Decently produced show footage from Eagle Seagull‘s performance at Paridiso in Amsterdam on May 21st of this year. I think that, in regards to a release date for their upcoming LP The Year of the How-To Book, it is safe safe to say that “Some time early in 2008″ has been modified to “Sometime in 2008,” but I think most people are fine with that, as long as they get a wink and a wave. This footage below does just that, and fine job as well. I am not even sure why I thought the record was coming sooner than later. I probably just made it up.
Also if you would like to read some of Eagle Seagull‘s exploits as they toured with The B-52sclick here. Eli Mardock tells The Reader a harrowing tale of a nipple pinching deviant, a nippy Fred Schneider, and the true meaning of family fun at Disney Land. Enjoy!
Eagle Seagull
I Hate EPs (EP)
March 11th 2008
Self Released
In terms of record labels, Eagle Seagull is in the process of solidifying the framework in which their second record will be released. While they negotiate the terms of their future, they have been kind enough to put out a li’l som’n som’n for us to chew on, at least until they finish preparing their forthcoming effort The Year of the How-to Book. As is widely known, The Year of the How-To Book was produced by Ryan Hadlock, who has produced for artists such as Blonde Redhead and Steven Malkmus of Pavement. The record is due out sometime this year. Meanwhile, Eagle Seagull has committed to a domestic tour with such acts as Tokyo Police Club and The B-52s, with Europe to follow later in the year. This darling band has a lot to look forward to in the coming months.
I Hate EPs isn’t really an EP, it is a single of epic proportions that serves as a bridge from their debut to their new material. In this sense it is a “true EP” in that it acts an extension of recorded material, rather than a lump of five or six songs released as a sort of mini-album. It contains two songs which will almost certainly be on their upcoming record and three live previously released tracks. With its self-degrading title, I Hate EPs gives us a most vivid taste of what Eagle Seagull is up to. It is worthwhile to listen to every word on this EP. The lyrics are most certainly still emitted from the more noir recesses of our thought processes. They embody the violence that we inflict on one another with our thoughts, our lies, our manipulations, and the perfect memories that have since been pickled in the acerbic tension of current conditions.
I’m Sorry, but I’m Beginning to Hate Your Face is as great as its title. It embodies the romantic ideal that all things worthwhile and all things that are imbued with meaning are tethered to the relationship between those who have loved. This romance is not always pretty, as we often experience the instant karma of our deeds. With a dramatic wish, we want those who have wronged our affection to reap what they have sown. Specifically this song reflects on the love of an empty shell. A façade, a void, something not full, something love is supposed to be. In the end we are left with only our resignation to reason and disparagement of what lacks. The betrayal of love is met with the bitter negotiation of the perfect past moments and the inevitable question of, “How has it come to this?”
“We don’t talk about love; we don’t talk about sex; we don’t talk about dreams; we don’t talk about you; we don’t talk about me; we don’t talk about anything at all.”
What follows is a morose confessional recounting the fucked up duality of our sins and our victimization. I Don’t Know if People Have Hated Me, but I Have Hated People contrasts a person’s transgressions with their claim to be oblivious to what has been trespassed against them; it questions whether that obliviousness entitles them to assume that everyone else is just like them. It is the self discovery that they are in fact a monster. The song is beautifully played to an ominous piano progression interwoven with a most depressed, yet precious violin. The song ends with a surprising appellation of positive character. The narrator submits that they do not know if they have been forgiven but that they have forgiven others, which in context with their obliviousness speaks to the entitlement they feel. We are all monsters. We are all human.
The rest of the tracks, Your Beauty Is a Knife I Turn on My Throat, Heal It/Feel It, and Holy, are live cuts of songs from their debut self-titled record. They are appropriately faster, making them more danceable and aggressive. Carrie’s violin has a noticeably increased and appreciated presence in the live versions. The live recordings capture the band’s energy and attractive style perfectly. Eagle Seagull’s strength comes from their ability to define incommunicable moments. They may not use the most accessible words or the most flattering melodies, but their abstractions are extraordinarily palpable. God damn, this band is good.
Shows
Mar 19th 2008 8:00PM @ Birdy’s w/ Tokyo Police Club- Indianapolis, Indiana
Mar 20th 2008 8:00PM @ The Jackpot w/ Tokyo Police Club- Lawrence, Kansas
Mar 22nd 2008 8:00PM @ Kilby Court w/ Tokyo Police Club- SLC, Utah
Mar 24th 2008 8:00PM @ Independent w/ Tokyo Police Club- SF, CA
Mar 25th 2008 8:00PM @ Glass House w/ Tokyo Police Club- Pamona, CA
Mar 26th 2008 8:00PM @ Troubadour w/ Tokyo Police Club- LA, CA
Mar 28th 2008 8:00PM @ Soma w/ Tokyo Police Club- San Diego, CA
Mar 29th 2008 8:00PM @ Clubhouse w/ Tokyo Police Club- Tempe, Arizona
Mar 31st 2008 8:00PM @ Meridian w/ Tokyo Police Club- Houston, Texas
Apr 1st 2008 8:00PM @ House of Blues w/ Tokyo Police Club- Dallas, Texas
Apr 3rd 2008 8:00PM @ Studio A w/ Tokyo Police Club- Miami, Florida
Apr 5th 2008 8:00PM @ Backbooth w/ Tokyo Police Club- Orlando, Florida
Apr 7th 2008 8:00PM @ 40 Watt Club w/ Tokyo Police Club- Athens, Georgia
Apr 8th 2008 8:00PM @ Exit/In w/ Tokyo Police Club- Nashville, Tennessee
Apr 9th 2008 8:00PM @ The Spot w/ Tokyo Police Club- Cleveland, Ohio
Apr 25th 2008 8:00PM @ Theater of Living Arts w/ The B-52’s- Philly, PA
Apr 26th 2008 8:00PM @ 930 Club w/ The B-52’s- Washington DC
Apr 27th 2008 8:00PM @ The National w/ The B-52’s- Richmond, Virginia
Apr 29th 2008 8:00PM @ House of Blues w/ The B-52’s- Cleveland, Ohio
May 1st 2008 8:00PM @ House of Blues w/ The B-52’s- Chicago, Illinois
May 4th 2008 8:00PM @ Gothic Theater w/ The B-52’s- Englewood, Colorado
May 6th 2008 8:00PM @ Show Box w/ The B-52’s- Seattle, Washington
May 7th 2008 8:00PM @ Roseland w/ The B-52’s- Portland, Oregon
May 9th 2008 8:00PM @ The Independent w/ The B-52’s- San Francisco, CA
May 10th 2008 8:00PM @ TBA- Los Angeles, California
May 11th 2008 8:00PM @ House of Blues w/ The B-52’s- Anaheim, California
May 19th 2008 9:00PM @ Point Ephemere- Paris
May 20th 2008 9:00PM @ Grand Mix- Tourcoing
May 21st 2008 9:00PM @ Paradiso- Amsterdam
May 23rd 2008 9:00PM @ Trix w/ Sunset Rubdown- Antwerp
May 24th 2008 9:00PM @ Gebaude 9- Cologne
May 25th 2008 9:00PM @ Lagerhaus- Bremen
May 27th 2008 9:00PM @ Schocken- Stuttgart
May 28th 2008 9:00PM @ ISC- Bern
May 29th 2008 9:00PM @ 59:1- Munich
May 30th 2008 9:00PM @ Szene- Vienna
May 31st 2008 9:00PM @ Beatpol- Dresden
Jun 1st 2008 9:00PM @ Magnet- Berlin
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.
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.
This band is as generic as their name implies. They deliver the expected. Suited in tight, tight, tight, tight jeans, open chest (un)buttoned down shirts, pointy shoes, and Asian scarves stolen from some poor schmuck off Bedford and 6th Street, these guys go straight for the fuck factor. Their sound combined grit and fashion, which can be appealing when remembering the commodified New York “indie” rock sound of 2003. In this way they sound a bit dated. There was a time when I would limit my presence at any given bar to the number of times that one Jet song was played on the juke box. That number was three, and it occurred far more often and quickly than one would suppose.
For their part, this Parisian quartet is good at what they do. Every song that passes another piece of clothing came off, perhaps under the impression that a little skin can only improve a rock show. The band occupies the nexus where mod-style meets sex-rock, not a bad place to be when you are hard up for a blow job. They are danceable and rhythmic, arrogant and out for a good time. In retrospect this was a good band to have as an early opener. I asked two of the band members who they would like to see on the evening’s line-up. One mentioned Robbers on High Street, although I don’t believe he got the chance, and the other didn’t seem to know anyone else was scheduled to play. How Rock and Roll is that? What Rock & Roll needs to understand is that beyond the manufactured New York socialite costume and the ease with which it is taken off, a rock band still has to rock.
5/9 (4/9 if you absolutely can’t stand tight pants)
The Rosewood Thieves
I’ve never quite understood how original music can harken back to anything, as is often touted for The Rosewood Thieves, much less music from the 60’s, perhaps the decade most responsible for modern music. But I’ll look past this contradiction because this bluesy, folksy, tres cool turtleneck rock band is pretty damn good.
The stage featured two performance artists, one reading on stage and the other committing his deepest thoughts to paper, or at least that is what his expressions would have you believe. The actors were a bit dramatic. I imagined their inner monologue, “Okay Peter, just remain contemplative.” The natural motor response to this motivational thinking was a shrug of the brow and tap of the pencil to the lower lip, until the actor burst into a furious fit of a creative writing exercise. This was novel for a moment, but I found myself so desperate to ignore the act that I pondered whether the lead singer’s hair was more Iron Butterfly or Carol Brady.
I got it though. The rattle and hum vibe of this band was meant to embody creativity receiving inspiration. This is from where the 60’s-early 70’s harkening is derived. The obvious influences of Bob Dylan and Lou Reed ooze from the stage as The Rosewood Thieves performed their act. I was reminded of Blond on Blonde as I listened to their set. They have what I have termed the “Dylan Phono-Aesthetic,” or DPA. I think it is a quality that Dylan popularized, but ultimately is inherently found within many artists from many generations. From this perspective I understand The Rosewood Thieves originality.
6/9
The Airborne Toxic Event
The next act casually came out wearing black outfits, unconcerned with whether they made people horny or not. Despite the captivating reverb layering their vocals, I felt that their first song fell flat and that the band was uncomfortable on stage, which is completely understandable. The stage can be an incurably frightening place. The music was not extraordinary, as they kept a safe distance form anything approaching experimental. Throughout the set, the songs would stop abruptly, seeming to sever the moody atmospherics with an unexpected and sometimes clumsy collapse of structure. After listening to four tunes, I needed more substance to keep my interest.
I must say however, that my experience with The Airborne Toxic Event would be likened to a glass half full, rather than one half empty. The signature element from this band is the vocals. You can tell he means what he sings. They have the pop-sense to authentically navigate the balance between a timid and frank melody and an intensity that accompanies aggressive sincerity. I see the severed endings as an attempt to contextualize these moments of pure intensity in the all-too-often reality of failed resolution. I can’t wait to see where these guys go. They are most certainly on my watch list.
It is hard to watch this band in any venue and not think to your self, “Could they build any bigger wall of sound?” This is a most pleasing aspect to Eagle Seagull, especially when you are all the way up front getting pounded by the speakers like a dusty carpet on a porch column. I danced like a mad man as usual, but this time I made a conscious effort to tone it down as much as possible. It is slightly frustrating to see these guys play such great songs with such ease. Carrie was always displayed in a nonchalant pose, while Eli shuttled between his roles as an emotional wreck and chic piano man, occasionally smiling as if to internalize the band’s collective brilliance as he looked above and beyond the crowd. Complimenting Carrie’s soft stance, Austin played his guitar with such a heartfelt fervor, angulating toward the ground as his body shivered to Brit’s high-hat roll.
The band ran through their set, again keeping only Your Beauty Is A Knife… from their debut. The rest of the tunes were from their upcoming record The Year of the How-To Book due out early next year. Eagle Seagull’s new songs are nearly as familiar to me as the older ones, which speaks to the infectious nature of Eagle Seagull’s melodies. I hope I can get my hands on a copy of the new record as soon as possible. It was produced with Ryan Hadlock who worked with one of my favorite bands, Blonde Redhead, on the release of Misery is a Butterfly and Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons. The only real flaw of their evening at The Mercury Lounge was the length of their set. Not only did they start ten minutes early, but they finished after only 35 minutes. I know that CMJ schedules can be tight, but who couldn’t use a little more Eagle Seagull…I mean really people.
8/9
The Little Ones
Named after two little pug dogs, this ultra-annoying LA jam squad were the worst! When I think The Little Ones, I think Hootie and The Blowfish, or Big Head Todd and the Monsters. They just couldn’t bring their summer keg-party to my cold, cold heart. To be honest, and I hate to say it, they smiled too much! No one can be that happy. I was taken from the great show I paid for, was then boxed-up and shipped off to some Hawaiian luau…Yuck! Hillary, my fiancée looked to me with a flat expression and said, “These guys suck.” She may have been a little harsh. At best I can say that they just aren’t my style. That’s fair right? But I’d also say that they shouldn’t be anyone else’s style either. Everyone has their own taste, but I found myself pitying their overtly transparent happiness and manufactured good-times. Did I mention that the keyboardist looked like a Hanson brother?
3/9
Robbers on High Street
Apparently what ever crowd that had amassed during Eagle Seagull agreed with my stellar review of The Little Ones. The venue was definitely beginning to clear out as Robbers on High Street took the stage. It is a pity that there were not more people around. Not even a trace of Rock and Roll. I guess given the nature of CMJ, people had moved to see what ever show was to float their proverbial boat. These cats didn’t dance, they didn’t strut, and they didn’t even cock-walk. There was an element of sophistication in their lack of showmanship. Before I get myself into trouble, I mean to say that they put on a great show because they didn’t try too hard. They were simply a good band. Robbers on High Street have pop rock roots utilizing layered vocals and a dense rhythm section. In the most unimaginable way, they are what I might imagine the bastard child of Portishead and Voxtrot would sound like.
5/9
Eskimo Joe
Unfortunately I lapsed into a social coma and am not able to report anything useful concerning this band.
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.
Eagle Seagull
Eagle Seagull
October 3rd, 2006- Lado
2005- Paper Garden Records
Marquis de Sade would have liked Eagle Seagull. I say this quite afraid that readers will believe that I am implying that Eagle Seagull’s music is lecherous, debauchery laden, sexually perverse, and morally deviant. Well…what can I say? Until now most of the “buzz” concerning Eagle Seagull’s self titled debut mainly deals with…the “buzz” around Eagle Seagull’s self titled debut. Much that has been written speaks of the dark yet poetic mood of the record or the epic vocals of Eli Mardock. Interviews often feature questions asking the band how they feel about comparisons to Clap Your Hands and Arcade Fire. Indeed, Eagle Seagull might be more aptly compared to The Cure, Pulp, or the dim and ethereal Blonde Redhead, but what does this really say about the band? Eagle Seagull will have a long time to define who they are as subsequent albums say more about their longevity and integrity, but their first one was quite a start.
The lyrical mood of Eagle Seagull is not simply dark. It is sinister, morose, morbid, and irreverent. I’ve listened to this record over a hundred times and I still think to myself, “Did he just say that?” The poetics of Lock And Key describe hearts “filled with doom,” and phrases like, “Won’t you just crucify me. Just kiss me and deny me. Drink my blood and eat my body. Come on babe just deify me.” from Hello Never demonstrate the noir themes pervasive in every tune. Holy sings the mantra that we’d all love to believe, that we are holy, that we are all angels. But hidden in short breaths and beautiful bells, Eli says, “You make me want to be a saint…who kills people.” Some tracks aren’t so reclusive in their violence. Your Beauty Is A Knife I Turn On My Throat has simply one of the loveliest choruses of all time. “Your beauty it is a knife…” This record is stunning in its romance with regret. Eagle Seagull’s debut contains love songs written from the recesses of the mind, narrating the human heart at its worst, while detailing its obsessive desire to be new again. This album is a rare feat. It is beautiful.
Also pervasive throughout Eagle Seagull’s basement ballads are deep and visceral melodies. They are heavy, contemplative and gorgeous, pulling the lyrical message out of the gothic darkness. Not since Boys For Pele have such delicate and desperate words been so easy to identify with. It is possible to treat these tunes as if they were buzz worthy pop songs only because the lyrics are matted within such a pleasing context. The guitars imbue the songs with subsurface tension, while the percussions abandon the post-punk model, seeking to add to the musicality rather than operate as a metronome. The intimacy felt in the songs reveal thoughts that we don’t and won’t admit we think. I greatly admire this band.
Eagle Seagull has two shows in New York City. In Brooklyn they’ll be down at Union Hall on Wednesday September 12th. On Friday September 14th they’ll grace the stage of The Mercury Lounge. I’ll be at both shows. I encourage all to attend. The last time my fiancée Hillary and I saw Eagle Seagull was at The Memories Bar in Chicago. As I recall, they followed a series of hard-core acts that blurted trite pleas to “Fuck the Government.” It was a little bizarre to see them play after a toothless 75 year old punk, bobbing up and down with his middle finger flopping around. Aside from Memories, I have not seen them perform away from their home turf. I wish them the best of luck in NYC and I hope that they get all the attention they deserve. Their upcoming record The Year Of The How-To Book, due out early next year, promises to be as phenomenal as their debut. I am not sure that there will be as much tenderness or vulnerability expressed, but I am sure it will not disappoint.
