Beck Live! (Sans Three-Hour Washboard Solo)

As I've mentioned before, I began the year with an unofficial list of bands that I pretty much needed to make sure I saw live in case I was cut down in my prime due to an unfortunate gardening accident. It amounted to essentially three artists that I loved and also had the reputation for being stellar live acts. You've read (or, if I was to be truthful, probably didn't) the previous entries on My Morning Jacket and Sigur Rós, which knocked out two spots on that list. And a couple of weeks ago I got the opportunity to complete the list, when Beck swung into New York for a three-day stand.

Beck was one of the first "alternative" or "college rock" artists I got into as a kid. I remember hearing "Devil's Haircut" and "Where It's At" when I was about eleven years old, and just being fascinated by the sound. And then I saw clips of his cracked-out videos, which is when I realized that it was probably worth following this crazy rat bastard. So I bought a copy of Odelay and begun listening to it on a semi-consistent basis. I waited a bit before picking up Mutations, since the press for that record was that it wasn't really a "proper" follow-up to Odelay, but when I finally got around to it I was amazed. To this day, Mutations is my favorite Beck record, front-to-back. From then on I was a solid fan.

I had heard for years about the great show that Beck put on, ranging from his electric dance moves during the Odelay to Midnite Vultures eras to the tour with the Flaming Lips as his backing band to the puppet show during the Guero tour, so I was crushed when I found out that Beck was playing in Oregon the day after I left for New York. Fortunately, I looked up a concert schedule once I moved out here and found that Beck hadn't done the East Coast leg yet, and I could catch him at some point. Once again I was too late for tickets, but I was able to find a street-corner businessman who was willing to let me procure said ticket, with a slight commission.


Unfortunately, Beck was not on his game that night. This was apparently the case for the other New York shows, which followed a similar script, and according to an interview in SPIN, has been a problem this year--Beck's just not into touring any more. Beck spent half an hour before he felt any sort of real energy, and by then the concert was almost half over. That's right, a man with seven major studio albums and loads of b-sides decided to run a ninety-minute set (on all three nights). During the early part of the show, I could tell if Beck was drunk or depressed, or if the drugs had not kicked in yet--it was that noticeable.

The show began with a dissonant and rambling version of "Devil's Haircut", which while not tight at all at least held the hope that it would be a high-energy rocking show. Soon afterwards Beck busted out "Novocane", which got this guy excited, but apparently the rest of the Theater was a "singles-only" kind of crowd and didn't really appreciate that cut. In general, Beck stuck to the material from his latest, Modern Guilt, which is actually a very solid album, and those songs were probably the best of the night, surprisingly enough. Besides a shambling version of "Loser" and a couple of other mid-period songs, it was a post-Guero show for the most part, with few surprises for the most part.


Things didn't really kick in until after "Girl", which for some reason brought Beck up to speed and him getting actually engaged in the show. Then it was a whole new ballgame, and for once I wasn't checking my watch to try to calculate when I was getting out of there, or how low this show would rank on my all-time list (to be fair, I've seen very few duds, but this was going to be one of them). The problem is, I have no problem if Beck was not feeling the energy--he's got Sea Change and Mutations material to fall back on if he's feeling like the sad-sack loser persona that night, and the two great performances of "The Golden Age" and "Lost Cause" confirmed that if he went in that direction, the night would have been special.

Was I glad to see Beck? Sure, I had to see the man for myself, and not rely on other people's reviews of the tour. Was it worth the money I paid? In one sense, perhaps not, but it was worth the risk. However, if you want to judge for yourself, you'll get the chance when the DVD they were filming those three nights eventually hits stores.

Hump Day Helper -- Death By Sunshine Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

When it comes to music, I'm very much a sad-bastard kind of guy. While my tastes don't just center around Mopeville, it's usually kind of, I don't know, "serious". Probably because there seems to be more to say when there's conflict in the music, or maybe perhaps I like minor key melodies and modulations better. Whatever it is, it makes many people (mostly of the female persuasion) think, gawd, what a bore.

As a result, in the past couple of years I've tried to branch out into, well, happier music. And this song here has what can be best determined to be ten gallons of sunshine in a 5 gallon hat. In fact, you might turn off the video within the first twenty seconds, but that would be a mistake. No, my friends, by the end of the video you'll have the song stuck in your head, and you'll actually want to listen to the rest of what Los Campesinos! have to offer, unnecessary punctuation mark or not. Especially after you see the end of the video.

Of course, all this talk about happiness completely ignores the lyrics, which as I read them now, reveal themselves to be kind of insane, to put it mildly.

I will stop fighting once your circuit board's igniting
singing, "I'M NOT FINISHED, I'M NOT FINISHED! No!...

Everybody Loves To Play The Blame Game

You might have vaguely heard something about the economy in the past couple of weeks. Like the whole thing is in the shitter, basically. At least, that's what you might think after watching the news and seeing images of these guys all the time. On the one hand, banks are still up and running, on the other your retirement fund might have the same value as wampum. We haven't begun cracking open each others' skulls and feasting on the goo inside, but we might be three days away from doing exactly that.



So we of course have to figure out who exactly got us into this mess. And if you're a Republican, the targets might not be so appealing. I mean, it only happened on your watch, when you were controlling the three branches of government for 6 of the past 8 years, so chances are you're going to have metaphorically plead the 5th on this. Unless of course you can go to your old standby and live up to every single awful stereotype of the Right and blame the current economic crisis, on that's right, poor people and minorities.

It's fucking genius I tell you--I mean, let's find a thirty year old piece of
legislation that apparently only became effective two years ago, and pin the blame on that. Let's not look at the fact that no one was compelling the banks to offer ridiculous "no income/no job" loans, or that somebody thought it was a great idea to roll all of these bad mortgages into securities commit fraud in rating them as safe investments. I mean, that's not at all EXACTLY what happened. I mean, logic would dictate if it was just an issue of poor people and minorities being the nogoodniks that they inherently are, then this crisis would have ended up just affecting the housing market. That sounds like what happened.

But we here at WDR are willing to recognize the heroes that walk among us. These heroes are the people that cut through the malarkey and go straight to the source of the problem and attempt a market correction of their own. Like this guy, who punched the CEO of Lehman Bros. in the face. Sir, we do not know your name, but the whole crew would like to buy you a beverage made of barley and hops if we ever meet you.

Politics, Movies and more!

Or: A random bunch of stuff that I should have posted earlier but didn't

It's been a while since I've published a blog here on account of my being kidnapped and forced to work on a Korean freight ship. But now that I've managed to make Shawshank-esque escape, I'm back to write for you once again. But I probably won't ever smell right again...

Here's a few items.

The Saddest Guy Ever

This could be an exaggeration, but let's look at it this way. Guy kills a couple on their yacht. OK. Now, this guy is a former child star. Ouch. But wait, there's more:

"Deleon, 29, is a former child actor who allegedly boasted that he was a star on the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers but apparently had only a small part in one episode."



Wow. This guy sucks so much that he bragged about being on Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. To me, this really negates the headline of "Former Child Star found guilty in yacht killings" (Headline on front page of CNN). I mean, this guy was NOT a child star. It's like me saying that I was a movie star for a small part I played in a student film. This guy is as much a child star as Karl Rove is human. I was expecting it to be somebody like one of the Savage brothers ("The Murder Years" or "Boy Meets Homicide" would be likely headlines).

Sarah Palin

I know that everyone has been talking about this woman and all of the strange shit that comes along with her, (The "If Canada and Wisconsin Had a Bastard Child" accent, an obvious lack of knowledge of important policies and documents, questionable firings and attempted book bans to name a few.) but I just want to say a little bit. First off, the VP debate was amazing. I took full advantage of whatever substances I could find before I watched this thing and it was well worth it. I'm fine with having her in the debate. I'm fine with her making brownies. Hell, I'm fine with her being the governor of Alaska. But I am not comfortable with someone like that being VP. We did it with Dan Quayle years ago and we don't need a female version of that. In a statement inspired by one of my favorite musicians, "All the drugs in this world won't save us from her."

Also, check this shit out. Too much fun...

G-Dub in da Whitehouse!

Like a good friend of mine, (who had me as a guest for the VP debate get together) I just saw the new Oliver Stone film W. There isn't a whole lot else to say that isn't covered in his blog, but let me just state that this is a great film that, most likely, is honest about the president. It's really the story of a guy who tries to do right but fucks up all along the way. I'm not saying that defends what he's done as president. But what I am saying is that a film like this can make you look at a guy like Bush and go "Holy shit; now I know how this guy became president." In many ways it's a scary film because it shows how so many terrible things happened. And most of the time they happen because the guy in charge is way too trusting of his advisers (like Dick "Vice" Cheney, played amazingly by Richard Dreyfus) and generally prone to making bad decisions.

It's a great film. Go see it if you haven't already.

I Bit Off a Bit More Than I Could Swallow

Also in movies, I recently saw Choke, the newest film adaptation of a Chuck Palahniuk book. Initially I was a bit skeptical about whether or not this film would be good because of the amount of sex in the book. I mean, the book is about a sex addict that isn't holding anything back. Still, I was pleasantly surprised to find that film was pretty faithful to the book and didn't leave a whole lot out. There were a few parts that were cut for the film version, but the parts that were cut weren't too important to the overall story.

The look of the film, I thought, was a bit too light for a Palahniuk story. I guess I was still thinking more along the lines of a David Fincher sort of dark, dank and saturated sort of look. I guess the clean and bright look of Choke was more appropriate for a comedy.

This is another one to go see. Also, look for Chuck in the film; he makes an appearance. Also, I loved that the film ended with Radiohead's "The Reckoner."

The Nintendo Wii is Way Too Much Fun

I've been playing a lot of Wii lately and I must say that this thing is amazing. It's a dangerously fun system and one that I might have to get my hands on when I have enough money to. This probably won't happen until I can get, I dunno, a job of sorts. But really, I never thought that playing a golf video game would be fun, but the Wii managed to make it so. TWICE! Also, Paper Mario is some trippy shit.

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

I mentioned this in another blog, but it's worth bring back up because now the new season is on TV. I've only been able to catch a couple of episodes because I don't have cable, but I like what I've seen. Great stuff. And, I mean, I've got to give props to a famous UO alum when I can. Oh, and the third season is on DVD now, so that's also awesome.

Paul Newman

I don't know how this managed not to get mentioned a long time ago, but we lost Paul Newman. This guy wasn't just an awesome actor, but he also gave a shit load of money to charity and made some awesome popcorn (I mention the last part because it relates to the first). I think we should all celebrate the man by watching his films. I'm going to do my part and watch Cool Hand Luke again. Brilliant, man.

Obama, Bitches!

Yeah, we all know that the WDR crew is a bunch of Obama supporters, but now it looks like he'll actually win. By a lot. This makes me very happy. Initially I wasn't too thrilled about Biden for the VP, but he's grown on me a bit. Also, it's not like having Biden for VP was going to change my vote. But I'm happy with the direction things seem to be going.

The Economy

I don't claim to understand how the economy works. I didn't really pay attention in my economics classes. But I do remember my professors talking about how the market was controlled, in part, by methods to limit extreme growth/decline. This was some measure taken after the 1929 crash to ensure that such a thing wouldn't happen again. So, I kind of assumed (foolishly) that the people who keep track of the market were doing the right things. Then one day I find out that my bank was bought up. Then I hear that we're (by that I mean the government that we pay taxes to) setting up a bail-out for the ailing banks. I wish I got billions of dollars when I was out of money. Instead I get a $27 fee for not having enough money. Funny how this shit happens.

Anyway, let's hope that things improve. Like I said earlier, I need to find a job of some sort in the near future.

The End?

It seems we've made it here. I can't believe you've actually read this far. For this you are rewarded.



Enjoy.

Attention Radio Programmers

There is nothing "Awesome" about the 80's.

Absolutely nothing.

At least from anything that you would actually play in your "Awesome 80's" weekend. You're not playing The Replacements, or Jesus and Mary Chain, or early Pixies or late Joy Division.

So, never use those two concepts in the same sentence ever again.

I mean, do you fucking remember the 80's? And no, cocaine nightmares don't count.



Signed,

Concerned Listeners of America

Hump Day Helper -- Hungry Caterpillar Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Not much of an introduction for this week's selection--I randomly picked up a copy of Ra Ra Riot's debut album, The Rhumb Line, and thought it was a pretty solid release. I know I'm not on the forefront with these guys (the album came out a whole two months ago), but you know what, who gives a shit. Just enjoy the goofy little video, and shove off, you tosser.

Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good...

The Best Site You'll See Today: Schadenfreude At Its Finest

I just wanted to pass along a link to a great picture site for you guys. And when I say guys, I include girls in the equation as well; that's just how I talk, I mean no offense, trust me. As someone who probably has something like 90% of his classmates wasting a perfectly good education in the world of high finance, the last few weeks have been quite enjoyable.

See, all this wouldn't have happened if you just took Mortimer's advice and sold the pork bellies at 72 and a 1/4.

Hump Day Helper -- Rock Your Socks Off (Literally) Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Patton Oswalt had a great bit about the genius of 80s music videos, in which bands would rock so hard that they could alter the physical course of events. He said that he missed that in today's videos, and he wished that someone like System of a Down or Queens of the Stone Age would try to do that once again.

Well, it looks like someone was listening. Joshua Homme from Queens of the Stone Age is the drummer for another awesome band, the hilariously titled "Eagles of Death Metal". And they took on the concept of rockin' you so hard to hilarious new levels in this great video. I'm pretty sure if I was put in the same situation as Jesse "The Devili" Hughes, I would utilize my guitar in much the same fashion. They have a new album coming out soon, so you should probably check them out.

Plus, have fun spotting the random cameos.

I want you so hard, I want you so good...

It's Good To See Other People Recognize Genius

We here at WDR have expressed our love for the brilliant cartoon "The Critic" before, but it often feels like we're alone on this one. I'm not sure if it's out of ignorance or just bad taste, but it seems as if most people don't have the same affinity that we do for this awesome show. So I was glad to see that "The Critic" in this AV Club feature of brilliant-but-cancelled shows. Of course Nathan Rabin was the one that suggested it--any man behind such a great series as "My Year of Flops" has to have his head on straight (seriously, if you're not familiar with it, check it out). And to make this blog not totally worthless, here's a random clip from the show. It's even topical!

Nic & Jack's Infinite Playlist

This past Friday saw the opening of a new movie called Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, which is apparently about two young folks who experience one of those magical nights in New York City where the hijinks are caa-raazy!!! and there's the smell of love in the air, which seems to overpower the general stench that randomly pervades the city. By the Law Of Arrested Development, I'm pretty much forced to watch anything that has a member of that show's cast, because the rule goes that "anyone that has a connection to the show = genius". Then again, Michael Cera has had a pretty good track record so far (Superbad was great, and Juno was better than not-bad), so I'm not dreading this requirement so much.

On the other hand, as a new resident of New Yawk,I feel I need to settle this bullshit about the supposedly magical nature of this city that's been a crutch for storytellers for far too long. And what better way to show this than by telling the story of my own infinite playlist from this past Friday.

The day began promisingly enough. By general rule, any day in which you play a game of flag football is a good day (it's in the lost verse of Ice Cube's "Today Was A Good Day", if you want to check). We won by a huge margin, and it was the second week in a row that I accidentally leveled a girl half my size (this is what happens when I stop, and you don't). That, my friends, is a recipe for success. Top it off with a celebratory stop at a bar WITH SKEEBALL, and you've got yourself a good time.


Things fell apart once the sun went down, however. I've always found that the night time is the right time, so this was especially disappointing. As everybody on the team split off to follow their own evening plans, I had to reassess my options. It was then that I decided to do something I never thought I would do, and that was attempt to meet up at a college mini-reunion party. So I cleaned myself up to look somewhat presentable (well, I did what I could), and headed out for this "reunion". That's where the trouble begins.

I will forever assert that New York has one of the worst goddamn subway systems I've ever encountered. It's crowded and smelly, has a really inconsistent schedule, has no maps on the train, and has stations that have multiple names that make it ultra-confusing for the uninformed. And those are the problems that I came up with in about .2 seconds. My problem that night was that I could only find the entrance for the Downtown line and not the Uptown one. Because we absolutely have to have these things separate for some goddamn reason (to give New York credit for one thing, at least "Downtown" and "Uptown" are consistent--unlike Boston's T that has an "inbound" and "outbound" switch). The directions on the sign itself led me to ANOTHER downtown bound train, and so I was forced to look in an 8 block radius for the companion station. It was only after about half an hour of searching that I finally located the station...across the street ducked into a side street. You have to love the fact that newspaper dispensers were able to perfectly block my view.



Alright, so all this work left me with about half an hour left at this mini-reunion. That's not so bad, because I was only planning on a quick visit then stepping out later. The directions I had merely stated that the event was being held "across the street from Grand Central Station", on 50 Vanderbilt Ave. So I head out of the station (which is a mini-journey itself), and started looking for the address. I was at the 400s, so I started heading east to get to the lower numbers. After about 5 blocks, I take a look at the sign, and realize I'm not on Vanderbilt Ave., I'm on goddamn Lexington Ave. I have no idea why New York has this inexplicable hard-on for SEC locations, especially since no one around here loves college football, so don't ask. I then high-tail it back and find the correct address.

Before I go further, I should mention that the event was being held at the Yale Club. Yes, that means that a Dartmouth reunion was being held at the Yale Club, which is approximately 3267 different kinds of wrong (oh, and sorry to throw the snob-card down by mentioning my alma mater, but it's needed to make this story work). Not the least of which is that we end up looking like the lesser school, having to beg the almighty Yale for space. I thought we had our own club...and then I do the actual research now and find out that we do have our own club, and it's located in the Yale Club. Fucking perfect. So at this point in the story, I've arrived at the club with about 10 minutes left before the party is supposed to end. I inquire with the doorman as to where the party was taking place, when I heard a scoff. "Sir, you are required to wear long pants. It is the rule of the club".

Fuck you in the ear, doorman.


So in just a few seconds, Yale affirms every single stereotype ever asserted about them. You kind of have to admire that level of jackassery. And I'm sorry I was wearing shorts--I mean, it was only a Happy Hour, and it's still good weather outside. Then again, I seem to be the only not-wimp in the city since I can maintain shortsleeves and shorts in 60+ degree weather. Whatever. (For the record, they were quite nice khaki shorts, and I was wearing a freshly-laundered polo shirt, so I wasn't living up to the stereotype of the Dartmouth Hobo at all).

So what did I do? Well, I went back home at 9:30, drank enough Jack Daniel's to stun a horse, and then masturbated. I couldn't remember if I finished or passed out first, but it doesn't matter, because I end up a winner either way.



Oh yeah, the whole "playlist" motif. The soundtrack to the evening was...Spoon's Gimme Fiction. It doesn't get much more fitting than that.

Sigur Rós Live -- Their Eyes Were Watching God

At the beginning of the year, there were three favorite bands of mine that I was desperate to see live; by the end of this month, I should be able to strike all three from my must-watch list, and simultaneously making my co-authors eternally envious. You've already read the first of my journals, as I made the long-distance commute to the Land of Chowdah to witness the testament of My Morning Jacket. I now present to you the results of my trek uptown to see Iceland's greatest export, beyond some kind of fish.


I took the world-famous A-Train up past Harlem into Washington Heights, in the process exploring a part of Manhattan that I hadn't gotten to see yet. My report: um, there are hills and a lot of Dominicans in this area. Due to my lack of a ticket, I headed out early, arriving at the United Palace Theater an hour before the doors opened. (It's at this moment that I want to make a broad point of saying Fuck Ticketmaster and Fuck Capitalism, for selling out the tickets to people who wanted to charge 4 times face value on various ticket exchanges. It's a ridiculous bastardization of a simple principle: I want to see a group, I pay for the privilege of seeing that group. I don't want to pay 8 kinds of convenience charges, and then pay some asshole who swooped in and bought tickets to an event he has no connection to and just wants to make a quick buck). Despite this potential obstacle, I instantly found someone eager to get rid of his tickets, and I was prepared to haggle, but was surprised when he only wanted face value, mirroring my luck with Wolf Parade. No bullshit, and I got myself floor seats. Score.

The only drawback to my great fortune was that I had an hour to kill. I spent some time looking at the amazing theater, but mainly I spent a lot of time sending random texts to Joe Reefer and Von Bookman. It's a good thing I have the stereotypical-teenage-girl texting plan on my phone.


Now I've been a big fan of Sigur Rós for some time now, dating back to when Ágætis byrjun first came out, when I first became enraptured by their ethereally beautiful music, but I had been told that it did not compare to their live show. I had some familiarity with this, having watched the live DVD Heima a few times when I was in the need for some uplifting. If it wasn't for that disc, I would still be convinced that the band was composed of some formless aliens, because there was no way actual humans could produce such gorgeous noise. But sure enough, they are indeed people, and it was a trip to see the band somewhat costumed for the show.

The room echoed with the pinging of a sonar, which meant "Svefn-G-Englar" was going to be the opener. Once the bow first struck the guitar string, and it wound it's way through the various delay pedals and feedback and that first tone hit, the crowd erupted in applause. To give you a sense of the moment, it's the manifestation of the maxim "finding beauty in the dissonance"--it's a sound that's not a note, but it's still musical. The band really let the room help out their sound, letting the natural echo and space give their heaviily-reverbed guitars and tinkling keyboards space to breathe.


It was a lean Sigur Rós playing tonight, with just the four core members. While the addition of strings and horns often are essential ingredients to some of their work, it was an intriguing experiment to hear the group work as a quartet, and I felt their work suffered none for the effort. While that may have meant no "Starálfur" or "Olsen Olsen", the night would still be memorable. The band mainly focused on tunes from the new album and Takk..., but throwing in classics like "Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása (Good Weather for an Airstrike)" that soared to the heavens. I think this was a good decision, because the newer material has such a joyous feel to it that you can't help but feel uplifted when listening to the likes of "Glósóli" and "Hoppípolla". The second song there also provided a memorable moment, as the band launched into the coda "Með Blóðnasir", they had the audience sing the backing vocals that gave a hauntingly poetic edge to the song. The band would end the set with the crowd clapping along furiously to the deliriously fun "Gobbledigook", and the crowd ate it up.



Throughout the set we saw a band that was comfortable playing together, able to work their way through minor slipups and various technical problems. Too often the members' individual talents get ignored in favor of the group's overall sound, but if you listened closely you could pick out wonderfully melodic basslines and complex drum patterns that nonetheless provided perfect structure for the songs. The interplay between the guitars and keyboards were so elaborate that one could easily get lost in them, and of course there are the wonderfully angelic vocals that truly act as another instrument. All of this came to a head with the stunning closer "Popplagið", with the lights and smoke syncing up beautifully (as they had all night) as the band pushed and pushed toward the edge, and dare we say, rocking out, as the song reached an unimpeachable climax. Now that's the way to spend an evening.

Hump Day Helper -- There's No Fighting In The War Room Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Let's face it, this year has been kind of a mediocre year for music. I know we say that every year, but there's just been so many somewhat-solid-but-not-great releases that it's beginning to wear on me. Initially I felt that Tokyo Police Club's followup to their debut EP was one of these disappointing albums, but lately I've been popping it in to take a listen pretty often. While Elephant Shell still doesn't have the same energy and spirit as A Lesson In Crime, it's still a pleasant enough distraction from my day.

While "Your English Is Good" might get your blood pumping, this is the better video. I think the gimmick is brilliant, and it's good to see a band make some effort in a video these days. And for once we can thank MTV2 for showing this at least a couple of times on "Subterranean", or else I never would have been aware of its existence.

Dead lovers salivate
Broken hearts tessellate tonight...