Horse Feathers, Dark Swallows and Grandma Kelsey @ the VAC (8/8/12)

Even if everybody and their grandmother hadn't encouraged me to check out this show (the Boise Weekly, Radio Boise, Go Listen Boise, AudioGnome, etc), I might've gone just to see the odd juxtaposition of friendly folkie Grandma Kelsey and melancholy drone-rockers Dark Swallows.  I like them fine individually, but putting them on the same bill?  Seemed to go together like cherries and pickles.  So of course, it intrigued me.

I'll say one thing about all the crud that has been in the air the past few days (there have been a few forest fires as well as a dust storm): it has made for some gorgeous sunsets.  The sun looked like a bloody gold coin as I drove down to the VAC this evening.  When I arrived, the diffused light made everything look like something out of Days of Heaven.

Who knew Garden City could actually look beautiful?

I counted about thirty people when I arrived, and that number would double as the night wore on.  I found a seat, read a bit from a book I brought along and listened to the old-school doo-wop playing on the PA system.

Local musician Kelsey Swope a.k.a. Grandma Kelsey started off the night.  I suppose that if her slightly shy earnestness had come off as forced or calculated at any point, her set would've made me want to scream.  But since it didn't, when she asked the audience to howl along to the chorus of her closer, I happily obliged.  That howled chorus, which she took from a dog and which symbolized man's fundamental loneliness and yearning to connect, is emblematic of Swope's music as a whole: it combines the cute with the absurd with the profound.  The tanginess of her lyrics balanced the sweetness of her singing and melodies, and her steady guitar strumming helped the blend go down.  If you have any tolerance for folkies, check out Grandma Kelsey sometime.  She's a rare bird and a good egg.

Here's a picture of the "love shrine" that Swope set up at the foot of the stage.  She brings it to all of her performances and encourages people to leave something out of love (not money--a little note or trinket).  If you find that icky, well, too bad for you.

After Grandma Kelsey came Dark Swallows.  I'd seen this group quite a few times before and enjoyed each performance, but none of them prepared me for this night's set.  I don't know if there's anything in Boise quite like this band's intricate weave of plaintive, memorable tunes, rousing guitar and bass riffs and precise, driving drums.  Their singing, playing and arrangements all sounded much smoother and more assured, which only added to the music's hypnotic power.  From what I heard this night, Dark Swallows are well on their way to becoming one of the absolute best groups in town.

Horse Feathers closed out the night.  This Portland band's moody, all-acoustic yet still rocking sound proved worthy of such disparate opening acts.  Justin Ringle's murmured vocals made it hard to hear exactly what he was saying, but I say give folkies a chance when they bring gifts (specifically some lovely melodies, a good drummer and a strong groove).  Of course, it helped that I liked what lyrics I could make out: their last song before their encore featured some sharp words about working your ass off to go back to a home you don't own.  When your group includes two violinists and a cellist and you still don't come off as fussy or precious, you're doing something right.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Very special thanks to Sam Stimpert and the VAC.

Stargaze Unlimited, Champagne Leader, Jac Sound and 605 to San Gabriel @ the Shredder (8/7/12)

As usual, Radio Boise had set up a promising show this Tuesday night at Neurolux.  Since I'd seen the last three in a row, however, a change-up seemed in order (I'll be there for their Murder By Death show next week, though).  Anyway, I opted instead to check out a show at the Shredder featuring the excellent Caldwell band Stargaze Unlimited and a couple of acts I'd never encountered before.

Attendance was rather low for this concert, possibly due to its having to compete with Neurolux's show and with Evil Wine's Atypical Tuesday show at the Red Room.  I got down to the Shredder around 9, plopped myself down at a table and did a bit of light reading.  I'd brought along with me one of my birthday presents, 1 Dead in Attic by Chris Rose.  It's a collection of columns from the Times-Picayune about post-Katrina New Orleans.  Honestly, this is the closest I usually come to "light."

First up this evening was the Nampa-based band 605 to San Gabriel.  Their sharply arranged, slightly jazzy pop got the show off to a good start.  Buddy Gharing and Tomas Fisher's elegant, glittering guitars weaved and flowed with Jessica Prindle's ringing keyboard hooks and Jeff Erekson and Christian Mannion's unassumingly slick bass and drums.  Fisher's throaty vocals sounded slightly mannered but proved charming nonetheless.  It helped that he got support from his wife Lorraine's thoughtful harmonies.

After 605 to San Gabriel came Jac Sound, who kept the poppy feel of the show going.  His playing was a touch looser than usual, but his singing and songs were as pleasant and catchy as ever.  I'd put his cover of "Gangsta's Paradise" up there with Ben Folds's cover of "Bitches Ain't Shit."  In fact, I might like it more; Jac Sound just strikes me as a nicer guy.

After Jac Sound finished, the Los Angeles-based band Champagne Leader took the stage.  Their melodies sounded just as sweet as the preceding two acts', but their agreeably ragged playing and goofy, rowdy attitude added some spice to the mix: their "Handle With Care" cover sounded more like the early Rolling Stones than the Traveling Wilburys.  Shea Branham's stinging electric guitar and Vincent Munoz's pounding keyboard and acoustic guitar meshed nicely with Kasey Sullivan's sly bass and Daniel Morales's rolling, tumbling drums.  They jumped around, swapped stage positions, dropped down from the stage to mix with the crowd and joined together for some tart harmonies.

Damn good fun.

Stargaze Unlimited closed out the night and delivered the best set that I've seen by them yet.  Their brooding, intense instrumentals contrasted sharply with the other acts yet still felt appropriate: they gave the crowd a chance to wind down before bed.  Kurtis Beckwith's sinister riffs, Travis Gamble's understated basslines and Richard Metzger's titanic drumming all showed increased confidence, which gave the music extra power.  The audience hardly moved or turned their eyes away from the stage during Stargaze Unlimited's set.  Watch out for these guys.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Keesha Renna and Vagabond Promotions, who can be reached at 1 (208) 283-0259 and Whatvagabond@hotmail.com.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit and Futurebirds @ the VAC; Kasey Anderson and the Honkies @ Neurolux (8/5/12)

This last Saturday, I did something that I don't often do anymore: I saw a show that I won't write about.  Saturday was my birthday, and I decided to hold a party down at Neurolux, where Vagabond Promotions had set up a solid folk-oriented bill.  I figured that I wouldn't be in any shape to take coherent notes or write a decent post about that show, and boy was I right.  From what I can recall, however, the show was a very good one (although I did kinda wish that The Mighty Sequoyah had brought their drummer along).

Anyway, in spite of my horrendous hangover the next day, I headed down to the VAC in the evening.  I wasn't about to miss the act headlining there for some mere difficulty holding down food or walking upright.

I'd known of Jason Isbell through his time with my favorite modern (i.e. touring, recording) band, the Drive-By Truckers.  I loved his songs on two fine albums of theirs, 2003's Decoration Day and 2004's The Dirty South, but I'd never seen him live.  So, when I learned of this show, I immediately marked it down on my calendar.

As I'd expected, there was a respectable turnout.  I counted about forty people there when I arrived, and I think that at least another twenty or thirty had rolled in by the time that the first act had wrapped up.  I got a cup of water and found a seat by the bar.  I didn't even want to think about beer at that point.

First up this night was Futurebirds, a six-man band from Athens, GA.  Their folk-country tunes, steady tempos, simple basslines, serene pedal steel and raw guitar solos had Neil Young and Crazy Horse written all over them.  That was all right by me--readers familiar with this blog will know that I love me some Neil Young.  Even I have to admit, however, that you could do a lot better when it comes to finding models for singing, and Young was George Jones compared to the pinched, nasally, affected whines of Futurebirds' vocalists.  In the end, though, the music itself won out thanks in particular to a couple of soul and southern rock numbers, the soloing and some driving, swinging drumwork.  The touch of shoegaze in the guitars added a nice little wrinkle as well.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, played next.  Isbell didn't quite have the laconic cool of Mike Cooley or the big-ol'-teddy-bear charm of Patterson Hood, but his stage presence was far from awkward or aloof: he punctuated his set with plenty of warm jokes (plenty of which were on himself), stories and dedications.  More importantly, he commanded attention and then some in the ways that really mattered: with his voice, his guitar and his songs.

He opened strong with "Go It Alone," a tough, jangly rocker, and then landed an early knockout punch with his feuding-families epic "Decoration Day."  From there, he and his crack band blazed through an assortment of his solo songs and old DBT material.  Of the former, my favorites included "Tour of Duty," a redemptive country number about a young soldier coming home ("I guess this is one of the less sad songs that I have," Isbell quipped), and "Try," a cold-eyed blues grind about a man who's desperate to make a woman stay but knows that he can't.  The latter included the world-weary "Goddamn Lonely Love," the father's advice of "Outfit" and a "Danko/Manuel" that went out to those two and their recently departed Band-mate, Levon Helm.  Throughout the entire set, Isbell delivered blistering solos and sang his finely crafted melodies and lyrics with the finesse and assurance of a man ten or twenty years older than him (he's only 33).  The 400 Unit backed him up every step of the way with rubbery bass, thoughtful keyboard parts and protean drumming (Isbell's drummer, Chad Gamble, also did a fine job singing lead on one irresistibly danceable song).  The crowd gave this performance the reception it deserved: they cheered, boogied and sang along to the choruses and the verses.  This was unquestionably one of the best shows that I've seen this year so far.

The VAC show would've made my night complete, but it didn't end there.  A fine musician whom I saw back in June, Kasey Anderson, was back in town for a gig with Counting Crows and had announced on Facebook that he'd be playing a free midnight show at Neurolux.  I headed straight over after Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit finished and, to my delight, found a crowd at least four or five times bigger than the one that saw Anderson's last appearance here.  That number grew as more folks from the VAC showed up.

Anderson and his backing band, the Honkies, kicked things off with a handful of original songs, my favorite of which was the Stones-ish rocker "Mercy."  After that, they shared the stage with a rotating group of musicians (including Jason Isbell and Counting Crows guitarist David Immergluck) and launched into a wonderfully loose, action-packed jam session that went on right up until closing time and included searing takes on Bob Dylan's "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat" and Neil Young's "Like A Hurricane."  Between this show and the one at the VAC, I don't think I've ever heard so many mind-blowing guitar solos in a single night.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Oh, and if "Debbie Gibson" is reading this, Jason Isbell says hello.

Zechs Marquise and Fang Island @ Neurolux (8/3/12)

I came across this show's event page on Neurolux's Facebook profile a week or so ago.  Since I didn't know anything about either of the bands, I grew intrigued, but something about the picture of Fang Island made me wary.  Three guys standing close together before a black backdrop with ramrod-straight postures, black shirts and a smug, knowing twinkle in their eyes--it all seemed to scream "HIPSTER!"  It was only $5, though, and I didn't have anything else to do this night.  It helped too that a gentleman whose taste in music I respect sent me an invite.

A little over thirty people were hanging around when I arrived at Neurolux.  I parked myself in a booth by the door, read a bit from Dream Boogie: The Triumph of Sam Cooke by Peter Guralnick (pretty good book, by the way) and watched some more folks trickle in.

Zechs Marquise, an instrumental rock group from El Paso, TX, got the evening off to an exhilarating start.  You might hear something like this band's music if you took a lotta acid and played (Miles Davis's) Jack Johnson, Electric Ladyland and Superfly all at once while your upstairs neighbor blasted Screaming for Vengeance.  Psychedelic, metal-infused guitars and creepy synth textures blended and wrestled with fluid, funky basslines and hyperactive, unyielding drumming.  One of these elements would poke its head out at a given moment only to be subsumed by the roiling mass of sound in the next.  These guys would've been worth much more than the price of admission by themselves.

After Zechs Marquise came Fang Island, who more than confirmed my admittedly superficial impression of them.  If ever music cried out for unicorns that shoot lasers out of their eyes, this stuff did.  High fructose, metal-plated riffs, 8-bit synthesizer parts and galloping drums met with studiedly anodyne vocals and purposely inane lyrics.  The crowd moved up close to the stage and ate all of this up like a Kraft Single.  For my part, as a guy who thinks that Permission to Land is a great album, I found this Rhode Island/Brooklyn-based group's shameless ridonkulousness refreshing.  Prolonged exposure, however, might provoke such fury in me that no one sporting a mustache (real or fake) within a 50-mile radius would be safe.  Recommended to arty hipster types who love Boston, Journey and REO Speedwagon (you know who you are).

You can find info on both groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Allen Ireland and Neurolux for letting me bring my camera in.

The Alltheways, Hotel Chelsea, The Murderburgers and Dear Landlord @ the Shredder (8/1/12)

The chance to finally write about one of my favorite local punk bands, Hotel Chelsea, first attracted me to this show.  What really sealed the deal, however, was talking to Matt Wildhagen from the Ratings Battle.  He's a huge fan of Dear Landlord, and he told me that this was gonna be THE event of the summer for him.  Matt knows a thing or two about music (especially punk), so I decided that this would be worth the $10 cover.

I got down to the Shredder around 8 and checked out the badass posters for old shows pasted up on the wall opposite the skateboard ramp.  The crowd started out a little thin and then built to a respectable forty or so people.  I saw plenty of familiar faces: Matt Wildhagen (of course), Jason Rucker from the Useless, the lead singer of Piranhas (at least, I think that was him).  Josh Gross showed up as well and filmed a bit of Hotel Chelsea's set for Boise Weekly's online series "Scenes from a Scene."  Check it out if you haven't seen it before.  Pretty cool stuff.

First up this evening was local pop-punk band the Alltheways.  Their staightforward tunes and riffs served as a decent warm-up for the rest of the show.  Their guitar players didn't get too annoying as they sang with the standard pop-punk adolescent whine, their drummer got to flex a little muscle and their bassist got to show a little elasticity.  Not great, but not bad.

After the Alltheways came Hotel Chelsea.  To my ears, these guys make pop-punk as the good Lord (or the Dark Lord, whichever you prefer) intended: catchy melodies and sharp-witted lyrics get put through their paces by metallic lead guitar, freight-train rhythm guitar and bass and whirlwind drumming.  Ryan Sampson joyously hollered out the tunes and slashed out the beat.  Red Kubena contributed some surprisingly sweet harmonies and made his guitar weave and sting.  Mikey Rootnote prowled around the stage, mugged it up for the crowd and tore at the strings of his bass while Chris Devino bashed away on the drums.  The crowd pressed toward the stage like Patrick Swayze paddling out into the fifty-year storm (c'mon, don't tell me you haven't seen Point Break).  This was the fiercest and most focused Hotel Chelsea set that I've seen.  So far, anyway.

Up next was Scottish trio the Murderburgers.  Their lean, balls-to-the-wall sound made me wonder if these guys just dashed across the Atlantic like the Road Runner to get to the U.S..  They played hard enough and fast enough to make the Ramones sound like Jimmy Reed, but they still managed to work in some solid tunes and even a groove.  They tore through one song after the next with barely a breath in between.  In fact, more than once, I didn't realize that they'd started another song until they were halfway through it.  I really hope that these guys can make it out here again.

Minnesota/Illinois-based Dear Landlord closed out the night.  Their full-throttle take on pop-punk had fewer curves than the Murderburgers' did but proved quite enjoyable all the same.  They showed off some sharp songwriting and more-than-decent musicianship, but what really made them stand out were their vocal arrangements--a little call-and-response, a little layering, plenty of good old all-together-now.  Definitely the best pop-punk band named after an obscure Dylan song that I've ever heard.

You can look up info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers and New Transit @ Neurolux (7/31/12)

Whew.  July kept me busy--24 shows in 31 days.  I keep joking with people that I may need to get a job just to take a break.  Of course, I can't complain too much.  As I hope my posts have made clear, I've had some great times.  The next few months should prove most enjoyable as well.  I ain't heard nothin' yet...

Until this show, I'd never heard or heard of Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers.  Also, I'd heard of but never heard New Transit.  Which gave me two perfect reasons to head down to Neurolux and check out this San Francisco-based group and their local opener.

I arrived good and early and watched the crowd trickle in.  I counted almost fifty people by the time that Nicki Bluhm took the stage, most of whom were in their mid-30's or older.  Considering the age range of this audience, I thought it appropriate when a selection of 70's classic rock played on the PA system before the show (Tom Petty, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, etc.).  It proved an appropriate preface for the bands as well.

First up was local country-rock quartet New Transit.  Although their words touched on partying and outlaws and such, their polished sound came across as less honky-tonk-night-time-man and more I'm-so-lonesome-I-could-cry.  But hey, better that than welcome-to-the-Hotel-California.  I heard some zingers here and there among the lyrics, Sean Hatton's tenor croon suited the well-crafted tunes perfectly, A. Nigel Gates's bass and Louis McFarland's drums laid down a sturdy groove and Dave Manion delivered some damn fine solos on the Fender and pedal steel.

Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers took the stage not long after New Transit wrapped up.  I racked my brains trying figure out who the hell Bluhm's slinky, smoky voice sounded like until her spot-on covers of "You're No Good" and "Tumbling Dice" left no doubt.  Bluhm sounded even sexier than Linda Ronstadt, though.  Funnier too--busted out a couple of fantastic dixieland solos on kazoo.  As for the Gramblers, their electric guitarist's nonchalant shredding stood out most prominently, although a couple of soul and funk numbers near the end gave the drummer some.  Overall, I found that their songs of hard-living and hard-loving went down like a shot of Knob Creek: full, smooth and strong.

The others in the audience seemed to feel the same way.  They whooped and hollered, although most of them chose to stay in their seats or stand to the side of the dance floor.  That is, until Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers unplugged and stepped down from the stage to play a spirited cover of George Michael's "Faith."

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

First Borns, Sauna, Orca Team and Paperhead @ the Crux (7/30/12)

I greatly enjoyed Sauna's set at Treefort, so I got excited when I saw that they'd be returning to Boise.  Not only that, this night's show gave me the chance to show some support for the folks at the Manor, who set it up, and for the Crux, whose business seems to have improved since they finished remodeling and got their beer license back.

My notes say that only fifteen or so people, including me, saw Sauna play at Treefort (they had the bad luck of going on at the same time that Of Montreal performed on the main stage).  Not counting the members of the four bands who played this night, the crowd boiled down to about the same size.  That wasn't so bad, though.  For one thing, I thought that the modest audience suited a more intimate venue like the Crux as opposed to a larger one like the Linen Building.  Also, it included Eric Gilbert (who worked the soundboard), Jeremy Jensen from The Very Most, Keesha Renna and a handful of folks from the Caldwell scene.

Local trio First Borns got the evening off to a fine start.  Their murmured vocals, solemn bass hooks, droning guitar riffs and quick, clipped yet rock-steady drumming made me think of New Order or The Jesus and Mary Chain gone surf-rock.  Each song had its own distinct identity yet still fit within the group's minimalistic sound, which spoke very well for their writing and arranging skills.  I couldn't really make out the lyrics, but the music was so appealing that I didn't care.

After First Borns came Sauna.  This Denver-based group had had some trouble getting here--their van had broken down a couple of times on the road, and they said that they'd even managed to break a tow truck--but they sounded raring to go during their soundcheck.  Their set made good on that promise: they played even better than they did at Treefort.  Molly sang the irresistible punk-pop tunes in a slyly serene, girly voice.  Ethan chipped in with some charmingly flat harmonies and quietly propulsive basslines.  Adding some spice to the mix were Sammi's unquietly propulsive drumming and especially guitarist CJ's dollops of feedback and terse, bulls-eye solos.

photo by Megan Mallan Stoll

Sauna's playful music benefitted from some yellow balloons, which the audience bopped and popped over the course of the night.  They were such a perfect touch that you'd have thought the band brought them along, but no: this show doubled as a birthday bash for a handful of folks in the crowd (and a couple of people in the other bands).

After Sauna came the Seattle-based trio Orca Team, whose surf-tinged, danceable, slightly ominous rock fell midway between Sauna's spunkiness and First Borns' moodiness.  Leif Anders's gently insistent singing and rumbling basslines intertwined with Dwayne Cullen's nimble drums and Jessica B.'s hazy guitar.  Their sharp groove got the crowd moving, and their strong melodies and hooks maintained the tuneful standard established by the earlier bands.

Tennessee-based trio Paperhead played last.  Instead of hanging ten, their retro-60's sound came straight outta the garage by way of Andy Warhol's Factory: deadpan vocals, trebly guitar, eerie organ tracks, amphetamine-crazed drumming, artfully poppy tunes, looooonnng instrumental passages.  Their music evoked both shiny happy people holding hands and midnight ramblers putting their fist through your steel-plated door.  The perfect finale for the night.

Sidenote: Here's a picture I took of Keesha Renna doing some serious swinging with a guy during Paperhead's set.  When I showed it to her, she just scoffed that her posture wasn't what it used to be.  I dunno, looked okay to me...

You can find info about these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Megan Stoll for her cool photo.