static and distance

New blog, new ventures here: http://staticanddistance.wordpress.com/

goodnight, rose

In I duck then, just for a moment, to say goodnight and good luck. I am drawing the curtains on this blog caper for an indefinite period. It has been a bit of fun and, I believe, valuable to document my significant year in Melbourne but I wish to focus my time and creative energies elsewhere. Thanks for the (mostly) positive feedback on this little lump of coal I have whittled away at, most appreciated. Thanks also to everyone who sent me birthday wishes, it was a fine day with some loose antics planned for the weekend to really smash the bottle and send me out on my 29th year, which I hope will be a long and eventful voyage. I continue to love this city more by the day and in the coming year aim to infiltrate it’s cracks and orifices, become more a participant, less an observer. You just won’t read about it here! Old school verbal/electronic mail communication is most welcome at anytime should you be requiring an update.

I will leave you with a couple of trinkets. This young fellow’s blog is a more than adequate substitute for my own, and updated about as regularly:

http://rbeef.blogspot.com/

Good grief what hilarious blue genius it is.

And something musical, of course. The album I am anticipating most this year is My Morning Jacket’s “Evil Urges”, due out in June. With mixed early reports and the band being of an ever-evolving nature, I can’t wait to slap my ears around it. Here’s a clip of lead singer Jim James performing solo. They rock like no other as a band, but this subdued, golden stuff seems suited to the stark autumn and warm goodbyes..

maimed by rock ‘n roll

As the last post alluded to, my recent musical experiences have left me cold. The unbalanced cost:enjoyment ratio of these international acts resulted in a sometimes bitter aftertaste. It took an old favourite to restore my faith in big ticket rock ‘n roll, though before that memorable evening on Bourke St came round, I was reminded just how good we’ve got in on our own doortstep for nicks. For a grand total of $18 over the Easter long weekend I caught The Spoils(haunting and lovely), The Bulls(rough ‘n tough ‘n good fun), Gareth Eunson and The Graveyard Sons(another class set, favourite local band right now) and Silver City Highway(a triumph-new album will be amongst the years best). Perhaps best though was a set at the Brunswick Green from Tracie McNeil and Jordie Lane, AKA the Fireside Bellows. Rustic acoustic country in the Easter dusk within a mellowed beergarden-the right music, the right time of day and the right company. Pretty hard to beat that. After a few weeks out of town it was a strong reminder of how formidable this town’s musical acts are. These bands could slug it out with most international heavyweights. Most.

As much as I wanted that Easter weekend to go on and on, I was looking forward to Wednesday. When it came it was all rain and ghost grey, Melbourne’s weather finally getting back to normal. Lunchtime I made my way through a sodden Carlton Gardens across to Fitzroy and the fantastic shop Title for an insotre performance from the Autumn Defense, the side project of Wilco’s John Stirrat and Pat Sansone. Wotta treat to be able to catch such classy music in your lunch break. As Stirrat suggested, they produce rainy day music so the setting was perfect with the precipitation tumbling down on Gertrude St as the number 86 trams clanged to and fro. Relaxed Californian pop strewn with perfect harmonies (occasionaly marred by a some jarring sound issues), this was an ideal entrée for the main course that evening.

The Palace(formerly the Metro) on Bourke St has a mixed reputation around town , I understand. As is the case with a lot of these Melbourne institutions which “ain’t as good as they used to be”(is anything?), I find having fresh eyes a big plus in avoiding being paralysed by reminisces of the good ol’ days as so many locals seem to be. These days seem pretty dang good to me. An ideal venue for a rock concert, the three levels and generous depth and width of the Palace provides no shortage of vantage points. With an ambiance of an old abandoned theatre, spot-on sound and an elaborate lighting system, this had serious potential to be a special show…

The Drones were an unusual choice for the support slot, as Gareth Liddiard acknowledged. Not for a moment were they going to tone down their set-The Drones do not have a low gear. Another monolithic showing from this brilliant local act which visibly disturbed some of the older, unfamiliar punters in the crowd. “I’m Here Now” and “Sittin’ on the Edge of the Bed Cryin’” were standouts while the previewing of a couple of new songs impressed. “Sharkfin Blues” was again the triumphant pinnacle, and I felt I had already got my money’s worth. The lights went up. Anticipation built. The lights went down.

What followed was a remarkable rock show. Wilco, one of the great bands of our time and at the height of their powers, took the love struck crowd through a set which left all in attendance spellbound and your correspondent still shaking his head in wonder a week later. “Misunderstood” was a sublime opener. A beautifully angry song about youth, love and rock ‘n roll which concluded in the usual castigating fashion:”I’d like you thank you all for NOTHING..NOTHING..NOTHING“(repeat x 1000). Magnificent, but merely the rumbling of the clouds on the hills before the deluge.

Over 2 and a half plus hours, Wilco played a staggering set which spanned across multiple genres and eras: 50′s country balladry, 60′s psychadelic pop, 70′s classic rock, 80′s Kraut rock, 90′s cosmic Americana and what can only be described as 00′s Wilco. The band appeared much more comfortable and confident than when I caught them last year at the Palais, songs which were then excessive and flabby now lean and lethal. The much maligned guitarist Nels Cline has settled into his place with the band, his sonic contributions now provided electrifying energy and imagination to the songs, not just superfluous ornamentation. The light show was striking-red, blue and yellow blasts synchronized perfectly in the big numbers and serene green light shimmering across the hall in the quieter songs (the exquisite “Reservations” especially memorable). Rowdy numbers from “Sky Blue Sky” were an early standout, the pairing of “You Are My Face” with “Side With Seeds” a masterstroke while the layered gutiar artistry of “Impossible Gemrany” sent one nearby chap into ecstatic convulsions. Evidently the material off the mildly received album had just as strong a grip on the hearts of Wilco fans as anything else they had to offer. Obscurities were dotted throughout, this set featuring songs as requested by fans on the band’s website. Sadly my request(“Someday Soon”) did not get a look in, but many an old favourite did, each performed with commensurate intensity and execution. “Shouldn’t be Ashamed” was a pleasant surprise from debut album “A.M” and “She’s A Jar” was a dark delight (the line “She begs me not to hit her” still chills), albeit with Jeff Tweedy’s harmonica squealing unbearably at times.

Tweedy remains amongst rock’s great frontmen and finest raconteurs. 40 years young, he now leads this band with a zest and enthusiasm of an 18, nay, 16 year old. He thrives on the combined energy of his band mates and the audience, his imperfect voice full of character and impressive range. The banter in between songs was humorous and genial while boisterous sing-alongs during “California Stars” and the harmonies of “Summer Teeth” contributed to the glowing feel-good atmosphere. At times, however, things got very dark indeed. “Via Chicago” is probably my favourite Wilco song (best opening lines ever: “I dreamed about killing you again last night, and it felt alright to me“). A Lynch-esque murder ballad from the classic album “Summer Teeth”, I was hoping it would get a run and would not be disappointed. Commencing acoustically and subdued, the song tensed and tightened until crashing into violent deconstruction. The band exploded as the light show erupted like the fireworks display the song describes, raining down all around us. Glenn Kotche became truly possessed on drums, John Stirrat pounded away on bass while Mike, Pat and Nels conjured an otherworldly sonic storm. Tweedy remained solitary front of stage throughout, strumming the songs gentle refrain amidst the bedlam surrounding him. Disarming and awe inspiring, Wilco took this already amazing song to exhilaratingly new and cosmic places.

Other high points (not that were any low points) were “Shot in the Arm”, “Handshake Drugs”, “Pot Kettle Black” and the epic “Spiders(Kidsmoke)”, the latter seeing the band pogoing around the stage and squeezing every last ounce of ecstasy from this incredible song. The encore was almost too much fun, Wilco demonstrating they are still one of the best straight shooting rock bands on the planet. The brace of “Hate it Here”, “Red Eyed and Blue” and the terrific “I Got You(at the end of the century)” hit right between the eyes; the band, the crowd and the creaking Palace heaving and perspiring as one. “Casino Queen”, “Outta Site(outtamind)” and “I’m A Wheel” made for a crowd pleasing, frenetic conclusion that really sent the meter off the dial. They left the stage to a hysterical ovation, a delirious fervor. As if to ease us down from these stratospheric heights, they returned for a hushed rendition of “The Lonely One”, Tweedy’s ode to rock fandom. A warm and fitting finale-the affection between fan and performer tangible throughout the evening. We bid a reluctant adieu, Wilco drawing to a close the final show of a lengthy world tour and leaving nothing in the tank. There was no throwing in of the towel, nothing half hearted about it-every song was a bonafide knockout. It was a dream show that left me spinning and punch drunk, a show which reaffirmed Wilco’s standing in rock ‘n roll. Still undefeated, still The Greatest.

Post Script

A gig like this deserves special treatment. Here’s the poster from the night, again from local designer Ken Taylor:

Man I should put, like, my favourtie poster up every month. There’s an idea. Photos from the gig here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/blackshadowphotos/sets/72157604268121288/

http://adriancarmody.carbonmade.com/projects/2038794

http://adriancarmody.carbonmade.com/projects/2038963#1

Here’s a few Wilco shows for streaming:

http://wilcoworld.net/roadcase/index.php

..a few video clips:

“Impossible Germany” on Austin City Limits

…and the setlist:

misunderstood

reservations

company in my back

sunken treasure

you are my face

side with the seeds

shouldn’t be ashamed

handshake drugs

shot in the arm

how to fight loneliness

impossible germany

she’s a jar

summerteeth

pot kettle black

via chicago

jesus etc

spiders(kidsmoke)

Encore 1

california stars

walken

i’m the man who loves you

passenger side

hate it here

red eyed and blue

i got you (at the end of the century)

casino queen

outtasite (outta mind)

i’m a wheel

Encore 2

lonely 1

It’s All Gonna Break

Ah yes, the blog. The last few weeks have been busy as all bejesus. Two weddings, one music festival, a handful of gigs, four flights, a few parties, a new job, a new house…all since my last post. No net at the new place and a job where I actually do work has meant I’ve barely had time to play facebook scrabble, let alone blog. But now the new joint in Carlton is pretty much set up, the dust is settling and my trivial meanderings can resume. Where to start…

Laneway Festival I guess. A rather good day in @ Lonsdale St and the surrounding network of alleys. Not that you could access the said passageways, such was the density of humans clogging the arteries. Most of our day was spent in front of the main stage on Lonsdale St where the pick of the acts were performing. The Devastastations were a mixed start to the day, stacks of feedback and frenetic drumming powering on songs which reached for something big but rarely grasped it. Later and one of my favourite bands Okkervil River took the stage. ‘The Presidents Dead” was an awkward pick for an opener but from there the set was a lotta fun and at times cracked some real emotional depth. Will Sheff is an intriguing front man with one of the most distinctive voices in rock, prancing about the stage for the upbeat numbers and opening the pipes all the way on “A Girl in Port” and “For Real”. It was a shame this unique tool was sometimes lost in the shitty festival sound mix but overall the blokes from Texas met my expectations and I’m still filthy I messed ‘em at the Corner a few nights later where they put in a blinder, I hear. Further on into the day and amidst much fervor and pristine sunshine, Broken Social Scene arrived. Aside form My Morning Jacket, there was no other band I had wanted to see more over the past three years. Unfortunately this set was curtailed by technical gremlins however I took comfort in the fact I would be catching this lot at their side show during the week. There were tremendously joyous moments to be had, particularly a spine tingling “Cause=Time” and a memorable “7/4 Shoreline” which saw the band joined by it-girl Feist and the full horn section to create a party atmosphere that you rarely get at a music festival. See a theme developing here? Yeah that’s right, I’m gonna have a bitch about music festivals. Well let’s just call em ‘festivals’, cos they ain’t really about the music no more. By the time Clap Your Hands Say Yeah took the stage, the throng around the main stage had become impenetrable-no way in, no way out. That didn’t stop clowns forcing their way through of course, then proceeding to dickhead it up as much as possible. Why you’d push you’re way into a crowd watching a band only to turn your back on the performers and attempt to shout over the music constantly throughout the set is something only a natural born fuckwit and chemically ruined mind can explain. The boys from Brooklyn were highly entertaining if you were happened to be interested in the music being performed, the brilliant “This Home on Ice” and “Is This Love” the best of a solid set. By then it was decided to take refuge from the rapidly thickening crowd in one of the bars within the festival, a cool feature of Laneway’s setup. A few brews were had at the hip Sister Bella before we vamoosed from the festival altogether for McDonalds, a giant beer across the road @ the Toff followed by a a welcome taxi ride home. Too old for festivals? Probably. Bitter and cynical? Of course. Rather see bands I love at decent venues with good sound where I can easily get a beer and everyone is there for the music? I’m on my high horse and am not coming down, thank you all the same.

A few nights later I was at the Corner celebrating my final day in purgatory (read:old job), rejoicing over getting approved for a new house and champing at the dang bit to see Broken Social Scene. Over the years these Canadians have crafted some beautiful and beguiling music, their eponymous album and “You Forgot It In People” two of my all time favourite records. BSS don’t operate in restraint, they throw it all against the wall and see what sticks, then throw on some more. And have a helluva good time while they’re at it. What I love about their albums is the sense of looseness and spontaneity the music conveys, they don’t trade in navel gazing or in taking their craft too seriously. This came across in the set-often in a good way, sometimes in an average way and occasionally in a shitty way. They were loose alright, but the collective display of supreme musician ship and the spiralling sonic pastiches BSS created made for a mostly mesmerising set. Songs such as “Fire Eye’d Boy”, “Backed Out On The Cause” and “Stars and Sons” were electric powderkegs, with “Cause=Time” again a scintillating highlight. It would have been nice to have a few more guest appearances outside of the brief, pointless cameo of Pavement’s Spiral Stairs, just to add a bit more variety. Also I’m over the Corner as a venue, too cramped and those posts, those freaking posts, man. Reckon the Hifi Bar would’ve been the best place for this lot. The final, slow building catharsis of “It’s All Gonna Break” made for a jaw dropping finale and felt like a fitting theme song for the past few weeks, where tension and stress had given way for relief and celebration. But I still had a house to fricking move.

Moving house blows.

Not much blood, plenty of sweat and maybe a tear or two. No not the moving, this was Iron and Wine post-move at the gorgeous Athenaeum Theatre, Collins St on a balmy Friday evening. Sam Beam and co put on a largely compelling set, which occasionally slipped into excess not suited to the bands delicate catalogue. Beam is a charming and hugely talented frontman, though he probably giggled his way through one too many forgotten lyrics. As mentioned in this here blog, the new album is a more upbeat and expansive sounding piece than the bands past work, but I don’t think the distinct feel of “Shepherds Dog” was quite captured in this performance. Some of the up tempo songs rocked and grooved effortlessly(“Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car”, “House By The Sea”) but others pressed on too loudly and for too long, sounding like their frames were laboring under too many layers. Undoubtedly the highlights were “Sodom, South Georgia” and the immaculate closer, “Resurrection Fern”. The main talking point amongst punters after the show was the bands bizarre percussionist at the rear of stage. More of a puppeteer really, this hairy Fraggle-esque chap shook, chimed, whacked and whirred all manner of bizzare and obscure ornamentation atop the songs. I dug it, just found him a little distracting at times and forgot I was at a rock show. Felt like I was on a primary school excursion for some reason. Knew it was going to be a tame show but I think it slipped into G-rated for a lot of the set, when it shoulda been more PG rated…think the band were going for M rated. Perhaps I thought I was at the movies. I have been really, really tired.

Sunday I found myself at the Enmore Theatre, Sydney for the first time since…gosh, must’ve been You Am I back in 2001. We were there to see an enigmatic chanteuse who I must admit has a firm claim on a little block of my heart, Ms Chan Marshall AKA Cat Power. I had no idea what to expect of this show as Marshall is still trying to shake the reputation of many a deranged performance in her demon filled, alcohol soaked years. After an inexcusably long wait once the lights went down, the all-star band took the stage and were followed not long thereafter by the front lady. Marshall is still clearly uncomfortable on stage, striding about gawkily and awkwardly and murmuring incomprehensible drivel between songs. She can’t dance to save her life but the girl can rally, really sing. Deep, meltingly seductive and deliciously smoky (sorry, been watching too many reality cooking shows), Marshall possesses an incredible, multi-faceted instrument in her voice however range is not one of its features. At first I thought the sound mix was poor, and it was, but once they got it right Marshall’s voice was still too often buried beneath the organ, bass and drums. Jim White is probably my favourite drummer in the world, it was a pleasure to see Judah Bauer in action on guitar and the organ was cooking but we coughed up our hard earned to hear the lass sing, no? When her voice was clear and at the front of the mix in the quieter numbers (Song For Bobby my favourite) the theatre was captivated, the moment magic. But by the end of a bloated set, it was evident Cat Power’s voice and music just ain’t matched to a rock and roll band. That’s cool though Cat, I forgive you.

Think that gets me up to date, I’ll try and post more regularly here on in now my feet are back on solid ground after a month all at sea. Of course there’s been other crap going on but just thought I’d purge all my musical experiences in this post. I feel about 3 kilos lighter. There’s some damn good stuff coming up with residencies in April for top local acts Downhills Home, Gareth Eunson and the Graveyard Sons and The Fearless Vampire Killers. All at venues right in my new neighbourhood. And Wilco next week. In a better venue then where I caught ‘em last year and word on the street is their shows so far in Oz are of the career defining and seriously kickarse variety. Man, it was almost a year ago I wrote my post about their Palais Theatre gig…time flies when one is having fun, it would seem.

leave your stepping stones behind

It was nearly a year ago that I decided to strike another match, to go start anew. Since then much water had passed under the bridge and things had settled into a certain rhythm. Recently, this sturdy iron clad bridge has begun to resemble something more like the fraying rope bridge in the penultimate scenes of Indiana Jones and the The Temple of Doom. An unfortunate sequence of events has led to The Rats Nest requiring imminent evacuation with G-Dawg and I looking to relocate to another hovel in the area. It is interesting how quickly things can go from calm and serene to manic and upside down, but that’s what a tornado coming through will do. In this case it hasn’t been completely ruinous, but offered a chance to reassess and rebuild without any major loss of life (knock on wood). While the residential situation was all asunder all of a sudden, there was a more pressing, nagging issue which needed remedying.

The monotony and tedium of my job had become almost to much to bear. With some changes occurring late last year I was prepared to go into this year with a fresh slate after a rejuvenating break over Xmas/New Years but it came apparent about 8:31am on my first morning back that a change was desperately necessary. Dylan’s ‘Baby Blue’ had been my mantra in times of change, but after too long in an terribly ordinary situation I was feeling trapped and not even R.Zimmerman could offer me hope. Cash’s ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ and Wagons’ ‘Jail-It’s Hell’ became my theme songs in the working hours. In the case of Wagons, the lyrics which rattled about in my skull were:

“I’m tired of looking at you,

And your handle bar moustache,

I’m tired of taking it up the ass!!

Get me out of this hell

This ain’t worth no crime I’ve done…”

All metaphorically speaking of course.

Weeks were spent filtering various websites and career sections of newspapers, prospecting for that glimmer of gold. Selection criterias and cover letters were agonisingly constructed and deconstructed and reconstructed. There was one particular position I had my eye on, that I kept coming back to and thinking to myself that’d be soooo good. Then I got an interview. In what was quite a memorable day, I rose on Wednesday the 13th of February to watch Ruddy’s apology over breakfast and left Dr Nelson mid-speech to prepare. Onto the 55 I went, nerves jangling but sucking it in and walking tall.

It went well, I reckoned, as well as it could’ve. Then around 4:30pm as I negotiated a hectic Nicholson St on my way to a house inspection I got the call. I would be starting my new position with the University of Melbourne in two weeks. On went the winged boots and up, up I went, the last few days spent hovering 4-5 feet off the ground. All wearing a lunatic grin that I’m constantly being told to wipe off. Heh I shall be doing no such thing. I still had a couple more houses to check out which I dutifully did before stopping in at the Brunswick Green for a self congratulatory pilsner on the front couch. Watched the mayhem of rush hour Sydney Road. They were playing Dylan’s ‘Love and Theft’ and it was a gray muggy afternoon. It was a good moment, a real damn good moment of respite and relief from the storm of recent weeks. It’s actually OK inside a tornado when you get used to it. Just try to stick to the calm in the center and when you’re inevitably swept up, go with it.

And watch out for all the shit flying around.

Gig wise things have been relatively quiet since that night at the Forum. The levee is set to burst this weekend with the Laneway Festival in the heart of the city featuring a lineup of many bands I’ve been pining to catch for some time. Okkervil River, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Broken Social Scene(who I will be catching again on the evening of my last day of work. That’ll be a quiet, refined evening) amongst a multitude of other absurdly good acts. I was considering stringing together a weeks worth of gigs with Interpol on the Monday, Okkervil River again on the Tuesday, Wagons on the Thursday and the Dirtbombs on Friday night but the sensibility of trying to be thrifty in a time of moving house has got the better of me. Will catch what I can in what’ll be a big chain-busting, hair-being let-down week, soaked with much drinking to new beginnings.

—————-
Now playing: The Yardbirds – Smokestack Lightning
via FoxyTunes

blue valentine

A quick little post to mark Valentines Day with a video brother Tom put me onto:

In Tom’s view:

“It’s not like porno love either. Its like two kindred souls intertwined at the eternity of their cores.”

Hope you are suitably intertwined today with your chosen animal.

Turbulent times for me since my last post. New job. New house on the cards. More and more gigs popping up. Good turbulence, not captain over the speakers all screaming “BRACE BRACE BRACE” turbulence.

Details soon.

o, canada

“There’s a collective experience happening at a rock concert that I’ve always assumed would probably be what church should be like if a church was what…uh…I don’t know what it should be…”

Jeff Tweedy, Wilco

I’m an atheist. There is/are no god/s. No afterlife. Just the here and now. This doesn’t mean I don’t believe in anything, that I’m a fatalist who thinks there’s nothing to live for, so why bother? Wondrous life affirming moments occur everyday. You can look really hard for ‘em or not look at all, but they’re there to be had. Sometimes you just gotta be at the right place at the right time.

The bells of St Paul’s Cathedral were ringing divinely last Wednesday night as I made my way down Swanston St, into Flinders St and to the Forum Theater. Punters wound up and around into Russel St, excitement and anticipation evident in the faces and body language of all. I was flying solo at this gig, something I would rather not do but the scarcity of tickets meant I was only able to secure one for myself. Bloated English scalpers slithered up and down the road requesting tickets and looking to offload them at absurdly inflated prices, preying on the desperate and the fanatics who had missed out. This vermin needs eradication.

With the early evening sun still smoldering I eventually made it inside, grabbed an ale and waited for Spoon to take the stage as support. Booting off with ‘The Underdog’ from their latest album was a powerhouse start, the bands punchy rocking sound replete with four piece brass section reverberating beneath the big blue dome. The set continued on in a tight and bombastic fashion, but the band seemed to slip into neutral for many of the songs. The bass and drums in particular lacked volume and presence. Their sound seemed largely to be built around lead singer Britt Daniel’s vocals and guitar work, which was impressive at times, indulgent and messy at others. ‘Cherry Bomb’ was a cracking finale however and the room was sufficiently energised for the arrival of the Arcade Fire.

Having 624 instruments on stage meant the preparation for the bands arrival was lengthier than any old band. Roadies and techies efficiently moved about the stage checking hurdy-gurdy’s and pipe organs and violas while the anticipation and heat in the thickening crowd steadily rose. Eventually the lights went down and the crowd roared. A video of an American evangelical spouting bile appeared on the screen at the rear of  stage and then the ten members of the Arcade Fire appeared. ‘Black Mirror’ was an ominous and solid opener but second number ‘Keep The Car Running’ really had the big old room fervently rocking and the band finding their feet. These Canadians are quite the sight to behold on stage. Lead singer Win Butler hunched and relatively inanimate, his distinctive trembling voice going from a whisper to a booming wail. His wife Régine Chassagne danced and swirled about the stage, switching effortlessly between an array of instruments-from drums to accordion to organ to…gawd knows what that thing is. Band members fell about striking cymbals, xylophones and miked-up motor cycle helmets. The string and brass section swayed and rose and fell with the music, decorating the songs with orchestral beauty. They all sung all of the time, whether into a microphone, a megaphone or just joyously bellowing into the cavernous surrounds with the rest of us. I do not believe I have ever seen a band so infectiously exuberant, so willing to pour every ounce of themselves into their music. While this music is sometimes degraded as melancholic or overly dramatic, live it was evident how fun and positive the Arcade Fire are. Darker, more subdued moments(‘Neon Bible’, ‘Surf City Eastern Bloc’) broke the set up nicely and offered a chance to take a breather from the spectacle.

At times it was simply some of the most magical and captivating musical moments I have experienced. ‘Antichrist Television Blues’ was extended into a pulsating stamping beast; a scathing, euphoric song that here reached celestial heights. I expected one of the statues to come on down from the rafters and join the ecstatic throng: “Oh, alright then!!” ‘Tunnels’ from ‘Funeral’ was exquisite and heartbreaking, perhaps even more so than the recorded version, something I did not think possible. On and on it went until we were blushingly thanked again and it was announced this would be the last song of the night. ‘Rebellion(lies)’ was like a power line in a swimming pool and we were the willing victims. The song zapped and crackled until the many instruments were stripped away to leave just the sweet vocal harmonies of the Arcade Fire which we dutifully joined. The band left the stage to thunderous applause and hysteria. The cheering eventually subsided but the melody from the crowd remained. It swelled again until the band marched back on stage, visibly affected by the communal outpouring of musical appreciation. The encore was something else again. ‘Intervention’ is a behemoth of a song, disturbing and dark but empowering and shimmering like neon. Then it was the finale, ‘Wake Up’. Win was in the crowd, the drums were banging and we all sung the glorious refrain. It built and built and built until breaking down into the Bowie-esque boogie that concluded the song and our night. The band left the stage reluctantly, smiling the smiles of artists who clearly adore their craft and those who share it with them.

At times the Arcade Fire are dismissed as a group that trades in gimmicks, a simple band of eccentrics who create shallow stadium rock dressed up in corsets and waist coats. This ain’t gimmickry, it ain’t turning water into wine. It is soul stirring music made and performed by incredible musicians. A fantastical blending of the pomp and glory of Queen, the power and the quietLOUDquiet of the Pixies and the style and invention of Bowie. An astonishing evening. Almost enough to turn an old cynic into a believer. Almost.

Image credit: Rhyen on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/23015638@N05/

shiver me timbers

A deal’s a deal. I did not enter the drunken spelling bee. Reasons for this have been documented. I stand by my decision. I am confident I would have advanced beyond rounds one and two and into the realms of stinking awful drunk, especially seeing Tequila was the weapon of choice. That may well have been me vomiting on stage, instead of the chubby, pink t-shirted, bespectacled, crown-wearing geek on his bucks night who availed himself of his stomach contents for all to see around shot #6. The dude didn’t even win. A young lass with an iron stomach and a knack for Portuguese beat all comers, much to the delight of Hamburger and his side kick, Dr El-Sauvo. Early on the going was slow as most contestants breezed through simple words and the alcohol intake was ineffective. By about round 3 or 4 though the anty was upped, drunks misspelled and then misstepped off the stage. Some going through the ‘argumentative’ stage of drunkenness and refusing to accept the judges decision, others going through the ‘professor’ stage and ill advisedly giving theories on the word’s origin. With incorrect spelling often accepted and the prize trophy vanishing from beneath Dr El Sauvo’s gimp-masked supervision, it wasn’t exactly a tightly run ship, but that’s what you’d expect. Speaking of ships…

The good ship Rostov continues to negotiate the crowded and sometimes turbulent waters of the Melbourne band scene. The boys put in probably their best set yet at the Retreat just after Xmas in support of Collards Greens and Gravy. Gigs continue to pop up with the sighting on the horizon of a slot with Wagons @ the Espy causing particular excitement. However, there are holes appearing in the rig. Nothing too drastic, just something that needs fixing in the stern…in the bottom-end. Those in the know will understand what I am alluding to. I do not wish to be too explicit. Don’t want to put anyone on the plank. What it boils down to is that I am undergoing rigorous training to gain my sea-legs(and fingers), and hope to be aboard and sailing the seas with my comrades in the coming months. Cutlass in the mouth and there steering the schooner (it would have to be a schooner) around the southern seas. Hopefully down the road I will be able to say what I mean and mean what I say, but for now these barnacled metaphors will have to suffice.

Waaaay back in 2007 at the at the Nick Cave show within the decadent surrounds of the Forum Theater, I remember saying to Tex: “You know who would be good in here-The Arcade Fire, man“. Well, after feeling saddened and a little embarrassed at missing out on tickets for their shows @ the Forum next week, I seem to have secured entry. Thank you internet, thank you ‘Lucas’ from ‘Albury’. It promises to be a special evening out with the melodramatic Canadian orch-rockers, support being provided by another longtime wanna-see band, the fantastic Spoon.

But for now it is off to the mountains for me, to the hills. The sea can wait.

—————-
Now playing: My Morning Jacket – Gideon
via FoxyTunes

when the deal goes down

It’s a good thing I only write about bars and music in this blog. It’s a good thing I don’t write about anything of any consequence, of any relevance. It’s a good thing I don’t write about the big stories.

Did ya hear?

A half-witted pillock with hair the colour of old stale urine and an intellect to match threw a party in the suburbs that got out of hand! Stop the press! Bring in the kids, Ja-neeeen, they’s a’talkin’ to the yellow haired boy on the picture box!

You know what else?

The Australian cricket team are a pack of arseholes!! I never. They are all made of gold and filled with chocolate, no? Like I said, subjects that are not for mere mortals to tackle. There are only so many times I can hit the italic button, people. I’ve gone through three mouses (mice?has this been decided on?) in this post alone. Anyways…I have slipped on my poster of the month thing I started so here’s a couple to cover Dec-Jan. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s unfinished business. That’s why I’m having Narre Warren napalmed on the weekend. Anyways….

I am not familiar with Mammal‘s output, I understand it is of the loud brutal flavour I find difficult to digest. I am familiar with the designer of this amazing poster, Ken Taylor. He is based in St Kilda and produces all manner of dazzlingly intricate illustrations such as this. Dude really puts it all into his work, a great local artist.

The Decoder Ring Design Concern are big on fine illustration and understated prettiness. Love the texture on this though dunno if the subject matter quite suits The Shout Out Louds and their impossibly shiny brand of Cure-esque Euro power pop. Actually I guess now that I mention the Cure it makes a bit more sense. It’s just a good poster, alright?

Seen a few bands over the past few weeks but nothing too new to report, yet. Wagons, Downhills Home..feel I have dedicated enough words to these bands. Sure was good to share the brilliance of these local acts with visitors, who with their heads already in steady revolution from days of exploring Melbourne’s multiple dimensions, just couldn’t believe how much icing on the cake there was to be had. “It just keeps getting better man!” they exclaimed. I know, I know…I was very impressed with local singer-song writer Sime Nugent supporting Downhills Home @ Manchester Lane. A natural born killer of a song writer with a dead stare and a tight grasp on the lost craft of story telling.

This weekend it is off to the Northcote Social Club for The Drunken Spelling Bee as hosted by “America’s Funnyman”, Neil Hamburger. Open for all to enter, the rules involve a shot of straight liquor for every word spelled correctly. I was considering entering but now having serious doubts, my alcohol tolerance barely allows for more than one shot in a session these days. Slurped a bit of sharp Jamison down at the Tote the other week to mark the end of my time away from daily purgatory. Spent the next day trying to control a manically twitching insubordinate left eye while managing the sort a hangover that is more like a cerebral insurgency. Car bombs and shock and awe pummeling every district of my head, my insides maimed and mutilated and an unhealthy amount of time spent on the bathroom floor. So, in short, I am in no hurry to reopen those wounds. Let’s say a new post next week if I do not participate, a new post in six weeks if I do. Deal.

don’t look back

It’s good to be in 2008. Feeling optimistic and excited about the year ahead. Melbourne just gets better by the day with journeys beyond and within the city gates promising adventure and a whole lotta fun. While my thoughts largely concern the year ahead and the now, as a music geek I’ve been considering the years best experiences for some time. You gotta look back now and again. The chance to swirl around the years offerings, put the nose to the waft, swish it about, spit it out and consider the residue. That is all I learnt in my time as a cellar door attendant. A handy metaphor or two. Alrighty let’s get to it.

Albums

5. Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

Upon learning a new Wilco album was coming out I would’ve placed a large sum of cash on it being my favourite album of the year. Instead I was disappointed, it is my least favourite Wilco album. But still one of the best of the year. Jeff Tweedy cleaning up and settling into domesticity seemed to dilute the aspects of Wilco’s music that makes them a special band. The barbed, crptic lyrics. The sharp jarring guitar noise of recent albums replaced with the squiggly, liquid playing of Nels Cline drew a polarised response from fans and critics. I dig, but along with Tweedy’s mellowed lyricism it has greatly changed the bands sound-less angular, more clean; obtuse to obvious. Having said that it is a gorgeous album with some of Tweedy’s best lyrics and greatest songs-’Side With Seeds’ and ‘You Are My Face’ the best. As an album it doesn’t have the depth or consistency of their greatest works. Still, Wilco continue to evolve, intrigue and inspire.

Buy it on iTunes

4. Wagons - Curse of Lightning

Regular readers will know I have a helluva lotta time for Wagons and their live shows which amuse and amaze with the strength of the most potent moonshine. After that first show at the Retreat in early April I remember thinking how would such a good live show translate to recorded form? Henry Wagons is one of the best front men in the country right now-surely his energy, charisma and hilarious banter would be lost. None of the sly deadpan antics of Harmonies, Si the Philanthropist, Soft Moods, Blaze or Tuckerbag. Of course, it’s not the same. What it is is a world class country rock and roll record. It’s a terrible shame and injustice they remain largely unknown outside of Melbourne. Ballads like ‘Draw Blood’ and ‘Love You Till I Die’ are as pretty and well produced as anything this side of Nashville. ‘Snakebite’ and ‘Jail-It’s Hell’ are belly-laugh rockers which I cannot tire of. Throughout there is that trademark Wagons humour, the tongue firmly in the cheek and a knowing wink from beneath the tweed hat. However much of a lark they appear to be having, it is evident form the quality of Curse of Lighting that these country rock vagabonds take their craft very seriously indeed.

Buy it on iTunes

3. Radiohead – In Rainbows

It’s unnecessary to add anything to the volumes that have already been written about In Rainbows. But guess I’ll give it a shake. Fortunately, while being a momentous album for reasons well known, it is also a triumph and one of Radiohead’s finest collections of songs. More focused than Hail to The Thief, more coherent than the electronic dominated sister albums which continue to confound, this was Radiohead playing their hand straight and hard:as one of the greatest and most innovative bands of our time. OK Computer opened up parts of my head and moved me in ways music never had and probably never will again. I’m a different person now and Radiohead are a different band. This is my favourite album of theirs since their mid-90′s masterpiece. ‘Nude’ became one of my very favourite Radiohead songs, the band seeming to be willing to return to unashamedly beautifully complex music. Yorke’s voice has rarely sounded clearer or stronger, it can still transport and transcend like no other. ‘Bodysnatchers’ and ’15 Step’ capture the sort of frantic rock sound the band strived for on ‘Hail to the Theif’, but often just failed to nail. There is a groove to the album, an undercurrent of positivity. But that sci-fi menace remains. At other times the album sparkles and shines in the most lovely of ways. ‘House of Cards’ is simple and elegant and moving. Over the years the band have fostered an often unsettled marriage between electronic noise and rock and roll but on this album Radiohead are in their golden years, settling into a harmonious union while retaining their unique sonic mischief and creativity. I fell a little back in love with them with this album. Cover art turns the stomach, however.

Buy it on iTunes

2. Iron & Wine – Shepherds Dog

Iron & Wine have always been one of those ‘project’ bands. Like the similar Gothic/Americana act Sparklehorse, Iron & Wine have been recognised as one man’s project. On this album Sam Beam recruited an impressive group of musicians and crafted a tremendous folk rock album with a distinct full band sound. Immaculately produced and performed, this is an album that creates a dark little world that you are only too happy to lose yourself in. The albums intent is laid down from opening track ‘Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car’, a toe tapping tale which showcases the bands fuller sound while building to more wide screen proportions than previous Iron and Wine compositions. Beam’s lyrical references remain consistent however: cemeteries, forests, leather boots and empty chapel pews. He is a more literal songwriter than Sparklehorse’s Mark Linkous but shares his knack of cobbling together songs which warm and chill all at once, the pretty and the horrible sitting side by side in transfixing contrast. Then there are the songs that leave your heart cooked and your mind blank like a perfect golden country sunset. ‘Resurrection Fern’ is probably my favourite song of the year. ‘…in the timid shade of the Autumn leaves and the buzzards wings’ and then ‘…and we’ll undress by the ashes of the fire, both our tender bellies wound in baling wire’. Pristine. With this album, Iron & Wine have declared themselves a serious band, not just some folk oddity. In doing so they have moved closer to sharing the pantheon with other great American bands of our time such as Wilco and My Morning Jacket. Serious company, but seriously deserved. Best cover art of the year, too.

Buy it on iTunes

1. Downhills Home – Minor Birds

Who would’ve thunk it. Not me. If you had of told me before moving to Melbourne that an album from a local band barely known outside of the city would produce my favourite album of the year ahead of Ryan Adams, Wilco and Band of Horses I would have laughed loudly, thrown my cider in yer face and sent you barreling out the saloon doors. Humble, retrospective hypothetical apologies. Minor Birds has easily been the album I have listened to most this year and the one I have got the most satisfaction from. Again, regular readers will be aware of my fondness for this band. They have very much been the soundtrack to my memorable, eventful year in Melbourne. It is simply a great collection of country rock and roll songs. Full of heart and humility. Never overly ambitious, never a dud moment. There is no ego about Downhills Home, they come across live and on this album as a bunch of blokes who just love creating music together and are passionate about their craft. Opener ‘The Mess You’re In’ is a superb beginning, it’s lucid imagery and country groove irresistible. There is a theme of dysfunctional relationships and malfunctioning minds throughout the album, which is nothing new in country music but Downhills Home somehow mange to inject a freshness to the telling of these familiar stories. There are sinister tales(‘The Body You Left Behind’, ‘No Where, No more’), joyous rockers(Take A Little While’, ‘Second Floor’), languid bedroom stories(‘Corduroy Shirt’) and crisp, crushing ballads(‘Only Badly’). I especially dig the mid-tempo jaunts like ‘Sunday Night’ and ‘Come Monday’ which have an unmistakable aura of Ryan Adams about them. Better than anything on his latest album however. Strong hints of The Band, The Grateful Dead and early Wilco definitely come through in the mix also. But it is not heavy handed or obvious, the influences are apparent in subtle and respectful shadings. Like my time in Melbourne, I feel as if I can go on and on about why I love this album so much but it remains slippery and impossible to put my finger on. It is what is: something very special you need to experience yourself to fully appreciate. Just buy the damn thing.

Buy it on iTunes

It was a real struggle coming up with five new albums I rated as the years best, so much I’ve listened to has been of a vintage calibre. Amongst the other new albums I dug this year though were those from Dr Dog, Spoon and Okkervil River. However the albums that really sent me spinning were from Neil Young and The Rolling Stones. Why the hell had I never heard ‘On The Beach’, ‘Tonight’s the Night’ or ‘Zuma’? Why had I never sought out ‘Sticky Fingers’, ‘Let it Bleed’ or ‘Beggars Banquet’? These are albums you’d receive in kindergarten if you were attending rock ‘n roll school(concept is in the works). Always learning.

Onto the Gigs of the Year. I’ve already spent some time writing about these shows so won’t churn out anymore hyperbole on these acts, just click the title if you want to revisit the blog post where I gushed and gushed about my experience:

5. Wagons @ Northcote Social Club

4. Tim Rogers @ National Theatre

3. Paul Kelly @ The Corner

2. Ryan Adams @ The Palais Theatre

1. The Drones @ The Corner

Gawd it was like trying to pick yer favourite child if I was father to a hundred and thirty eight perfect, exhilarating children. But they’re the ones that stick in my mind. With gigs coming up from Iron and Wine, Broken Social Scene, Okkervil River and the usual fantastic local offerings(Downhills Home! Tonight! The Tote!), the gaggle of glorious gigs is set to continue to expand and surprise in 2008. Who knows, I might be up there on stage myself at some point…