For three days, an eclectic, modest bunch of 80,000 festival-goers crowded Grant Park, Chicago, if only to catch a glimpse of themselves participating in what boils down (in the August heat) to 39 hours of pure, unadulterated madness. I myself was thoroughly prepared for this festival after 8 hours in a car, a few minor bumps in the road (no, we can’t go back and look for the tickets; we’re in Des Moines), a fantastic night in Wrigleyville at the behest of our gracious hosts, and a fat Giordano’s stuffed pizza (highly recommended by Barely Legal).
Because of aforementioned technical difficulties, I was unable to hear either Rogue Wave or Yeasayer, both of which I had intended to review. Yeasayer, I am sure, kicked ass, but to be fair I heard their set from across the street, behind a fence, standing in the Box Office line, etc. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. All Hours Cymbals was a very good indie album from this past year, so, yeah. It was a bit of a disappointment that I missed out. To make myself feel better, I will give them an arbitrary rating of 20. This is sort of like a Pitchfork rating, except more meaningful. (follow the link for much more Lolla coverage)
The only tidbit I received regarding Zach Rogue and his band Rogue Wave was a bit disheartening to say the least. I somehow missed the news that they have left their Sub-Pop label-mate compatriots Iron & Wine, The Shins, Wolf Parade, Fleet Foxes, Flight of the Conchords [ed: a Barely Legal favorite], to head to the green, Soma-poppy-filled pastures of Brushfire Records. Yes, Jack Johnson’s label. But wait, this is no J.J. bashing session, I can’t approve of something berating a single artist like that; please, don’t forget Matt Costa. Read straight out of the Official Program: “[With this move, Rogue Wave] seems primed and ready to conquer the mainstream arena circuit.” Requiescat in paradiso, adios and say good-bye. What a shame—Out of the Shadow showed some of promise.
Akron, Ohio’s premier export is rubber, hearkening back to the days when the Goodyear company occupied a great deal of this small town in the great Midwest. In its stead, the Black Keys have made a name for this suburban paradise. I was lucky enough to enter Lolla-fest in time to witness Akron, Ohio’s second best export politely introduce themselves and then proceed to mercilessly assail the crowd with their trademark attack and release blues in “Girl Is On My Mind.”
And it hit me: I had arrived.
Time and time again, this band would feverishly grab the attention of the entire crowd, send it to soaring heights with all the gusto and velocity their teeth-gnashing blues-rock could possibly provide—only to “hit the brakes,” as Dan Auerbach (vocals and guitar) loves to say. The groove stops; the pent-up frustration, the tension is perhaps most palpable. Orbiting at some height, sweet, woeful lyrics begin the audience’s descent a few miles above the Earth, the crowd cool off from the ride on a soothing descent, finally touching down to the ground to lay each of their respective heads to rest, to sleep, upon a pillow of feathers and Egyptian cotton as the guitar melodies fade away. This outpouring of problems, woes, have been discussed (read: wailed about) and now the audience can collectively sigh in cathartic relief.
At least that’s how I saw it happen.
While I always had faith that the Black Keys knew how to rock, and how to do it well, a fresh breath of songwriting on their latest 2007 release—Attack and Release, imagine that—provided the much needed direction for the power duo’s career. While “power duo” may be a startling term, perhaps even something of an oxymoron in most instances (save The White Stripes, No Age), the newfound depth on their newest LP is not betrayed in the least in their live performances—they can pull this off and are most deserving of this moniker. And for some reason this excitement reinvigorated their older material, as songs from Rubber Factory and Magic Potion alike came alive in a way that really made for an exciting show. What is old is new again, I suppose.
The awesome Black Keys Set List:
1. “Girl Is On My Mind”
2. “Set You Free”
3. “Thickfreakness”
4. “10 A.M.”
5. “Same Old Thing”
6. “Stack Shot Billy”
7. “Busted”
8. “Everywhere I Go”
9. “Strange Times”
10. “Your Touch”
11. “The Breaks”
12. “I’m Glad”
13. “No Trust”
14. “I Got Mine”
But, in the words of my idol, Alan Parsons, where do we go from here? Is this it, Black Keys? Are you destined to simply be a great, great blues-rock duo? I suppose they are satisfied with their niche, as there is no blues-rock duo that can hold a candle to these two right now. I am unsure whether or not they will ever grow to the headliners that their sound suggests that they could be if they were to expand. They hold so much promise, but I am also of the opinion that they are playing a kind of music for audiences that have already developed a love of this kind of music in other artists, artists that came long before this duo rose to fame. Does blues-rock fall upon deaf ears in the digital age? It may be anachronistic, yes, even consider it a tired genre, but it will never out of style.
If I were to give a name to the cutting edge it would be the Brooklyn, New York, quartet Grizzly Bear—easily the second best act that I saw all weekend.
And while their talent and penchant for fine harmonies in their own music may constantly draw critical comparisons to the Beach Boys, these gentlemen definitely have their own sound. A soothing folk rock sensibility is often betrayed by their rock sessions, as evidenced by their latest Friend EP, but many songs are of the best sort of variety and fall neatly in the realm of uncategorized, original expression.
While even vague allusions to Brian Wilson and co. might be a little off-putting for those who aren’t a fan
of the endless summer, I can attest that listening to this is a much more subdued affair. Rather than trying to write “teenage symphonies to God,” Grizzly Bear seems absolutely content writing music for this world, and they rarely falter.
Their Lolla-set opener was one of four new tracks they debuted this weekend; I feel blessed to have witnessed the first live performance of “Two Weeks.” In a sparse, cold start, an up-tempo piano melody keeps time in a simple major chord progression, one of the basic molecules of music and melody (and one of Brian Wilson’s favorite fall-backs). The otherworldly vocals of Edward Droste (vocals, guitar) and Daniel Rossen (guitar, vocals) float in, seeping through the booming, almost viscous foundation set by Christopher Bear (drums, vocals) and Christopher Taylor (bass, reeds, electronics). The sound is immense, warbling, sweeping and impressive.
The single greatest highlight of the show was their performance of “Knife,” in which they proved that they still held the rights to their bread and butter. Covered and sampled by everyone from the likes of CSS and Atlas Sound on the Friend EP, to Girl Talk at the recent Pitchfork Music Festival, their performance in Grant Park exceeded my expectations. The groove of Taylor’s bass line is one of the best that exists in today’s music—it drives the beat that supports the intoxicating, alternating blend of Droste’s plaintive vocals and the vocal team of Droste and Rossen’s ethereal, harmonious cooing. With the spice of electronic effects slipped in on the vocals—never overwhelming, and never a crutch for their talents—it makes for something truly amazing.
After a tour with Radiohead and a successful Letterman appearance (in which they performed “Two Weeks”) I expect that this band will gain quite a great bit of notoriety in the upcoming months.
The killer Grizzly Bear Set List (new tracks denoted with star)
1. “Two Weeks”*
2. “Little Brother”
3. “Knife
4. “Fine For Now”*
5. “Untitled”*
6. “Fix It”
7. “On A Neck, On A Spit” (Abridged)
8. “While You Wait For The Others”*
I don’t think anyone could have readied my soul for what was to follow. Bloc Party current carries the pride of the English indie scene, I thought that I would perhaps find a new interest in this imported artist.
Little did I know at the time that their 2005 album Silent Alarm sounds like the forgotten, bastard child of Ian Curtis, if that child were beaten mercilessly, forced to listen to Earthbound by King Crimson on repeat for 8 hours a day and only had a vague understanding of the English language. The new release is no better, if not worse. Unbelievably, the live performance transcends the “Fripp & whip” studio treatment and dives towards a wholly despicable state of annoying. Inane Kiedis-style lyrics (sheer idiocy, no funk, thank god), amplified to an insane volume (over the noise of the band, so all the kids can sing along) simply exacerbates their already dismal situation. Frontman Kele Okereke stands as still as an onyx obelisk, screaming out his Mad-Lib life in a ruddy Cockney accent.
Bloc Party identifies with a post-punk mentality, therefore Bloc Party is a sham. In 1975-80, the bands that influenced their assumed style truly had relevance in the U.K.; several like-minded artists chose to identify with the new post-punk movement. Often characterized by their persistent, throbbing guitar melodies, incessant drumming, little to no variation in the tempo of the song—this style is even usually considered repetitive and unvarying by non-believers. The frontman or vocalist usually drones on about something vaguely apocalyptic or sorrowful, and a machine may in some instances replace the drummer. These bands were formed in the dawn of the digital age, when the minimal, industrial cool of the electronic machine perfectly represented the isolation and inauthenticity of the modern world.
Perhaps this is best explained in simple geographical terms. The geniuses of the post-punk era performed in Manchester, some great distance (200 miles North, in the heart of the black country [when I was a robber/in Boston Place]) far enough away from the big business of London (Bloc Party’s hometown) that essentially panders to the masses for a profit. Bloc Party is this same capitalistic mentality wrapped up in the guise of their forebears’ style.
Bloc Party’s sound takes full advantage of this aesthetic. A guitar line sounds great until the song means absolutely nothing; if the drums beat as fast as possible without focus or direction, they’re ultimately just noise. The music then becomes a vehicle for the band to go up on stage and act like idiots, which is exactly what Okereke decided to do.
Bands like Joy Division adopted and subsumed the mentality of the punk movement—i.e. do your own thing and to hell with everyone else— to create original art. When the purity of this concept of art is broken apart—when people start playing for applause, for money, for pleasure, or for anything other than the art of the music itself—that is when the
artist is promoting its music in bad faith. I’m still not sure what is the most offensive part about this performance: the shabby “battle of the bands” guitar licks, the speed metal drumming or the banshee-like, wailing vocals. There is no honesty in this music: it’s as unfashionable, grotesque and ham-fisted as a bloody kidney on a meat hook. I don’t actually know if that’s relevant, I just wanted to provide the Barely Legal readers (both of them) some disgusting frame of reference to which they might compare the work of these fools.
That said, Nitsuh Abebe of Pitchfork gave Silent Alarm an 8.9. It is as if this review was meant to pity and encourage the floundering U.K. indie scene. North America has got wished to pity the Perhaps Abebe is just another Pitchfork pseudonym for the idiot who gave Source Tags & Codes a 10.0 (it deserves a 7.5—its not Forever Changes, for god’s sake).
If you want to talk about “lyrical clunkers,” consider the following: this is the beginning of the first verse of “Helicopter,” the effervescent crowd-pleaser that ended Bloc Party’s set at Lolla-land. Lyrics delivered with back-up vocal accompaniment are denoted with a star.
“North to south
Empty*
Running on
Bravado*
As if to say, as if to say
As if to say, he doesn’t like chocolate*”
Hold your applause. Wait for the chorus. It’s a bit repetitive, but, hey, that’s post-punk, right? Try to remember the words (because that’s the mark of a truly good song, you know, if it’s catchy, easy to remember and such).
“Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?”
For this travesty of a band, Abebe published one of the worst explanations I have ever read:
“And so, inevitably, the people who don’t love it will start complaining. And when they complain, they’ll point out that this is just a regular-old rock album, full of all the current stylish rock-album tricks. And they’ll be absolutely right… being a good ol’ unchallenging rock band is this outfit’s whole point– and their biggest strength.”
Bravo. Well done. And the defense rests. The judge, jury, and executioner (myxomatosis) ask: why, then, is this placed among the greatest albums of all time? I want to figuratively slap this guy around, shake him, and ask him if this is the sort of album deserves its place among the all-time great albums. I find that it does not.
I digress, but not without reason. This is what the fans of Radiohead had to endure to secure good seats (not great seats—those seats had been assumed by the rabid bunch of fans through the gate at 11:00am that morning). Adding insult to injury, the Raconteurs were playing at the same time as Bloc Party (at the other end of Grant Park) and Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks were playing only 200 yards away. It is a shame that neither of these bands (or Grizzly Bear, for that matter) were chosen to perform directly prior to Radiohead. The crowd was not terribly excited for this show; one could cite anticipation for Radiohead as a likely source, but by the time the audience arrived to wait for Radiohead (and, incidentally, to begrudgingly bear witness to the Bloc Party show at 6:15pm), we had seen two or three displays of talent that simply blew this schlock out of the water.
The highlight of the show came when Okereke declared that “the last song was really nice, because the sun set at the same time the music was winding down.” The band continued into the next song, and the crowd then watched the sun radiate through the cloud that had just recently passed by. In a painful way, the sun illuminated Okereke’s face in the middle of the very next song and then continued to shine for the duration of the set; the sun usually sets around 8:30pm in the summer in Chicago–the set ended at 7:15pm. Apparently Okereke simply wanted to draw attention to how truly oblivious he is to the entire world.
The awful, meteorological Bloc Party Set List:
1. “Hunting for Witches”
2. “Waiting for the 7.18”
3. “Banquet”
4. “Song for Clay (Disappear Here)”
5. “So Here We Are”
6. “The Prayer”
7. “Mercury”
8. “This Modern Love”
9. “Positive Tension”
10. “Like Eating Glass”
11. “Helicopter”
The immensity of Radiohead deserves its own post. There is more to come.
Siler
