Our friends from Head of FemurMatt Focht and Eathan Janney are on the road this month with Connor Oberst. I suppose this means their stint together in Nebraska yielded good chemistry. Focht and Janney will be traveling with a few new folks under the moniker The Matt Focht Band. Unfortunately they seem only to be touring Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan and of course Illinois. What I wouldn’t give to see this lineup at the Vic Theater. Lucky bastards. If there is a chance they might continue together eastward, I’ll get the word out. Can’t we get Focht to Terminal 5 in November?
The Matt Focht Band and Conor Oberst Tour Together October 29th 2008 8pm @ FIRST AVE. Minneapolis, Minnesota October 30th 2008 8pm @ TURNER HALL Milwaukee, Wisconsin October 31st 2008 7pm @ VIC THEATRE Chicago, Illinois November 1st 2008 7pm @ VIC THEATRE Chicago, Illinois November 2nd 2008 8pm @ ROYAL OAK MUSIC THEATRE Royal Oak, Michigan
Nebraska again has the pleasure of welcoming home a favorite son back to Omaha and Lincoln for a special performance at the end of September. Matt Focht of Head of Femur fame will be on stage at the Anchor Inn in Omaha and Duffy’s Tavern in Lincoln. With the help of 6 newly enlisted rockers, Focht will debut new material. He will be in great company too:
Head of Femur head back out on the road, possibly giving their last performances of the “season.” Although, I have a feeling that come late summer there will be plenty of clamor for them to get their asses into a van and drive eastward. In fact, let that clamoring begin right now!
May 15th- Minneapolis, MN @ The Uptown *
May 16th- Chicago, IL @ Schuba’s *
May 17th- Dubuque, IA @ Busted Lift *
May 18th- Iowa City, IA @ Iowa City Yacht Club *
May 20th- Lincoln, NE @ Box Awesome *
May 21th- Omaha, NE @ The Waiting Room *
May 24th- Kansas City, MO @ The Brick
May 25th- Des Moines, IA @ Vaudeville Mews
* with The Heavenly States & Poison Control Center
Head of Femur
Great Plains
March 25th 2008
Greyday Records
Beyond the band’s weirdness and artsy veneer, Head of Femur has a core spirit that has captured the imagination of thousands. The journey they have undertaken, from inception to contemporary form, underscores their unique and enduring qualities. Their narrative is a sort of mythos, inspirational in its own way, yet filled with difficult challenges. Great Plains, more than any other record in their catalog, portrays Head of Femur as the pioneers they are. With it they continue their uncompromised ethos, but over the last two years they have had the time to reflect on their situation and the willingness to move forward, adjust and absorb events that ultimately shaped the band’s present incarnation.
Since the release of Hysterical Stars in 2005, the boys of Head of Femur have taken it upon themselves to rework their operation. The mid-section of this decade saw great things for the band. They christened the first ever Intonation Festival and traveled across the country in support of Hysterical Stars. Head of Femur received favorable reviews from tastemakers such as Pitchfork for Ringodom or Proctor and Hysterical Stars. They released the EP Leader and the Falcon in October of 2007, the same month that they had a great showing at the CMJ Music Marathon. Expectations for their subsequent release were high.
Between 2005 and 2007 founding member Ben Armstrong (hear, hear!) and keyboardist Tyson Thurston left the band for other pursuits. Each contributed to Head of Femur’s newest release and remains part of the Head of Femur family. Colby Starck now attends to the bands percussive needs and Eathan Janney has transitioned perfectly on keys. As anyone who has witnessed will attest, their live show is not to be missed. They have been touring for the better part of two years with material that is featured on their Leader and the Falcon EP and their newest record Great Plains.
It is not that a revolving roster of musicians is new to Head of Femur. That has been the norm since the bands beginning. In fact that has been one of the defining characteristics of the band whose extended musical family numbers well over a dozen. Head of Femur has scaled down the magnitude of instrumentation with Great Plains. Some have said, “Head of Femur‘s Great Plains sheds the excessive glory of past efforts and focuses on immediate melodies.” But this line does not aptly describe the transition the band has undergone. The style and fashion that the band projects can at times be eccentric and schizophrenic, but that is not the monolith by which they should be defined.
To call their music excessive rebuts the very movement that their prior records sought to establish. As much as minimalist 3 piece rock bands have become standard fodder for music halls everywhere, Head of Femur has asserted their belief that composition and orchestration have a place as well. They have reduced their instrumentation, resulting in more manageable live shows, but do not think for a second that they have resigned only to what is immediate, forsaking their multitude of multi-phonic, multilayered, tempo driven textures.
Mike Elsener impressively sings lead on Jetway Junior and Where’s the Fire, two of his best vocal tracks ever. Covered Wagons is one of the finest crafted songs of the season. Between it and Isn’t It a Shame, Head of Femur has definitively asserted themselves as serious song writers. Their oddness does not corrupt their talent. The narrative that the band presents in their music reflects their adventures from Omaha and Lincoln Nebraska, to the neighborhoods of Chicago, where they are not simply transplants, but are ingrained into the art and music scenes.
This Message reminds me of Chicago and my Midwestern experience. The track will never get old and is among the best they have ever written. While it doesn’t quite capture the intensity of their live show, the looped riff from Napoleon’s Boots is phenomenal. Elsener’s chops are appropriately featured on this record. Song after song presents a band that knows exactly how they want to sound; they are not confused about the aesthetic they emit. However, they seem to be unaware of their greatness. If a criticism could be leveled against them, it would be that they should tour ceaselessly. Head of Femur‘s music is endearing and crisp on record, but their music is infectious and consuming live. Come see Brooklyn bitches!
Other Music
Ringodom or Proctor- 2003
Do The Tavern and Other Tall Tales iTunes EP- 2005
Hysterical Stars-2005
Leader and the Falcon EP- 2007
On Tour
April 11th 8:00PM @ Shubas- Chicago
May 15th 10:15PM @ Uptown- Minneapolis, Minnesota
May 17th 8:00PM @ Busted Lift- Dubuque, Iowa
May 18th 6:00PM @ Iowa City Yacht Club- Iowa City, Iowa
May 19th 10:00PM @ Box Awesome- Lincoln, Nebraska
May 20th 11:00PM @ The Waiting Room- Omaha, Nebraska
Band members Matt Focht, Mike Elsener, Eathan Janney, Colby Starck, and Nick “The Chancellor” Westra have decided to release their long anticipated third record at the end of March, just in time for my birthday. Great Plains is the product of a new ethos developed by the band. While still maintaining their signature style, Head of Femur have challenged themselves to delve deeper into their collective being to make a record that has all the musicality and pop-art sensibility of their former incarnations, each member putting forth more of themselves to achieve with ten hands what was once attempted by forty.
This in no way means that I expect Great Plains to sound like previous albums. I do expect Head of Femur to be forward thinking in their effort. That being said, Head of Femur does represent something. They have a deliberate weirdness, an innate sense of melody, and they stay ahead of the curve that independent music tends to follow. Their new material may be “striped down” but not in the sense that it has been derogatively reduced. Indeed I would describe the move as a refinement process. So go to Schubas people! I can’t wait to review the record and wish I could be there for the show…
I have recently returned from the Midwest, where I spent Christmas with my family and my wife. It was great to see old friends and how my home town has changed in the years that I have been away. My favorite bar has been by some accounts blacklisted by those who disapprove of new ownership, the intrusion of a malformed elevator shaft into the stage space, and a shift in demographics. Hip kids perceive the fraternity types to be taking over and thus have moved elsewhere. This xenophobia has been transliterated onto the music scene itself. I visited a new venue in Nebraska called Box Awesome. Immediately upon entering, I knew that this joint had collected the cool juice that had spilled over from downtown’s once great music venues. Everything from the art on the wall to the position and quality of the stage and the people circulating the room left the impression that Box Awesome was attached to a scene. It was a happening place that I could easily imagine running into on the Lower East Side or in Williamsburg.
To some the energy that is derived from such a venue is coveted. The covetous nature of what I saw that night is a microcosm of what seems to be happening in independent music. When I entered Box Awesome a band called UUVVWWZ was slated to play. I had recognized Jim, the main guitar player and writer from Mr. 1986, and was expecting a great show. As the band completed their sound check, the lead singer Teal began to hum and moan into the mic. What ensued captivated the audience and had the house moving. The music was nicely awkward with solid riffs punctuated by the jammy interplay between the bass and guitar. But I could not help but scoff at the shrieks of Teal Gardner. UUVVWWZ sounded as if Veruca Salt bitched and screamed until her father bought her a band. They incorporated some of the more vocal forward elements of Sleater Kinney and the more mundane aspects of Deer Hoof. She mostly failed to utilized her words or proffer her utterances as anything other than the whiny shenanigans of a preschooler. When Ms. Gardner sang with a more tender tone it was evident that the band had promise. Even when she screamed there was a raw vociferousness that was pleasurable. But the fact remains that most of the time, she just sounded like a girl whose shtick was to sing by singing badly. UUVVWWZ then came off as noise. This describes a major trend in independent music that has culminated in 2007.
The quest to become the oddest of the odd is not one taken by fools alone. There have been many great and glorious records to come out of such attempts. Others however fail with attention too often placed on what is possible, or what can be done, rather than any consideration of what effect or aesthetic the music might have when it is listened to. Importantly, a premium has been placed on what is disconnected. Caché is derived from the anti-structured expletives that valiantly discourage mainstream attention. The Fiery Furnaces had their try and stumble with Widow City in 2007, while Battles succeeded with Mirrored to produce interesting rhythmic weirdness. Perhaps Battles did well because of the lack of worded vocals. Either way, the critics of 2007 loved any attempt to reformulate the way we listen to music, giving praise to records that if critiqued at another time would be recognized as trite and be doomed to be forgotten. Noise can only be new a few times.
Animal Collective rose to the occasion and released a record with intense creativity when times were fertile for their brand of music. They were not lazy just because it would have been easy to crank out a crap record and still have gotten recognition because of their “pioneer” status. They took it upon themselves to step it up when more people would be looking, although Animal Collective member Panda Bear released what some have erroneously called the best record of 2007. This record was possibly the least important release of the year, but alas, he cloned The Beach Boys in a way that Band of Horses did not. Kudos for that, but I’ll probably never intentionally listen to Panda Bear’s Person Pinch again. This year has been a year in which the discombobulated has thrived and the straightforward has succumbed to the rise of distracted glitchy antitheses.
In 2007 Wilco played us simple songs uncovered and bare of what otherwise might have been expected from a band that pushes their songs to the textural limit of pop. Bright Eyes recorded Cassadaga, leaving Lincoln Nebraska’s former recording landmark Presto Studios for the wider scope of pan-America. Similarly Bright Eyes’ music ranged from intimate to epic, teeming with themes of isolation, alienation, and the large scope of the American experience. Beirut has given 2007 an expanded and improved collection of tracks that out perform much of their previous catalog, proving to us that Zach Condon will be around for a very long time.
This year has acquainted me with bands such as Pela who have written and recorded one of the most undervalued American rock albums of this decade. Other bands like The National and The Twilight Sad have altered indie rock’s accumulated stigma as poorly recorded cock rock. Groups molded into the archetypal formulas of Jet and The Strokes are getting less and less attention. On the unsigned front, Yes, I Attempt (now named Boys Dance, Girls Die) from Montréal have recorded a few tracks that should be getting noticed any time now. Once they book shows, I know it will only be a matter of time. Immovable Objects and The Depreciation Guild have put together two very beautiful and encouraging records. They are delicate, tender, and dense. I am very curious to read what other critics make of these acts as they achieve greater prominence.
This year I have sat in disbelief at critical reactions to many albums. I have a place reserved in my heart for Rilo Kiley, but another release like Under the Blacklight will most certainly jeopardize the charge of my opinion. I almost mistook Spoon’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga for an Oasis record…and that is a bad thing. Stars have been noted for their retro nuanced pop, but they come off sounding like pretentious hacks, who are too self infatuated that they have over looked the fact that they are perhapes the most derivitive band I have heard in a while (Sorry Amy Millan, I’ll always love you). Another much loved artist to make new songs from dated styles is Jens Lekman, who is touted as the ultra euro-romantic. While he is by no means awful, Lekman’s mannerisms never quite have the pop appeal of Belle and Sebastian or the sassy nature of Morrissey, yet he tries to fuse the two into a seamless product. When I listen to him, I am reminded of what he is not, rather than what he has to offer. I know…too bad for me.
The internet has seen a few antics this year. The identity of The Tuss has fueled more controversy with people who usually wouldn’t care. Radiohead released an amazing record and distributed it themselves via the internet for a price to be named by the buyer. They caused a false scandal when it was discovered that In Rainbows would be initially downloadable at only160kbs. Idiots finally found Radiohead’s flaw… they are money grubbing leaches… hmmm. Au Revoir Simone has risen from a relatively little known band to an internet sensation. Based on the amount of internet buzz I expect these ladies to do well in the coming year. While I did not give them the most stellar review, after listening to Under the Blacklight, I am convinced that The Bird of Music has done more musically in 2007 than Rilo Kiley ever dreamed of or cared to try. In fact Rilo Kiley loaned everything cool about themselves to the Brooklyn trio.
After much consideration I have decided to include a Frederick Foxtrott Top 10. It is flawed and conflicted but it covers a good portion of what 2007 had to offer.
*Elliot Smith’s New Moon and Sigur Rós’s Hvarf/Heim are respectfully excluded from consideration.
I am looking forward to 2008. It will be the year that Eagle Seagull tours across the nation with their new record, finding their name on many a critic’s top 10 list. Head of Femur will take this year to watch their hard work pay off with their new release Great Plains. Born Ruffians and Stardeath and White Dwarfs will release their debut LPs to audiences eagerly awaiting full lengths. Born Ruffians will be one of the best bands to hit the shelves in 2008 and if Stardeath’s shows are any indication of their abilities in the studio then I am afraid to hear how good they’ll sound next year. As Paper Garden increases its roster of notable artists, both past and present, they continue to impress me with their sensibilities and nose for great music. Peasant will no doubt have huge success in the coming year. Thanks for reading Frederick Foxtrott and we hope to make next year’s reviews more abundant and informative. While from my perspective 2007 was not a great year for independent music, I predict that 2008 will be an exceptional year, serving to define a most crucial time for the independent industry.
Animal Collective
Strawberry Jam
September 11th 2007
Domino Records
I have no particular regard for Animal Collective. This New York City based experimental electro-spaz-pop has in the past simply aimed for weirdness, an objective not important or unique enough to warrant my patience. There has never been the artful exposition of Xiu Xiu or the pop confidence of Head of Femur. When I heard that Strawberry Jam had received near perfect reviews, I was provoked to investigate. To my dismay, I was happily surprised. Perhaps I have discovered something in Animal Collective that I had missed previously, or maybe they have discovered something in themselves that has expanded their quest for the bizarre.
When I first heard Peacebone I instantly knew from where The Annuals descended. What hadn’t been immediately clear became evident within seconds of hearing the staccato video game blips that synced together to form a driving beat with mad-hatter screams that made me smile with glee. In terms of accessibility, the lyrics and melody of the record are just within arms reach. Unsolved Mysteries has some of the same loony-toon sounds as Peacebone, but with a much simpler squeeze box rhythm. The vocals are a bit mundane but they improve as the song continues. Chores sounds like a children’s show theme song off of late eighties Nickelodeon, yet with a vocal quality reminiscent of The Shins. The strongest tune, ForReverend Greene, is laden with syth-pulsations and rock & roll vocals that invoke that part of my psyche that is still suspended in “the terrible twos.” This record is a trip for sure.
Not every track is that interesting or really worth commenting on. This is not to say that they are bad tracks. Rather the opposite, there is not a bad song on the album. I don’t feel like Strawberry Jam compromises on anything. Fireworks and Winter Wonderland aren’t great, but they are both fun party tracks. It’s just that every song is a fun party track. I would be remiss not to emphasize how the highlights of Strawberry Jam out-shine the status quo. I am convinced that the intro to #1 was written by Steve Miller, stolen by Animal Collective, and then fused with the tweaked baritone vocals of Ween and the pop sensibilities of The Shins. Swear to Fucking God. Cuckoo Cuckoo is hard hitting and dynamic, constructed with an elegant piano foundation and punctuated by a fit of timed plate smashings and chaotic revelry. It is hard not to get caught up in that revelry. It is difficult not to enjoy the chaos offered.
The sarcasm present in Strawberry Jam reminds me of the conceptually weird semi-self titled album The Who Sell Out. Derek, the last track off the record, would have fit comfortably between Silas Stingy and Sunrise. The jingle like melodies and whirly-bop effects seem as if they were pulled right out of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The songs are not only weird, but they are animated and eager to entertain. Animal Collective has made great strides with Strawberry Jam. Still though, after all its strengths, it does not deserve the overly laudatory acclaim it has received. It is good, but not perfect as many have reported. The problem is not necessarily with Animal Collective’s conceptual ideas or the effort put forth. Their genre and style is inherently limited. It is tough to string noises together in order to create something worthwhile or interesting. In some ways this record is a touch nerd rock. It is better than average, although there is a bit too much Moxy Fruvous and They Might Be Giants influence for my taste. For all its sound-a-like qualities, Animal Collective has assembled a functioning cacophony, and I look forward to hearing more from their factory of fun.
This year I had three days in my schedule to attend College Music Journal’s annual marathon of music that takes place all across New York City. Over a thousand bands played over 200 venues over the past week. This does not even count the hundreds of unofficial CMJ events featuring a myriad of other shows. As a former server in New York’s late night Meatpacking District, I have come to value my nights and weekends. Now that I have a right and proper day job, I could see three nights of shows in a row. This is unheard of people.
It would have been great to have had the CMJ pass so that I could wander from venue to venue seeing only the bands I personally chose. However, I did not and was left to spectacles that only chance would provide. Sometimes, when I go to shows, I catch the rare opening act that blows my mind, or at least provokes me to think about buying their next EP. Other times I shake my head and wonder what possessed me to show up early yet again. This year at CMJ there was plenty of both scenarios. Over-all it was a great experience. I not only saw some of my favorite bands, but I also got the opportunity to introduce them to others as well. I wasn’t the least bit afraid that I had over hyped them, and they did not disappoint. The following reviews are from my notes, diligently taken over three nights and over many, many beers.
I walked into this PA fellow’s set just as it began. I was happy both to be able to see Eagle Seagull in an extra small venue and to drink free beer, but hearing Peasant, aka Damien Derose, turned out to be another pleasant reason to visit the Indaba loft for CMJ. When we entered the unassuming space, the listeners were quiet and contemplative, listening to his melodic ballads. I learned that he is signed to Paper Garden Records and that he is releasing an album called On the Ground in 2008, which I am eager to hear as soon as possible.
I received a sample of Peasant‘s work from his label and I was very impressed with the recording. His live performance was wrought with delicate and beautiful sunbursts and his demeanor was without pretension or guile. He was simple and deliberate, open but not protracted. I hope to see him again for a longer and more generous display.
7/9
Eagle Seagull
By the time Eagle Seagull took to the small makeshift stage, I noticed the temperature in the loft. The heat was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I was unsure as to how Eagle Seagull was going to proceed. It would be hard to dance in a sauna. I pumped some brew from the keg for my fiancée and myself, but it did not seem to cool my sweat factories. The crowd gathered as the band opened their set, bobbing their heads up and down, clearly interested in the music condensing on their skin with waves of heat and perspiration. One gentleman, seated on a couch in front, stood up and said to another seated next to him, “Man these guys are good.” The second man replied from somewhere in the bottom of his belly, “Uh huh!”
Kids leaning against the walls panted like cocker spaniels in the summer heat. The band played what I image to have been an excruciating set. For their part, they did not let the heat impair the music too severely, although I was afraid Austin was going to collapse at one point. Movement was an unappealing concept. Dancing was a meditation on heat stroke survival. But I danced and I sweated. I soaked myself head to toe at this sticky, steamy show. Perhaps if everyone in the joint danced like maniacs it would have been a better experience. Collective masochism could be cool.
I was especially excited to see the Chicago Showcase this year at CMJ. After all, in the recent past I have lived on both sides of our beloved Windy City. As usual, I arrived to Arlene’s a little early so I grabbed some prosciutto and mussels at a nearby bistro. After dinner I walked into Arlene’s not knowing what to expect. I had never been to the grocery store turned venue before. The bar is cut into two halves, a straight bar and a venue, both of which have a grim aesthetic of dingy neon. By the time my beer was in hand, Tom Schraeder was set to play.
I had heard some positive things about them in response to my promotion of the CMJ Chicago Showcase. One reader wrote, “Tom Schraeder & His Ego are a treat – like Ryan Adams and Gram Parsons, but with some Neil Young grit. I’d be there if I were in NY.” Truth be told, I do not really agree with this assessment. Ryan Adams is in no way represented in this band. If you have an alt-country act, or as I might label, alt honky-tonk, you can’t just compare them with names out of the air and hope they stick. I appreciate the sentiment though. This guy writes heart wrenching songs about love. But the grit involved isn’t a la Neil Young, it is a la Uncle Jesse Duke. But again I appreciate the sentiment- Tom’s Ego is not as clean as Gram Parsons.
Tom Shraeder’s live act was not the most dynamic show of the week. The band’s timing was very loose. At times the drums and melody seemed derailed and out of sync, and the songs were not very well defined from another. There were some Dylan-like moments, but it is an overall failed comparison. It should be said however, that there were aspects of the music that were excellent. One song grooved with strings, while the guitars became introverted and submissive, revealing a much more resplendent potential. The organ sounds projected them into entirely different territory. For five seconds their sound was related to Murder by Death, and it was awesome. Unfortunately the more subtle aspects of Tom and his Ego do not seem to be emphasized often. To my disappointment, the string section was certainly undervalued. Tom Shraeder & His Ego have demonstrated their talent. Now they need to trade in a bit of that steel for a tad more bow.
5/9
Unique Chique
This was a strange act to review. I think I liked them. Unique Chique concocted a mixture of jazzy elementals with high energy prog-rock. For the Chicagoans out there, they sounded like a more sing-song structured Tortoise. The vocalist had deep pockets of passion, standing among the more sincere performers at this year’s marathon. The problem is that I don’t think he liked his own band. It seemed obvious that this guy took this show very seriously, making the unpopulated room feel as if they weren’t good enough because of its lack of density. This aspect of their show split a hairline fracture through the band.
Unique Chique’s set was cut short, which is a shame because even if the music wasn’t the most amazing thing I had ever heard, they were fun to watch. Ernie the bassist looked to be a hyper-active Dungeons & Dragons playing, trench coat wearing, metal head. His skills were incredible and his awkward, stompish dance proved his commitment to the rhythm and roll of it all. The drummer reminded me of a skinny gold-town swindler whose nickname might be Ratsy or Barth. He had a slick skill with chiseled chops and a swanky style. The drum and bass section were quite the duo. Joe Starita’s lack of interaction with the rest of the musicians was simply odd. I might just have eaten a bad mussel, but the perceived tension definitely impaired the show.
6/9
Skybox
Unfortunately, at this point a few friends arrived and I began to fade in and out of a social coma. I did however catch most of Skybox. The last time I saw this band was at the Subterranean in Chicago. Back then they were dressed in brilliant white suits, projecting an eccentricity both musically and visually. At the showcase, they were comparatively dressed down. I almost didn’t recognize them in the earth-tone attire. But then I heard the music. Skybox has a very extroverted style. A friend turned to me and asked, “What would you call these guys.” I shrugged. In retrospect, vaudevillian berum-pum-pum tat-tat-tat comes to mind. This band is big, stout, and eager to slap your nose with a finger wiggling melodrama. They were off kilter and spastic, a little weird even. Dr. Suess might have had a hand in their warped sense of style. Thankfully Skybox flowed in full flavor.
7/9
Brighton MA
They took a while to set up and they played for what seemed like an eternity. It may have been the Jack Daniels talking but this band was no more than tedious hippie-rock. Return to social coma…
4/9
Head of Femur
Head of Femur came to New York with something to prove. How can a band known for having a multitude of multi-phonic, multilayered, tempo driven textures recombine itself into a rawer, more fundamental creature? Are we witnessing the replication of peacock DNA into that of a sparrow? I am not here to provide an account of Head of Femur’s origins, lore, and exploits, rather I have simply been charged to review their show at this year’s CMJ music marathon. Truth be told I have seen these guys far more as a 5 piece than as a 15 piece band. So hearing songs performed that might otherwise have been adorned with nine part orchestration is not entirely new.
An important item to remember while we contemplate our pleasure or displeasure is how the metamorphosis has imbued or slandered what we have come to know and cherish. Not only this but we must remember that Head of Femur has released a new EP and is set to release a new record in 2008. The very identity of Head of Femur is under review. I am not only speaking of the band mates themselves, but additionally to their ability to successfully negotiate such foundational change. Their appearance at Arlene’s Grocery displayed a band with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and confidence. Make no mistake, Head of Femur know what the fuck they are doing.
The show began with an introduction by a well spoken poet. I wonder if it is a Chicago tradition to be introduced by a poem. It reminded me of the many times I have seen Thax Douglas recite his words to puddles of second citizens. They were dressed to kill and had a decent crowd waiting as they ascended onto the stage. From the first note the energy was high and riddled with intention. A crowd of Neural Scientists dancing in the front row raved about how dreamy the band looked. Even my own fiancée was weak in the knees for this weird, weird band, especially as she said “the cute new keyboardist.”
The music was full, well written, and more alive than ever with hellacious hooks and melodies that did not come off as merely compensation for the inclusion of only four or five instruments. Rather older songs were reconceptualized within a new paradigm and new tunes defined the structure, the style, and the future of that paradigm. Head of Femur are no strangers to change. These kids have reshaped themselves many times, each instance renewing their commitment to all things beautiful and entertaining about obscurity.
Nick Westra’s charm and nonchalance while playing bass wooed the ladies as Colby Starck’s drumming emitted a sexual charisma unrivaled by even the most experienced of Kama Sutra practitioners. Matt Focht and Mike Elsener kept the front of the stage moving as they introduced new tunes to eager ears. Head of Femur is on the move people, and you all need to get with it and give these guys the attention they deserve.
I have chosen these three venues and evenings to check out what CMJ has to offer. I’ll be seeing three of my favorite acts along with many others. Click on dates for reviews of the shows.
Mercury Lounge NYC
217 E. Houston St, New York, NY
(corner Ave A & Houston)
(212) 260–4700
Rock And Roll 7:00
The Rosewood Thieves 8:00
The Airborne Toxic Event 9:00 Eagle Seagull10:00
The Little Ones 11:00
Robbers on High Street 12:00
Eskimo Joe 1: 00
RWIM Chicago Showcase Tom Schraeder & His Ego 7:30
Unique Chique 8:15 Skybox 9:00
Brighton, MA 09:45 Head Of Femur 10:45
Catfish Haven 11:45
Hollywood Holt 12:45
Eagle Seagull
September 12th 2007 at Union Hall Brooklyn
September 14th 2007 at The Mercury Lounge Manhattan
This past week has been somewhat of a drunken debacle. I drank entirely too much alcohol, spent an unfortunate amount of money, and injured my dancing legs. I blame these mishaps altogether on Eagle Seagull’s impossibly impressive showings in both Brooklyn and Manhattan. Having seen them perform well in Nebraska and then brilliantly in Chicago, I was naturally itching for another fix.
Anyone who knows me well knows I love to dance. This is sometimes sad because I dance crazily and have trouble containing my convulsions and gyrations, especially when whiskey is involved. I imagine that it might seem odd to the musicians in front of whom I dance to see me move around like I do. On occasion I even lose balance and fall over. I know this is a problem, but I simply cannot help it. Just so I am clear, I don’t dance at every show I attend. I mean, usually I am not even compelled to tap a foot or nod my head, but when I do I become completely mentally defective. This happened not once, but twice during Eagle Seagull.
On Wednesday, September 12th, Eagle Seagull hit Brooklyn at Union Hall off the R train in Park Slope. I arrived at 7:30, started my tab at the bar, and awaited the presence of my lovely fiancée while staring at the slightly annoying bocce ball players clacking their pastel spheres. I had decided that my fascination with Eagle Seagull stems from a few different things. First, it is always great to have old acquaintances meet success. I come from the same town, played shows to some of the same people, and drank beer at the same bar. I had become jealous that they committed to their music, while I abandoned it and moved to Chicago. They toured Europe and have shared the stage with countless amazing bands. Beyond the role of home-town-hero hacks, Eagle Seagull have the talent to back-up all claims of greatness.
Hillary arrived and we ordered a few more beers, a Black Label, and a duck confit thin crust pizza. Yes, they serve duck confit thin crust pizza at Union Hall. The venue has a slightly contrived feel to it. The books and wood put in place to achieve an aesthetic of intelligence and sophistication. My spirits, however, were beginning to rise as my anticipation grew. Hills and I spotted Eli sitting with a few of his friends by the door. We said hello, wished him luck, and headed down stairs to lower level stage. It was a small dimly lit room with a cash only bar. A band was finishing, from what I could tell, a lackluster set, when an old friend from home who also migrated eastward appeared in the crowd. I was happily snared in a surreal moment.
As Eagle Seagull began I took a swig of my beer. Hills was all smiles and I began to dance, buzzing my brain with the occasional pull from the scotch in my plastic cup. I looked behind to see that the crowd had grown and people were moving. I danced to every tune with a sort of fanaticism. They hit every beat and every note. Austin asserted his own fanaticism on guitar as Eli performed with grace and conviction, all the while looking very, very hip. The band played all new material, except my preferred oldie Your Beauty Is A Knife I Turn On My Throat, all of which were played true to perfect form.
After their set, in my drunken stupor, I tried to get the band to drink as much alcohol as possible. I figured budgets were being followed and ordered a few drinks for them. Fuzzy clouds descend on my head. They had to go to Massachusetts for the next day’s show in the morning. They left the bar. Hills and I decided to stumble home ourselves, but not before getting on the wrong train and losing ourselves in Manhattan to alcohol induced confusion. We finally popped out of the New York subway system somewhere around Union Square at 5am, so we decided to eat breakfast at Cozy’s Soups and Burger. I had some combination of eggs, sausage, and cottage cheese. I have no recollection of Hillary’s meal.
The following Friday, September 14th, I prepared to re-experience the splendor that is Eagle Seagull. This time I was bringing friends from my Bushwick artist oriented apartment building to The Mercury Lounge. Ben, Dan and I went to the bodega to get some 9.5% alcohol malt beverages. They cost only $1.25 and pack quite the punch. We traveled via the L train and then walked down 1st Ave sipping our brews in brown bags. We arrived at the venue just in time for the first act. After buying more drinks, we stepped into the stage area to give them a listen, reminded by the crowd size that Interpol was contemporaneously performing. The first band didn’t really do it for me so I went back to the bar. It was about that time that I decided that beer alone also wasn’t really doing it for me so I ordered a shot of whisky to shoot before I pissed. We had begun the night off right.
Eagle Seagull has become a staple at many-a-party in East Williamsburg Industrial Park. I was thrilled to introduce my friends to some of the band members, almost as thrilled as I was to be seeing them play twice in one week. The thing about Eagle Seagull is that they are very, very nice people. One conversation led to the next, which ended with Eagle Seagull leaving to perform. My friends and I, faces aglow, went to the front of the stage beer in tow. As the music began, I felt a wave of intoxication flow through my body. The dancing had begun- the fanaticism, the defection, the insanity. The lights were pretty, and the music stunning. The next day, my friend Dan explained to me his impression of their live performance. If one were to cut the center out of a song one might suppose it was chaos. But that from beginning to end the song is constructed, directed, and orchestrated, so that at no time does the chaos seem jarring or does it lack musicality. This is a very apt description of Eagle Seagull’s performance.
As the set progressed I danced harder and harder, surely making those strangers unaccustomed to my wild ways uncomfortable. I myself am uneasy when I think about what I must have looked like. But damn it, I had so much fun. Perhaps it has been too long since I exercised* my dance demons at 80’s Night at Brick Top in Lincoln. Or maybe I simply had too much alcohol. As the show concluded we went back to the bar where I am sure many conversations took place, some of which I may or may not have been involved in. I might have smoked a cigarette. I am sure I tried to buy the band more booze (hey these kids have got to save their dollars for gas, Redbull, and road munchies). At one point near the end of the evening, my own friends long gone for falafel, I tried to convince the entire band that they shouldn’t go get rest. I tried to coax them into eating at Pastis. At 2:00am. Them being the nice folks that they are, they simply declined and bid me farewell.
I walked back to the L and went home, worried that I had been officious and sycophantic. The next day my right calf, more so than my entire body, was destroyed. I had danced with such vigor that I pulled a calf muscle. I wasn’t quite hungover in the classic sense. I had zombie-like vitals, and I did feel sluggish and head-broken, but I realized that my feelings of officiousness and sycophantism were misplaced. I was simply proud of this band of kids from back home who were doing things that other kids will never get to do. They dreamt it, and they did it, and what’s more they fucking deserve it. They have a new album coming out next year and are Playing CMJ in New York on October 17th, which coincidentally precedes fellow Nebraska native Head of Femur’s show on the 19th. Let’s see if I can’t keep my dancing legs in line and my liquor lips shut next month. I know it’ll be tough. For all of you out there who have the opportunity to see this band, do so at your own risk.
