What better way to banish the March blahs than to get away from it all for a few days? Swallowing our envy over those lucky bastards who managed to make it down to the South By Southwest festival in Texas, we decided on a little impromptu musical trip of our own. Forget Austin-it might be the hotspot for a few days each March, but New York City is still the planet’s live music capital. We caught up with some hot acts that all had multiple dates in the Big Apple last week and decided to report back for your reading pleasure. Try not to be too jealous.
Let it live
Local gal-done-good Leslie Feist offers up double shot of charm in the Big Apple
NEW YORK-“You’re from Canada? All the best bands are from Canada!” The girl next to me at Joe’s Pub in Manhattan is flipping out when she hears we’re from Toronto. “Do you know [Metric singer] Emily Haines? She used to live here,” she notes wistfully. Talk about a Canadian invasion. It seems like proof of the current cachet of Canuck indie-rock on the international scene is everywhere-from the breathless reports coming out of last week’s South By Southwest festival in Austin, where the best bets were homegrown faves like Stars (who reportedly sold 3000 copies of their latest record in mere days thanks to some blazing showcases at SXSW), The Dears (who seem to be everyone’s favourite band in the U.K. and the U.S. right now), and Feist (just showing up on Americans’ radar now as her album is slated for a domestic release in April), to a cursory glance through the NYC concert listings in the Village Voice, which lately read more like the pages of Eye or NOW (with the aforementioned tireless Montreal art-rock crew The Dears, Ontario folksinger Serena Ryder, and Quebecoise cellist Jorane passing through town in recent days).
So even though we came all this way to see one of our own, it almost felt like home as we pushed through the doors of Joe’s Pub, the live music venue attached to New York’s legendary Public Theater. If only home had such a gorgeous mid-sized space-the swanky supper-club is straight out of a movie, all candle-lit ambience, high ceilings, and streamlined elegance. Not a bad setting for chanteuse du jour Leslie Feist, making her U.S. bow with two back-to-back sold-out shows. Sure, the Paris-via-Toronto singer/songwriter had been to the Big Apple before her Let It Die major-label debut was released last year (most everywhere but the U.S.), but, as she put it during her second set that night, “I came here plenty of times and played in front of eight people.”
There were a whole lot more adoring fans than that at both Joe’s Pub sets, thanks to tastemakers catching on to the album on import, strong word-of-mouth on the Internet, and her involvement in the phenomenon that is Broken Social Scene. While her American label (Cherry Tree Records, an imprint on the powerful Interscope label) is apparently looking to position Feist as the “new Norah Jones,” the hype assault hasn’t yet quite begun, and so that she managed to sell out not one, but two shows at one of the best venues in the toughest music market in the world without any press at all is certainly a harbinger of big things to come.
But first she had to compete with dinner. Taking the stage as the well-heeled patrons were finishing their ravioli and wine, she quipped dryly that she would try not to distract them from their meals. But the tinkling of forks soon gave way to rapt silence as Feist’s shattered-glass voice cut through the room with the graceful “Gatekeeper.” As her three-man band (“These boys just arrived from Paris about four hours ago, so yay for modern technology!”) joined her onstage, she was momentarily startled by a loud rumble: “Is that the subway?” Ah, New York.
If Let It Die has one flaw, it’s that it’s almost a bit too pristine. Luckily, Feist has always brought a bit of indie-rock swagger to her live show, wielding her big red electric guitar like an extension of her body and letting her remarkable voice soar to places it doesn’t always go on the record. That show(wo)manship was on full display during the two sets at Joe’s-she’s now pushing the songs a bit further, trying new ways of interpreting them with delicate embellishments courtesy of her fine band.
A countrified take on “Mushaboom” (oddly inserted into the middle of both sets-likely to avoid pegging it as “The Hit,” though ideally it really should be the closing number) was made even more joyful thanks to handclaps and trombone, a new song written with fellow Canuck ex-pat Mocky (a rather oddball MC “who I hope you will soon know about”) had a wonderful bossa nova flavour to it, and the extended jam that closed out old nugget “Anti-Pioneer” confirmed that the band has gelled into a super-tight unit since its somewhat underwhelming Toronto debut at the Mod Club last summer.
That being said, Feist is such a singular live performer that sometimes the band was nothing more than a distraction. Anyone who has seen her incendiary solo take on Nina Simone’s classic “See-Line Woman” knows that she needs nothing more than a drum machine and rip-roaring geetar solo to make jaws drop. So when the keyboardist cluttered said number with numerous melodica parts, it wasn’t just unnecessary, but plain annoying.
In fact, because she’s known primarily as a singer, it’s often easy to forget just what an incredible guitarist Feist is. As such, the solo moments in the show were usually the most effective, and she reached into her old bag of tricks to employ a looping technique to layer her voice (by singing into a second vocal mic) and different guitar sounds, something she used to do during solo gigs in Toronto years ago. On songs like the encore of the first set, a spooky Hope Sandoval-meets-PJ Harvey lament, the looping effect was flat-out hypnotic, a chorus of ghostly Leslies building up in ghostly harmony.
With only one album to draw from (she regrettably no longer plays material from her out-of-print indie debut, Monarch), Feist offered up an interesting handful of covers to flesh out the hour-long set (as it was, the show had to be kept short as the room had to be cleared prior to the second set). Where most artists simply pad out their set with cover tunes, Feist seizes the opportunity to put her own distinctive stamp on them-surely Keith Richards never imagined that his “How Can I Stop?” would be turned into a slow-burn torch song, and while Ron Sexsmith’s “Foolproof” has always been a thing of fragile beauty, he’d probably bequeath the publishing rights to it immediately once he heard the ache in Feist’s croon.
Heck, the girl even makes disco palatable-you couldn’t wipe the smiles off the faces in the crowd as she (working a very 70s vibe in a ruffled minidress and feathered hairdo) boogied away to her ridiculously fun version of the Bee Gees’ “Inside and Out” during the second encore.
If “Inside and Out” broke through the reserve of the first set’s audience, the crowd that arrived for the late set was primed from the beginning. Thanks to the table seating format of the venue, both sets felt a bit more like a polite recital than the packed, sweaty indie-rawk hometown show at the Phoenix last December, but there’s something to be said for hushed reverence, too (are you listening, Toronto crowds who chat endlessly while performers are playing?).
Despite insisting that “my banter-o-meter was lost on the flight,” Feist was chattier and more engaging than ever witnessed before-clearly the past year of non-stop touring has taught her a thing or two about launching a charm offensive. Having changed into a simpler cotton sundress and hoodie (“There’s something a bit silly about wearing a pretty dress in a nice venue”), she appeared a bit tired but still had some treats in store for the second set. Kicking things off with “The Build-Up,” a duet on Norwegian duo Kings of Convenience’s recent album, she also offered up a mini solo set of non-album songs “Anti-Pioneer” and “Intuition” back to back, something rarely heard since the days she would play those tunes in tiny Toronto boîtes. Both songs have shape-shifted since their Toronto days; they’re more textured and nuanced now than when the younger, greener Feist first penned them.
Goading the crowd into singing a repeated vocal part on “Anti-Pioneer,” she got more than she bargained for when a particularly eager dude starting belting it out in falsetto. Instead of becoming nonplussed, the veteran performer (she’s been playing music since her early teens) engaged the interloper in a ‘sing-off,’ much to the amusement of all.
But while the second audience was more vocal than the first (also lending their voices to the bouncy chorus of “One Evening”), they missed out on a couple of the cover tunes and there was no second encore to be had, as the space had to be turned over yet again for the night’s final act (some enterprising soul from T.O. might want to head over to NYC to check out how Joe’s Pub manages such a feat of scheduling three shows a night like clockwork).
Feist noted early on in the first set that it was the first time she’d ever played two shows in one night in the same city. Backstage after the show, she looked rather dazed as she talked about her current insane schedule (she was due to fly out to L.A. first thing in the morning for a full day of press and a showcase), but she’d better get used to it-because now that she’s taken New York, the rest of the U.S. awaits.
-TABASSUM SIDDIQUI
Sounds like Team spirit
UK buzz band shows jaded New Yorkers how to have fun
NEW YORK-Word that Brit buzz band of the moment The Go!Team were playing their only North American dates (outside of South by Southwest) in New York City the very same week we were going to be there was very good news indeed. News that all three of their NYC gigs at three different venues rapidly sold out only added to the anticipation.
The Brighton brigade’s effervescent Thunder, Lightning, Strike album isn’t even available in North America yet (word out of SXSW is that no less than a dozen labels are vying to sign the band for a domestic release), but its giddy mash-up of genres landed the record on most critics’ year-end lists, and seemingly everyone and their roommate has an import copy in their Discman these days.
And so the hipsters were lined up down the block at the Mercury Lounge (on Houston St., which, we Canucks were pointedly told, is not pronounced like the Texas city, unless you’re a… tourist) for the second of the Team’s three-night NYC stand. Apparently the club doesn’t have the best rep locally, which is strange, given that it’s much like our Rivoli, with a long bar out front and the cozy brick-walled live room (with great sound) in the back.
Like at the Rivoli, ‘cozy’ gave way to ridiculously packed and uncomfortably sweltering by 10 p.m., as the hordes of indie boys with skinny ties and girls with perfectly disheveled hairdos squeezed into the small basement-like space. Apparently they don’t have fire codes in New York City.
Openers Mobius Band offered up a set of post-rock indie electro that was the kind of stuff you’d listen to on disc, but doesn’t translate all that well live. With programmed beats and synths rocked up with live drums and hushed emo-boy vocals, the trio came across a bit like a junior Manitoba/Caribou, or Postal Service in their less precious moments.
Such a low-key act wasn’t the best lead-in to the burst of energy that is The Go!Team, but from the moment the band took the stage (many people in the crowd finally realizing that most of the Team had been unassumingly milling about the club for much of the night), the excitement in the room was palpable.
Not that the UK massive was about to take playing New York for granted-opening with a raucous, guitar-heavy version of album opener “Panther Dash,” they were soon joined onstage by their frontwoman (who goes only by the delightful), Ninja. Equal parts MC and soul-singer, she quickly became the focus of the entire set, slyly coaxing the crowd into getting involved.
Poking fun at New Yorkers’ reputation as the most jaded audiences around, she baited them with her very first salvo: “I’ve heard they don’t dance in New York.”
Well, dance they surely did (albeit given the limited elbow-to-elbow room), and chant, and sing. Standing high up on a ledge along the side of the wall in order to better see over the sea of heads, I couldn’t stop grinning deliriously at all the bodies pogoing in unison. You really haven’t lived until you’ve seen a packed house of cooler-than-thou city slickers pumping their fists in the air and yelling, “Go, Team!”
It was a hipster pep rally, with Ninja playing lead cheerleader/camp counselor. While it would have been nice to hear from some of her bandmates (who can be forgiven for their silence, as the half-boy, half-girl septet spent the entire set playing their little hearts out while smiling ear-to-ear), she’s the glue that holds it all together. As New Yorker magazine’s music critic Sasha Frere-Jones put it in his blog the next day, “When’s the Ninja solo album coming out?”
Like any large group with a sound so all over the map, there were weak spots-programmed samples replaced all the horn parts from the album, and Ninja threw vocals over nearly every song (several tracks on the record are completely instrumental) whether it was needed or not.
But with two ferocious girl drummers, a guitarist who made harmonica sound like the coolest indie-rawk instrument around, and an arsenal of sunshiny tunes played fast and loud, only the truly cynical could really nitpick. Not to say that some didn’t try-the whiny consensus on most NYC hipster blogs the next day seemed to be that the live show “wasn’t as good as the album.” Earth to these supposed music fans-concerts aren’t albums. Also, there wasn’t a single soul looking remotely bored at the Mercury Lounge that night, so where were you, exactly?
The Go!Team’s tune “Bottle Rocket” features the indelible phrase, “C’mon everybody, let’s rock this place!” Mission accomplished.
-TABASSUM SIDDIQUI
Indier than thou
Post-rock heroes Slint hit Gotham City on reunion tour that doesn’t suck
NEW YORK-I told my friend Andrew about how I was writing this review of indie-rock heroes Slint’s reunion shows in New York, and I’ve never written a review of anything before. He had some good tips for me. Andrew told me to play up the fact that I was in New York, and you probably weren’t. He also said to point out the fact that I was at a Slint show, which was awesome, and they’ll probably never play again in New York. He said I should try and pepper the review with bits of erudite musical knowledge that prove my own superiority. He told me not to forget to mention that I’ve been listening to Slint for years, before it was even cool to like them. Not only that, one of the dudes from Pavement was at one of the shows. So there.
Slint formed in Louisville, Kentucky in the late 80s, releasing their (Steve Albini-produced) debut Tweez in 1988. Their second album Spiderland was released in 1991. By the time their second album was released in 1991, they had broken up without even touring the record. In 1994, Slint released an untitled two-song ten-inch, and that’s it, a grand total of sixteen songs pressed to vinyl. Out of the two albums, Spiderland is the true masterpiece-not that Tweez doesn’t have its moments, but it just doesn’t have the same kind of focus as the refined, intensely sparse Spiderland. The songs come across like Alberto Giacometti’s sculptures, where the viewer leans in, as if they can never get close enough to see all the detail. With Spiderland, you can never turn it up loud enough to hear all the lyrics or catch every note. It is one of the most original albums to come out of the American punk scene.
In our culture of brevity and ignorance, true meaning has come to be something of a rarity. Slint didn’t write pop music-they didn’t want to, but at the same time, they weren’t obscure for the sake of obscurity or pretension. The term ‘pretentious’ has become a devolutionary slur used by philistines against any art that can’t be readily understood. But to be truly pretentious, an artist must have an audience, allowing for an expression of exaggerated importance-rather like the last few Radiohead albums. Slint had nothing to lose from writing these songs-they were musicians in a position that allowed for true creativity.
Maybe last Friday night in NYC the guys in Slint were still hung over from St. Patrick’s Day, but they didn’t play quite as loud as during the second of their two-night stand on Saturday. Friday night’s set list wasn’t as well ordered, either-the quartet played out four of the six songs off Spiderland in the first half. Many of their slower songs came during the middle of the set, which made for a long lull. Their technical brilliance was still unbeatable, however-I’ve probably only seen a handful of bands that could play such a tight set.
It helps that all of the members have been playing in bands since about 1985. Brian McMahon, the lead singer, played guitar on all of the instrumental songs, but his younger brother joined the band on stage for any song with vocals (on a side note, that same younger brother actually named Spiderland). The band performed for about an hour and a half, playing every song off Spiderland, about half of Tweez, and both of the songs from 1994’s ten-inch.
There was only the slightest crowd interaction, and the audience was pretty much silent while they performed, with polite applause between songs. Most of the audience were in their late 20s or older, so I suppose that made for a less obnoxious crowd.
While Friday night’s show was solid, the second one on Saturday was the real deal. They played louder, and the setlist had been completely reordered from the previous night. This night seemed more immediate and focused than the previous one-there were no lulls, and they improvised at times, which they hadn’t done at all the night before.
Opening number “Glenn” (from the ten-inch) was a display of precise musicianship, quickly followed by the screeching pitches of “Breadcrumb Trail.” Now that’s how you start a show. When they performed “Don Aman,” drummer Britt Walford came out to the front of the stage and played while sitting with guitarist Dave Pajo. This set succeeded (much moreso than Friday’s), in getting me excited about hearing the songs from Tweez. Those songs really benefit from a little more volume, helping to play up their rawness. The visceral quality of that kind of disjointed music is fantastic when it’s absolutely deafening. Slint finished their set with “Good Morning Captain,” which has one of the greatest payoffs ever.
Most concert reviews end with a really lame bit where the writer talks about going back out into the night, lost and desperate without the beautiful music to hold him and wipe his sensitive music critic tears away. I just went out to the bars and had a good time, actually. I mean, come on, it was New York City.
-A.M. REID
