Concord, actually.
I've been slacking on the updates here on this site. I blame summer. My schedule gets turned on its head this time of year, so my computer time is cut way down. This is a good thing, really.
The Uli Jon Roth show coincided with both Father's Day and the Summer Solstice, and I celebrated the day by filling it with various activities, culminating in the aforementioned Uli show. I was surprised that, other than Justin, who I drove up with, there were no familiar faces in the audience. You'd think at least one or two of the Bay Area Old Guard would have made it out for the show. Instead, we found ourselves in a tiny bar in Concord, stuffed in with a bunch of suburban rocker types and surrounded by neon, mirrored walls, beer advertisements, and the like.
PointsNorth were playing when we arrived. They were an instrumental drums/bass/guitar trio, and played more than competent seventies influenced rock. I noticed the bass playing most, probably because I was parked on the floor near the bass cabinet. They played an enjoyable set, ending with a Rush cover, but while I appreciated the musical skill on display, the music isn't something I would find myself coming back to often. In other words, a good opening band, but nothing I'd go out of my way to listen to.
Then, we waited for probably around 45 minutes for Uli to appear, speculating on what the setlist would be. The evening was billed as a celebration of Jimi Hendrix's music, so it seemed possible that we'd get a set of Hendrix covers. After all, there is an entire cd of Uli playing Hendrix. Of course, I hoped (and so did a number of vocal audience members nearby) that he'd play some old Scorpions songs. I saw Scorpions back in '79, a year or so after Uli had left the band, so this would be my first time seeing Uli on stage. I think I've been listening to his music for around 33 years now, so I'd say this particular evening was long overdue.
The band finally hit the stage, consisting of Uli, a second guitarist/vocalist, a bass player, a drummer, and a keyboardist. Uli made a comment or two about the size of the stage (joking rather than complaining though - one of the things I've always admired about him is his apparent lack of ego - he's one of the best guitarists in the world, but he doesn't seem to act like it). The band launched into a series of Hendrix songs, and I have to admit that while I enjoy Hendrix, I've never felt compelled to own any of his records, so the song titles elude me. I did recognize just about all of them though. These days, experiencing Uli playing these songs is probably about as close as you can come to experiencing Hendrix playing them.
About halfway through the set, Uli stated that they would be playing some Scorpions songs, and then made the mistake of asking the audience which ones they should play. Okay, maybe it wasn't a mistake if he actually wanted to have every song from the four Scorpions studio albums he played on shouted at him. Those of us near the stage had already figured out that they'd be playing at least a few Scorpions songs - on the stage, there were printed lyrics to We'll Burn the Sky, In Trance, and Life's Like A River. After the shouting had died down, the band played In Trance, with the second guitarist singing. His voice was good, but not as good as Scorpions' vocalist Klaus Meine - a little higher, and not as distinctive. Still, this is more like seeing the Scorpions than seeing the Scorpions these days. They played a trio of old songs when I saw them in '79 - We'll Burn the Sky, Pictured Life, and Steamrock Fever, if I remember right - but abandoned the Uli era on subsequent tours.
Afterwards, several more Scorpions songs followed. By the end of the night, they'd played I've Got to Be Free, We'll Burn the Sky, Polar Nights, Fly to the Rainbow, and Dark Lady, as well as busting out an extended jam session or two. Strangely enough, they didn't play Life's Like A River. No Electric Sun songs were played. Maybe he'll be revisiting that particular era on future tours. I'll definitely be seeing him again.
It was also interesting to note that his custom-made Sky guitar had several extra frets - they marched right down onto the body of the guitar. Weird.
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I think that what separates Uli from the crowd, as far as guitar virtuosos are concerned, is the fact that he packs so much more emotion - I could say soul, if I wanted to belabor the point - into his playing. He doesn't feel the need to impress by doing lightning fast finger calisthenics across the fretboard. Sure, he is extremely fast when it's called for, but his soloing is always much more than simple guitar wankery. There's a buttery smoothness to it, and every note lifts the music to a new level. With this in mind, I think that his apparent lack of ego problems actually contributes to the power of his music. Fragile rockstar egos no doubt compell guitarists to impress with speed and technique, to the exclusion of that which lies at the heart of music: soul.
Uli doesn't make that mistake.
Click here. It's about time!
Amebix, Poison Idea, Nux Vomica, and Lebanon at The Hawthorne Theater, Portland, Oregon, 5/24/09
It took a bit longer than usual to drive to this show, but I felt that it was worth the extra traveling time. So did Devon, who came along for the ride. We stayed with Howard, who lives walking distance from the Theater, and who decided to come along to the show as well. Good thing for him it wasn't quite sold out when we arrived. Having friends like Howard in Portland provided the needed extra impetus needed to go through with the trip, so it was nice that he managed to make it into the show with us.
We got there late, missing Lebanon's set and the beginning of Nux Vomica. The Hawthorne is interesting in that the main floor area is divided into an all ages section (near the stage) and a 21 and over section (at the back). Bouncers monitored the flow of traffic between the sections.
Nux Vomica were ripping through some high speed crust punk when we entered, with heavy guitars and shrieking vocals. The singer was also pounding on a floor tom (I think - it was kind of hard to see from our vantage point) and the dual drum attack added a little extra oomph to the music. The songs were dynamic, sometimes shifting gears to include quieter passages, but usually steamrolling along angrily. Their set ended with some half-heard thank yous from the singer, and was followed by a short wait while Poison Idea got situated.
The last time I saw Poison Idea was in the mid eighties, at The Farm in San Francisco. Since then, they've broken up and reformed a few times, their guitarist, Pig Champion, has died, and their drummer, Thee Slayer Hippy, was arrested for a series of pharmacy break-ins. I never really followed the band, and have always been sort of ambivalent about them. Still, I was curious to see them again. Their set, as it turned out, did nothing to change my original opinion. They played competently, although their singer, Jerry A., seemed kind of out of it. Devon opined that he seemed to be on medication, and had perhaps been drinking before the show. I'd have to agree with his assessment of the situation. During the set, he often pointed the microphone at the audience, and to my ears the audience members were doing a better job of singing than he was. Towards the end, a torch appeared in his hands and a large burst of flame momentarily lit the whole venue. I'm not sure if he was fire breathing or what, but it sure got the audience's attention for a moment. Oh well.
We moved forward for Amebix. What followed was every bit as stunning as their set in San Francisco a few months ago. They played nearly all the same songs, with the addition of Nobodys Driving (I don't think they did that one in S.F...). They just seem to have so much more depth than the majority of the bands in this genre. It might be because Amebix has a variety of influences outside the genre, and that their message, if they could be said to have a message, is one of hope. Sure, their songs wear the trappings of apocalypse, and their music conveys an almost palpable anger at times (and an exquisite sense of doom), but I find myself inspired and uplifted when it's all over. The conviction behind the words, and the unwillingness to compromise, makes all the difference.
I noticed more people singing along in Portland than I had in San Francisco. I was one of them, of course, and there was an incredible sense of cameraderie there in front of the stage. People were damn happy to be there.
After the gig, people milled around outside the venue. Some (no doubt the ones who got thrown out for being unmanageably drunk) were cursing the Hawthorne. Others just sat and enthused about the show. One guy, with his clothes falling off and a big smile on his face, talked about what a great week he'd had. "I saw the Meatmen, and (damn, I forget the second band he'd mentioned), and Amebix. And I just huffed a bunch of ether!"
By this time, the local police were getting grumpy and using their loudspeakers to encourage people to move along.
"Because you're loitering, that's why!"
We got the hint and went to the donut shop.
Why is it that a venue would set the starting time for a show at 10pm on a Tuesday night? Matt's bus got into San Jose and a little after 7pm, meaning that we had nearly 3 hours to kill before the show. Eating burritos at Muchos killed a little time, although the burritos weren't as good as either of us remembered. They still had their famed wall of hot sauce though. I chose a sauce called Hot Hand, and an orange one with a creamy consistency. Both very good, but this isn't a hot sauce review, so that's all I'll say.
The Blank Club might as well have been called the Empty Club. The disco ball sent red reflections spinning across the vacant floor. The staff stood at the ready. We waited.
After awhile, we got up and introduced ourselves to Kristeen Young, (Mice Pace page here) who was standing at the bar. Our friend Howard helps design her cd covers and concert posters and whatnot. It was through him that we'd been made aware of her in the first place. Of course, it was through Current 93 that we'd originally met Howard. The older I get, the more I become aware that most of my personal connections with people come about through music. I like that.
A few people filtered in, and eventually 10pm rolled around. Kristeen and her drummer got up and launched into their set, which was mostly comprised of songs from her new cd. I hadn't yet purchased said cd, so they were mostly new to me (I bought two cds for a mere $15 after her set, which, if you add in the $5 entrance fee, means I only paid $20 for 2 cds and a live show!)
Kristeen proceeded to assault her keyboard for 45 minutes. One would think she bore the poor piece of equipment a grudge. Her voice is powerful and quirky, and the backing drums catapaulted everything to a new level - hard to describe really - maybe I'd call it synth-punk. Her attire (self-designed, I believe) made her look sort of like a new wave flapper, a look perhaps enhanced by cheesy tinsel backdrop to the stage area and the omnipresent red lighting. About midway through the set, they launched into an inspired cover of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song. Strange, but cool. Towards the end, she unveiled a cardboard stand-up of one of the Jonas Brothers and sang a duet with it. Neato. At that point, I had to get to work and Matt had to get home, so we left before headliners Killola hit the stage.
Afterwards, we chased the last bus to the station and Matt managed to climb aboard just before it left for its long journey back to the wilds of Felton. I got to work to find that I'd missed the chance to kick a bunch of wayward third graders off of our field. The exciting stuff always happens to the sub.
Last year, Paganfest was a mere 10 minute drive away. This year, it was more like an hour away. That said, the extra driving time was balanced out by the fact that you could enter the venue in full viking regalia if you wished to do so. There were no silly signs prohibiting this like there were last year in Santa Clara. I was almost disappointed to see nobody taking advantage of this new freedom. Sure, there were some attendees in kilts, but no battle gear of any kind (that is, if one discounts the battle gear being sold at the merch table, right next to the "Odin says tip!" sign).
The merch table was full of nicely designed shirts, but since my wardrobe already consists mainly of black concert shirts, I resisted forking over any money.
Swashbuckle were, as I figured they would be, dressed up like pirates. They obviously didn't take themselves too seriously. They more or less stayed in pirate character for their entire set. I've recently changed my Facebook language setting to "English (pirate)", so for a moment I could imagine I was home in front of the computer. It's funny hearing a large, bearded pirate shouting: "San Francisco! How the fuck are ye?" Musically, they played thrash metal. It was entertaining in a live setting, but I think I probably wouldn't listen to the cd much if I owned it. They ended their set with a question - "who lives in a pineapple under the sea?" - and launched into a metal version of the Spongebob Squarepants theme song.
Okay. That was amusing.
Blackguard, from Canada, added a keyboard player to the thrash metal formula. The singer kept enthusing about how well they'd been received/treated on this tour, it being their first U.S. tour. They had the Venom hair-windmill thing down perfectly, whipping their heads around in tight little circles as they played. I've gotta hand it to anybody who can play while doing that. Twenty years ago I would have been excited about their music too, but from the vantage point of a forty-something they just sounded like another thrash band. I wish them all the best though. Towards the end of the set, the singer pulled out a video camera and told the audience that he'd been filming the pits at every date on the tour, and that he'd be uploading them to YouTube after it was all over. That's one way to get people to dance, I guess - appeal to their competitive natures. Geez.
Moonsorrow reminded me of Ensiferum, who headlined last year's tour. There was a bit of viking-era Bathory influence to their sound. Many of their songs were long, keyboard-laden affairs with hints of folk melody. The vocals were mainly growled, with occasional wordless, melodic backing vocals. In the end, I think I would have liked them better if they'd ditched the keyboards and added some strings - maybe a violin or cello.
Ireland's Primordial is one of the bands I'd most wanted to see, and they didn't disappoint. Their singer burst onto the stage in full corpsepaint, his bald head and arms smeared in stage blood (if I were to be uncharitable, I'd say he looked a bit like Uncle Fester after a car accident, but the look actually worked pretty well for him). No keyboards here. None needed. Like Tyr last year, Primordial exuded a... well, primordial sound without the benefit of any instrumentation other than the basic drums, bass, and guitar. The singer actually sings too, with his voice sometimes descending into a black metal rasp, but usually soaring majestically above the doom-laden instrumental assault. They're one of those bands that manage to invoke a sense of claustrophobia and despair while pummeling along at 100mph. At one point, while introducing the song "Coffin Ships", about the often disasterous Irish immigration to the new world, the singer asked how many of the audience had Irish blood in them. After the applause had died down, he deadpanned, "apparently everybody." Their set seemed short to me, but not as short as Tyr's was last year.
Korpiklaani, from Finland, play folk metal, and their sound was abetted by accordian and fiddle. Compared to Primordial, their music sounded deliriously happy, with high speed folk melodies and gruff vocals forming a backdrop for a wide range of dancing styles on the floor in front of the stage. A lot of people appeared to be pogo-ing, and I found myself moving with the rest of the audience. I wish they hadn't provided introductions to the songs though. When the lyrics are in Finnish, I can imagine that the songs are about anything I please. It's a bit of a letdown (although not much of a surprise) to discover that many of their songs are about drinking and fucking. Oh well. Still, I had a blast during their set, and would definitely see them again.
They played an encore, and the vocalist/guitarist came down the stairs playing the first few bars of Rainbow's "Man on a Silver Mountain". Too bad they didn't actually play the song. That would have been interesting.
It'll be interesting to see who makes it over for Paganfest III.
Damn. I'm already a show behind on my obsessive reporting of live shows I've attended. Maybe that means it's not really all that obsessive after all.
By this time, I've seen Sleepytime Gorilla Museum enough times that I'm not really sure what else to write about them. It makes me wish I could go back and experience them for the first time again and again. From my vantage point as a somewhat jaded longtime follower, I now expect them to be excellent, so the element of surprise is somewhat lost.
Khi Darag! opened things up with a nice set that brought words like "circus", "gypsy", and "Morricone" to mind. Using saxophone, clarinet, tablas, violin, as well as the more traditional rock instruments, they whipped through a musical yard-sale of a set that definitely kept my attention and had me wondering when they'd have a cd available. Matt and I missed the beginning of their set because we both figured that the show was starting at 9 and we wanted to see how long it would take to walk to the bay from the Great American (about 45 minutes, as it turned out). I'd like to see them again - they play a nice combination of rock, world music, and Tzadik-styled strangeness.
Fred Frith played next, doing strange things to his guitar. I have to admit that this time out, for the most part, I was more interested in the techniques he was employing (hard to see from my vantage point though) than the music he was making. Still, towards the end, he won me over with some of the quiter moments (although the quiet moments also made it apparent that a large member of the audience were deep in conversation with each other - take it outside, bastards!)
Sleepytime Gorilla Museum started their set with one heckuva pagan procession, having enlisted a number of the usual crowd to join in. Their were deer skins, antlers, branches, Last Human Being banners, trombones, other winds and strings, trumpet violins, masks, babies, and all manner of other odds and ends. They sang a spirited version of "Summer is Icumin in" as they marched, circling the hall and ending up on stage as they did so. I filmed that bit, but for some reason I can't manage to upload it. Damn.
I didn't write down the songs they played, but there were some newish ones in amongst all the old favorites, including Salamander and Old Gray Heron (written by Dan, about his dad). I think Old Gray Heron is my favorite of the newer songs - a heartfelt tribute to the elder Rathbun. We were also treated to a strange, megaphone-enhanced lecture in Italian. I have to admit that was unexpected.
Now, if I can only figure out why I can't upload the video clip.
The last time I saw Ghost was at the Terrastock festival in San Francisco, way back in... (excuse me while I do some quick internet research) ... April, 1998. That makes it almost exactly 11 years since my last Ghost infusion. It's no coincidence that their time away from these shores happened concurrently with the two terms Bush was in office. Ghost refused to play in the U.S. while Bush was in the White House. I like that, even though it meant I had to wait over a decade to see them on stage again.
Opening the show was Barn Owl, who I saw last year at the haunted Brookdale Lodge (which, come to think of it, would have been a great place for a band called "Ghost" to play). Barn Owl operate in the drone arena, using mainly guitars and voice as their instruments of choice. It's not all drone though - occasionally, delicate little melodies rise to the surface before the moaning wash of echo-laden vocals and the electric rumble of guitars steers things into abstraction again. I found myself enjoying them more this time around, and even picked up a cd, which proved to be quite good as well. Accompanying their set was a film by Paul Clipson, which played like Koyaanisqatsi on acid. Early scenes depicted trees and other greenery, while later scenes were a shifting, multi-layered montage of neon, metal, and cement. I think something more stark would have complemented the music better, but if the intention was to disorient, the images worked fine.
Ghost proved to be a whole different experience. The last time I saw them, they played a more abstract set, with lots of unconventional instruments (that's how I remember it, at least). This time out, there was much more of a heavy psych rock feel to the music. They started out in near darkness, with bandleader Masaki Batoh playing some sort of mouth organ (looking for all the world like an upside down panpipe) while the other members (seven in all, including Batoh) played along on drums, bass, guitar, cello, keyboards, and an assortment of random gadgets. Much later, it took Greg to point out that the cellist was Helena Espvall, of Espers fame. This made sense, and I'm surprised I didn't realize it earlier, since I've seen Espers before, and I own the cd she recorded in collaboration with Masaki Batoh. Duh.
As the evening progressed, we were treated to a long set of chugging psych rock interspersed with mellower songs. Batoh's soft,blissful vocals and groovy outfit lent a hippy vibe to the proceedings, while Kurihara's wailing psych guitar became an almost physical presence inside the venue. We were even treated to a little drum and sax interplay somewhere in the middle, and "treated" isn't a word I normally use when describing drum solos. There was quite a lightshow as well - more like something you'd see in a big venue. I don't often notice the lights at all, but this time the changing rainbow of colors definitely added something to the experience. I think the set lasted nearly two hours, although if you took away the time that Batoh spent tuning and changing instruments, Ghost probably played for more like an hour and forty five minutes. This was the first date on a nearly month long U.S. tour, so a little bit of disorganization is to be expected. It would be nice to catch them again at the end of the tour.
Good riddance to Bush. Welcome back, Ghost!
On the morning of this particular show, I was up in Marin, waking up in a sleeping bag that had done little to keep me warm overnight. Lots of activity and driving ensued. I went back to the South Bay as a passenger in the company van, ate a quick dinner, and drove northwards again.
I was damn tired. Good thing the show was at a coffee house.
The last time I saw Tim Eriksen, it was at the same venue but he was part of Cordelia's Dad. This time it was just him, but this proved sufficient. He made a crack about how it's hard to tour as a multi-instrumentalist (fiddle, banjo, guitar, jaw harp, etc.), but then admitted that he'd borrowed most of the instruments on stage (except for the fiddle, which had belonged to his grandpa, and the jaw harp, which fits neatly in a pocket).
The venue wasn't filled to capacity, and most of the audience was older than me, which is getting more unusual with each passing year. He started out with acapella song, and followed it with a hymn (if I remember right). He had a couple of cool old hymnals on hand, but I'm not sure if he was reading the words or holding them just for effect.
Audience participation was expected on many of the songs, with Tim singing through choruses at the beginnings of songs and making sure to point out that they were indeed the choruses. The last time I participated in this sort of activity at the Freight was when Odetta sang there. On that occasion, Odetta pointed out that "you can't almost sing" as she launched into a spirited version of Kumbaya. We sang then, and we sang for Tim Eriksen too. There really is something cool about a bunch of people who don't know each other all singing along to a song written a century or two ago.
Greg showed up about five songs in, so all of a sudden I knew at least one person there. He'd been to see the new Greenaway film at the Pacific Film Archive, electing to spend yet another evening rushing around in a panic to meet all of his entertainment needs.
As for the songs, Tim sang a bunch from his most recent cd, "Every Sound Below", including the haunting title track. He also sang the wonderfully absurd A Tiny Crown, a small song about sea monkeys. I'm also quite glad that he chose to sing the hauntingly sad Leave Your Light On from his first solo cd. I'm just a sucker for sad songs and ghost stories, and this song is both. He alternated between fiddle, guitar, banjo, and acapella singing, with the jaw harp making a brief appearance in the middle. This is the kind of music that works best in an intimate live setting with audience participation. Fortunately, this music seems to attract audiences who are willing and able to participate tunefully.
He did one encore, and then presumably rushed off to the airport to catch the 11:59 flight he'd alluded to earlier in the evening.
I dropped Greg off and went home to sleep for nearly 10 hours. It's nice when I can do that.
Imagine my surprise upon finding that somebody had made a documentary film about Anvil - a band so obscure these days that I've heard at least a couple of people evince surprise the film was something other than a mockumentary. Truth be told, like Umlaut, I hadn't thought much about Anvil over the last couple of decades. In the film itself, it is mentioned that most people know the band only by their first three records (okay, I had their first four, but still...) and then a big list of subsequent albums is shown.
At Slim's, we were treated to a screening of the film, which was by turns humorous and touching. The band's history is one of missed chances and continuous hard luck, and the film is a must-see, even if you have no idea who the hell Anvil is.
For me, is was a welcome trip through the unhallowed halls of my youth. I still remember making cassette copies of their records and proudly blasting them from my crappy little tape player at recess and before school in the 7th or 8th grade. At the time, they were one of my favorite bands. I think I would have shaken my head in disbelief if I had been told that I'd see them play for the first time as a 41 year old.
Lots of old friends were in attendance last night. Umlaut, of course, was there. So were Doug, Ron, Harald O., Trevor (Motorhead's biggest advocate back in high school), and a few others. Some of these people I hadn't seen in person in nearly 20 years. Of course, most of us are Facebook friends now, but that's another story for another time.
The film came to and end, and the screen ascended. Behind the screen were Anvil, now a three piece. Original members Lips and Rob Reiner were joined by a newer, younger bass player. They played a short set, with Lips grinning like a kid at Christmas the whole time. One new song was played - This is Thirteen, and a slew of songs off their classic "Metal on Metal" album from the early eighties, including the title track, 666, March of the Crabs, and Mothra. Another song, White Rhino, showcased Reiner's drum skills with a surprisingly enjoyable drum solo (I usually tune out during drum solos). The set was short, but the band stayed around to chat with the audience afterwards. I spent a little time catching up with people I hadn't seen in decades, and then Justin and I left to drive up the street to see some different Canadian musicians playing some very different music.
I'd found out earlier in the day that Mecca Normal was going to be playing at the Hemlock Tavern, and at first I had a little stompy fit about it (on the inside, anyway) because I was already going to see Anvil. Then I noticed the different start times, factored in how long the opener at the second show was likely to play, and realized that I could do both. Still had to miss Dar Williams down the street though, but I can't do everything, can I?
We got there just as Mecca Normal was starting, and were treated to superb set of songs, most based on Jean Smith's internet dating misadventures (except for the song about a guy setting himself on fire, and one or two others...) Jean Smith was in storyteller mode, often speaking sections of the songs, and her sharp, deadpan wit was in fine form. David Lester was liquid on guitar, constantly moving and effotlessly accompanying Smith's vocals. He makes it seem so easy. The show was a very intimate affair, with a small but enthusiastic audience. Not that a large audience would actually fit into the Hemlock, of course, since it's about the size of a walk-in closet.
As we drove home, I mentioned to Justin that we were probably the only two people ever to see Anvil and Mecca Normal in the same night. I remember the last time I had a two concert night in S.F., and strangely enough, that time the musicians (Iva Bittova and Uz Jsma Doma) were also from the same country (the Czech Republic, not Canada), and the second show was also at the Hemlock.
It's about 1 in the morning. I'm driving home from the show, sharing the freeway with a handful of other late-night drivers. The Nurse With Wound disc (Shipwreck Radio Volume 2, if you must know) I've been listening to has just ended. I'm about 10 minutes from home, so instead of putting in another cd, I flip on the radio (thinking for a moment of the Bohren double cd, Midnight Radio, as I do so). As is common these days, there is talk about the current state of the global economy. A voice surfs in on the radio waves and calmly states that current efforts to fix the economy are, "an exercise in synchronized sinking." For me, this radio voice might as well be describing the Bohren & der Club of Gore show I've just come from.
Bohren are all about mood. The mood they evoke holds sway over all. Imagine an exercise in synchronized sinking, except imagine you're sinking in tar instead of water. The gooey thickness closes over your head. Your body is immobilized by the clinging weight of the substance. Around you, the rest of the audience is similarly trapped. Through it all, you can hear the breathing of the Earth, brought to you by a glacial pattern of vibrations that might actually be a bass guitar. Every so often, you think you hear the distant moan of a train whistle, rising spectrally from the constant background hum of a benighted city. Wind clatters through ill-lit alleys, sending the occasional trash can lid spinning. Lonely figures wait under buzzing streetlights, as if afraid to step beyond their glow. In your mind's eye, you see that one figure is holding a bass, one is holding a glinting sax, and one has his head bent down over a keyboard of some type. This last figure appears almost somnambulent.
The figure in the middle steps forward, and dispenses wisdom in the form of an old Polish saying: There are two good humans. One is dead, and the other one hasn't been born yet. He smiles a satisfied little smile, and the lonely train whistle is back for awhile.
In line with this bit of philosophy is another friendly reminder: Even if you don't expect anything, you will still be
disappointed.
I can feel the music through my skin. Patterns vibrate their way through me. I sit down on the floor for awhile, closing my eyes to better feel the shockwaves of subsonic sound. This is music for the deaf, or at least music that can be heard through the whole body rather than just the ears. I'm mildly disappointed that there isn't a real drummer amongst the figures. The beats still sound, like worn down machinery in the world's slowest factory. The three figures on stage lurch in time to the programmed beats (which sound like 1 or 2 bpm at times), dramatically hunching over their instruments. The saxophone player mentions that they need to catch a train back to Germany, and I admit that no other mode of transportation makes more sense, while at the same time realizing that I'm unaware of any submarine railway system crossing the Atlantic. Maybe there is one. Maybe Bohren wander from car to car playing for the drowned passengers. Maybe... I flash on them sliding slowly under the cold water, playing the Titanic down to its resting place on the Atlantic sea floor. I wonder how they would sound under water. Probably pretty much the same.
They play songs from Geisterfaust, Black Earth, and their newest cd, Dolores. There may be some from the other albums as well, but they all run together in a black, oozing mass. I almost always have at least one of their cds in my cd changer, and usually more. For this reason, their cds often run together in my head. It's perfect music for late night listening, and it quietly drowns out the seventies rock of my drunken next door neighbor (the guy seems to listen to all of the same music I listened to in the fourth grade).
Before Bohren, Attila Csihar performs as Void ov Voices, looping his voice and layering sound upon sound until a cacaphony of voices swells to fill the space. He seems to be influenced by the chanting of Gregorian monks (right down to his semi-monklike stage costume - a black, hooded cloak), tuvan throat/overtone singing, and early Current 93. In fact, I find him a bit derivative of early Current 93, and I'm reminded of David Tibet saying how embarrassingly easy those early Current 93 cds were to create. Come to think of it, I think he was on stage with Current 93 during some of their more recent European shows. Hmmm.
I notice that the U.S. portion of their "tour" only includes 3 dates. The first was in L.A. on the 31st, and the third is in New York tomorrow. So much for the train to Germany. Maybe they leave by train after the New York show. One can only imagine...
Recent Comments
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Crow said:
...shows how much I know. However, this is one realm of knowledge where I'm actually proud of my ignorance! read more
on Kristeen Young at The Blank Club, San Jose, CA, 5/19/09 -
Complicated Guy said:
Haha... That cardboard cutout isn't a Jonas Brother... It's Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy. read more
on Kristeen Young at The Blank Club, San Jose, CA, 5/19/09
on 25 Years Later: Raven at the Rockit Room, 8/22/08