Mostly Other People Do the Killing
Woos & Woes
our mountain
Zebulon
January 8th 2010
So I’ll keep this one short. It is long over due, and I wasn’t going write anything, but I figure why not take an opportunity to call it like it was. The title of this piece should be “Woos & Woes and our mountain Got Fucked by Mostly Other People Do the Killing,” which I’ll now refer to as “that jazz band” because I don’t have the patience to write their damn name. For those who don’t know—and who doesn’t—an opening slot for a 3 band gig is 45 minutes with 15 minutes for the break down. So let’s start there. That jazz band played for over an hour and a half and took their sweet time breaking down. To quote one exceptional jazz player, “If you can’t convince the crowd you’re good in seven songs, you won’t be able to do it in 14.” This is advice that jazz band needed to fucking take. The music was a flutter of circus acrobatics meshed with a rhythmic train wreck…and some how I think he might like such a description. At one point, during the syncopated scaled masturbation, the drummer sundered his kit and howled in the kick’s microphone, orgasming like basset hound. The band was confused…they thought we enjoyed their cheap pornography. I can’t tell you how many people looked at one another in absolute disbelief. What commitment…what style! I suppose they were releasing their new album that night.
Woos & Woes, whose recorded music by the way is pretty damn good, had a dreadful amount of mic issues. It clearly put them on edge. In fact if that is the description I’d give the night, on edge. They mostly performed well but the venue and mic set up was not suited for their delicate ambience, or their cavernous washed out vocals. Woos & Woes are an LA band that I imagine could have been, and should have been an excellent preface to the final show of the evening, our mountain. Woos & Woes played as a guy gal duo trading off instruments and vocal leads. Both members seemed stifled by the venue’s seeming lack of care for their performance.
Our mountain finally made it to the stage at 12:30, an hour and a half later than their scheduled slot. Those who stayed had likely by then spent all their money on booze and hardly had much to tip…yes a bucket was passed around. Our mountain played their usual energetic and explosive show. They debuted some new tunes, all of which were cradled comfortably within their brilliant repertoire compiled over years of refining their sound. I cannot say enough for this band, especially because they stuck to their gritty guns and gave a great performance, despite the fact that the venue hadn’t the slightest care. I can imagine there was a strong enough impulse to “say sorry guys,” to those who remained, and get the fuck out of dodge, but they didn’t. They played and played well. The venue, Zebulon, looks great, it has a Parisian feel with tons of wood and nameless beer taps. But they accidentally poured a beer down the shirt of a girl sitting at the bar and made a passive apology, failing even to play nice and offer a drink on the house. More importantly they lost control of their stage, letting a bunch of self indulgent jazz hacks suck out the oxygen from what could have been an amazing night.
For those of you who don’t know, Melbourne, Australia’s Whiskey Go Go’s have moved to Brooklyn and changed their name toour mountain. This band, led by Matthew Hutchinson, plays a rare sort of dirty Americana rock ‘n roll that has the subtlety of Young and a passion pickled in the brine of booze induced love. The man cannot sit still, his legs strike the awkward pose, his best attempt at repressing the kicks and jumps, while his hands, when not furiously striking his guitar strings, are thrust into the air, an exclamation that what he sings and what he pleads is nothing short of a matter of life and death. Indeed he could be rock ‘n roll’s next great evangelist. Lucky for us our mountain will be playing Zebulon in Brooklyn Friday, January 8th and will be accompanied by Woos & Woes. For those of you who do know the band, I hear new material will be played.
Around the corner from my house a new venue has opened and is making quite an impression on the better half of Williamsburg (South of Bedford and Metropolitan).The Knitting Factory, having moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn, is but one outpost among many Knitting Factories across America, including Hollywood, Spokane, and Boise. I’m not sure what baggage is brought to the neighborhood from the fact that it is a “chain” venue. Indeed we all hope it is not a fast food outlet. I have been assuaged of this possibility by reading the venue’s history which you should do here. It is quite the story, one that compels you to take a look. The following is their near term schedule as released to the press; it looks incredibly promising, worth at least a try:
Tuesday, September 15th Helado Negro, Jason Ajemian, Julianna Barwick
7:00 PM
Wednesday, September 16th
ZXL
CD release party presented by roc-elle records The Chosen, Zemi17, Nikki Borodi, special guest: Imani Uzuri
7:00 PM
Friday, September 18th and Saturday, September 19th
Brooklyn Fashion Festival: Fashion and Arts Premiere
8:00 PM
The arts pace known as Secret Project Robot, by the water off Metropolitan in Williamsburg, welcomed their guests with a baby pool full of taurine laced energy drinks. While this was on its face a seemingly dubious display of corporate sponsorship, their presence was entirely appropriate. Energy was requisite. The music space exuded a “do it yourself” aesthetic in everything from the door-lady drawing hearts on the hands of patron who shelled out the $8, to the cheap vodka and whiskey or the large bucket of iced two liter mixers behind a small slab of a bar manned by a particularly festive cross-dresser and another barkeep, who I am sure would have been worth describing had his look not been so overshadowed by the slutty red lipstick and stuffed brazier. So too it went with the bands who performed; all had promise, all had songs worth listening to, all were experimental and dynamic, but all were outshone by the final clamorous fashion of These Are Powers.
In yet another sticky scenario, Secret Project Robot’s stagnant heat was oppressive, but they had sprinklers spouting off in plastic tubs so at least we knew they were thinking about us. Bill Salas stood behind his drum kit with a console of electronic rhythm pads, infusing the natural resonance of an open snare with manufactured blips and bops. Pat Noecker, ex-bassist for The Liars, wielded his instrument with genius pomp. His bass had been modified to produce an array of shrieks and moans; his contribution at times imitated the demolition of a 40 story building, other times it shot through the room like an auditory emanation of a laser cannon. And then there was Anna Barie. Part bean-shìdh, part international world-music pop star, Anna chanted smooth and cool, bobbling a rhythmic voice through wicker work of the drums and bass. She would volley steamy sighs down on an already moist mass of dancing limbs and then pull back with a low pitched croon.
The energy of These Are Powers is simply incredible. They have released a couple of records; their latest All Aboard Future, was released on Dead Oceans in February of 2008. The alchemy of these three musicians produces a refined and potent power from seemingly disconnected parts. As a group, These Are Powers function together with a rare sense of theater, fashion, and ragged opulence. For any avid show-seeker, These Are Powers are a must. Apparently the Chinese love them too…
Music
Terrific Seasons- 2007
Taro Tarot- 2008
Cockles (Split) with The Creeping Nobodies-2008
All Aboard Future- 2008
Tour
August 22nd 8PM Littlefield NYC Brooklyn, New York
August 27th 6PM Brooklyn Bowl Brooklyn, New York#
October 17th 8PM The Independent San Francisco, CA*
October 18th 8PM Doug Fir Lounge Portland, Oregon*
October 19th 8PM Crocodile Cafe Seattle, Washington*
October 20th 8PM Biltmore Cabaret Vancouver, BC*
# with Cymbals Eat Guitars
*with A Place to Bury Strangers
Russel Fong has an introspective conversation with one of the neighborhood’s most vocal residents. For those of you who don’t know who this guy is, hang out on North 7th and Bedford to catch an earful. Thanks to TJ Broockerd for pointing this thing out.
Summer shows are a double edged sword aren’t they? The heat makes us acutely aware of the sticky auras enveloping ourselves and everyone around us. Forced to mingle, we herd ourselves into the small venue or cram ourselves as close as possible against the outdoor stage, sacrificing our personal space like the legions of L Train morning commuters riding in from northern Brooklyn. But the shows, they are amazing and they are aplenty. This summer looks to be very promising indeed.
Of course for me it has gotten off to a piss poor start. I intended to write a feature about a Norwegian band called Pirate Love. It would not only review their tiny EP, but talk about their live show as well. I was fortunate enough to be guest-listed for last Thursday’s performance at Pianos. A few companions and I had arrived early for a little pre-show drinking. I bullshitted with the bar-back, discovering that he is from Nebraska and that we know a few of the same folks—an altogether enjoyable experience.
Then it turns out that my name slipped through the cracks and was omitted from the guest-list. What to do? I had money for beer or the show, and seeing as one of the expenses was unforeseen, like any normal human being I chose the beer. A few other friends arrived at Pianos later that night. They relayed to me the following day that Pirate Love played a great show. From what I gather it would be a big mistake to miss these guys next time they are in town.
The following night a few friends and I were off to Prospect Park to catch Blonde Redhead. The weather, we can all remember, had been shitty the past couple of days, and it wasn’t looking good for our Friday plans. Again we arrived a bit early and stopped at a pub to drink some pints of Bass and tequila shots. After drinks we began walking toward the park as it began to sprinkle and spit. The line into the venue was very long, but clearly the fans were willing to suffer the rain—for a while. When it came time to open the gates, the park workers kept the doors closed. What was at first a slow drizzle turned into a down pour and no umbrella could really do the job. So, defeated, we walked back the F Train and headed on home. When we finally arrived in Bushwick the rain had passed and the sun broke through. Mother fucker, two shows in two days blown—and we actually made it to the venues. We did the best we could to make up for the lost time. We bought and ate some baguette, stinky cheese, and pastis while watching the sun go down on our converted factory roof.
What will come of the rest of summer is anyone’s guess but I certainly look forward to actually getting inside venues. As always, there is a standing invitation for suggestions on venues and bands. Let us know what should be seen and where. Next week, we go to Wilcoopened by Yo La Tengoat Coney Island’s ill-named Keyspan Park. I haven’t seen these guys in a while, although I was able to get a copy of their newest effort months ago. A review is certainly pending.
But listen people…the best news of the week is thatSunny Day Real Estate will be reuniting for a 20 date tour (see dates below), supporting the rerelease of their first two records Diary and LP2. My fucking God this is amazing! Jeremy Enigk is without a doubt a major hero of mine. I feel slightly ashamed that the last time I got the chance to talk with him was 2003 and I was quite drunk. My brother and I drank dirty gin martinis until he puked and was booted from the venue. It was his 21st birthday. I felt like such a dick. My brother’s inebriation didn’t stop from seeing what was then a Fire Theft show at a joint called Knickerbockers. I asked Enigk something to the effect of “Jesus or Buddha?” He snarked back at me and said “Both.”
Luckily he wasn’t too offended about my mocking allusion to his past exploits in Christianity. He went on to disclose that his favorite band is The Who. After the show I got to sit in the booth with Nate Mendel and William Goldsmith. I am not sure how I pulled it off, but it was one of the greatest moments I’ve had. We’ll see what we can do this time. Although they play at Terminal 5, a shitty venue with what seems like a million people, half of whom will be complete assholes because they hate the music. Their friends dragged them there. Enigk had an amazing showing at the Bowery Ballroom supporting his 2006 solo record World Waits. This is easily the most anticipated reunion of the decade. I wonder what else, if anything, could top it.
Here are the calendars for a few of the better NYC venues:
Sunny Day Real Estate Tour Schedule
September 17 Vancouver, BC/Commodore Ballroom
September 18 Portland/Crystal Ballroom (Musicfest NW)
September 20 Salt Lake City/Murray Theater
September 21 Denver/Ogden Theater
September 23 Minneapolis/First Avenue
September 24 Chicago/Metro
September 25 Detroit/St Andrews Hall
September 27 New York/Terminal 5
September 28 Boston/House of Blues
September 30 Washington DC/930 Club
October 1 Philadelphia/Trocadero
October 3 Atlanta/CW Center Stage
October 5 Dallas/Granada Theater
October 6 Houston/Warehouse Live
October 7 Austin/La Zona Rosa
October 9 Tempe/Marquee Theatre
October 10 Anaheim/House of Blues
October 11 Los Angeles/Henry Fonda Theater
October 13 San Francisco/Fillmore
October 15 Spokane/Knitting Factory
October 16 Seattle/Paramount Theatre
Black Hat Brigade
Fathers EP
May 29th 2009
Unsigned
Black Hat Brigade- Zombie City Shake
Far from the cavernous sprawl expressed by earlier recordings, Black Hat Brigade has recorded an EP that will be described as one of the best releases of 2009. Their Fathers EP kicks so much ass, they aren’t permitted to tour in America for fear that their presence will make the heads of residents in Williamsburg, Greenpoint, and Bushwick explode. This really is a national security thing. It is worth noting that the religious right and Billboard magazine have rigorously lobbied INS to approve visas for the band—clearly an attempt to silence northern Brooklyn’s pesky music scene. You know what I say? Fuck it’s worth it! Get your asses to NYC! Sure Robert Haughey’s vocals might remind some of fellow Canadian Dan Boeckner, but who really gives a damn?
Like the morose joy of Eagle Seagull, Black Hat Brigade’s music is entirely different and in many ways better than Wolf Parade. Fathers is defined by a paradox. Dark lyrics that speak of blood, guts, and zombies are cradles inside of some of the brightest and most expansive dance music written for the small club stage. Or maybe it is just that I can dance to anything, but we all know this to be untrue. While there is not a bad track on the 7 song + 1 reprise EP, there are certainly a few standouts. Zombie City Shake, Castlevania, and Vera are all exceptional. These songs not only have the pop sensibilities that provoke inebriated jigs, but they throw back to the epic layers common on their first EP. Here, the voluminous multifaceted interplay is harnessed to produce ridiculous crescendos, the heights of which truly press the limits of grandeur.
Justin Lamoureux, after a few Midwest shows, will head East to perform solo. He will bring his quintessentially Midwestern music and story to Williamsburg, Brooklyn and will be playing at the staple upstart venue Pete’s Candy Store. Here listed, are other confirmed show dates. More to come…
Apr 1 2009 9:00 Omaha, NEThe Waiting Room
Apr 4 2009 9:00 Sioux City, IASioux City Eagles Club
Apr 7 2009 8:00 Vermillion, SDUniversity of South Dakota
Apr 17 2009 9:00 Omaha, NEThe Slowdown
Apr 25 2009 8:00 Omaha, NEBarley Street Tavern
May 16 2009 9:00 Louisvile, KYThe Nachbar
May 18 2009 8:00 Portsmouth, NHThe Red Door
May 19 2009 8:00 Philadelphia, PAThe Green Line Cafe
May 21 2009 8:00 NEW YORK CITY, NYPETES CANDY STORE
May 26 2009 8:00 Jamestown, NYLabyrinth Press Company
May 29 2009 8:00 Sheboygan, WIParadigm Coffee House
May 30 2009 8:00 Minneapolis, MN331 Club
In recent memory there has not been a band that has so succinctly captured the deep meaning and purpose of voyaging toward something unknown as the Whiskey Go Go’s. This is not only represented in their music, but also in their recent movement through New York City and LA. As the industrial malaise suffocates the broad sea of creativity and talent, some have made it their mission to ensure that their extraordinary presence in independent music is still felt. Vocalist/guitarist Matt Hutchinson and drummer Michael Noonan have exhibited their affinity for Brooklyn, playing multiple venues over the past two months. After their stints at The Trash Bar, the Whiskey Go Go’s played a set at Union Pool withParlor Grand whose MySpace quote says it all, “There are some Indians, There are some Whites.” Parlor Grand had a Crazy Horse aesthetic and a joy for performance that made their set entirely worth showing up for. Of course Union Pool’s delicious outdoor Taquito stand and wood burning fire pit didn’t hurt.
The audience at Union Pool was markedly different from that of The Trash Bar. I am not sure if this resulted from the particular type of punter each venue attracts, or from the high volume of random sophisticates and eager girls that decided to attend Union Pool that night. In any case, Union Pool’s show was somewhat more subdued. This is not to say the show as any less impressive; Hutchinson still had that same dramatic intensity. His eyes began tightly shut and his hands spoke with subtle movements. As the show continued he became ravenously wide-eyed and his hands seemed to reach out and extend past the crowd. He abused the whammy bar and scrapped the strings of his guitar along everything he could find, from the microphone mesh to the cymbal’s edge.
Mr. Noonan also played exquisitely. He is a disciplined drummer with excellent chops, which is important being that there are limited permanent members touring the U.S. There would be no room on this tour for an impressive front stage presence hampered by the dulling baggage of mediocrity. It was a privilege to get to see a second showcase of their new project Whiskey Rain, which is the title of their yet-to-be-released record. While unmastered, I have had the opportunity to listen to the new record. Though the record is largely influenced by various strains of Americana, it contains an authentic voice of its own. That voice contemplates love, loss, and ways to pacify the clutter of an unkempt mind…namely drinking…a lot.
The record is assembled with precision. The opening track, titled Whiskey Rain, is a collage of barely comprehendible exhortations, a wish list of affection set over amazing pop guitar. It is easily one of the most well written songs released this year. The following track, Wooden Hearts, is a bass driven, distorted soliloquy, narrating events with descriptions of natural elements and of violence, erupting into the refrain:
“You are the lady that I love…You are women that I adore”
This marks a defining feature of the Whiskey Go Go’s work. Hutchinson has written phrases that when heard are nearly impossible to suppress from being repeated over and over again in your head. Bang Shot is another incredibly well written track that begins with a simple and soft guitar melody joined by a perfect hum from the band. The song builds as Noonan’s snare pop makes the song onomatopoeic. The crescendo has all instruments at fever pitch as Hutchinson croons a new take on the old adage that it takes two…
“I held the gun, but she pulled the trigger.”
As a whole, the record succeeds almost immaculately, with only a few subjective missteps occurring. Every track is creative—undeniably a product of a band that benefits from the momentum of charisma and determination. Songs like Devil’s Banquet and Love Song round out the record, ensuring that it has balance and weight. Even White Angel and Yours Sincerely, the record’s most problematic tracks, have moments of stunning beauty and imperfect charm. The Whiskey Go Go’s have made a nice addendum to 2007’s Proud Tale to Them of Us, which itself boasted plenty of great songs like Rodeo and True Love. Hutchinson’s hollering madness and rustic sophistication is impressive. It is only a matter of time before they receive wider recognition. We are glad to have seen them when we did.
Walking along Grand Ave in Williamsburg, I spotted a street lamp absolutely covered with advertisements. There, among a what looked like thousands of posts for everything from 4 Men and a Truck to Spanish speaking attorneys, was a paper-bag-brown flyer with a bare bottomed vixen dressed in nothing but boots sitting over the words The Whiskey Go Go’s.
It was an ad for a show at an unknown location with Canadian band Inward Eye on February 18th. I suppose the only reason that I noticed the flyer at all was that I happened to see the Whiskey Go Go’s last week at The Trash Bar. They topped a list of bands that began with the beautiful and extraordinarily talented Cabiria, as well as the remarkably out of place Astronaut Down. The Whiskey Go Go’s are from Melbourne, Australia where they were signed to a major record label before they were dropped to fend for themselves in the most tumultuous of industry climates. This brought them to tour New York City where they are generating interest in their yet to be released record Whiskey Rain. They have fought a number of hardships in their endeavor. The importation of Americana to America from an Australian band is at once suspect; I cannot approve of the term southern-rock to describe this band. Certainly some unknowing person might believe them to be natives of Louisiana, but that only speaks to the worldly prism through which their take on American music is made. For Australian listeners, the love of Bob Dylan and Neil Young, himself a Canadian, cannot be supplanted by the intonations of a couple of upstarts struggling to combat poverty, free agency, and a sound that some have alleged is not their own.
I have resisted the temptation to call out other reviews that parallel Matt Hutchinson’s voice with another band, one that has so utterly disintegrated and removed themselves from the realm of good taste that they are not worth mentioning. To make my own comparison, I would have to say that the Whiskey Go Go’s love David Bowie’s Hunky Dory. While to some, this comparison may be as every bit as insulting as the one I just denounced, let’s be clear, there is no plagiarism at work here folks. Simply said, “Give these guys a fucking record deal!”
While I’ll have plenty of time to review both their debut, Proud Tales to Them of Us, and Whiskey Rain, it would be best at this point to tell all of New York to go see their show. Tonight the Whiskey Go Go’s play again at The Trash Bar and tomorrow, Wednesday March 4th, at Union Pool, also in Williamsburg. The band, particularly Mr. Hutchinson, have an extraordinarily unpolished performance style. His eyes are wide and terrifying, exerting every ounce of his presence toward the audience. The show is full of charming imperfections that belie the uniqueness of this act. I have much more to write in the coming days, meanwhile may I suggest attending their show either today or tomorrow…
