Japandroids: Just Another Reason I'm Proud to be (Partially) Canadian

With all of this bizarre vampire hype going on these days (which I was fortunate enough to avoid), I finally found a type of blood that I was actually interested in. Hint: it is not sucked out of a neck. Any guesses? How about blood from some surfers who aren’t, in fact, surfers? How about now, anything?

Gigantic Ears readers: prepare yourself for the next big thing—Surfer Blood. This five-man band from West Palm Beach, Florida recorded their debut album Astro Coast in a dorm room freshman year at the University of Florida. They are just getting started in the music business and have no intention of stopping, nor should they.

I hadn’t heard of these guys until just a couple days before I saw them open for Japandroids on November 20^th. And, like most of the “indie-esque” concerts I attend, this was at the Billiken Club at Saint Louis University, a free, all-ages venue where your ears’ wildest dreams come true. At least that night they did.

A couple of people I had talked with prior to the show had described Surfer Blood as a younger version of Weezer. I was really looking forward to seeing them play; who doesn’t like a little Weezer from time to time? Going in, my expectations were high, and I was not disappointed. By the time their first song was over, I decided they were less vocally Weezer, more We Are Scientists. However, a tinge of Weezer seemed to always be lingering in the background of their songs, made evident with their guitar style (compare Surfer Blood’s “Harmonix” with Weezer’s “Freak Me Out”), and drumming, with strong downbeats while still maintaining a positive energy.

In addition, Surfer Blood seemed to strike a perfect balance of post-punk guitar riffs, catchy lyrics (see: “Swim” on their new album), and an upbeat rhythm. The majority of their songs seemed to compel my body and others around me to move in a wave-like motion—no connection with the name of the band. The crowd was mesmerized; this may or may not have been the beginning of the crowd’s unexpected raging during Japandroids. At the end of their set, during an instrumental interlude, the guitarist Thomas helped feed the hungry crowd even more, as if their music wasn’t enough. He grabbed a drum, set it in the audience, and then handed two front-row high schoolers some drumsticks and let them pound away. This spontaneity embodied not only remarkable crowd interaction, but also helped carry over appropriate vibes to Japandroids’ set.

Ahh yes, Japandroids. This duo from Vancouver consists of Brian on lead vocals and guitar, and David on backup vocals and drums. One, two, that’s all. But if you closed your eyes and listened, you would never have known that there were only two creating this epitome of garage band rock.

The boys wasted no time in starting up their first song; I made a face. Their music was harder than I normally am drawn to; I usually don’t delve much further than The Mars Volta. However, as their songs went on and I remembered not to judge a band by it’s first couple songs, (or in this case, it's “Darkness on the Edge of Gastown”), I realized I had fallen in love.

First off, they had so much passion! Having only two members in a band alone shows how much work must go into the music, especially when aiming for a larger sound (which they succeeded at). Secondly, their lyrics seem to be sincere. Their song “Young Hearts Spark Fire” states, “we used to dream, now we worry about dying.” Their vulnerability and fear of growing up is apparent, and may actually cause one to feel a pang or two of emotion. (Even you, emotionless Hipster boys!) Finally, this was just an all around amazing performance. Sweating through their shirts almost instantly after jumping onstage, this Canadian twosome hardly took a moment’s breath between each heavy-breathing song. This Billiken Club show was the first time Japandroids had played in America since touring in Europe, and I was loving every minute of it, as were they.

Earlier, in reviewing Surfer Blood, I mentioned the raging done at this show was unexpected. Not because I didn’t expect Japandroids to tear it up, but because I have never witnessed liveliness to this extent at the B-Club before. Whatever the cause, the crowd was feelin’ it. At one point, some kid attempted crowd surfing (there were barely 200 people there, emphasis on attempt), and later, during the song “Heart Sweats”, some dude jumped onstage and screamed along with Brian, “some hearts bleed, our hearts sweat!”

When the show was over, a lightheaded crowd slowly dispersed, and I had my chance to converse a bit with David, the drummer. After a joke about almost running my foot over with a cart and an awkward introduction, I told him about my Canadian roots, an obvious similarity between the two of us. We also were able to chat for short bit about the Maple Leafs, the Red Wings, and how he used to hate the city of Toronto, but has a newfound appreciation for it. Good choice David, good choice. Also, I like your accent.

To all of you who may have the chance to see Surfer Blood and/or Japandroids, go. Seriously, GO. You will not regret it.

Peace, Surfers & Canada,

Pigeon Toed

Death Rides a Horse

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Heavy Metal
By: sanbasl

In the super-realistic dystopian representation of the year 2027 in 2006’s Children of Men, Theo Faron (Clive Owen) complains of his ears ringing due to a much to close bomb blast. His ex-wife Julian Taylor (Julianne Moore, happy birthday btw) explains that the ringing of eardrums is actually the last time he will hear that frequency and it is a sort of “swan song”. I know your troubles, Theo.

Somewhere along the way of Bon Iver and Andrew Bird records, I nearly forgot something important: metal can be a very real, very powerful and a VERY badass way of expressing oneself. My experience at DC9 last night ripped me headbanging back to that reality. I won tickets from The AV Club DC to Russian Circles and Young Widows and was pretty pumped about it. Ever since witnessing the metalocalypse at The Mirimar Theatre freshman year while simultaneously upstaging my faves Minus the Bear, Russian Circles have always been on my radar. On the record they work ok, but their brand of cataclysmic post-rock is meant to be live, experienced and fucking blasted.

I searched around a bit before the show to find someone to join me, and I wasn’t too surprised that no one bit. By the time I got to the show, I was actually kind of glad none of my DC acquaintances wanted to come, because it would have been pretty awkward. Everyone at the show looked and smelled like Jimmy John’s employees. I ran into five separate smelly dudes with dark graying hair, beards and the same red flannel, that I (of course) was sporting last night. However, it was refreshing to see no one with socks matching their pocket squares, like much of the DC I have experienced. I settled down pretty close to the stage after Phantom Family Halo finished, because I was expecting Russian Circles to be next. I was mistaken. Dudes, who I thought were roadies, began moving monstrous equipment onto the “stage”, which was really just a step up. Two gigantic full-stacks with four amps were quickly set up and switched on. I asked the sandwich artist next to me who they were and he explained it was Young Widows. I had no idea what I was in for.

House lights were dropped, and immediately spotlights that were lodged inside their amps glared with the first thrash of their instruments. The three-piece band began playing what I can only describe as uncontrolled, yet precise cacophony. I was so bewildered and shocked for the first two minutes: then the breakdown came in. I was head banging like the best of them. Young Widows continued to pulverize my eardrums for nearly an hour, and I kept thanking them for it. As I listened closer, I noticed the serious knack for rhythm they had. The bassist literally used his head for a metronome that knocked down on every odd beat they constructed. By the end of their set my ears were crashing, my head was spinning and my neck was aching. But man was I pumped.

I recognized the members of Russian Circles immediately. As Tim Myers pointed out to me, the drummer looks a lot like Justin Long of annoying Apple fame until you look directly at him, and then you’re terrified. He’s like that baby doll in Sid’s room in Toy Story: he’s kinda cute until you realize he’s missing an eye and constructed out of metal (read: drum kit). For their extensive pedal boards and towering amps, the Circles set up really fast. I guess it’s nice when you don’t have to do mic checks (Check 1, Check 2). And they got right down to it.

I forgot how unfairly talented this band is, but they showed me. They moved through their set the way a conquering tank rolls through new land: slowly but powerful and terrifying all the same. Employing looping stations, delay pedals, a shit-ton of reverb and face-melting tapping, Mike Sullivan showed me what it meant to be one with a guitar. Riffs built upon themselves in a deliberate fashion, giving even Phil Spector goose bumps. Forget the Wall of Sound; they were the Iron Curtain of Sound. And the drumming! Dear lord, the drumming! The sounds were so large, I literally thought the floorboards were going to come crashing down, and we would all fall to our rightful deaths. But they didn’t. Last night’s show may be evidence that the world will end in 2012 if officials allow Russian Circles to keep playing the way they do. I could see their show being the catalyst for the End of Days, forcing John Cusack to fly off a disintegrating runway in real life. At the end of the show I was dizzy from the head crushing abuse I gladly inflicted upon myself.

Last night’s show taught me some important things, namely that there are other counter-culture scenes out there that are doing some real things for progress that isn’t indie rock. I was part of a poorly represented but incredibly enthusiastic movement last night, and that feeling really hard to find. I remembered that metal or hardcore or post-rock or what-have-you doesn’t have to be flashy or theatrical or emo-fied or lame or anything other than just some dudes to be blistering and completely enjoyable. You will very rarely find a more talented musician or a more enthused fan outside of that sub-culture. I also learned that I really need ear plugs.

My ears are in complete disarray today. I didn’t hear my alarm and my balance is still thrown off. If a ring is actually the last time that frequency is heard, I’m hearing less a swan song than a swan chorus. I hope Julian Taylor is wrong, but if she’s not, I guess I’m ok with that.

Throw Your Diamonds in the Sky if You Feel the Vibe

Jay-Z, a name synonymous with all things hip hop, made his way to Ypsilanti, Mich. on his Blueprint 3 tour last night.

Joining Jay-Z on the tour were J. Cole, who is the first rapper to sign to Jay-Z's Roc Nation label, 2009 XXL Freshman 10 rapper, Wale, and N*E*R*D. It was quite the impressive bill to go along with an interesting venue choice.

As people piled up in lines outside the Student Convocation Center on Eastern Michigan's campus, people seemed to be in an excited mood. Everyone debated who was more drunk, and kept proposing the question of the night, "Will they be serving beer inside?" I have to admit I had the same question in mind. Being on a school campus I figured that there would be no alcohol after I surpassed the doors. Well to everyone's surprise, people came out with wristbands calling for all the 21 and ups. One of the highlights of the night for me came with a girl, who was clearly already drunk, told the worker that she would need five wristbands because she plans on drinking a lot.

I have no interest in J. Cole at all, so I didn't go to my seat until Wale and the UCB band made their way to the stage. Wale was by far my favorite artist on the bill. Yes, I like him even more than the Hova. I first saw Wale earlier this summer in downtown Detroit at The Shelter, where he also appeared with the UCB band. The Shelter is a very small bar-like venue. Wale killed that setting. I was very intrigued to how him and the band would sound in a much larger setting, along with a crowd with little to none knowledge on him. The place was about half full during Wale's 30-minute set. He concentrated on performing songs like 'Pretty Girls,' 'World Tour,' and 'Mirrors,' which is understandable. This tour gave him a good chance to play his new songs to help promote the release of his debut album, 'Attention Deficit.' With a larger crowd than he's used to performing in front of, Wale utilized his time to give the crowd a taste of what he has to offer. For hardcore Wale fans like me in the crowd, this might have been a bit of a disappointed. I wanted to here some more of the classic mixtape material, and more solos from the UCB band.

Unsurprising, Wale closed with 'Chillin.' Not only is it a quality song, but it's a good one to perform live. Wale easily substitutes "DC," with whatever city he's in. Earlier in the set, Wale asked people standing near the stage what city they were representing. Detroit got louder applause over Ypsilanti. So, "DC chillin" became "Detroit Chillin." Wale made his way into the crowd during the song, which got more people off their seats and onto their feet. The song was over, and the lights came on. It was time to set the stage for N*E*R*D.

I've passed on seeing N*E*R*D a few times already, so it was great to finally get the chance to see Pharrell and company do their thing. Now, I'm no hardcore N*E*R*D fan, so you'll have to forgive me on not knowing the majority of the songs they were performing. I still appreciated all of it, as the band sounded superb.

At one point, Pharrell called for some ladies to come up on stage, and the girl that came with me, took off running. Now you must understand, we were sitting in the nosebleeds for this show. I didn't see her for the next 25 minutes. As I'm sure you can assume, she made it nowhere near the stage.

The set was great, and Pharrell even threw down 'Drop it Like it's Hot.' That was great to hear, but if you're going to do that song, why not throw in 'Grindin,' and 'Mr. Me Too.' That would have gotten the crowd rowdy.

Now came the moment everyone was waiting for. The stagehands started setting up for Jay-Z. When the 10-minute countdown came up on the big screens, cheers were heard all around. The time clicked down, the stadium was now packed, the curtain rose, and the band on stage started to play 'Run This Town.' From the the middle of the stage, Jay-Z rose from beneath, as Jay-Z rose, so did the crowd. No one was sitting anymore.

Jay-Z's set consisted of all his commercial success, along with new songs from 'Blueprint 3.' Honestly, I didn't like that album at all, so I could have done without those songs.

One thing I really enjoyed out of his set were his transitioning skills. I felt like Hova did a good job going from song to song. With quick acknowledgments to the crowd, he was able to hint to what song was coming, and get the crowd even more hyped. Example of this would be him simply asking the crowd what they were tuning to. Everyone yelled "the motherfucking greatness," and 'Dirt off Your Shoulder' played on.

Obviously with good transitioning, Jay-Z had good crowd interaction. Being a veteran of the industry, Jay-Z knows how to handle the crowd without coming off just plain stupid. He was smart, funny, and charming.

The highlight of his set might have been when he and the band busted into 'Big Pimpin,' and five seconds in he told the band to cut it, leaving the crowd perplexed.

"This is 'Big Pimpin' baby," Jay-Z said. "Everyone knows where they were when they first heard 'Big Pimpin.'"

Jay-Z said he wanted everyone to get whatever they could, a towel, a hat, a shirt, or if you're the girl next to me, a bra, and wave it in the air.

Another move Jay-Z did to my enjoyment, was bypass the encore crap, and instead of disappearing backstage, while people would probably chant "Hova," he remained onstage and shouted out people in the crowd. He went scavenging and yelled out things like, "I see you in your Rocawear shirt," and "Is that your girlfriend? She looks good." During this period, a couple people kept yelling "Burn Rubber" to him. Jay-Z later proclaimed that he needs a "tutorial on Burn Rubber." I'm sure the store owners love this, as it's great advertising for them. I was wearing a Burn Rubber fitted hat at the show, and I got asked by multiple people after the show ended what Burn Rubber was. I'm guessing a good amount of people may have even took to the Google to further investigate Burn Rubber.

After all the shout outs, Jay-Z went into 'Young Forever,' off the new album, which I must admit to being a great closer. At the end of the song, Jay-Z descended back beneath the stage, and the lights came on.

It was a great show, and like I said even though I'm not a big Jay-Z fan, it was great to see him live, because he is a legend.

That's all I have to say on that concert. On deck for me is comedian Daniel Tosh this Saturday, and in the hole is Saul Williams on Monday. I will be posting on both of those shows.

Thanks for reading,

The Magic Stick.

Skeezy F. Baby

Many music connoisseurs wish they could remember in detail every show they’ve seen, or at least the good ones.  But why is it that we can always remember more easily the details of an unpleasant experience than an enjoyable one (or maybe that’s just me)?  It always seems to happen that it’s the nights where you get beer spilled in your hair, or that obnoxious high schooler thinks he can get away with dancing up on you, that we remember the best.  At any rate, I think we can agree that it’s usually the painful, sweaty, and detrimental concert experiences that always turn out to be the most memorable.

That being said, I offer to you now my own outrageous concert story.  Now, not to put down anyone’s music taste, but the realm of my listening usually falls short of lyrics that compare a part of a woman’s anatomy to a filet mignon.  However, last summer, a few of my friends mentioned that Lil’ Wayne would be in Saint Louis the weekend we got back to school, which was also the weekend of my birthday as well as my roommate’s.  I figured it would be a fun way to celebrate; after all, I had yet to experience a rap concert. 

Sophomore year finally rolled around, and so did the concert.  I had high hopes of what my forty dollars would bring me; let’s just say I got a little more than what I had bargained for.  When we got to our seats I people watched for a few minutes, exchanged words with a friend about the cloud of marijuana that hung above our heads, and set my wristlet down on my chair for about twenty seconds.  I can’t remember why I set it down, maybe my arm was starting to hurt, or perhaps I needed both hands free to perform my signature cross punch dance move.  For whatever reason, it seemed harmless at the time.  Or for those twenty seconds, at least.  Because when I turned around to grab it…yeah, it was gone.  The next couple of hours were a blur of searching, canceling credit cards, and talking to those security guards who think they’re policemen.  Although all of this was happening, I tried to see and hear as much of the concert as I could. 

Getting a purse or wallet stolen is high up on the list of things you pray will not happen to you at a concert.  However, there are positive moments at shows that can make our heart pound just as fast.  When surprise guests Nelly and Murphy Lee appeared, I was in a trance the moment they got on stage; my anxiety faded momentarily as “Air Force Ones” began.  The crowd seemed to be similarly affected; a couple of Saint Louis’ big names were back in town.  I was able to distract myself from my worry in other fashions as well; our seats happened to be right next to the entrance/holding place for the artists, and we could easily peek over the wall and see who was next to strut in.  In doing this, we were able to witness Nelly flash Ashanti a white smile as she handed him a piece of gum.  With the hyped up ambiance and exciting guests, it seemed impossible for anyone not to have a good time; I wasn’t about to have my minor loss bring down this mood.  When I focused my attention on the music rather than who might’ve been browsing through pictures of my dogs on my phone, I was able to let go and have a semi-decent time.  The concert ended up being mediocre, considering I knew only about three songs that were played, and I didn’t get much of a chance to sit down and take it in.

There ended up being even more madness to the method; we found out at the end of the concert that the culprit was actually someone we knew.  He was the then-boyfriend of a girl who went to the concert with us.  (Don’t think too hard).  It was also amusing because this criminal was actually ‘helping’ us look for the lost purse the whole time.  It’s very complicated and not necessary to give all of the miniscule details, but long story short, he ended up in handcuffs that night by Saint Louis city cops. 

So, it was a bizarre night and birthday, and it was a bummer to get my phone and wallet stolen.  But, after my initial pouting had subsided, I realized that maybe this wasn’t so bad.  In fact, I can’t think of a better concert that this could’ve happened; I was fortunate this wasn’t a show with an artist I had a strong attachment to.  Even though theft and general misfortune isn’t necessarily what is hoped for in a memory, this is still a concert I will never forget.  And that, I can live with.

Will Return Writing About Something Other Than Rap,

Pigeon Toed

...If you like rap: stay tuned for "The Magic Stick's" upcoming coverage of the Jay-Z show at EMU!

I don't love the 80s

The other day I was in a hipster bar/club in Washington’s hipster center called the Velvet Lounge. Now, I may have been grumpy because I didn’t know anyone and I was nowhere near cool enough to show my tragically unhip face there (ex: some guy made fun of me for liking Kill Bill), but I am really sick of this. I paid $7 to see this shitty DJ group do something that was billed as “Danceable Art”. With Apple computers glowing and repetitive pseudo-worldly beats blasting, these tight jean wearing maestros turned knobs for two hours for about 40 unaffected and clearly uninspired hipsters who were not dancing. I was worried that I experienced a LOST like time flash, and I too ended in a place I didn’t want to be. Only I didn’t find myself on a tropical island in 1974, but a hip urban bar in 1984.

I never really cared for the 80s and it’s just a bummer that our generation has picked that decade to emulate, but I guess it makes sense. We’re both defined by the technological advancements of our times. They had cinder block cell phones; we have iPhones. And their desire to be “futuristic” is in line with us; but, by nature we’re a bit closer to the actual future. Think about it: Apple (Macintosh) computers are all the rage; tight jeans and flashy colors mean “urban wear”; and our music is inspired by our technology. Sure, it’s great and all that we’re embracing our advancements, but technology doesn’t always do the body or ears good. Technology has given us some incredible music moments like Kid A, late-ish Cure albums, the synth parts through Purple Rain, and (dare I?) 808s and Heartbreak. But I also think it’s killed some projects that otherwise would have been great, namely Paul Simon’s Graceland (I dare).

Before you all chase me out of town with pitchforks and torches, hear me out. Graceland is one of the best written albums of all time, and Paul Simon’s inspiration from the Zulu nation is gripping, but it’s really got that 80s sound (see: Bruce Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love or any Smiths album), and I feel that really detracts from the earthy themes of the album. Nothing kills the vibe of feeling African-y like the electric rhythm section production of this album. The bass sounds like a synthesized tuba and the drum-machine overpowers the nitty-gritty tribal percussion. The songwriting is excellent, even for Paul Simon standards, but it struggles to shine inside the cold electronic shell of this record. This album could be exponentially more warm and welcoming if it wasn’t for those damn 80s. That being said, the Graceland – The African Concert is a more accurate representation of the album. In the film, the songs are removed from the trigger happy production of 1980s Roy Halee and performed with a full band, complete with Zulu crooners. It’s not your fault, Paul or Roy; we’re all victims of our times.

I realize how odd it is to hold a grudge against a decade. Does this make me a decadeist? The 80s did help a lot of things culturally, and for Tom Waits' Rain Dogs and the Indiana Jones trilogy, I say ‘thank you’. Bringing it back around to 2009, I hope our decade will not suffer from the same perplexing obsession with technology that is the 80s, but I don’t see that happening. I guess I’m really looking forward to the neo-grunge movement of 2011.

Anyway, “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” is still one of the best songs I have ever heard.

From Washington with Love,

Sanbasl

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