Category Archives: April 2009

Chad VanGaalen

February 27 @ Commodore Ballroom

Review By Alex Hudson

A large part of what makes Chad VanGaalen’s albums so captivating is his wide sonic range—he constructs diverse arrangements through endless overdubbing of home-made drum machines, glitchy keyboards, and countless other instruments. But for his February 27th show at the Commodore, he was joined onstage by only a bassist and drummer, forcing him to strip the songs down to their bare essentials. Without any frills to distract the ear, these simplified arrangements emphasized the quality of his songwriting, and showed why VanGaalen is quickly becoming regarded as one of the greatest talents in Canadian indie music.

The show opened with 15 minutes of ambient, experimental noodling, while animated videos (drawn by VanGaalen) played on two large screens on either side of the stage. Anyone who has seen his music videos will have a pretty good idea of what it looked like, featuring plenty of gruesome cartoon characters with stretching eyeballs and exploding heads.

Playing a bizarrely small electric guitar with no headstock, VanGaalen led his band through a set of songs drawn largely from 2008’s Soft Airplane. His dirty guitar tone gave a gritty edge to even the softest songs, while the already upbeat “Bare Feet on Wet Griptape” was transformed into a full-fledged punk rocker. But the highlight came when he set aside the guitar for a banjo on “Willow Tree,” the song recently voted by CBC Radio 3 listeners as the “future classic” of 2008.

Unfortunately, VanGaalen’s quirky songwriting may have been a bit too weird for this particular audience, most of whom were chatty throughout. Despite the vocal support of a few diehards, most in attendance were clearly just passing time until the headline act, Hawksley Workman, took the stage. The show was arranged by the Cultural Olympiad, and the organizers would have done better to book VanGaalen as a headliner in a smaller venue, where he would have benefited from the receptive audience he deserves.

Antony & the Johnsons

February 27 @ Vogue Theatre

Review By Benjamin Luk

It’s been at least two years since the last time I saw a concert and wasn’t in the front row. Most of the time, the acts I’m seeing are energetic as fuck, and I often leave wondering if I would have experienced the show better from within the crowd, moshing and flailing amongst the unwashed masses. This concert was most certainly not one of those cases. I was lucky enough to experience Antony Hegarty’s trademark warbling baritone from a front row seat at the Vogue, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Following a disturbing performance-art opener involving an androgynous wraith-like figure and Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, Antony’s entrance was downright regal—accompanied by rapturous applause and dignified cheers, it was as though he was a philharmonic conductor taking the stage. The grand piano stretched seven feet towards a guitarist, violinist, cellist and saxophonist, and a drummer and bassist rounded out the rest of the band. Opening on “Where Is My Power?” to find his footing, Antony proceeded to blow us all away with a heartfelt and evocative rendition of “Her Eyes Are Underneath the Ground”. Toting around a lavender hobo bag, Antony reminded me of the loving but crazy aunt I never had, saying things like “I’m developing a sweetheart relationship with Vancouver,” and calling us all his “cute, pretty babies”.

As though his immediate warmth and rapport with his audience wasn’t surprise enough, halfway through his set, Antony began to play some oddly familiar notes. Chuckles emanated from the audience as people started to catch on, followed by full-blown cheering: Antony was playing his own unique version of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.” A hop, skip and a very intelligently worded rant about the environment later, Antony ended on “Hope There’s Someone” for his encore, and in spite of all his jokes and eccentricities, the delicate piano arrangement and chorus of strings carried his epic tale of love and abandonment into modern-classic territory. With a voice completely sui generis and a personality to match, Antony Hegarty is an alternative virtuoso for this generation.

Clues, Animal Names

March 5 @ Biltmore Cabaret

Review By Jackie Wong

There’s something refreshingly old-fashioned about going to a show knowing next to nothing about the band onstage. In this era of BitTorrent incontinence and Twitterberry updates, the compulsion to access music in its embryonic, pre-release state is strong and almost always rewarded. But Clues has wisely stayed away from hyping themselves on MySpace or creating a legion of Facebook fans to anticipate the release of long-awaited recorded material.

Sprung from the loins of ex-Unicorn Alden Penner and former Arcade Firecracker Brendan Reed, Clues formed two years ago and has since remained in relative obscurity until hitting the road last November. Lucky for us, Penner, Reed and some pals from Montreal descended upon the Biltmore on an unseasonably cold March evening, and proceeded to unwrap our thick winter layers with a curiously haunting indie pop performance that reminded everyone why the fantastical spirit of the late, lamented Unicorns was so exciting and so rare. The experience compelled one enthusiastic soul to dance rapidly and aggressively under a baby-blue afghan blanket for most of the show, and I unintentionally showed my age and relative lameness by backing (okay, running) away from Blanket Dancer instead of diving into the crowded fury he created near the front of the stage. But the audience—mostly young Unicorns fans, mostly resembling a member of the Klaxons on some level—ate it up and, much to the band’s delight, responded with loud boos when collectively asked if they were excited about the Olympics.

Local openers Animal Names might have something to say about that too, but their Death-Cab-lands-at-YVR sound hinted at a gentleness of heart that would likely shy away from capitalizing on a crowd worked into a frothy, anti-Quatchi frenzy. All the better, then, to leave the job to the headliners, whose brief Vancouver visit leaves much to be excited about when their self-titled debut album arrives in May.

SSRIs Fine Mist the Sappers

March 6 @ Gallery Lounge

Review By Alex McCarter

One Friday night last month, UBC’s Gallery pub—dark, decorated with beer logos and usually known for hosting Pit Pub spillover and karaoke nights—was transformed into a fun and intimate concert venue. “I have never felt the Gallery this way before. It’s like it’s not a shithole!” one attendee mused. The evening showcased some of Vancouver’s best up-and-coming bands: the Sappers, Fine Mist and the SSRIs. With the addition of rad-and-a-half karaoke in between sets, members of the crowd were able to display the varying degrees of their own vocal talent.

It was an eclectic and enthusiastic collection of people: students, off-campus fans, friends and Friday night pre-drinkers. Like the crowd, the bands’ musical styles were diverse—folk, ‘80s synth-pop and jazzy-piano hardcore are not a typical combination—but the interesting rhythms, catchy beats and camaraderie shared by the bands brought them into an alluring congruence.

Shindig 2008 runners up the Sappers came on first, playing mellow folk tunes to an energetic but chatty crowd. Their energy came alive during the captivating, gospel-like closer “Gloria”. The pub was joyously singing and clapping along without any reservations. These earnest, skilled musicians couldn’t help but make me smile.

Next, the Vancouver duo Fine Mist brought the crowd up to a higher frequency with their creative and bouncy synth twists and Megan McDonald’s powerful vocals. Watching Fine Mist play is, if you’ll excuse me, a mystical experience. With the house lights low, incense, a brass unicorn, a bear and a white light set complete with dream catchers turned the Gallery into the inside of a fortune-teller’s caravan. Performing on the floor in front of the stage, the band mingled with the crowd, and everyone danced together.

Next, Shindig 2007 second-placers SSRIs brought everyone into yet another headspace, with four members punching through power chords, hard synth solos and solid drumming, fueling a small but powerful mosh pit. My favourite song of theirs, “Time Ate the Garden”, was well ground out—it sounded like a warped Victorian poem, enhanced with mangled piano. Unfortunately, several members of the audience either had other places to be or had an early bedtime, as many had left before the SSRIs finished their set. Still, a small but loyal troupe of fans kept jumping until the end. This bodes well for future shows at the Gallery—let’s hope we see more soon!

…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead

March 13 @ Richard’s on Richards

Review By Quinn Omori

You’d be forgiven if you wrote off …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead at some point after World’s Apart, their rather lacklustre follow-up to the critically acclaimed Source Tags and Codes. You’re probably smart if you wrote them off after they slipped further with So Divided, and so again, you can be forgiven if you didn’t realize that their latest album, The Century of Self, isn’t half bad. Somehow, the band still manages to be one of the finest live acts around, and on their latest Vancouver visit, they reminded those in attendance that regardless of what record they’re supporting, a Trail of Dead show is always worth attending.

Now boasting an expanded line-up that boosts their numbers from four to six with the addition of keys and another drummer, the band’s already big sound got a kick in the rear, breathing new life into some of their recent studio efforts. “Caterwaul” featured a sweaty Jason Reece making his way through the audience to the back of the club. “Fields of Coal” saw openers Midnight Masses (who I actually missed) playing back-up choir. But it was, unsurprisingly, the points in the setlist where the Trail of Dead reached back a little further that made the night truly special.

“Homage”—noisy and sloppy in the best kind of way—was an early highlight, but when they launched into a one-two punch from 2002’s Madonna, pairing the soothing “Clair de Lune” with a blistering version of “A Perfect Teenhood,” things really took off. The main set culminated with frontman Conrad Keely mentioning that the band was once again independent, before they fittingly played their first single, “Richter Scale Madness,” and left the stage for the first time.

Anyone familiar with the band knows that Trail of Dead tends to go out with a bang in the most literal sense. And, while you could neatly describe the encore performance of “Totally Natural” as explosive, the real fireworks came once the song had descended into a buzz of feedback: guitars (and their cases) were sent skyward, amps were slammed on their sides and an entire drum kit was spilled into the audience.

When it comes to studio output, the baddest band in Texas is certainly starting to show their collective age, but in the flesh, you’ll still know them by the trail of busted instruments.

Plants and Animals DRMHLLR

March 18 @ Biltmore Cabaret

Review By Colin Throness

On the night after St. Patrick’s Day, hundreds of people piled into the sold-out show at the Biltmore, hung over, halfway through the week and hungry for escape. It was provided.

First up, DRMHLLR was a pleasant surprise—their long, watery jams whet our appetites, and their lack of vocals allowed us to fill in the dinosaur imagery suggested by their name. But if they lacked real innovation onstage, they’d soon learn from Plants and Animals.

The trio is made up of three animals: frontman Warren C. Spicer, drummer (and Spicer’s childhood friend) Matthew “the Woodman” Woodley and Nicolas Basque, their multi-talented bass player whom they met in the music department at Concordia University. Their wonderful sound, embodied beautifully by the Juno-nominated album Parc Avenue, has achieved that perfect balance between familiar and new. Their website mentions folk-prog and post-classic-rock. Whatever you want to call it, there’s an interesting science at work in their songs, musically and in the writing—a dreamlike quality that explores a variety of affectations and natural progressions.

The show had too many highlights to mention here. But “Bye Bye Bye” was amazing, so much so that the crowd erupted deafeningly during the climactic harpsichord-infused break (note to loud drunk guy: don’t scream out “Pwants and Animarrghs!” right before their most poignant progression, no matter how excited you are). Spicer insisted they double back and do it again—great stuff.

The encore was explosive, too: they closed out the show jamming out a long and upbeat song that none of us had heard before and had us all wondering out loud long after the show had ended. The consensus was that it was an improvisation of several songs overlaid with a rendition of “Sinner Man” reminiscent of Nina Simone’s version.

One thing I will say for certain: these guys are going to be very big. Can you say “the next Arcade Fire”? Many have. And when they did, their hearts trembled and old dreams stirred. Try it out—it’s nice, isn’t it? Okay, now sing, “What’s gonna happen to you? Bye, bye, bye! You have woken up too soon!”

Adjective

I Am Sorry For Your Loss (Independent)

Review By Jonathan Evans

What is it about punk rock that makes it the gift that keeps on giving for so many of today’s bands? Is it a quest for authenticity? Or have youth movements forever been altered by the nuclear-darkened nihilism of the ‘70s, never to return from across the breach again? One such band who looks backward in order to look forward is Vancouver’s own Adjective who have just released their hard-hitting new EP I Am Sorry For Your Loss, a 17 minute lesson in how to make all the right post-punk moves. The EP feels both longer and shorter than 17 minutes, which is a tribute to how focused this band’s sound is. They’ve mastered the technique of layering their tracks with several interlocking parts: while the first guitar and drums thrash on the beat, the second guitar, bass and vocals play a figure that slams home on the one and the three or four, giving the songs a danceable, three-dimensional feel. Only two questions remain: can they do it live? And when do we get a full-length?

Barzin

Notes to an Absent Lover (Monotreme Records)

Review By Miné Salkin

Barzin’s much anticipated third full-length album is analgesic, narcoleptic and offers the warmest kind of apathy for those with broken hearts and tattered emotions. Filled with mellow, downtempo folk-pop with a hint of country, Notes to an Absent Lover is essential listening. While Barzin keeps the overall sound simple and minimalist, the album has many textures, as he diffuses vibraphone, cello and viola throughout the work. Caught somewhere between the poetic sensitivity of Lou Reed and the downtrodden voice of Wilco, Barzin sings about what love looks like when it falls apart. While most of the lyrics and themes are tied to the vulnerability of an individual who has failed in love, it gets a little aggressive and doubtful in “Look What Love Has Turned Us Into,” where he painfully howls “We’re strangers and we’re ugly / ‘Cause we’ve lost so very much.” With Barzin comparing love to a dream song and describing it as “tangled in blue,” Notes showcases a complexity of raw emotion; mingling regret, loss and everlasting frustration. It would seem that Beck’s 2002 album Sea Change can now step down as the reigning break-up album.

Neko Case

Middle Cyclone (ANTI-)

Review By Jordie Yow

Aside from her beautiful voice, one of Neko Case’s strengths is her ability to suck people into stories that lack the common romantic thread of pop music. Middle Cyclone is littered with songs warning of nature fighting back; with tornadoes ripping through trailer parks (“This Tornado Loves You”), a cover of pop chameleon Sparks’ “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth” and “Red Tide,” which is a bit inscrutable but appears to be about molluscs wreaking a horrible revenge on humanity. This album is heavy on social commentary and light on pop tropes (with the exception of a beautiful cover of Harry Nilsson’s “Don’t Forget Me”).

Case draws on a lot of different musicians to get some well-crafted country-tinged pop music, and is joined by friends such as Sarah Harmer, the New Pornographers, M. Ward and the Sadies to name a few, but you’d hardly notice. For all the talent these people bring to the album, they’re just big names filling the role of session musicians. The sound of the album is warm and polished with lots of acoustic sounds, and the music is crafted to show off Case’s talents, not those of her friends. To finish the album, Case decided to extend the natural theme by ending with half an hour of sounds from a marsh at night called “Marais La Nuit.” It’s a fitting choice, but if you’re not planning on falling to sleep to this album you’ll probably just want to skip it.

Julie Doiron

I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (Jagjaguwar)

Review By Miranda Martini

If only there existed a genre of music for “easy listening” that wasn’t tainted by implications of soulless dirge and AM radio. How easy it would then be to describe pop tunes that are beautiful and arresting, as well as easy to love. Julie Doiron’s latest release, I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day, is so sweet and gracious that cynics would be inclined to immediately disregard it as unchallenging pop. However, there is a rich vein of philosophy in Doiron’s music awaiting those listeners who take the time to get beyond the initial pleasantries.

On her new release, Doiron’s signature style of direct, self-reflexive musing remains, but it’s shaped by a vein of optimism formerly absent from most of her songs. Her vivid, precise tableaux, always rich in detail and tenderness, range in tone from the domestic to the quietly adventurous; it is simultaneously the music of bike rides with your friends and afternoons spent sitting in the grass, and of awakening to a bewildering world of contradictions and mysteries. Doiron explores all of these scenes with joyful wonder, while maintaining all the spare delicacy and precision of a spider’s web. This is exemplified on the stellar “When Brakes Get Wet,” which is so leanly evocative that it seems to exist completely separate from the human mind that conceived it. Doiron’s economical use of language shines on this album, making it as satisfying and meaningful on the tenth listen as it was on the first.

that magazine from CiTR 101.9fm

September 2010

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