Day 2 is what my partner in crime called Concert Day. This was our day that we actually enjoy as many shows as possible being the perfect balance between being not drunk enough and black out wasted. The day started with Does it Offend You, Yeah? as I’ve heard oh so much about them. Once I heard, “Let’s Make Out,” I was less offended and more bored to tears. However two bands I had heard little about but were absolutely highlights of the entire festival: Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s and Foals. Margot, etc. was a 8 piece rock conglomeration that, surprisingly, utilized every members’ talents perfectly. They were the perfect mesh with no one overstepping their bounds and everyone performing with absolutely ferocity. And they’re all nice guys (and girl). Foals rules. I cannot wait to see them again, their set in an entirety. Obviously taking their set seriously, their indie dance music really strikes a chord. Hell, it might just be the sound of that snare drum, but they’re definitely doing something right.

I saw “Who the fuck is Dierks Bentley?” flyers and shirts and signs all over the place the whole weekend, and quite frankly, I avoided him at all costs simply because of the marketing scheme that I’ve seen all too often. Though in hindsight it quite makes sense, or at least from the story told (“what was zany lollapalooza doing booking a country act, wahoo?!), at the time, I couldn’t give two shits. Sorry Dierks. Instead I saw the Gutter Twins. They are hardly twins at all actually, a band that basically is stooped on the shoulders of two men who were in bands that you were supposed to know. Their music is the epitome of build-up with no climax. I’ve been with girls like that, but at least you can write them off to inexperience, not a lack of interest.

The show of the weekend was with no surprise Explosions in the Sky. They came out, said who they were, what they were doing there, and thank you and then rocked everybody to the bone. No banter, no wishy washy bullshit, nothing but the music they knew was good enough that every possible second of their set should be filled with fucking rock. The soft moments leading up to heart wrenching climaxes all with no use of voices. And this is no novelty act like many instrumental bands today tend to become. These guys are rock music. They deliver every fucking time. I don’t know a single song name, but would buy a ticket to see them anywhere in a 30 mile radius: inside, outside, on a fucking curb.

Okkervil River has good songs, in fact they have a bunch of them. Their live performance from a distance of waiting for Broken Social Scene, however, seemed less than impressive, though because of their quality of songs I would certainly like to see what they have to offer again as it could have been my distance that kept me from enjoying their performance fully. That i didn’t enjoy Okkervil River was a slight disappointment, but not nearly as much as Broken Social Scene. I’ll probably get some slack for saying anything about the band that has in the recent years had nothing but acclaim. They were…just boring. I believe at least part of their massive “super band” crew (which I don’t believe is a super band at all, just a bunch of artists forming as a collective who all happen to have bands on the side, and have all subsequently become at least partially famous because of the fame earned by BSS) was not present, and that may have accounted for the lack of energy. I was planning to watch the entire show, obviously as I had staked out a position instead of watching other shows, but grew bored within 20 minutes, and decided to sit through Lupe Fiasco to get a good spot for Rage Against the Machine.

I could write a thesis on Rage and this performance alone. It was a surreal experience beyond what may have been covered in the blogosphere (which by the way is the most disgusting word in any language, including German). About 100 feet away from the main stage, people were peeing in water bottles and leaving them on the ground without tops. An hour at least before the band came on, you were already standing closer to strangers than you’d think possible but that didn’t stop people from trying to get in front of you. Every other minute there was a surge of some hundred people pushing to get closer, followed immediately by a surge the opposite direction. It was more of an angry mob waiting for something to set them off.

The lights dropped, and the air changed, for a brief minute it got colder somehow, and everyone screamed. The same members as back in the 90’s stood before us, just now jacked. the drummer and bassist must have gained 50 lbs. of muscle each, and looked like machines more than men, the bassist with a half sleeve tattoo plain black with what looked like a pivot point left flesh toned on his shoulder. They played everything exactly on point, every single fucking note was perfectly timed and tuned, and every drum hit was precise and 7 times harder and louder. The mix of songs enlightened those to all the amazing songs they had made in their tenure, a mix of tunes that only people planning on seeing Rage would recall.

So they were great. Right? Maybe it was that I was staring at the onslaught of beautiful women throughout the entire weekend such that I hadn’t noticed the massive amounts of assholes around. They all were pretty centralized for Rage, you could point them out as they were the ones starting moshpits around people who had no interest in moshing, pushing crying girls into the center of pits as they were just trying to get out of harms way. It was clear these people had no idea what moshing was about or that by and large it was dead. The idea is to pick people up when they fall on the ground so no one gets trampled, not throw defenseless people into danger. The thousands of people pushing to get close to the stage, even the band noticed how fucking crazy the crowd was as shown by the 4 seperate times they had to stop the show. Stop the show, almost unable to continue and ask people to step back 5 feet. “Take that shit out on the streets!”

Rage Against the Machine at their prime was more than a band ever could be. They weren’t the most famous band in the world though their message permeated America. They weren’t the most talented band ever, though you’d be hard pressed to say that combined they didn’t bring a new level to rock. They were self aware, smart, and knowledgable. They used their music to spread messages about their political beliefs. Their hardcore fans sought knowledge about politics both here and abroad, about wrong doings locally as well as globally, and to take action. Somewhere in the obscurity of the proverbial frat house, their message of dissent for peace was lost.

What I heard from this crowd was astonishing. Upon hearing De La Rocha ask the crowd to step back, as people in the front were getting crushed, I heard utterances of “So this is the day that Zach goes soft.” The crowd was surprised that he wanted to help people get out of harms way and allow everyone to have an enjoyable experience. “Please, brothers and sisters, if you could just take a few steps back. If you don’t we’ll have to stop and we don’t want to do that. We want to play everything we have for you,” and people were still getting crushed towards the front. As a result of all this crowd pandemonium, the band gave up some energy. They tried to get things going, but just like a drunken make out session at a party that gets thwarted by interupting partygoers, this performance couldn’t get off the ground like it should have.

As for the third day of the festival…truthfully I was hung over. I was exhausted from the weekend and battered from Rage, certainly not enough to qualify into an entire nother post. So here goes.

Blues Traveler Ruled. I was surprised as anyone else, though I have in the enjoyed several of John Popper’s works and think him to be very talented. The crowd that he drew was unbelievable though, thousands of people watching him, and everyone dancing. It was a very cool scene. Beyond that, Nine Inch Nails and Kanye were competing. I started watching Nine Inch Nails set, who began very strong with Closer somewhere near the beginning, just as it started getting dark and accompanied with a very cool light and tv show, but dwelled about 30 minutes in. I walked over to see Kanye’s set out of sheer curiousity. Ugh. “The Most Amazing Light Show Ever,” huh? I walked over there as he was just preaching some bullshit about some shit I couldn’t care to listen to. I somewhat recall him refering to himself on the same level as Michael Jordan or Jesus or Stevie Wonder. It’s great he thinks so highly of himself. I nothing him. And as such choose not to comment on his music.

I hope to see all the beautiful women back there next year.

Had I not won tickets to the lollapalooza festival in Chicago, I would not have been in attendance, but as it stands I not only got tickets, but I got free entry to the highly exclusive Lolla Lounge. Free beer (bud/budlight, though who am i to complain about free beer, let alone free anything), free wine, free vodka/Southern Comfort, and air conditioned bathrooms to boot. It should be gathered I will report as much as I can in this synopsis. However, I was obviously shithoused for the better part of the weekend.

I exited the plane and entered the gates honestly not really knowing what to expect. I had been to Lollapalooza years ago, with Incubus and Queens of the Stone Age were there, and when it was a traveling series and when it was driven by straight rock. Since then, it has transformed into what seems an indierock stationary circus. A whole bunch of bands I had heard of and if I were more diligent would have listened to before the festival in preperation, but there’s more excitement in hearing the first thing about a band when you’re hearing them live. So when I saw Bang Camaro, I didn’t have to worry about Pitchfork or anyone’s predisposed influence on my ears, I just heard noise. Nothing to call home about in either extreme. Really, enough for me to remember that I didn’t enjoy them at all without any long lasting recollection of how they sounded specifically (count like 30 beers into the festival already, and it was 2 hours after gates).

The festival guide and scheduler was great, and laid out in such an obvious manner such that everyone could easily plan their day, with the show matrix shown in absolute geographical order, from north to south. And the idea that the larger bands, or larger stages let’s say, did not have overlapping sets, such that the Bud Light stage facing the larger Playstation 3 stage alternated who was playing so as not to compete with each other. The same thing on the South side, and the considerably larger portion of the grounds; the Myspace stage facing the behomoth AT&T stage alternated so you could listen to the Toadies while you were trying to maneuver close the stage for Rage Against the Machine. Perry’s stage was kind of a wash. I didn’t particularly see anyone in there for the greater part of the weekend, except for the “Special Guest” with Perry Farrell, who turned out to be Slash! Truth be told, I saw him later on the Kidz stage, the stage and area specifically for kids…duh, and his performance from a distance was lackluster…but it’s Slash. I remain, probably the coolest Jew ever, except for Moses or the RamBam. It was and is a great idea to have a kids area, and by and large it worked out very well keeping families apart from the hooligans and the opposite. But putting Slash on the kids stage…well, the no smoking rules of the Kidz area were pretty much dropped. Oh well, they gotta learn to start smoking sometime.

The Enemy UK made me sad. They looked like they were 12, had a little bit more musical talent than I do (keep in mind you’re reading my writing, not listening to my music) and just…blah. I didn’t respect them, I feel like they were just put on the bill at the last minute, which is probably incorrect, but I hope that’s true. They didn’t offer anything in my opinion. Sorry guys. As for Butch Walker, what the man does well, he does really well. And I respect him for that. He’s produced some really successful bands and artists, in fact, looking at his track record, it’s pretty amazing that he’s not a more famous name. The set wasn’t for me, but neither are many of the bands he’s worked with. I’ll respect the hell out of him all day, but respect don’t buy no concert t’s.

A VERY IMPORTANT SIDENOTE: I have never been anywhere with more hot girls. Both quantifiably and quantitatively. In sheer number and per gross population. Holy shit. I don’t know if it was the festival itself or Chicago. This fact alone made it one of the best weekends known to man. It stopped seeming possible after a while, but my jaw was dragging. Un. Be. Lievable.

The first day was spent meandering around the festival grounds getting acquainted with the place and consuming mass amounts of free beer at the lollalounge, (though they didn’t know our names, they knew our faces after hour one). After that, we stood to watch the Black Keys and the Raconteurs. Both put on great performances as always. This being my first time watching Raconteurs, I was doubtful. For whatever reason, I was always skeptical of them. It felt like just another meaningless progression of radio rock, the same way Velvet Revolver sucks. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. They put on such an amazing show. that. It sucks we had to leave early to go see Radiohead at the other side of Grant Park.

My high school years were spent defending myself against everyone saying that Radiohead was the best band in the world, so it’s always been hard for me to hear them objectively, especially since for most of the set, I was passed out in the finally dying sun. Fireworks behind me and over the lake woke me up, and it was a pretty amazing feeling. I finally got up and went out of the LollaLounge to watch the show with the rest of the commoners for the encore, and though the song selection was awesome (even for not a fan), I felt like the last song, Idioteque, was a sore note to end on, and would have been much better finishing without it. Their use of the television screens on both sides were truly incidiary and though the sound quality was good, audio levels were awful, the worst of the entire weekend. It clearly had nothing to do with the stage as earlier in the day Holy Fuck put on a loud ass shaking performance for a band I had only heard of (but damn if it didn’t make me want to say “I’m excited for Holy Fuck” for the preceding weeks. Sometimes all you need is a silly name.)

Day 2 to come.

It was either that headline or “Don’t See IronMan Less High Than You Would Go To See Harold and Kumar.”

Comic book movies are clearly become more widespread. Every other day you hear about a new comic book movie coming out, and without exception, each is either an amazing display of the best Hollywood can do with good acting combined with a familiar story the general population recognizes and special effects that enhance the movie-going experience OR a colossal disappointment, a poorly contrived bastardization of a “graphic novel” that captivated millions (or at least hundreds) of prepubescent boys that now only triggers memories of the longest 2-some hours and the worst $10 you ever spent. Thankfully, Ironman was neatly folded and placed into the former category.

These reformatted comic books are something of a mystery though, at least personally. It is likely that you go into a movie deciding how much you’ll like the movie even before watching it. What could cause such an experience that you’ll already have decided on your experience before taking your seat, and more interestingly, why would anyone go see a movie they don’t think they’d like, especially now when combining the cost of gas to drive to the theater and the admission price for two if you bring your honey-suger-baby-lover combined could realistically cost you half the national debt? These movies in particular don’t particularly have to be “good” to be entertaining, first of all. If you know that they are actually blowing a whole bunch of shit up, and are spending a good half million to do so, it is pretty sexy. So the fact that you have to watch Thomas Haden Church stumble through poorly written dialogue (as a result of the third movie being decidedly the last of the series, thereby leading the logic “they’re already in the theaters! Can’t get their money back now!) can be overlooked if the stunts are creative enough. . .

With all that in mind, I offer my humbled brief review of Ironman. (I hate when I find out specifics about a movie, so I’ll keep it as brief as it needs to be).

Ironman was fun. It was long, and kinda resembled the story of Batman (filthy rich, extremely smart playboy becomes superhero when he realizes what good and evil truly is) but it was pretty damn cool. The extent it was long was due in part that the fight/action scenes were really a series of one-shot kills just with different weapons or tactics being deployed since he was primarily fighting just regular old humans. They had to spice it up, so they put in a crapload of backstory, that got old after a little. The only other thing you need to know before this movie . . .WAIT UNTIL THE CREDITS ARE DONE. For. Real.

Also, the preview for The Black Knight is all over the place. If you haven’t seen it, well, I’m jealous, because when you do go see the movie (because everyone in the world should) than it will blow you away THAT much more. That movie will be so. fucking. cool. And look at that, I already decided I’ll like it just from a preview

In a risky, risky move, IMP promotions released their full line-up for the Virgin Mobile Festival MUCH later than any of the other summer festivals, on Monday, April 28th. They announced their, some would say, lukewarm headliners something like a month ago, and really it just felt…bleh. Jack Johnson and Kanye were playing virtually every other festival this year, Nine Inch Nails haven’t done anything worth while since Downward Spiral (that includes the cheapening of the Radiohead idea this year to release their album online for free, but only as part of the complete 4 album work…that I’m sure could have been reduced down to one album of solid tracks) and most doubt STP will actually perform with Scott Weiland’s track record of rehab stints. Facing some AWESOME line-up’s this year, primarily by Lollapolooza, they waited to put out their REAL line-up confidently.

The line-up finally came out, and everyone involved could breathe a great big sigh of relief. The 3rd Annual V-Fest wasn’t going to be bad, not bad in the slightest. In fact, it actually seems pretty genius. All of the people [who consider themselves] HUGE into the music scene, into underground music and the best and latest indie blah blah blah were freaking out about all their choices, be it lolla, sasquatch, coachella, langerado, pitchfork, etcetera. V-Fest confidently chose their bands for their specified market. Let’s face fact; NO ONE is traveling across the country to come see Bob Dylan and Chuck Berry in Baltimore, especially since they’d have to find a hotel. It just isn’t gonna happen. Hell, you’d be hard pressed to find people from West Virginia or Pennsylvania to come out to it. But all those people who are interested in finding new music but aren’t OBSESSED with it should be, nay, WILL be quite delighted with the line-up. These people, by and large, listen to the radio and like Foo Fighters and want to see Bob Dylan and Kanye West, but aren’t stupid enough to buy into the simply awful line-up like…oh, I don’t know…DC101’s Chili Cookoff? (What’s their draw anyway? Seether?)

Those who come to see STP, NIN, Foo, and The Offspring are going to be on cloud 9 when they get wind of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Gogol Bordello, and Black Keys, bands that aren’t played on the radio, but whose talent and rock quality cannot be abstained. They’ll love the up-and-coming Rodrigo y Gabriela (haven’t they been up-and-coming for years now?) and they’re mesmerizing flamenco fills. They’ll be able to say “Hey, I saw Bloc Party!…They’re album was better than seeing them live…BUT I SAW THEM!” And The Swell Season and Wilco are playing, two of the best live performances I, personally, had seen last year. Ever person watching those shows will be converted into fans, despite any factors. You just can’t watch either of those sets and not be pulled in.

I say good. Now, it may be disappointing to see Bob Dylan NOT pick up his guitar, because he apparently never does anymore, but whatever. It is a well worthwhile festival line-up geared exactly to those people who hadn’t had a festival representing their interests.

For all of those who have never seen The Last Waltz, I will step upon my soapbox and preach.

(From left to right, Dr. John, Neil Diamond, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Rick Danko, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, Robbie Robertson)

The Last Waltz was a concert performed by arguably the best set of popular musicians ever. Really, an entire post just listing the line-up would be good enough, but it doesn’t capture the essence. Damn lousy kids today, they don’t know about The Band. Amazing, a band that had so much impact on the most famous American musicians gets passed over time and time again. In their 16 years on the road…(16 FUCKING YEARS?!?!?) they played with the likes of Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Dr. John, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, fucking EVERYONE, and for their final concert they invited all their friends back to sing at least a song per person as their last concert ever. And a young Martin Scorcese calls up and says “HEY! I wanna film that!” In a huge undertaking to plan every shot and camera angle with some 7 of the best videographers in the world…it’s just brilliant. Awesome director, awesome music, awesome artists, awesome commentary. From the beginning frames of the movie “THIS FILM SHOULD BE PLAYED LOUD!” you know you’re in for it.

This movie I have been known to watch about once a week and have since been able to recognize even the most minute things, such as the point where Clapton’s guitar strap breaks off and Robbie Robertson picks up his solo without so much as a blink, to the lighting malfunction during the harmonica solo that looks like they planned it, but I always watch it differently with someone who’s never seen it before. It really is the best concert movie ever made, not as a point of opinion, but one of fact.

What adds to the entire experience (warning: hippie-ness) is the fact that everyone involved is completely fucked up. All the cameramen are fucking high, Scorcese is fucking high, CLEARLY every one of the musicians at least has a base marijuana high going, and virtually every viewer of the movie has been high.

For anyone considering the music business, or at least considers music to be the beez neez, you MUST watch this film. Not to mention its no more than $10 at any video store. The box looks like this.

Don’t rent.

Earth Day came and went with a yawn this year despite the growing vogue of “going green.” Hapless efforts to present earth-saving education and literature have been roused, including hyped efforts of nationwide free concerts, but to little avail. People will do as much as they can to save the earth as long as it takes no more than an one second extra compared to their original daily plan. And though the message of saving the environment is clear and abound, Earth Day was washed over, both literally and figuratively.

As you may have heard by now, the Green Apple Festival on the mall was supposed to be awesome: a free concert with the Roots, Umphry’s McGee, Toots and the Maytals, etc., etc, but damned if it was a great ironic sign from Gaia, it monsooned. Right after Umphry’s mini-set, all of two songs, the skies opened up. The good part? It happened right as Chevy Chase was coming on stage, so at least you got to see “Fletch” get rained up on. As for the few hours that did go on as planned, there was more litter on the mall despite the abundance of trash recepticals around than there has ever been, consisting mostly of disposable yogurt tubes and soy bar wrappers that were distributed by the handful. Maybe this was all tongue and cheek…you know…cause Earth day was really Tuesday.

In news that couldn’t be more unrelated…and stretches the idea of what “news” is, I finally realized why they kooky, lewd band fronted by Kyle Gas and even more fronted by Jack Black named themselves “Tenacious D.” Now this is only a theory, of course, but check it out:

IT’S A DICK! IT’S ONE GIANT DICK JOKE! Tenacious as any fan knows by now just means “stubborn.” But why the letter D? BECAUSE THEY NEEDED A LONG WORD WITH A ‘D’ AT THE END TO MAKE THEIR NAME LOOK LIKE A BIIIIIIIG PENIS!

Well, that was good for a chuckle.

Pitchfork Media launched Pitchfork.tv and the MTV comparisons are abound and plentiful. The media notorious for thrashing everything thrown on it’s plate with verbosity and grace has opted for a medium with some volume. It is the next in the evolutionary process. But where MTV’s birth was rooted in promoting the most popular bands and artists, allowing every fucking diva to pass through its stages unscathed, Pitchfork is deeply rooted in dissecting the essence of every piece of work handed them. In the close relationship music holds to fashion and other worthless accessories, MTV opted to snatch onto that bond and bear hug every ounce of creativity out of it until everything just looks and sounds like shit.
(Seriously, Do all those guys have Down’s Syndrome or are they inbred to have unusually large foreheads? I bet they have webbed feet.)

Pitchfork’s meager beginnings begs better guerdon than it’s predecessor, but the outlook is a bit hazy. It’s no doubt that, due to the specific nature of subscribers to Pitchfork, the outlet will surely be dead in moments when public gets wind of any perceived “mainstream” bands graces it’s airwaves(?). If there is any hint of corporate advertisement or big name…ANYTHING, god help them. Even the subdued, despondent Xxemo-corexX tween who is physically one entity with his internet will scream bloody murder. Hell, even if down the line there is some mutual agreement with Threadless, there could be some fallout. But it won’t come to that. There are some smart people there. Or they just have thesaurus’s like ALLLLLLL over the place.

Typically late on the bus, I just got wind of Record Store Day, April 19th, at basically every record store in the nation. Several bands are showing up at independently owned record stores all over to celebrate, but clearly none are playing in any of the shops in D.C. And despite this being a grand gesture in self-validation and realistically just a nationwide circle-jerk for no clear purpose, GOOD FOR THEM! It may be a bit pointless, but who cares? These shops HAVE been the backbone of music for decades. If they can collaborate and band together as one entity to better their sales for the day (interestingly enough, the day before every hippie’s bona fide “Earth Day”), good good stuff. For those whose closest encounters with a record store was High Fidelity, take some time out of your Saturday and swing by. It’ll change your life. (*degree of life changing variable. No life changing guarenteed).

Least but certainly not last, Lollapolooza announced it’s line-up. Clearly this happened after I bought my Bonnaroo ticket, as this line-up is DEFINITIVELY the best of the summer festivals(those who want to call me a hypocrite, yeah…well fuck you). They even have awesome headliners! Whereas most festivals rely heavily on their smaller acts since a lot of the headliners suck (still waiting on the VirginMobile Festival support line-up), Lolla actually is gonna rock the whole way through. If anyone wants to buy me a ticket to Lollapolooza, please feel free.

One final thought.

American Association of Retired Persons is funding a Foreigner tour. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Del the Funky Homosapien graced the presence of the Nightclub 930 this evening in a performance that can be described as, “Was anyone else surprised that an actual PERSON came on stage instead of an animated ghost cyber-monkey?” The show was entertaining for the 300 or so people that managed to disgrace themselves and their respective family’s for going to a popular music event instead of celebrating Zombie-Jesus on this Easter evening. Before this boisterous display of room-shaking low-oscillator tones above which Deltron Z spat, quite loosely, tunes from all his albums, there were some really good vocalists who, I believe call themselves Hangar 18, and went as hard as they could despite the less than great turn out. Del and his posse (a turntable guy and a hype man) moved on an empty stage, which basically reminded me of his t-shirts for sale. Simply, they said, “Listen to Del the Funky Homosapien,” in white print on a black shirt. Direct, no flutter or todo. Just a message. Which really is so much different than his verbose, rapid-fire style, cluttered with topics ranging from smelly kids to drinking and driving. While they may not be the most poetic songs in the world (few are), in a genre so specific in topic as hip-hop, Del goes outside set boundary’s to say something that maybe, god forbid, funny.

So, that’s how the show went. Unfortunately, about half way through, I just got bored. A feeling too familiar at hip-hop shows. As someone who has somewhat recently become a fan of hip-hop and rap, yet still had many experiences seeing hip-hop shows, it seems to me hip-hop shows are hard to do right, and hardly accomplish their goal. There was a Mitch Hedberg joke that I’d butcher if I tried to remember verbatum, but the essence was that when people go to rock concerts, they want to hear songs again. When they go to comedy clubs, they want to hear something new, not the same old jokes. That’s how I feel about hip-hop shows, at least ones where there is no live band. Otherwise, watching someone rap some shit they wrote months, even years ago over someone behind a turntable just seems…played. What I like most about hip-hop is the writing element of it, how someone can weave puns and turns-of-phrases into their lyrics, and doing so without sounding like a hack. Repeating these words over and over again, they lose their edge, especially when everyone in the audience can sing along. Another great part of hip-hop, though definitely not necessary, is the speed of some vocalists, but this is also taken away when there is a hype man there to ease the flow of some vocalists. Plus, if everyone in the crowd had enough time to practice it infront of a mirror or in their cars rewinding each individual part by each second (it’s clear what I do with my time), than it takes the talent of the performance away. Finally, the beats. Can’t have hip-hop without beats. Well, most of this beat construction is does at home or in a studio. For those that are actually constructed on stage, I don’t know. Maybe just the fact that I can’t see what is happening to make the music, it just leads me to believe they aren’t doing anything at all. (That’s why I couldn’t go to like a Kraftwerk concert. For all I know, they’re just pretending and standing there doing nothing, having already premade the music.)

So this all combined, for what it’s worth, 9 times out of 10 I’d rather listen to a hip-hop show in my car than stand and watch one in person. Reasonably left out is the notion that I can’t dance worth shit…but the fact that I try and get laughed at might be a possible supplement.

As for necessary side notes: first, I do not mean to put down rappers in any way, or even the hip-hop genre as it stands. I love hip-hop because it is something that I will never be able to do. I could practice to a guitarist, and after 3 solid years of nothing but guitar, I’d be pretty damn good. If I spend the next 70 years trying to be a vocalist…I would still sound like a rapping Rabbi. Second, beat-makers and turntablists are fucking awesome. Don’t mean to sound like they don’t do anything. They do, and when they do a good job, they do a GOOOD fucking job. Third, I guess it’s just a matter of preference. I’d like to see people playing instruments and playing music on stage in front of me as it would be a performance instead of, what could be, just another rehersal. Maybe I’m shortsighted, or missing something. In fact, I probably am missing something. Please someone show me what I’m not getting.

Long winded. That from a jam-band guy.

Plants and Animal’s album, “Parc Avenue,” their first full length-album following two EP’s, was released in 2007 off Secret City Records. Allmusic.com describes it as “genre-jumping,” I’d say it a stone cold stable, rock-light genre with variant speeds. And it would be good, REALLY good, if it stuck to what that genre was good at: keeping songs within three minutes. With 11 tracks at an average 5 minutes per song (toping out at just under 8 minutes for “New Kind of Love”), many of these songs could have been changed into two separate songs, and others could have just been cut down HEAVILY (“Keep It Real” is 4 minutes, and the last minute and a half is just downright boring, with the same three chords and horn part over and over and over and over and over). It is a valiant first attempt, and has some great build and release moments, it just seems the timing is a bit off, making these builds a little to dwindling and the releases a bit anti-climactic.

Limiting the album further, due to the length and depth of certain sections, is that there are really good parts to it, but one may not get to them or be listening if they get bored. Directly from the lead in of the first track, “Bye Bye Bye,” the pastoral vocals come in solo, and are almost immediately met by the piano for the first verse. It gets picked up pretty quickly, bringing in the band and choral parts right after that. As far as the album goes, this song is probably one of the most popular because is it directly to the point.

If you’ve listened to the second track, “Good Friend,” you’ll hear probably the best lyrics in the album. “It takes a good friend to say you’ve got your head up your ass” and “It takes an enemy to help you get out of bed.” If you listened to the entire second track, you probably got sick of him saying those lyrics as well as “I want to dance,” especially the “dance” bit being repeated some 50 times. The whole song is based off of two chords or so, and non-varying rhythms, so spanning 6+ minutes is a bit long. The last two minutes is . . . what’s the word for “foreplay” if it comes after sex? Well, it’s that.

So by this time, you’re probably already not paying attention, and will probably miss that “Feedback in the Field” has the makings for a good song, solid whistle melody throughout. Then, the band goes and ruins it by getting a minute and a half of verse melody, this time with a whimpy wah-wah’ed guitar noodling around shoved at the end. Cut it out. Either have someone REALLY solo there, or just don’t do it. The first 4 minutes of the same repetitious verse gets the point across.

“Mercy” is the zenith of the bands talent, as far as song structure goes. It has several parts that collide, congeal and morph into other parts, cheerleader vocals that come out of left field and contort the shape of the song while still keeping it prevalent to the same song. “Bye Bye Bye” will probably be the song that everyone knows this band for, but for my money, “Mercy” is the song to hear. Kudos.

So that’s about it. These guys are good, but few bands get it right on their first full length. I say, stick with it, develop it a bit more, it’s definitely getting there.

I did not want to go to The Apes CD release party.   I particularly did not want to stay after I heard opening act Kid Congo Powers.  But The Apes really did blow me away.  In due time, let’s start at the beginning.

Food for Animals was the first act, and came on stage about an industry standard 30 minutes late. Right from the get go, one would notice first that they rappers were having a good time despite the modest crowd size, due most likely to the second fact, the rappers didn’t look at the audience. Interestingly, they interacted with the crowd but never looked at them. Kinda like being fucked without being kissed. They were energetic and actually pretty good. The apple computer based beats (staple of both opening acts) probably would have sounded decent if you could hear any of it. It sounded like being stuck between two H2’s at a stop light in downtown, one blasting the latest rap song with obligatory dance associated and bass too heavy to enjoy, and the other competing with some euro-trash electronica, a throwback to indie blips Bumblebeez 81 only entertaining to huge ass nerds (read: moi). In the off chance you could actually make out the beat, you could here it was well constructed and pretty technically advanced. Overall, it just sounds like they were trying to do too much, stretched beyond their means perhaps. A more modest approach could have shown their strengths instead of the “going-for-gold” technique that just embellished their weaknesses. It’s like when a fat guy goes shopping: You think that buying smaller clothes will make him look smaller since, you know, he’s wearing smaller clothes, but in actuality, it just looks like a hot dog expanding in a microwave. But they did have awesome t-shirts for super cheap.

Next on the bill was Kid Congo Powers. Ugh. He slithered on stage looking something like a John Waters impersonator with no introduction, and the P.A. music still going, and just started talking. He introduced himself which was nice, and then told us about himself, which was odd, and then talked about how he grew up a long time ago, which was teetering on boring, and then talked about where he grew up, and WOULDN’T FUCKING SHUT UP. FOR THE FIRST 10 MINUTES OF THIS GUYS SET, HE READ A PART OF HIS BOOK! The segment of the book that he read just kept referencing semi famous people from the 70’s/80’s and shit. It could have been fact or fiction, I don’t care, couldn’t keep up with it, and didn’t want to. Eventually, a bass player came out, and “Kid” as the lead singer/guitarist was affectionately self titled synched up his mac to play some “madawesomeBeats!!!!11!1!ONE.” Ugh. The first song sounded (and looked) like it was his first time fucking but you could see from his gargoyle face he was too high to enjoy it, as he concentrated on thrusting his phallic guitar into the air more than the noise that permeated from it. The obedient bassist stood by and played angry, open bass chords high on the neck for a standard “don’tfuckwithme” attitude. The second song was at least a song. This time, there were even vocals! Pretty much, this guy killed himself with a bad first impression. Maybe I’m not cool enough to “get it.” Maybe it’s a punk thing that was just way over my head. I just wanted to beat the shit out of him to see if he’d fight back.

So with this, you can imagine how psyched i was to continue watching bands. The organ/keyboardist came out first with a red skimask on, anounced herself as “Majestic Ape,” talking about how she shit her pants from the last set. If one thing could make the last set worse, it would be someone talking about how good it is…and then a girl talking about shitting her pants. Then they started playing, and my entire outlook took a 180. Every member of the band was awesome. The guitarist has bass pickups in his axe, virtually combining two instruments into one. Though it is not a completely new technique (i.e. grunge rockers Local H comes to mind), it definitely has its place in the quirky, dark band. And the player of this Frankenstein never blinked. His eyes were WIDE opened the entire set, reminiscent of a portrait who’s gaze is omnipresent. Damn, it was creepy. The drummer was the most energetic one I’ve seen since Tommy Lee, and just as powerful. He really did look like a toy ape (appropriately) with a snare fused to his chest, and the way he beat those drums made you scared for the cymbals. Also, he donated all of his sweat glands to the lead singer, which was an interesting change of pace. While we’re on the vocals, it was a great milieu of indie rock falsetto and potent, early rock and roll vocals, conscience of what many singers fail to get: knowing when not to sing is as important as knowing when to. While some bands find the inclusion of an organ as something to be constantly accentuating, there was a happy medium in using it as adding to the madness while keeping it in check. She, the organist, Majestic Ape if you will, was a bit eclipsed by the amplitude of the rest of the band. But I can assure you firsthand that this slight slip-up is corrected in the mixing of the new album, the reason for this record release party, Ghost Games. The set consisted of mostly songs from this album with minimal banter between the crowd. It was solid, songs flowed from one into the other, and I only spotted one missed cue, only because the drummer scoffed at another members late entry. There isn’t enough that can be said about this band live, though. To pick up the evening from the declining state it was headed was not only impressive, it was godly. Go see them if you get a chance. Also, go pick up a copy of their CD, Ghost Games. Very, very good stuff.