Review: Islands Open for Psychedelic Furs @ HoB, 10/10/09

Syndicated from the writer's blog, http://archipelagogo.wordpress.com/!

Dear Nick (Thorburn, Diamonds, whatever),

Listen. I know you're really talented. I've accepted the sad truth that you know it, too. The Unicorns were genius. Return to the Sea was a turning point of epic proportions in the lives of college radio stations everywhere. I loved and defended Arm's Way even in the face of cynical critics who ripped it to shreds, claiming you "sold out." And I still hold that Islands' show at the El Rey during the summer of 2008 was hands-down one of the best of the year.

We get it: you're great.

I was even going to accept Vapours as the obligatory Under the Blacklight album of the band's evolution. But now...now, I have a serious bone to pick with you, and all over a simple, easily avoidable issue: your shitty attitude.

You're not the only musician to ever gain a cult-like following. In fact, I'd say there are a few other musicians who are worshipped a bit more for their songwriting abilities. So when even your live performances, which require a stage presence and an act that demands entertaining qualities, it's disturbing that you seem to find your emotional funk wildly adorable to everyone in the room.

Not only could we see on Saturday that you were not in the mood (yes, yes; we saw your tweet about having had a rough show in New York the night before), but it translated into an egotistical barrier that completely alienated 99% of the people in the room, including those (of whom I am a part) who came specifically to see Islands.

You did not want to be at the House of Blues, and sure, that's okay. But for god's sake, you're wearing white cutoff gloves with rhinestones you probably bejeweled yourself. ACT. And if you can't act, at least remember why you are a musician, because I pray (to whomever will hear it) that you didn't pick up a guitar because you wanted to be a god--you started a band because YOU LOVE MUSIC. So next time, when you feel like hating yourself and everyone else, don't let it affect the jam. "Swans" was great, because you and the gang actually seemed like you were enjoying yourselves. But honestly, I could've done without the rest of the zombified, dispassionate set. Where's the heart, Nick?

I don't want to see you fail. I know there's another Return to the Sea in you guys. And I know that your attitude can actually be kind of charming when you balance it with musicianship. That's why I say this. Because I can tell you that, even though I'm not one of them yet, there's a decent number of people who are quickly turning their backs on The Redeemable Nick Diamonds and His Band Called Islands. Do something about it.

Very sincerely yours,

Devon Maloney

WTBU & (RED)TM VIP Ticket Giveaway: Ingrid Michaelson & Sondre Lerche

WTBU & (RED)TM are giving away a pair of VIP tickets to two (RED)NIGHTS shows this time: Ingrid Michaelson and Sondre Lerche!

Ingrid plays the Paradise Rock Club on Saturday 9/12 and Sondre follows at the same venue the next night, on Sunday 9/13.






As a VIP for either show, you'll get to meet the artist, score some (RED)NIGHTS goods and check out the concert.


Here's how this one is going to work. The first TWO fans to call in to the show ALPHABET SOUP on THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, from 10pm-12am, will win the VIP tickets!


Good luck, WTBUers! The contest winner will be announced here on Friday (Sept 11) morning.

(RED)NIGHTS is a concert series that saves lives. A portion of the proceeds from every (RED)NIGHTS show goes directly to Africa to help those affected by AIDS.

Must be 18 or older and a legal resident of Boston or the surrounding areas (within 75 miles) to win. Please click here to view official (RED)TM sweepstakes rules.

Alright, Passion Pit's Pretty Proper.

Reposted with permission from archipel-a-gogo.blogspot.com.

The college music scene drives me insane sometimes. Getting beaten over the head with new releases by staple artists as a result of overblown hype rather than talent can get positively exhausting after a few short years. So how are we supposed to weed out the bands that actually deserve our praise, if, after hearing the crappy ones over and over, we might've finally been desensitized to real music worth the attention?

I don't have an answer, trust me. However, a few of my adventures into the hype machine may hopefully bring some light to the subject.

First and most important question on the docket: what am I supposed to be listening for when I'm sifting through piles of hipster/gangster-endorsed records? The most basic answers are, of course:
(1) Whether I can jam to it, or
(2) Whether I take the artist's lyrics to heart. Also,
(3) whether the song gets stuck in my head for an extended period of time should also be taken into moderate account.*

**This question can be overlooked in a number of cases. Like Brooke Hogan's single, "Falling."

But then, there are more refined questions that must be addressed. Some of these include:
(1) How much effort did this artist put into his/her/their album?
(2) Do I take it seriously (read: is it Brooke Hogan?) Or, is it intentionally and endearingly silly?
(3) Is it unique, or does it parrot something already around?
(4) How far can this artist go without being unforgivably adventurous?
(5) And, is there something about this record or artist that makes me biased for/against him/her/them?

Taking all of these into consideration, I had a tough time cracking the egg that was Passion Pit's new full-length album, Manners. Having known bassist Jeff Apruzzese from his previous band, The Peasantry, I was initially encouraged to enjoy the new music. However, avoiding the obvious pitfall of personal bias was not as hard as I thought it would be. I was definitely nonplussed when I saw them open for Girl Talk at BU this past fall, and--sorry, Jeff--no amount of friendly affection would have convinced me otherwise.


Then, when their EP Chunk of Change hit the stands earlier this year, I thought I'd give them another chance (here's where my friend duties were fulfilled). However, yet again, I was sorely disappointed. Nothing caught my ear at all, not melody, not lyrics, not exceptional musical prowess--excepting, of course, the lead singer's "unique" vocal timbre. Overall, I just did not enjoy listening to it.

Nevertheless, when a friend lent me her copy of the band's newest release, I decided ONE MORE LISTEN wasn't going to kill me--hopefully.

And what do you know? I started bobbing my head. I Googled the lyrics of three of the songs. Track four, "The Reeling," stuck in my head for a good 24 hours.

So what the hell changed? These are some reasons I came up with:
(1) I unknowingly hit my head (not unlikely) and now have amnesia.
(2) I unknowingly underwent radical eardrum surgery (unlikely rating: 7 of 10) and now all sounds are equally enjoyable.
(3) Zombies made me do it. (highest unlikelihood, 9.5 of 10--because you never know.)
(4) I just got used to it--a musical Münchausen Syndrome.
(5) I finally picked up on the likability of the music.

All things considered, I've decided it's a combination of 4 and 5 (though I haven't ruled out zombies). While I know my getting used to the sounds of the album has a good deal to do with it, I have to admit that the electronic beats and unique vocals have an attractive quality in themselves. It's pretty new-agey, sure, but this is the future, and it's jammin'! You can certainly dance to it, there's a substantial level of talent apparent in the album's varying tracks, and lyrics like "Now I'm dreaming somebody/Would simply come and kidnap me" attain the perfect level of angst; for me, anyway.

So who knows? Give that band you hated a few months ago one more chance...you might just have a change of heart and acquire some new ear candy. More love, less hate, right?

All I'm saying for sure is, while it's not my "summer album," a couple tracks on Manners may creep their way onto a couple of my weekend party playlists. Thanks, guys.

•Extra!• After I'd begun this post, NPR's All Songs Considered released its most recent and highly relevant blog/podcast, entitled "Music You Should Love, But Don't." Check out the blog and post your thoughts here, or download the podcast here.

•Extra Extra!• Check out this really bizarre video from, of all places, ABC News, on Passion Pit and Manners...a friend shared this, and we agreed: couldn't stop laughing at all the irony.

-Devon Maloney

You Can Be A Wesley @ T.T. The Bear's Place 5/1

The Boston music scene, as we all know, is varied, yet often quite insulated. The bands we know well are the ones that no one else in the country has ever heard of, save for through the somewhat indiscriminate outlets of Boston blogs.

However, the adorable band You Can Be a Wesley proved their deserving of national recognition when they opened for Now, Now Every Children at T. T. The Bear’s Place last Friday.

Each song distinct in its own right, yet still sticking to the band’s adorably earnest theme, the set was a refreshing wake-up that brought a remarkable crowd for a second-opener. Several super-fans repeatedly screamed their allegiance to lead singer/guitarist Saara Untracht-Oakner, and another presented a drunkenly earnest interpretive dance in the band’s honor. In fact, all in the venue seemed to be at least bobbing their heads.

Though the sound system was unsurprisingly imbalanced and the snare that drummer Dan Goldenberg was working with was of a quality reminiscent of my third-grade marching band, the obvious musical gifts of all four members shone through any technical difficulties (…not to mention that it’s been awhile since this critic has seen a genuinely talented instrumental break that couldn’t classify as mediocre musical masturbation). SXSW 2010, PITCHFORK, PLEASE TAKE NOTE. The next big, unabashedly indie-adorable thing is coming out of Boston.

Here, readers, is what you missed, in pictures:







-Devon Maloney
(all photos by the author)

Review: Andrew Bird & Loney, Dear; Orpheum 1/30

No matter how many pairs of gigantic, fake glasses you own, you just can’t buy this breed of awkward, ironic genius. And yes, I said genius.

Last night at the Orpheum in Boston, supported by an impressive set of mammoth gramophones and the venue’s characteristically exceptional lighting design, Andrew Bird and opening darlings Loney, Dear demonstrated their shy brilliance with nearly three hours of—because this wasn’t simply music—experience.

Channeling more established contemporaries like The Weakerthans and Sigur Rós, the adorably Swedish Loney, Dear performed an earnest set that many audience members couldn’t have fully appreciated, due to their constant getting up and down. It was a real shame, because Loney frontman Emil Svanängen sings with the patience and charm of an elementary school music teacher, instructing the entire audience in the melodies of their songs; and the honesty and awkwardness of a teenaged boy with his guitar, standing in the hallways of his high school, playing a song he wrote for the girl he’d been in love with for five years. Loney’s song “Saturday Waits” was a crowd favorite, and definitely the most memorable of their songs. However, the unquestionable highlight of Loney, Dear’s set was Emil’s ending to one of the songs on their new album Dear John, in which all instrumental accompaniment fell away and he sang a simple repetition of the chorus two or three times in an unimpeded, raw croon.

Then...oh, heavens.

A tall, scrawny, slightly scruffy guy in a suit and skinny tie (reminiscent of George Harrison, à la Ed Sullivan Show) walks onstage, holding a violin and bow. Lifting the instrument to his shoulder, he plays a simple riff and taps a pedal on the sound board at his feet, which sends his riff into a loop, over which he adds more and more sound, as if building a Lincoln Log cabin made of beautiful music. Just as he finishes creating his own personal symphony, seemingly frustrated, the man kicks off his shoes to reveal a pair of bony, bare feet.

Now Andrew Bird was getting into his groove.

“Natural Disaster” opened the set, accompanied by a loop of the audience’s clapping and, of course, Bird’s notoriously masterful whistling. Throughout the hour and a half, the man’s demeanor presents a contradiction: his frenetic, near OCD head-shaking and foot-tapping gives him the look of a nervous-as-hell schoolboy giving an oral presentation, while the effortless caress of each violin string and sparks of a smile on his face make him seem nearly smug about it all.

The set, a staple to Andrew Bird’s live performance as original as his whistling techniques, consists of just those three gramophones, two of which are approximately the size of adult sea lions. The third, considerably smaller (perhaps a baby sea lion—but with two heads), is a custom-designed double-headed piece that spins, echoing the sounds of the band and filling the Orpheum with a unique noise effect (this reviewer is hard-put to describe it more articulately; go see it and hear it for yourself).

His band members; percussionist Martin Dosh, guitarist/bassist/organist Jeremy Ylvisaker (try pronouncing that one), and Mike Lewis; seemed to not even register that they were playing onstage in front of hundreds of people—maybe that was because Andrew was pulling about 90 percent of the instrumental weight? Playing “Tables and Chairs,” however, the boys proved that they were well qualified, because the clarinet and, though at first it seemed counter-intuitive, the saxophone additions to the song made it one of the best of the night. In fact, most of the songs of the night were significantly improved by the live performances; it was the difference that a live jazz set makes to its recording.

Finally, with “Fake Palindromes,” the boys polished off a healthy encore, and picking up his violin, his empty shoes, and the sock monkey that had been surreptitiously perched on the double gramophone, Andrew Bird walked away from a raw, beautiful whirlwind of a show.

Try doing that with a carefully assembled thrift-store wardrobe.

-Devon Maloney

Editor's Note: check out Andrew's new album, Noble Beast, on WTBU and in stores now.

Dr. Dog & Delta Spirit @ Middle East Downstairs, 10/10

There is a certain type of show that stays with you for a good, long time...and the Americana rock trinity who took a sold-out Middle East Downstairs by storm on Friday night certainly delivered one of them.

It is not often that a first-opener does anything for you except give you a chance to grab another beer, go outside for a smoke, and/or hold your ears shut and scream in agony. Not so, however, with Hacienda, a San Antonio quartet who stayed true to their roots with a solidly talented 45-minute set of Beatles-infused soul rock. Songs like "Hear Me Crying" and "She's Got a Hold On Me" had the audience thoroughly converted; then, a strange thing happened: these scruffy Texas boys got the hipsters to dance. Indeed, a considerably large circle of plaided, skinny-jeaned kids in the center of the dance floor began moving, to the beat of the music, and apparently enjoying themselves. The set ended with a guest harmonica appearance by the fedora'd and well-received Scott McMicken (of Dr. Dog)--this show was to be henceforth fraught with collaboration, one of the most impressive qualities of the performances. It should go without saying that Hacienda went above and beyond the call of duty and demonstrated what opening bands should have had from the beginning: talent. Take note, fledglings.

Up next was the grungy blues-folk powerhouse, Delta Spirit. It's a miracle and a blessing how Matt Vasquez (lead vocals, guitar) keeps his larynx intact after so much screaming. The lyrics "If you're feelin' what I'm feelin', come on/All you soul-searchin' people, come on!" resonated throughout the club, with a couple hundred people screaming it back onto the stage. Delta Spirit seemed relatively indifferent to their adoring fans, smiling only once or twice if at all, but it's safe to say that the fans themselves could not have cared less. Yet again, hipsters (and bros alike!) danced, and the set ended with even MORE collaboration, with every member of Dr. Dog flooding the stage with drumsticks, maracas, and awesomeness.

Finally, after hours and hours of waiting, the headliners arrived onstage—and by no means was the waiting in vain. Dr. Dog, the charismatic indie-blues quintet birthed in Philadelphia, kicked off a power hour of punch-you-in-the-gut folk rock with the song “The Old Days” from their newest album, Fate. Following this was a whirlwind of old and new material, including songs like “Hang On,” “The Girl,” “100 Years,” and “The Beach.” And the encore…oh, the encore. While the crowd had been shouting for a number of songs throughout the set, no one song title was thrown out more than “Die Die Die,” which rumbled into existence as the band re-mounted the stage and every voice in the club began singing—or wailing—along. By the end, every member of both Hacienda and Delta Spirit had joined the band onstage, Vasquez complete with a coffee pot full of beer, in a full-blown cacophony of what can only be described as the very essence of thumping, rasping, good old American blues. As a fan put it numerous times, screaming over the crowd’s roar, holding his hands to the sides of his head in disbelief, “Oh my god! This! Is! Incredible! Best night of my life!”

To put it simply, listening to recordings of this band is not enough to appreciate the full talent that is the work of McMicken (lead guitar & vocals), Toby Leaman (bass & vocals), Zach Miller (keys & vocals), Juston Sens (drums & vocals), and Frank McElroy (rhythm guitar & vocals). With each song’s performance came even louder, more soulful laments than their albums could have communicated. There’s definitely something to be said for a band that makes great records and then manages to render the music even more spectacular by roughing it up completely. The grating harshness of Dr. Dog’s live set qualified the whole night as an unforgettable show, one that should not, under any circumstances, be missed when it comes to town again.



- Devon Maloney