Adventures in: A Week in Music

Oh my God. The Alabama Shakes.

One of the entertaining parts of having a blog is occasionally jabbering about yourself. That and coming up with your own house style... but that's a separate bag of j-nerdiness you probably don't care about. That said, I thought I'd write up a week in music that was more eventful than most. 

+Monday: I broke out of the house and caught a CD release show at The Basement here in Nashville, for a charming Irish duo called The Lost Brothers. My reoccurring thought throughout the night was "I'm so glad I'm not covering this." Words fail me. But I'll keep typing. It was everything that makes Nashville the best city to see a show. The Lost Brothers are very good live. They're even better when accompanied by top flight musicians including a talented lap steel player, trombonist, and violinist. Brendan Benson joined them on stage for a song to play washtub bass, and then touring partner Glen Hansard popped up to sing a few songs as well. The night went like this: "Hey Jim, you out there? Did you bring your guitar? Come on up here."  I never want to see an arena/stadium concert again. 

+Tuesday: The new Mumford and Sons record came out and much to my dismay, Target sold out of the deluxe version, which has three bonus tracks, including their cover of "The Boxer" featuring Paul Simon and Jerry Douglas. Really, this little story has more to do with saving a few bucks thanks to Amazon. I ordered it for $11.99 instead of Target's $13.99. Shipping is free with my Prime account, and then Amazon kicked me back a buck to put toward a future purchase. Unless I'm able to get Grimey's, Amazon– I'm all yours. 

+Wednesday: For the past few weeks I've been slowly crafting a mix (well, Spotify playlist) for a mix club some folks I know started. I was ready to launch yesterday, but for some reason friends can't see certain tracks on my published playlists, and it's not a matter of Spotify not having the music. Anyway, I'm crossing my fingers that the good folks at Spotify shoot me an email back soon with a magic solution. And speaking of said mix, does it ever weird you out when there's a song you like and you can't find out anything about the band? More on that later. 

+ Thursday: I went with some people to see The Alabama Shakes at Live on the Green, a great free outdoor concert series put on by the illustrious Lighting 100. Got there late, left early, had about 10,000 people in my way. This night I also found myself thinking "I'm so glad I'm not covering this." On the bright side, I got to hear "Goin' to the Party" and "Hold On." On a related note, I'm like to commend LOTG. The top of the stage structure looked stunning. 

And Friday? Well. Basically nothing happened Friday. Anyhoodle, that's what's happening in these parts. Until later. 

Adventures in Paying Homage

Nothing to get hung about. 

I went to New York City for the first time to see Warhorse at Lincoln Center with my Critical Writing class this past April. As the bus neared the Lincoln Tunnel, my professor told us about a few nearby spots where we could venture but not get lost, one of them being Strawberry Fields in Central Park.

Strawberry Fields. The State-side holy site for Beatles fans looking to pay homage to John Lennon. Nuts. It hadn't even crossed my mind to try and find it, and yet nothing seemed more important than locating that iconic tiled "Imagine" paved into the ground.

Admittedly, in the past 10 years I've spent a lot less time with the Beatles than I used to. The summer after sixth grade I listened to Abbey Road every single day, without fail. That was also the year I brought my Beatles 1 cd to the end-of-year dance– I was a "cool" kid for a day.

In the coming years I found other bands to listen to, but never had the heart to strip the Beatles of the title "All-Time Favorite Band." In some ways they're dusty relics of my childhood, like an old teddy bear or too-small bike. And maybe it was for that reason, that nostalgia, that I recruited a couple friends and we snaked our way to Central Park as soon as we got off the bus.

It was right behind the stone wall. I knew it. But in true tourist fashion, we had to bum directions off a street vendor. Yards away, we found a mob of people that didn't thin out for a second in the 40 minutes we stopped to eat lunch on the bench and listen to the old guys playing Beatles covers on their guitars.

That's a really obvious testament to the uniting power of music, so I'm reluctant to even say it, but it was stunning. From tween girls to European travelers, all gravitated to this one place.

I still don't think about the Beatles as much anymore, but I'm inclined to believe in some kind of cosmic balance or duty. Heading over to Strawberry Fields was a non-negotiable pilgrimage, and it mile-marked a great musical relationship. Ten-year-old me geeked out and twenty-two-year-old me totally understood.

Adventures in Being Musically Inclined

This is Grimey's. Feel free to fall in love.

I wish more days could be like today. A friend of mine and I decided this week that Saturday would be devoted to hitting up some local record stores in pursuit of a new album. That's all. The mission was simple.

Add in two more friends and we spent the better part of the day elbow-deep in racks of cds. It was beautiful. On tap first was a shady-looking little place called The Great Escape that I've been frequenting since I was six. It's a little dingy, a little worn, but it's got character in much the same way that a yellowed album sleeve has character. The damn thing's crumbling, dusty and you're not sure if you even want to touch it-- God knows where it's been-- but there's too much pull to pass up.

I left with a six-dollar copy of Bringing it All Back Home by Bob Dylan. Not too shabby, but settling on it wasn't easy. Possibly my greatest dream is for someone to slap $100 dollars in my hand with the stipulation that it has to be spent on music. I'd have a stroke. Limiting myself to one album is a nightmare. Jackson Browne? Carole King? Radiohead? Bob Dylan? Once I narrowed it down to two, it was like my feet were cemented to the floor until I unlocked myself from that awful limbo of indecision.

Afterward, it was off to Grimey's. This was a new experience. Everything that The Great Escape had ever held for me all these years was shattered and replaced by funky exposed brick and Christmas lights strung from the ceiling. Better selection, deeper catalogue. Used and new. There was one wall in particular that was a Top 10 of sorts and as I scanned albums covers from Fleet Foxes, Ra Ra Riot, Kings of Leon, Of Montreal, and the like, I got the feeling like I'd found some kind of musical Mecca.

On the outside I was relatively un-phased. In my head I was mopping up drool. On a side note, Grimey's was actually featured in Paste a few months back. Cool doesn't begin to do justice to this place.

Let's talk about the speakers they had. I've been working on a review of Andrew Bird's Noble Beast and Grimey's was playing the whole album. What a revelation. An album that I'd been at best lukewarm about, all of a sudden bloomed into a skillfully layered, gorgeously instrumented work that has officially burrowed its was into my brain.

Obviously, either way it's fantastic to dawdle in record stores, but part of the fun was seeing what my friends stop and go "whoa, they've got [insert name]" People would know each other better if they had to spend a day with someone else's iPod.

There was coffee involved as well, on two occasions in fact. Our buddy James Fate was playing Starbucks and I enjoyed a beast of a cupcake.

In sum, I shafted all other responsibilities and sank my time into a music expedition with some excellent people. Best part? No guilt. Music overrides everything because it holds a power that I'm still realizing.

It can have me and I'll gladly go.

Adventures in Bustin' Out of the House

I've always wanted to be that person who has an arsenal of quirky cool stories, the kind that start out, "this one time in college," or whatever the case may be. Honestly, those stories aren't terribly difficult to come by, it just takes stepping outside your front door, preferably after 10 p.m.

That said, when my friend asked me if I'd like to go with her to this funky little coffee house (that I don't go to as often as I'd like) to see a friend of hers play a gig, I didn't even hesitate. For one, this coffee house is the type of place where the cool kids go. In high school these people were the strange artsy ones with massive Sharpie collections and no interest in anything remotely close to Top 40. They were they forgotten tribe in the corner of the cafeteria but these days we're living in the city where the jocks and the preps are uncultured and merely vanilla. That's not to say that's all who frequent the place, but the scales are tipped in their favor.

We arrived at some point in the 10 o'clock hour and it wasn't particularly packed. Things don't really get jumping until it's past what the average older person would deem a respectable bedtime. After snagging some hot chocolate and forking over $5 for a three-act evening of Jesus-friendly hip-hop (I kid you not). We met up with my friend's friend, a compact bundle of constant motion who goes by the stage name James Fate. After making some room on the bench next to the band, I was ready for some serious people watching.

From here, there are a couple roads to take.

A) The Place- The show was in the Back Stage Bar. There were some tables set up and our red bench on the side wall. It was the kind of room you expect to have been filled with smoke and smelling of beer, but only the latter was true and to a small degree. Dim lights, the glow of neon, and not enough room to take my jacket off. There's not much between the performer and the audience.

B) The People- The people were the best part. You had said artsy types, a kid at a table selling art work (namely alligators wearing hoodies and girl jeans), looking like the intersection between indie scene and urban. There were the kinds of people who were probably at Bonnaroo this summer, dreads, circular dance moves and all. One girl in particular....we weren't really sure if she was drunk or just really...ehh...you know the type. I'll put it like this, for the first two acts, she was the only one dancing. Then there was the photographer and his girlfriend who were sitting next to me. Slightly above the median age, but so ready to get in the middle of the music.

That was one thing that struck me, a few months ago I read some editorial complaining about how some people don't dance at concerts. I say it's none of my business, but it did make me tune in last night to who was acting how. In a couple cases, the music started up and even if it wasn't that great, there was this willingness and readiness to just sink into it regardless. The head bobbing and grooving with closed-eyes, submerging in the meaning of every beat. For me, I do little more than tap my foot. I operate like a radar at these things because I know I'll be writing about it. The photog's girlfriend on the other hand was searching for some musical catharsis and community, periodically turning to me to make a comment and always moving with the sounds in her own little space. They looked happy.

C) The Music- Like I mentioned, The Holla, which is a hip-hop night type thing. Our buddy there, James Fate was the Jesus-friendly part. The other two? I couldn't understand enough lyrics to know. (EDIT: my sources tell me all three were Jesus-friendly, in fact.)

First up was a guy calling himself 247 and his band the Three65s. He was funny, one of those people who states the obvious but with quirky comedic flair. You have no idea why you are laughing. Anyway, with only a bass player and drummer, it was really stripped down. It started off pretty cool but there wasn't enough variation between each song. Still, 247 had a good stage presence. You can watch a clip here.

Second was a guy (W-T the Musical Mastermind-- wouldn't go that far) who looked like Steve from the Sarah Silverman program. I've never seen anyone break a sweat that quickly. He was very intense, but given the fact that he was the middle act, the crowd only seemed mildly interested as he tried to start up some audience participation.

Last was James Fate (né Nate James). What a character. He did his best to "show love" to the other performers. One song in particular is pretty catchy, "Just a Dream" which is basically every musician's inner thoughts about how great it would be to make it and leave behind the day job etc. It's more Maroon 5 than hip-hop, though (think "Tangled"). He definitely and undoubtedly was the crowd favorite.

Anyway, this entry is longer than I intended, but it was a good night and it was great to go out and hear music that I normally would not listen to. There's more to tell, but your attention span is probably on the wane right now. Spice of life, folks. Here's to bustin' out of the house.

The Killers review is coming soon. Stay tuned, kids.

Adventures in Getting Scammed by Interscope Records

It just so happens that I recently celebrated a birthday. It was good, thank you for asking. Anyway, I was given the soundtrack to Across the Universe, a movie which is much loved here at the Musically Inclined. Upon first glance all appeared to be well, I conquered the shrink wrap in record time, only to remark how odd it was that "Hold Me Tight" wasn't included. Okay, 1 song. I was still stoked but all of a sudden the euphoria settled and my wits returned. Also absent from the 16 track disc were "I Want You (She's so Heavy)," "Dear Prudence," "Girl," and "All You Need is Love," which is nothing short of ridiculous given it's the tag line of the movie.

At that point I figured something was rotten. Amazon.com confirmed by suspicions, not to mention a good dozen angry product comments on the site. Here's the deal. Interscope Records released said soundtrack in September of last year when the movie came out. You've got to know that anyone who wants the soundtrack has got to love the movie pretty well and there's a good chance there's a healthy dose of fanaticism thrown in the mix too. Less than a month later, Interscope released the Deluxe Edition-- 2 discs, 29 tracks, and for only $2 more. Unhappiness ensued. Opened cds can't be returned. Either you can spend another $14 for a cd that has 16 songs you already have, or you can suck it up and try to use Garageband to record off Youtube clips.

We got burned, folks. I don't mind that there's a 31 song edition available exclusively from Best Buy and iTunes...it's just 2 songs extra to download from iTunes,if you feel so compelled, but using a ploy like that crosses the line from sneaky marketing antics to dishonesty at the expense of people who found something in this rash of mind-numbing, Will Ferrell- infested, soul-killing movies that was worth owning. Interscope has earned itself a spot on The Musically Inclined S*#% List. Keep your eyes peeled, kids. This shan't happen to TMI again.

Adventures in Trying to Find The National

Sometimes I can't help but wonder if the CD industry is trying to drive itself out of business. Yesterday I set out on what I thought would be a twenty-minute mission at max to buy Boxer by The National. It's been long overdue so I was admittedly verging on giddy. Normally the highest level of difficulty I experience in buying a CD is figuring which way the alphabet is running up the racks. Boy, do I wish that had been the case. I visited the soul-sucking Best Buy of the local suburbia only to find two copies of Alligator. No Boxer. Points for having older discs, but wouldn't it be prudent to stock the most current? Surely this was an oversight. On to Target...which, as it turned out, didn't even have the little place marker.

Really? I wouldn't classify The National as obscure indie rock any more. In mere months they went from a suggestion friend to friend to the cover of Paste Magazine, gracing many a "Best of 2007" list. Something's not right.
Finally I stopped into a different Best Buy. Nothing. Where else was there to go? That was (musically) the end of the road for that part of town, and what words of advice were offered to me? "Why don't you just get it online? Get an iTunes card and download it."

Fortunately for CD makers, I'm patient and also due downtown later on where I know exactly where to go to buy an album by a lesser-known band. After an afternoon of chasing my tail and subsequently a nap, it makes me wonder if it would not be easier to just get it off of iTunes. I would like to think that it was just bad timing, that the trucks pulled in after I left, brimming with a fresh stock of discs, but I doubt it. I've long loathed Best Buy for crushing the life out of little independent record stores, so I hold them to the idea that they better do a decent job because in the end all parties-- store, customer, and artist are losing.

Happy MLK day.

Adventures in Getting Beaten by the System

So, I've got a little adventure to write about. Some friends and I went out to get tickets for a couple concerts last week in order to avoid the ever so stupid service charges which, when combined equal another ticket. We set out feeling vaguely proud that we were beating the system. Oh brother. The first fiasco was trying to locate the first venue, after getting some sketchy directions from someone finally we pulled up and parked in a place which we could only hope, would not result in the towing of my friend's car, only to find...

It was closed. Really. All of that and the place is sealed tight...and it's not like they even mentioned business hours on the website, because I looked. That really blew a hole in our plan then, because we were going to get directions to the second venue at the first. So basically all we had to go on was the place was on 3rd and another street. How do we get to 3rd? I'm awful at navigating and somewhat unfamiliar with the area, leaving my third friend...who is not even from this geographic region of the country, siting in the back seat with a map from AAA trying to get a grip on the downtown layout. After a lot of street weaving, and a couple bad judgments (like which way to turn once we found 3rd...we should have gone right) we were nearly there, just keeping an eye out for that intersecting street. All along, I'm drawing some amount of comfort from having in my mind the painting of the facade which they show on their website. I figured maybe I'd be able to recognize it. Wrong. The place looked nothing like it! At all! Except for the fact it had the name written across the top! That aside we parked and went in.

There wasn't exactly a hostess waiting inside. We stood there a moment, trying to see if we could find someone who at least looked like they worked there, amid blaring music. Some guy, presumably the owner or manager, poked his head out from the bar and I seized the opportunity to ask if the box office is open; can we get tickets? He asks, "what show?" I yell back because the music is garishly loud, "Matt Nathanson." His answer? "Those tickets are only available online."
That's it folks, I'm done.
Peace

Adventures in Trying to be Open Minded

A few days a ago I saw a flyer advertising a rock band playing at a local church in my area. I'm not into Christian music, it's just a genre that I never had much exposure to and having been raised on The Beatles and The Rolling Stones...yeah. So I was curious given the fact that the band was making the distinction of being a Catholic band and I thought it would be interesting to see if there would be a difference. I'm not much into blanket statements about anything, there are always exceptions to the rule so I was ready to keep an open mind. That said, when my friend and I arrived to see barely twenty people milling around the place, I had a bad feeling. We were greeted by an overly enthusiastic manager directing us toward seats, acting like it was great that the small crowd gave us our pick. She had a small table with a couple of shirts, cds, and stickers. We stood around and she kept trying to push the start time back incase more people showed up but by 7:15 it was pretty clear that was going to be it. The whole time the band was stuck over in a little nook with their guitars which was completely visible to the audience. Needless to say it was almost comical when the manager introduced them with such drama and they stepped out from the nook a few feet away. At that point I'd already made a deal with my friend that we'd give it three songs and head over to the ice cream parlor.

Three songs later when we were trying to make the most discreet exit possible, it felt really disappointing and all I could think was what they should have done differently. For instance, they should have picked a smaller room to perform in instead of the main sanctuary which can accommodate several hundred people for any given service. They couldn't have thought there was going to be a massive turnout. With a smaller room at least they could say it was fairly full. It's all about the spin.

Something else; cut the cheap theatrics. Pure skill needs no help in shining. It was the cheesy intro and the jumping all over the place and cliché interactions between the guitarists. I couldn't help but think that I've seen this stuff before. Add in the classic audience banter, "anybody like Reliant K?" and the countdown started. There was some irony in the lead singer referencing more of a commercial success like maybe Reliant K or Switchfoot because I believe that some of their popularity stems from lyrics that don't read like they were written a few centuries ago. Keep the audience in mind! 16 to maybe 26 years old-- that age group wants more relatable content, more subtle.

I'm no expert on the genre and I usually don't curb my opinions, but I've seen enough bands with the "I think I can" mentality go down in flames that I just don't feel like ripping them a new one by using their name in this entry. They were young guys, I would just hope that they would get their act together and who knows what can happen. In any case, it's always fun to check out a random band on a whim. Give it a try, to quote Matchbox Twenty, "bad trips make great stories."