horn section, backing a succession of Stax vocalists), the Extraordinaires simply ripped it up. Each set began with a few instrumental pieces that set the scene, ratcheting up the excitement in anticipation of Bradley’s stage entrance. Referring to these instrumental introductions, I commented to a friend, “I’d buy an album of this music.” Despite the fact that the band was so impressively tight and forceful, their work – whether it be the trumpet-and-sax duo who sounded like six players, or the lead guitarist with his bag of tricks that included judicious, intelligent and exciting use of fuzztone and wah-wah – never competed with Bradley’s voice or visual presence. The band was truly in service of the songs.

Bradley gave it everything he had, from the moment he came onstage – introduced in a crowd-fluffing showman-style by his keyboardist – until his exit, after which he implemented a costume change. His set-opening outfit was a stylish suit, but his emotive performance quickly necessitated a jacket removal. By the midpoint of that first set, Bradley was drenched in sweat.

When he returned, he was resplendent in a red jumpsuit and jacket; the back of the jacket was emblazoned with a large eagle motif, signifying his reputation as the Screaming Eagle of Soul. On this night – as on every other, I’m told – Charles Bradley earned that label. Conjuring the very best of American soul music, southern variety, Bradley evoked memories of Wilson Pickett, James Brown and Otis Redding. But – and this is part of the key to his appeal – in no case did he ape any of those greats, and notably, he and the Extraordinaires didn’t cover any of their material. But then Bradley’s original songs – many penned in collaboration with Thomas Brenneck (his album producer and a member of The Budos Band) – are strong enough that he needn’t mine the catalogs of other artists.

Very good on record but simply peerless onstage, Charles Bradley must been seen and heard live onstage. Highly recommended not only to soul music fans, but to anyone and everyone who appreciates good music and an emotionally resonant concert experience. If you see him the next time he rolls though Asheville NC, I’ll be in the crowd, too.

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Concert Review: Moon Hooch, The Orange Peel, Asheville NC April 12 2013

Monday, April 15th, 2013

I read a description of these guys that likened their music to house (EDM). And though I can’t find the citation, I’m pretty sure somebody else labeled Moon Hooch as a dubstep act. Now, I pride myself on having pretty wide and eclectic tastes, but mention EDM or dubstep and I reach for my (metaphorical) revolver. I just don’t dig the mindless whomp.

To my ears, Moon Hooch is neither of those things, thank goodness. An hour or so spent with their self-titled (and self-released) album showed me that there’s a surprising lot that can be done with two saxophones and a drum kit. At least in the hands of expressive, expert, effusive musicians like these. And while the album is quite good, onstage the trio took things to another level entirely.

Mike Wilbur mostly plays the songs’ lead parts on tenor sax, though he occasionally switches to slide whistle, harmonica or treated vocals (sometimes all in one song). Wenzl McGowen‘s role is a bit more difficult to describe, and truly has to be seen and heard to be fully appreciated. He too plays tenor sax sometimes, but more often takes lower notes on baritone saxophone, and something he calls “bazookahorn.” For one number, he inserts a long tube into the end of his horn (bamboo? Plumbing pipe? I couldn’t tell from my vantage point) and the resulting sound is a guttural buzz vaguely reminiscent of a (very melodious) foghorn. Or…a Minimoog. Combined with Wilbur’s high end, the thunderous bottom end McGowen brings yields an overall sonic attack that seems to cover the entire audible range.

Their instruments aren’t highly-polished; no, in fact their horns looks as if they were rescued from a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea; one wouldn’t be surprised to see a chunk of seaweed blow out the end of one of the dull gray-patina horns. Somehow this only adds to the mystique.

The interplay between the two – sometimes unison, sometimes harmonic, sometimes an atonal, angular skronk – is thrilling, and the manner in which they move about the stage helps put a visual accent onto their very musical approach. Struggling to find a way to label their style – it sure as hell ain’t dubstep – I found myself thinking, you know, this really is jazz.

But here’s where things get delightfully complicated: James Muschler sits behind his drum kit, bashing out beats that hold everything together. A Powerful percussionist, Muschler adds tone color of a sort to Moon Hooch’s songs, and what/how he chooses to play sends the band’s original, instrumental compositions off in whatever direction he decides. What this means in practical terms is that Muschler could lay down a beat that pulls the jazzy sax interplay decidedly toward funk, disco, punk, metal, soul, or rock. Sometimes the result is ass-shaking disco; other times it’s trippy downtempo. And yet other times it is thunderous post-rock/fusion/progressive rock of a sort.

All of this only hints at the dizzying versatility of Moon Hooch. Right out of the gate they earn points for doing something unique; the fact that they do it with style makes them even better. It may be difficult to imagine a world in which a two-saxes-and-drummer instrumental trio ever headlines a major tour, but these guys delivered at Asheville’s Orange Peel, and were rewarded with ecstatic applause from the full house there to see headliners They Might Be Giants. The trio clearly appreciated the enthusiastic response; they seemed almost a bit emotionally overwhelmed by it all. Props to TMBG for adding Moon Hooch to their tour; their audiences get a real treat, and it’s a testament to how assured and confident TMBG are of their own quality. Because plenty of bands would shudder at the prospect of following Moon Hooch onto the stage. If you’re ever presented with the opportunity to see this tough-to-label trio, don’t miss them.

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Concert Review: Elsten Torres, Asheville NC 2 March 2013

Thursday, March 14th, 2013

It’s always a tough gig playing as the opening act. It’s even more so when the show is like the one I recently witnessed at Asheville’s Civic Center. First there’s the venue: a sports arena more often home to gun shows and ice-skating (not at the same time!), the room simply isn’t designed for music performance; the acoustics are dreadful. And the night’s hamfisted sound engineers did the acts no favors, augmenting their performances with crackles, occasional feedback and poor balance between vocals and instruments.

And then there’s the nature of the show. Though I didn’t know it ahead of time, the night’s billing – Cuban-American singer/songwriter/guitarist Elsten Torres opening for a (Sly-less, of course) Family Stone – was the annual fundraiser event for our fine local Firemen’s Association (as I’ve chronicled elsewhere, anywhere else it’d be called a union). As a result, on this bone-chilling Winter night, the remarkably lily-white audience was relatively small, and overwhelming populated (it would seem) with people who rarely venture out at all on a Saturday evening, much less go to hear live music.

But judging from the enthusiastic reception Elsten Torres and his two bandmates (a female cellist and a female violinist) received you’d never know that the audience wasn’t instead filled with ringers. As the trio sailed through several songs from Torres’ Waiting for Clouds album, the crowd alternatively listened quietly and applauded rapturously. Despite the poor house mix (I suspect the monitor mix for the musicians onstage was fine, but on the floor the vocals sometimes obliterated the delicate stringwork), Torres’ trio delivered upbeat and graceful reading of his original material.

And far from being a monochromatic “chamber pop” style performance, Torres’ parts for his accompanists displayed their impressive stylistic range: Silvana Lanfredi (on violin) alternated between classical approach and a sprightly fiddle manner of playing, and cellist Stephanie Jaimes occasionally took on a role not dissimilar to an upright bassist in a jazz trio. The absence of percussion was never an issue: between Torres’ expressive acoustic guitar work and the “implied” percussionist of many song arrangements, the beat was there, always felt if not heard.

While the majority of the set (billed, somewhat confusingly, as Hey Elsten rather than Elsten Torres) focused on original material, an inventive (and initially barely-recognizable) U2 cover (“I Still Haven’t found What I’m Looking For”) scored points for its outside-the-box reinvention. While the songs as presented on Waiting for Clouds employ electric guitar, pedal steel, banjo, vibes, drums and more in addition to acoustic guitar, the stripped-down onstage presentation helped put the focus on the songs themselves. “Closer Tonight” was especially effective onstage, even though Torres sang both parts (the studio version features a duet with Gaby Moreno). In total, an appealing show that broke the opening-act rules and provided great entertainment, forcing the headliners to bring their best effort as they followed Torres onstage.

POSTSCRIPT: This review marks my 1000th (one thousandth!) blog entry. — bk

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Concert Review: Tame Impala, Asheville NC 22 Feb 2013

Wednesday, March 13th, 2013

It’s the rare modern act that bridges audiences young and not-so-young. Australia’s Tame Impala is one such act. In the studio, the Australian Tame Impala is essentially one man: Kevin Parker. An unabashed sixties music fetishist, Parker crafts the music (two albums and an EP to date) doing all of the playing, songwriting and singing himself. But for the first full-scale tour of the USA, Parker assembled a band to play the music.

With a dreamy, psychedelic sound that owes serious stylistic debts to John Lennon and Todd Rundgren, Tame Impala still manages to come off modern enough to appeal to listeners not well-versed in the musical aesthetic of 1960s and 70s rock/pop. By folding in modern elements such as looping and sampling, Parker creates a sound that draws form the best of old and new. ( A friend of mine offers that Tame Impala sounds a bit like “Dungen, but singing in English.”) And while the 2010 debut album Innerspeaker begins to sound a bit samey when played all the way through, there is enough creativity at work – and plenty of hooks among the swirling drone – to keep listeners’ attention.

Tame Impala branched out its sound for 2012′s Lonerism, a release which deftly avoids the dreaded sophomore slump. Both a commercial and critical darling, Tame Impala seems poised for further success. The group’s February 2013 show at Asheville’s Orange Peel followed the same set list they used on most other dates around the time, but when it works, it works. Playing to an enthusiastic packed house (the show sold out far in advance of the performance), the live lineup of Tame Impala tore through their catalog, unafraid to front-load the set with some of their more well-known (and best-loved) numbers. “Solitude is Bliss” was wheeled out a mere four songs in, and they closed the set (relatively brief encore notwithstanding) with an especially effective reading of what may be their best number, the non-LP “Half Full Glass of Wine.”

Had scheduling permitted, Tame Impala could easily have booked a multi-night string of dates in Asheville, and other dates on the tour (still in progress ta press time) have been equally well-received. But there’s wisdom in the leave-’em-wanting more strategy. A band to watch.

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Margaret Cho: More Honesty in Her Comedy Than Anywhere Else

Tuesday, February 5th, 2013

by Annelise Kopp, Guest Blogger

“Always in the midst of comedy,” Margaret Cho believes that the art hinges on writing and delivery, saying “there’s not really one without the other.” She also values the different formats that comedy is taking: “there’s a lot of great stuff happening online.” In late January 2013, Margaret played back-to-back shows at Asheville NC’s Orange Peel. When asked what it took to ensure the freshness of these performances, Margaret assuredly said that “performing is really exciting.” Waiting for Margaret’s opening act to come on stage, I received a text from a friend who described her matinee performance as “amazing.” The subsequent show displayed no indication that she had done this twice in a row. This speaks strongly to the point Margaret made in her interview that each show is different, that the venue and audience bring a new energy to each show.

Those January 23 shows both opened with Selene Luna; Margaret describes her as a potential member of her ideal “comedy supergroup.” With Selene’s very first jokes an authentic, dynamic and personal relationship was formed with the crowd; that setting acted as a perfect primer for Margaret’s entrance to the stage.

More than just a rehearsed character, Margaret is an activist, a performer and a writer; she says that that all components of the work that she does feeds into each other. She says that “music is probably the hardest because it has to fit into the rhythm and time,” while describing blogging as “very organic and easy to do.” Yet rather than acting as disparate parts, all facets of Margaret’s work complement each other. If you’ve yet to visit her blog, you can look forward to a commentary that is equal parts earnest and comical (although, admittedly, one of her posts nearly brought me to tears). In spite of managing these different components of her persona and career, Margaret’s angle on comedy is refreshingly fleshed-out and whole. Her advocacy stems from the same candor as her blogs and her comedy.

Margaret Cho has been a strong advocate for the release of three 8-year-old boys wrongly accused of murder. The case of the “West Memphis 3” was encapsulated in time by the film Paradise Lost. That 1996 film (and its 2000 sequel) illuminated the narrative constructed in the accusation of these boys – one which relied mainly on the gothic decorum of the young boys. Damien Echols, one of the three Arkansas boys, exchanged letters with Cho during his 20 year sentence awaiting the death penalty. In her interview, Margaret described writing letters to Damien, trying to explain things like the internet and Twitter. “I remember a time I was trying to explain the internet to him, and he couldn’t comprehend all that was happening in terms of technology because he had been in prison for so long…and now to have things like twitter…it’s pretty profound.” Regretfully, I didn’t ask for a transcription of the email describing Twitter, but expect that Margaret’s definition would be worthy of global adoption.

Margaret, who grew up in a bookstore and expressed an interest in too many genres to name (she’s currently reading Opium Fiend), encouraged Damien Echols to write a book during his time in prison. With the help of Margaret, Damien released his book Life After Death, which was used in his defense (he even tweeted to thank her for all of her support). Now, all three boys have been released, and Margaret says she’s kept in touch. “I think it’s really important to listen to his story…they’re a great example of how our justice system does not really work to correct its errors.” Her advocacy does not seem to derive from a different script than anything else she does, either. While she described the processes of writing music, comedy, and blogs to be distinct, she says that truthfulness is always paramount.

One of Margaret’s favorite bands is Broken Social Scene, which she says she has been lobbying to get into for some time. “It’s such a very very large band, so I figure they might not notice if I kind of play something…hopefully I will be allowed in one day…” She even says that leader Kevin Drew has said she could be in the group. Margaret, we’re waiting with bated breath.

Rather than a mere performance, the Mother tour was an engaging dialogue. Margaret quickly establishes a relationship with her audience that transcends the divide between the stage and the floor. Rather than feeling that you are spectating a show, you enter into a world where Margaret Cho is your oldest (and funniest) friend. She delivers jokes sharing intimate details of her life as if there is scarcely a person that would understand better than you, her audience. While some comedians have exploited these explicit details for shock value, one comes to expect an honesty from Margaret, one that refocuses the comedy on her comedy and delivery. When Margaret told me that “I think I have way more honesty in my comedy than anywhere else in my life,” it was hard to believe. But once I saw her onstage, I was a believer. “If you can get to a deep truth sort of revealing things about yourself,” she says, “I think that the audience can understand that and recognize that.”

You may enjoy these other Musoscribe features and reviews by Annelise Kopp:

 

 

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Concert Review: The Machine, 10 Jan 2013 Asheville NC

Friday, January 18th, 2013

My firsthand experience with tribute bands is quite limited; in general, the concept doesn’t do a lot for me. While there are quite a few acts touring (quite successfully, I should note) the works of more famous bands, many of them base their stage act on the visual style and cues of the band being tributed. In Asheville alone, we have a number of tribute bands who regularly make an annual (or more-often) swing through for a show. There’s a Michael Jackson one (Who’s Bad), a Misfits one, and for quite some time we had our own locally-grown Led Zeppelin tribute band, Custard Pie. For me, though, many of the tribute bands – and I’m speaking in general here, not of the aforementioned acts – seem to cross over into play-acting. Of course some of that is necessary if you’re paying onstage tribute to Jim Morrison of The Doors, or KISS, or any other acts possessed of a distinctive visual aesthetic.

And that is one – but only one, mind you – reason why I absolutely love The Machine. They perform the works of Pink Floyd, my second-favorite band of all time (second only to The Beatles). And one of the distinctive features about the Floyd was that they didn’t have much in the way of distinctive visual features. Yes, they had Mr. Screen, the large, round projection tapestry, and loads of lights and whatnot, but often as not, the band members themselves weren’t an integral part of the visuals. It was about the music.

As it is with The Machine. I first saw them four or five years ago, during which time I got a chance to go backstage and talk with the band pre-show. I had missed them on subsequent Asheville dates, but jumped at the chance to catch their January 2013 show.

As it happened, the band had very recently undergone a significant lineup shift. Guitarist Joe Pascarell had left the band, as had drummer Todd Cohen. So for 2013, bassist Ryan Ball moved seamlessly into the guitar role, joined by newcomers Adam Minkoff on bass and lead vocals, plus drummer Tahrah Cohen (who, I’m told, was a founding member of The Machine decades ago). [Note: See a reader's correction in the comments below. -- bk] Only keyboardist Scott Chasolen remains intact from the previous lineup.

What’s amazing is – though the Orange Peel date was the first public performance featuring the revised lineup – if anything, The Machine put on a better show this time around. (And I found their last show an unqualified success.)

Much of this is due, I think, to bassist Minkoff. His vocal range and texture are such that he can convincingly cover both Roger Waters‘ vocal parts (not that hard; Rog’s a great songwriter but no award-winning singer) as well as those of David Gilmour. So with the expert vocal harmonies of all three other band members (including drummer Cohen), The Machine are well-equipped in the vocal department.

Cohen does a fine job on drums, recreating Nick Mason‘s distinctive style; Mason has never been on the short list of technically great drummers, and his bag of tricks is relatively small, but his particular style is such an integral part of the Pink Floyd sound that criticisms of his chops are moot. Cohen did a thrilling job on her roto-tom intro to “Time,” adhering to the spirit of Mason’s work without aping it.

Ball plays Gilmour’s guitar leads as if he’s been doing it for years, despite just having moved over from bass guitar. While his Stratocaster had a tad less reverb applied to it than is Gilmour’s custom, that may have been a function of the room’s acoustics more than anything else. Like Cohen, he struck a perfect balance between playing Like The Record and giving the songs his own personal spin.

Chasolen is as central to The Machine’s sound as Rick Wright was; if one isn’t paying close attention, it’s easy to overlook just how integral what he does is to the overall presentation. That he’s seated (same as Wright always was) makes his presence that much more subtle. But he’s key.

The Machine know their audiences, and (as discussed with me a few years ago) they strive to give audiences what they want; this means playing a certain number of the really well known numbers, but also throwing in a few lesser-known tunes for the hardcore Floydians (like me). On this night, The Machine gave us four songs from The Dark Side of the Moon, four from Wish You Were Here, five from The Wall, one from A Momentary Lapse of Reason and two from The Division Bell.

But they also dug deeper and performed “Sheep” from Animals (an album Pink Floyd didn’t touch live post 1977), two from Meddle (a shortened-to-fifteen minutes “Echoes” and the virtually unknown “Fearless”), as well as A Saucerful of Secrets‘ “Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun” (the night’s only pre-1970 tune; no Syd Barrett-era material at all). But for me the biggest pleasure of many delights was The Machine’s reading of “Childhood’s End” from Obscured by Clouds, an underrated tune from an underrated album.

The band kept mostly to the original album arrangements (though as I’ve read elsewhere, if you want to hear how the Floyd sounded live, go see The Machine), yet they did stretch out for a longish and tasty keyboard solo at the tail-end of “Another Brick in the Wall, Part Two.”

Seeing as Rick Wright has passed on, and (though Gilmour and Waters have largely buried the hatchet) Pink Floyd will never again play live, The Machine is a worthy and entertaining flame-keeper. And twenty-five years on, they seem only to be improving at their chosen game.

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