Category Archives: March 2009

Metronomy

January 24 @ The Biltmore

Review By Lena Ross

I’m old; I’m 26. And I rarely yell out expletives in public. However, while attending Metronomy’s live performance at the Biltmore on Jan. 24, I just couldn’t keep the curses inside. These British mates are known for their eclectic sound, combining unlikely instruments like a Moroccan nose-organ with low-cost stage gimmicks and synchronized moves. They’re also notorious for wearing push-lights on their chests (all) and two small flashlights on each wrist (keyboardist and saxophonist Oscar Cash) as they groove in unison to their contagious beats. Ask anyone there: these guys are actually catchy enough to make a girl go wild.

And go wild they did. In fact, the audience’s maniacal state made it difficult to concentrate on anything other than one’s immediate safety. The band was playing on a stage raised about five inches higher than its listeners, and this made them noticeably uncomfortable. After a thrash-worthy rendition of “My Heart Rate Rapid,” front man Joseph Mount actually had to ask the crowd to step off. “Can everyone please dance in reverse for a few seconds?” he asked politely in a crisp, British brogue. “People at the front are getting crushed.”

After being shoved, groped, dragged to the floor and finely dusted by the hair of a dozen fuzzy hipsters, my typically sane demeanor started to turn freak nasty. It was like everyone had collectively drunk out of the same GHB-drenched punchbowl, and my three friends and I existed to keep them from transforming into a quivering pile of limbs. When Metronomy broke out their groove-tastic hit, “The End Of You Too,” the crowd literally went into a thrashing, wolf-like frenzy. Crowd surfers kicked faces, a chick collapsed on my foot and seven girls clung to each other’s skin-tight dresses while grinding on the speaker. It was like the opening scene of Blade, where the guy starts to realize everyone’s a vampire but he keeps dancing anyway. Luckily, this song rocked just as hard live as it does on the album, so we had no trouble keeping our faces off the floor.

When the first few bass lines of the grab-your-honey-close track “Heartbreaker” spilled from the speakers, I literally had to cling to my man’s belt loops to keep from being swept away by the seething crowd. “Holy fuck!” I shouted. Then, during the wickedly maniacal “On the Motorway,” right as I tried to bust out a bold hip thrust, the same chick collapsed on my foot again. “What the shit?” I shrieked. The set ended with a great rendition of “Radio Ladio” complete with a delightful elbow to the groin. The guys came back out for a quick, one-song encore and then scuttled offstage to safety. And even though part of my toenail may never grow back, it was still a goddamn scary good show.

Beach House / Johnny & the Moon

Richard’s on Richards | January 25

Review By Justin Langille

In every era of rock and roll there is a streak of romanticism, a disenchanted, daydream sound that becomes revered for its cool detachment with the world at large. Past generations had the Velvet Underground, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds and Mazzy Star. Today, we have the sultry, stranded sounds of Baltimore, Maryland duo Beach House. Singer-keyboardist Victoria Legrand and guitarist Alex Scally graced Richards on Richards on a chilly late January night with an evening of music to escape our troubled times with.

Amidst crowd chatter, Shawnigan Lake, B.C. quartet Johnny & the Moon opened the night with a set of blues-laden country reminiscent of depression-era folk ballads. Lead by former Hot Hot Heat member Dante DeCaro, the band rolled their way through piano-inflected songs about city living and the lessons of a wayward life. The upbeat number “Kid Heaven” spread itself slowly over the crowd with drifting keyboard lines and ebbing drum beat, while the slightly intoxicated, cantankerous melodic weave of “When You’re All Alone” easily held the attention of the crowd huddled under the orange stage lights.

The unusually large Sunday evening turnout dispersed briefly before Beach House took the stage with drummer Daniel J. Franz in tow. Beginning with the contemplative, nearly erotic “You Came to Me”, the trio played a selection of songs from their self-titled debut and 2008’s Devotion. Underneath the glare of a disco ball, the bizarre waltz of “Heart of Chambers” and the guitar driven harmonies of “Wedding Bell” mesmerized the swaying crowd, temporarily giving Richards the atmosphere of a high school dance.

While some might dismiss this wistful balladeering as self-indulgent escapism or phony bohemian posturing (the scourge of all great rock), it rang true enough for a floor-pounding encore call. Despite the haze and pensive pace of their songs, it was refreshing to hear Beach House play music to slow down to, music that impressed with unobtrusive ease rather than the flashy kitsch of the consumer-grade pop spectacle we’re all so used to.

The Mae Shi / Shearing Pinx / Certain Breeds

January 28 @ Bilmore Cabaret

Review By Simon Foreman

From the moment the curtains opened to the sounds of “Lamb and the Lion,” the Mae Shi were one huge ball of energy that took the Biltmore by storm. Each song brought new visual stimulus, ranging from absurd mock-horror facial expressions (courtesy of singer Jonathan Gray) to frantic physical feats of hyperactivity. Various band members repeatedly wove their way through the crowd while still playing their instruments, sometimes belting out their shouty vocals microphone-free—and, impressively, loud enough to be heard above squawking synths and speedy guitar licks. At one point, when they weren’t busy clambering onto various speakers and platforms, they introduced the crowd to a giant rainbow-coloured parachute, which covered much of the dance floor and gave the performance even more of a fun-house atmosphere.

Musically, the group was tight as a drum. Selections from last year’s Hlllyh were played to perfection, especially raucous sing-alongs like “Run To Your Grave” and “I Get Almost Everything.” Older, more chaotic material ripped by at a frenzied pace, but at times blended into an indistinct mash of similar-sounding riffs. This wouldn’t last too long through: the band rarely stopped for stage banter or anything else, so another standout moment was never too far ahead. The show had an air of jubilation—a marked contrast to the devastating assault of the Mae Shi’s Los Angeles contemporaries, HEALTH (with whom they share roots in that city’s famed D.I.Y. concert venue, the Smell). The openers that evening also displayed some nice points of contrast with the main attraction. After a few false starts, Certain Breeds created dark dirges punctuated by Leanne Chapman’s moaning cello and Jenny May’s gothic wails.

Thereafter, local noise-rock champions Shearing Pinx engineered a storm of feedback and fuzz atop their consistently superb art-punk. Indie dance group Sex Party were slated to perform after the headliners for some reason—unfortunately they were missed by those who left the venue early with the Mae Shi’s stunning performance still ringing in their ears.

Dean & Britta

January 30 @ The Vogue

Review By Rob Willis

Dean Wareham, the former New Zealand denizen of Velvet Underground inspired rock, and Britta Phillips, the singing voice of cartoon character Jem and countless musical projects, put together a subtle and historical night of sound and cinema. Push Festival’s 13 Most Beautiful… Songs for Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests is just what it was advertised to be. On their own I wouldn’t call the 13 bits of obscure cellulite beautiful; rather, they’re a curious collection of characters who found themselves entwined in Warhol’s films and more specifically in his Factory studio circa 1964 –1966. Nico, Dennis Hopper, Lou Reed and Edie Sedgwick were some of the better-known scenesters projected on the Vogue’s silver screen. The roughly four to five minute tests ranged from the neurotic fidgeting of Ingrid Superstar to Ann Buchanan’s unblinking stare and singular tear. Channeling the range of emotion glowing from the screen behind them, the four-piece band anchored the images in sound and words, and it was the group’s obvious love of the material and of the time and place of Warhol’s mid-’60s lifestyle that carried these primarily banal images into the realm of the ethereal. Wareham’s musical stories told the inner monologues of the visages before the audience. Whether the words were anchored in any actual facts of the subjects’ lives didn’t matter. Wareham’s tenor and Phillips’s angelic pipes were as haunting as their slow ’60s pop sound and Warhol’s images. The idea of 13 Most Beautiful worked so well it felt like it just had begun when the group said, “Thanks.” This is the first time I have ever wanted test time not to end.

Broken Social Scene / Tegan and Sara

February 6 @ Orpheum Theatre

Review By Meg Walls

I went into the Tegan and Sara portion of Friday’s show with no expectations because, for me, they seem to have lost some of the charm that their earlier albums and performances were jam-packed with. Being a lesbo from Calgary, you would think that I would experience the same affinity towards them that all the other queer girls in the front row do, but their ‘few octaves too high’ singing style and recent commercial sound have left me wanting more. However, I was more than pleasantly surprised to find myself genuinely enjoying the show. I felt nostalgic and warm when they played their old stuff, putting me right back at my first Tegan and Sara acoustic set in Calgary, and beyond excited about the new music they introduced. One new song in particular, featuring Tegan’s vocals, blew me away. It was dark and dirty and what made it so wonderful was that instead of the vocals being a separate entity from the rest of the song, all the instrumentation and Tegan’s loud, low, distorted voice blended together to produce a uniform power that left me in awe. The sisters’ banter made them real and relatable and their tight set had me back aboard the Tegan and Sara train.

I feel slightly unsuited to give my opinion on a Broken Social Scene show since I’m friends with a singer in the band and more so because I’ve never been a fan. They’ve always just been over-produced noise to me, and I enjoy them all so much more in their individual side projects. With this slightly paradoxical bias kept in mind I’ll get on with the review: I thought they were glorious. How’s that for a twist?! I, Meg Walls, devout disliker of BSS, found myself doing a little toe tappin’ and head bobbin’ with the rest of the sold-out crowd. The majesty of the Orpheum perfectly suited the energy that BSS exudes and even though they didn’t include “Lover’s Spit” in their set list. I would say that they’ve cracked my top fifteen shows. Way to go guys!

Live From a Bush of Ghosts

February 11 @ Studio 16

Review By Jordie Yow

In 1981 David Byrne and Brian Eno released My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, an album so original and inspired that there’s few DJs today whose style and methods cannot be traced back to it. From Feb. 4 to Feb. 15, an interdisciplinary team of artists took on the ambitious task of recreating the album for the theatrical stage as part of Vancouver’s Push Festival.

The Theatre Conspiracy production company brought together DJs from No Luck Club and video editor Candelario Andrade making live noise and images, while Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg took centre stage as a focal point for the evening. Friedenberg was a chameleon, playing the roles of a woman scraping electronic parts from a wasteland, a suicidal day trader, an aging gambler living in fantasies of her past, a young DJ ensnared by an Internet predator, a televangelist battling the spirit of Jezebel, and an electronic goddess. As the talented Friedenberg acted and danced through these ghosts of technology, she was backed by music that sounded familiarly like Eno and Byrne’s collaboration and bathed in a shimmering array of lights and images.

The result was an abstract and unique mixed media collage—a mesmerizing assault on the senses from start to finish. It’s hard to encapsulate all the details of the piece in one go, but the production brought together the same spirit of innovation that Eno and Byrne invoked on their album. It is rare to see any production that so well mixes together the many forms of media available to a performer. It was easy to get caught in a barrage of images and sound—while considering the intricacies of online poker hands or Friedenberg’s impression of a televangelist, you would miss some other beautiful little detail.

Though no attention was spared in the details of the production, there were plenty of big, impressive moments in each of the seven pieces that structured it. As a frazzled stock broker kicks the bucket, you can see a projected image representing his soul fly out towards the ceiling. In the finale Friedenberg plays a goddess embodying both a primitive innocence and advanced technology. The production was so complex and abstract that its interpretation was left entirely in the hands of each audience member, everyone who saw it getting a different experience from it—which is one of the best things any piece of art can do.

Murder City Devils / Past Lives / Cap Lori

Commodore Ballroom @ February 13

Review By Bryce Dunn

Although I completely missed opener Cap Lori, Past Lives did their best to warm up the throngs of anxious Devils devotees while shedding the skin of their former selves (three quarters of its members were in the much revered spazzcore outfit known as the Blood Brothers) by creating a mesmerizing wall of frenzied drumming and angular guitar slashing completed by singer Jordan Blilie’s patented wail. It seemed to work, if only to distract the faithful from emptying their wallets to the tune of $200 for the coveted Murder City merch box on sale at the back bar.

To paraphrase the classic Barracudas ode to the ’60s, only 30 years into the future: I wish it could be 1995 again. The Murder City Devils that sought to re-ignite the maligned face of “rock” back then was not the same animal this time out, no matter how hard we (and the band) tried to remember it. Mostly because when they laid waste to places like the Brickyard in their heyday, those moments stuck like the gum on your shoe and wouldn’t go away. Now, during their much bally hooed reunion, it felt at times that something was missing—the memories didn’t stick like they should have. The band that proclaimed we should “get off the floor while we’re still young” seemed to have misplaced sentiments—the fans who saw them at their most volatile are all grown up now. Yes, there were miscues, forgotten lyrics and questionable song choices that peppered their hour-long set. And yet, we brought our dancin’ shoes, ‘cuz they had a job to do, and at points during the evening, the potency of tracks like “Rum To Whiskey,” “In My Heart” and “18 Wheels” were not lost on the near sold out crowd. Fists were pumping, beer was spraying and cameras were flashing in hopes of catching those glimpses of brilliance. Coady Willis still beat the living hell out of his kit, but bassist Derek Fudesco and guitarist Nate Manny seemed detached, and Spencer Moody was downright cryptic with his little speech at the end of the show. On the other end of the stage, guitarist Dann Gallucci was taunting and twirling away, but keyboardist Leslie Hardy probably couldn’t have cared less. It was an entertaining if somewhat disengaged performance from a band who could very well have set the stage ablaze, but in the end only managed a few sparks.

O Paon / Diadem / Aaron Read

February 14 @ St. James Hall

Review By Justin Langille

I’m really not one for Hallmark holidays. Thankfully, this past Feb. 14 was a Valentine’s Day less ordinary. Local concert promoters Twee Death invited K Records artist and former Quebec resident Geneviève Castrée (O Paon) up from her home in Washington for a night of lamplight serenades in the quaint St. James church hall.

Local improv comedian Aaron Read opened the night with an eccentric, ugly duckling set of solo songs. Despite long, drawn out guitar tuning and missing beat samples, Read redeemed himself with a sense of humour that kept the docile crowd laughing.

In the world of feminist politics, Valentines Day coincides with V-Day, an annual day to remember and protest violence against women. Aja Rose and Gabriel Soloman (a.k.a. Diadem) dedicated their set of ethereal sound transmogrification to the women who gathered earlier that day to commemorate First Nations women who have gone missing from the Downtown East Side. Crafted from warped vocals, ghostly guitar and a table of electronics, Rose and Soloman’s music was a beautiful meditation that easily reached the hearts of those seated in the church’s hard pews.

Shortly after, the one-woman show that is O Paon took the darkened wooden church stage to end the night. Listening to the soft-spoken Québécois lyrics and articulate guitar loops of opening song “La Cible,” it seemed that Castrée would end the night quietly. However, she brought the crowd to life with a remarkable vocal range, majestic compositions and cultural observations gathered from her stateside life. Managing two microphones and a guitar sitting firmly on her hip, Castrée worked her way through a set of personal songs, including “L’Aeroport,” a seething indictment of Condoleezza Rice’s role in the Bush administration’s atrocities. Ending with an improvised cover of Peter Gabriel’s “Don’t Give Up,” Castrée thanked the crowd of kids cozied up on one another’s shoulders, obviously content with the hush and beauty of a night that subverted the most romantic day of the year as much as it embraced it.

Antony and the Johnsons

The Crying Light (Secretly Canadian)

Review By Chad Thiessen

There are times where you sit through your drunk uncle’s incoherent ramblings because you know there’ll be an inevitable payoff in the brief moment he says or does something funny, unbeknownst to himself or many of the other bags of hot air in the room swilling their too-strong gin and tonics. There are moments within The Crying Light where Antony Hegarty’s minimal orchestral arrangements also seem to justify this kind of wait, but ultimately, sitting through Hegarty over-dramatically and repetitively croon about life and death is not entirely worth it.

While Hegarty is undoubtedly skilled in his vocal ability, the dramatics seem to evolve the vocals into more of a caricature that was a better and more entertaining fit with his Hercules and Love Affair project from last year.

Although there is certainly more than a drunk uncle’s worth of moments strewn throughout the album in terms of lyrical content, listening to sad songs sung in a depressing operatic vibrato becomes taxing and eventually makes you appreciate the fact that a drunk uncle at least has the decency to put himself to bed when things get uncomfortable.

The Brighton Port Authority

I Think We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat (Southern Fried)

Review By E. E. Mason

Allegedly found in a long-forgotten cache of music recorded by a mythical jam outfit from the ‘70s onwards, this album sounds suspiciously fresh. It was co-produced by Norman Cook, and has all the radio-friendliness associated with his output as Fatboy Slim—one of those records where almost every track sounds like a potential single.

The CD bristles with big names and diverse styles, from the Stones-y R&B of the opener, “He’s Frank (Slight Return),” featuring Iggy Pop, to the reggae rhythms of Martha Wainwright’s “Spade.” A collaboration with David Byrne and Dizzee Rascal is tucked away at the end, while Connan Mockasin comes over both plaintive and insistently paranoid in “Jumps The Fence,” a kind of hallucinatory pop ballad.

Overall, the differences settle into a whole that’s jaunty, good-natured and virtually impossible to skip. Although this is partly a result of the production—the album is full of attention to detail and restlessness with textures—it’s also a feature of the way in which each track matches perfect melodies or arrangements with enough uniqueness and challenge to keep the listener hooked. Music geeks and metalheads need not apply; everyone else, however, will find plenty here to keep them more than happy.

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