Neko Case, Crooked Fingers - Newport Music Hall (last Thursday)

Singers with alt-country panache are a dime a dozen these days. Much of it is pretty, pleasant, safe and, to be honest, quite average. And I say that as someone who’s drawn to that stuff more than most.

On the surface, Neko Case doesn’t seem to have much that sets her apart from all the others in this loosely defined genre. She sings with vague country overtones that convey deference to the rich history of the American South, yet it’s subtle enough that an adjective like “twangy” would be jarringly inappropriate. Plus, her band incorporates lap-steel guitar, and Case herself often plays a four-string tenor guitar, an instrument long associated with country music (along with jazz and, later, folk).

And yet a Neko Case song is unmistakable, often executed with a brilliance that has rightly expanded her fan base far beyond the NPR-and-latte set. It all starts with her voice, which was in full force at the Newport last Thursday. One of my fellow reviewers has stated his disdain for Neko’s singing. To each his own, because I found Case’s bold, open-throated vocals a thing of beauty live, just as it is on record.

The Newport’s muddy sound system and generally talkative crowds don’t make for an ideal atmosphere in which to soak in all that good stuff, but it didn’t ruin the experience by any means. It did, however, make it difficult to decipher some of the words, which is a shame because her imagistic lyrics often get overlooked amid all the gushing over her voice.

“I Wish I Was the Moon,” a fan favorite from 2002’s Blacklisted, showed her sweet balladeer side, with the lonesome refrain “I’m so tired, I wish I was the moon tonight.” At the end of the set, “Dirty Knife” revealed a more disturbing side (“He laid down on the floor and he slept like iron/While the dirty knife worked deep into his spine/The blood runs crazy”). Both fit Case like a glove, effortlessly transitioning from pining to haunting.

The female backup vocalist filled out the sound nicely, though she was way too talkative between songs. Someone needs to remind her she’s a backup singer.

About halfway through the set, I got a little impatient for more Fox Confessor Brings the Flood tunes, but overall there was a pretty good mix of songs both new (“Middle Cyclone,” “People Got a Lotta Nerve”) and old (“Deep Red Bells”).

It’s rare to read anything about Case without mention of her long, red hair, and most of the press photos have only served to further her image as a sex symbol. But in concert Case came off like the farm girl that she is (she’s an animal lover with 100 acres in Vermont), devoid of anything diva. She even self-deprecatingly displayed her oddly shaped navel to the crowd, explaining that someone told her it looked like a dolphin.

Case excels outside the alt-country ghetto, too, adding her pipes to the New Pornographers, as well as guesting on a recent song by Crooked Fingers, who opened the show. Bandleader Eric Bachmann, who helmed influential mid-’90s indie darlings Archers of Loaf, suffered from a worse sound mix, but nevertheless played a good, short set that left me craving a full Crooked Fingers show.

While it’s doubtful that Archers of Loaf would have shared the stage with Case, Bachmann has become more entranced with folk structures and Springsteen since starting Crooked Fingers. (“Sleep All Summer” was a good example of the former, “You Can Never Leave” of the latter.) I missed the string and horn arrangements that a three-piece with keys and a half-kit couldn’t offer, especially on “Phony Revolutions,” but the songs still held up.

One thing, though. If you decide to play a song that, on record, is a duet with Neko Case, why wouldn’t you work it out so that she could come out and sing it live? What a missed opportunity.

(Also at The Other Paper)

My Black Keys Experience

Every so often Skully’s and Jack Daniel’s team up to host a free show with a band that would usually play a venue larger than Skully’s. Past shows brought in Spoon, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and The Walkmen, but Monday’s show with the Black Keys was a whole other tier. The excitement for this show was more than I’ve seen for any concert in a long time, and the fans came out in droves. Skully himself called it the most popular show he’s ever done.

Outside the music-diner before the show, the line snaked its way past the parking lot, supposedly stretching all the way to 5th Avenue earlier in the day. Some people gave up (“Dude, let’s just go get drunk at Surly Girl”), but there was still a line 10 minutes before the show ended. I was a doofus and didn’t show up till 9:35, and at point my name on a seemingly nonexistent list was not getting me past the red velvet ropes--and I mean that literally. There were actually velvet ropes.

Thanks to the generosity of one Wes Flexner (who gets on a list like that with a +3??), the flustered, bewildered, overwhelmed JD reps eventually parted the ropes, the free-drink tickets were administered and I eventually settled between the front bard and the bathrooms. There wasn’t much hope of getting any closer. The place was shoulder-to-shoulder all the way back, and every five feet closer to the stage was five degrees hotter.

Skully’s had been magically transformed into a Jack Daniel’s advertisement, with countless bottles of JD lining the bar and big posters that occasionally advised you to “add responsibility to the mix.” The win-tickets-only show brought all kinds: middle-aged men wearing short-sleeve, unbuttoned button-downs; ironic mustache types; the scenester glitterati; a roid-raging Keys fan who was ejected from the premises; and that dude who played the eccentric British boyfriend in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, or at least a look-alike who seemed to be very proud of his eyeliner.

Still, the quintessential person at this show was probably the college-age dude in a Black Keys T-shirt leading his drunk girlfriend out by the hand. Ah yes, the girlfriends. Many of these tag-along significant others could be seen exiting throughout the night, fed up with the heat, the close quarters, or just the fact that the Black Keys really do sound like a fuzzed-out, blues-rock duo. “They’re just not as good as I thought they’d be,” one woman said. This was after I redirected her from entering the men’s bathroom. She thought she was exiting the building.

I pretty much listened to the show more than I did watch it, although if I stood on my toes I could see the duo’s heads from time to time. It was still plenty loud, though. The first half of the set was mostly older stuff. “10 am Automatic” was a crowd pleaser. The second half incorporated more new stuff, which I thought sounded best: “Psychotic Girl,” “Strange Times,” “I Got Mine,” “Same Old Thing.” It was raucous and messy, all in a good, fun way.

The big question on my mind all night was: Why do people (myself included) like the Black Keys so much?

On the way home from the show, I got McDonald’s French fries, because no matter who you are or where you grew up or what social strata you belong to or see yourself in or if you’re urban or suburban or you grew up in a town of dirt and tumbleweeds, you probably crave McDonald’s French fries on occasion. It may be comfort food or a guilty pleasure, or maybe you even eat them ironically. No matter. The point is, just about everyone likes them. They’re the great societal equalizer.

And maybe the Black Keys are like McDonald’s French fries. People from all walks of life and musical inclinations love the Black Keys. At their base, the Black Keys play blues-rock, and ever since Jimmy Page and Robert Plant appropriated the blues and funneled it into young white people, blues-rock has become the base for subsequent subgenres of rock too many to count. And that’s a foundation with endless appeal if it’s done well. Classic rockers like it because it’s so bluesy. College rockers like it because it rocks so hard. Kids like it because the guitar is so loud and distorted, which = awesome. Indie rockers like it because it’s so simple. The list goes on. The Black Keys can be appropriated into whatever rock ghetto you’re drawn to.

The majority of the fans seemed to end the night pretty satisfied. I regretted not showing up earlier to watch the show from somewhere other than the bathroom, but still, mostly satisfied. See? Just like fries. Satisfied, with a twinge of regret.

Local releases: Ghost Shirt, Eric Nassau, Pocketful of Sunshine

Ghost Shirt EP
Ghost Shirt has been around only since September, but the band has already caused quite a stir, playing shows as much as humanly possible (especially at the Treehouse) and handing out a 10-song demo that felt like much more than a demo.

Led by the golden-voiced Branden Barnett (formerly of the Shatters), Ghost Shirt uses killer hooks, guy-girl harmonies, beautiful string arrangements and some good ol’ distorted guitar to craft songs that veer from chamber-pop to power pop. And the band’s captivating stage show brings to mind other local acts like Two Cow Garage (a band Ghost Shirt recently toured with) and Miranda Sound (R.I.P.).

Their new EP, which serves as the preview of an upcoming full-length, mostly captures all that good stuff. I say “mostly” because in trading in demo quality for a more professionally mixed, crisp recording, a couple of the songs lose some of the raw vigor that the demo captured in their more spontaneous state. At times, the EP feels almost too slick. I also look forward to hearing what the band does with Barnett’s gentler, acoustic tunes.

But those are minor, contextual quibbles. “Steam Engine” still feels plenty propulsive, Sam Kim’s violin melodies sparkle (especially on the “Sick with Love” outro), and the rhythm section does everything a rhythm section should. Be warned: If you pick up this EP, you’ll have no choice but to get the full album when it comes out.

Eric Nassau - What's Left of Empty Space
Eric Nassau is a quintessential troubadour, playing pubs, coffee shops and folk festivals across the country armed with his van and an acoustic guitar. In fact, he’ll be on the road pretty much nonstop before returning to Columbus for Comfest at the end of June.

But if Steve Earle is the “hardcore troubadour,” Nassau is decidedly soft. On his latest, What’s Left of Empty Space, you’ll hear lots of traditional folk with some contemporary singer/songwriter flair and country fare thrown in. His candid, conversational lyrics are endearing and instantly accessible but often lack depth and anything resembling grit (from “Sugar-coated Sugar”: “When I was a child, they said I was hyper/Till they pinned me down, found sugar in my diaper”). Nassau sings it all with full-bodied, yet nondescript, vocals. This is acoustic music as smooth and breezy as it gets.

He enlisted plenty of help on Empty Space, though, and those contributions allow some of these songs (mostly in the first half) to become more than just pleasant background music. Megan Palmer’s violin and vocals fill out “Big Water,” which clips along at a good pace and features one of Nassau’s best choruses. Palmer likewise bolsters “Frozen,” featuring mournful, nontraditional accompaniments that give the song a welcome eeriness. I’m also partial to Keenan Wade’s mandolin additions, which are sprinkled throughout, as well as the rockier, minor-key guitar riffs on “A Conversation.”

Turns out truly empty space doesn’t suit Nassau best. The more musicians the merrier, I say.

Pocketful of Sunshine - Target Audience of One
Drummer Paul Abbott (Woosley Band) dubbed his recent recording Target Audience of One to emphasize that all the songs center on the heartache caused by one woman in particular. But what a shame it would be if this spurned lover were the only recipient of these well-crafted songs, boasting a list of contributors that reads like a Rolodex of Columbus songwriting greats, past and present: Tim Easton, Micah Schnabel (Two Cow Garage), Megan Palmer, Lizard McGee (Earwig), Sean Beal (Big Back Forty) and Chris Burney (formerly of the Sun).

Under the moniker Pocketful of Sunshine, Abbott wrangled each of these musicians into his home studio to collaborate on a track, and the resulting stacked-with-talent album delivers with only a couple of slight missteps. Personal favorites include Schnabel’s cig-fueled, acoustic-driven “Ultimate Mixtape” and Jesse Henry’s alt-country gem “Get With You,” lovingly steeped in lap-steel. And McGee’s “My Favorite Star” could be the lead single on a new Earwig album; it’s one of the catchiest tracks I’ve heard all year. Not surprisingly, the record also boasts really good drum sounds—a detail that often gets lost in local bands’ mixes.

The gimmicky “Slowicide,” featuring Zuck’s Turkey Farm, isn’t really my bag. Neither is the final track, “Pretty Birdy (the Ballad of Shadow Cat).” But I don’t think I’d skip any other song, which is pretty amazing given the stylistic breadth and sheer number of musicians involved with the project--a testament to Abbott’s well-trained ear.

Here’s to shattered relationships!

(Also at The Other Paper)

Record Store Day

If you haven't heard, Record Store Day is tomorrow. It's a great day to go out and support your local record stores, because that's a good thing to do, but also because there are tons of limited-edition Record Store Day releases coming out. Pitchfork compiled an extensive list of them here, and each store has its own little deals, too. Here's what's going on in Columbus. (Feel free to add corrections or anything I missed in the comments...)

Used Kids will have some of those limited-editions and lots of live music. Here are the bands, in order from 1-8 pm: dick mackey, dottie and clyde, black phantom thousands, times new viking, ap (alleyes path), birds of hair, tv eye, brian harnetty, super desserts.

Lost Weekend Records:
All used LPs will be 33% off, all used 45s will be 45% off, all 78s will be 78 cents each and all new LPs & CDs will be 10% off (excluding limited edition Record Store Day releases). Everything else in the store (used Cds, used dvds, T-shirts, books, comics, etc.) will be 20% off.

Owner Kyle Siegrist also says: "Lost Weekend will also have cool record store day give-away items while supplies last, including such items as CD and LP samplers some 7" records (I know one is a Kings of Leon single), Beastie Boys turntable mats, Beatles numbered lithographs, and other stuff, plus we will be bringing out the free Herb Albert records. We will have several of the limited edition Record Store Day releases (the only things not on sale that day):

Some of these we only have 1 or 2 copies of and others we will have more including a live Pavement Lp from 1988, 7" singles from, The Smiths, Slayer, Akron Familiy, MC5, Stooges, Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, Bad Religion, Bruce Springsteen, Sonic Youth w/ Jay Retard and a cool split with Flaming Lips and The Black Keys. Plus the full latest full length album from Jorma Kaukonen "River Of Time" on Red House Records only 1,000 pressed and they were pressed in town at Mus-I-Col. There is also a double 10" record from My Morning Jacket and a 10" record from Ben Harper also a live Derek Trucks cd. There may be some others..."

-- I don't have any info on Magnolia Thunderpussy, but they had all sorts of free stuff last year if you purchased something, so I'm sure they will this year, too. Last year I got free 7" vinyl by MGMT, Wye Oak and some others.

-- Evil Empire Records (located inside Kafe Kerouac and What the Rock?!): "Both of the Columbus Store locations for Evil Empire Records will be giving away some of my favorite singles, no purchase necessary. (One per customer. While supplies last.)"

-- Ace in the Hole's website says it will have live music and limited-edition Record Store Day releases.

-- The new Elizabeth's Records: "We won't have the special goodies on national offer, but we will give a free 45 single to the first 25 paying customers, and a 10 % discount to any purchase over five dollars."

-- Singing Dog is apparently participating, too, but no specific info.

Bill Callahan at Used Kids

This was fun, nonexistent sight lines and all. Here's a video (courtesy of Scott Johnson) of Callahan performing "Rococo Zephyr" off Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, out today.

Dr. Dog, Golden Boots, The Lost Revival - The Basement

The original plan Monday night was to check out the Cave Singers and Golden Boots, both slated to open for Dr. Dog at the Basement, then skip the headliner and shoot up north to see San Diego buzz band Crocodiles take the stage at Cafe Bourbon Street. It’s not that I dislike Dr. Dog. In fact, I quite enjoyed the Philadelphia band’s 2008 release, Fate. But I saw them at CD101 Summerfest last year and they didn’t blow me away. Plus, the strength of Crocodiles’ upcoming Fat Possum debut, Summer of Hate, coupled with rumors of stellar SXSW performances, had me jazzed for that show.

But Crocodiles canceled. Then the Cave Singers canceled. And yet, it turned out to be a pretty good night.

I walked into the Basement as a band I assumed to be Golden Boots was playing, but was pleasantly surprised when I saw eight people crammed onto the stage and realized it was the Lost Revival. The local band apparently was asked to fill in for the Cave Singers just a couple of hours earlier. I’d have enjoyed the Lost Revival even if I hadn’t known that the band a.) had to throw everything together in a matter of hours, and b.) played almost all brand-new songs. Singer/songwriter Kevin Collins was just born to be a front man. His throaty singing, interspersed with a strong falsetto, gives the folk-inspired, synth-laced epics a primal texture that’s missing from so many bands that use Americana as their undercarriage. And the man has charisma to spare.

My only complaint with the short set was that the female background singer was consistently flat and too loud, which at times detracted from Collins. But mostly it was good, chaotic fun. It’s encouraging that after the Lost Revival’s strong debut, Homemade Confetti, the new songs are more focused, with even stronger hooks (see “Cotton and Lace” and “Mayqueen”), yet still grand and gutsy. The addition of saxophone was cool, too.

Next up was Dr. Dog labelmates Golden Boots, a band I’m more impressed with on record. The group incorporates southwestern sounds from its hometown of Tuscon, Arizona, but on the recent Winter of Our Discotheque, there’s more experimental, fuzzy psychedelia. At the Basement, the band played the songs pretty straight, with little deconstruction or even slightly fractured pieces. Neither of the two singers drew me in, and having two drummers seemed completely superfluous. I’d still recommend picking up Winter of Our Discotheque, but skip the live experience.

Dr. Dog, on the other hand, was in its element, feeding off the energy of the sold-out crowd. At Summerfest last year, the band seemed a little lost on the huge LC Pavilion stage, but the Basement’s modest digs proved to be more comfy. It was the difference between a sprawling storm system dropping scattered thunderstorms here and there and a funnel cloud concentrating its delivery with consistent ferocity.

(I’ve gotta say again, though, that though the Basement seems like a good venue for bands, it’s a horrible venue for every concertgoer except the 50 to 75 people up front, and a sold-out show only re-emphasized that. There’s a reason stages are usually above the audience, not below. No one should pay for a show and end up having to watch it on a lousy TV behind the bar. So it’s a good thing the band used the venue to its advantage, because there’s virtually no advantage for the fans.)

Dr. Dog has had more time to tour behind the the new material, and it showed. I still enjoy bassist Toby Leaman’s singing best, especially in a live setting. Songs like “The Ark” and “The Beach” are groovin’ head-nodders, due much in part to their bass lines, and Leaman’s sandpaper howling was the fuel for the fire. The band’s other singing/songwriting half, Scott McMicken, was on, too, especially during “The Old Days” and encore closer “Ain’t It Strange.” All the vocal harmonies were dead-on, too.

So despite my disappointment at the evening’s outset, the band reclaimed my affections. Dr. Dog had its day.

(Also at The Other Paper)

Crocodiles (update)

Crocodiles is playing Cafe Bourbon Street Monday night, and after listening to the band's debut, Summer of Hate, I'm kinda giddy about this show. Pains of Being Pure at Heart is cool and all, but... this is the record people should (and will) be talking about. Hope they can bring it live, too. High expectations.

Show canceled.

The Antlers - Cafe Bourbon St., 3-26

Depending on their subject matter, concept albums have the potential to alienate listeners. Even the term “concept album” sounds a bit pretentious. But the truly great ones transcend story-line, using the thematic material to communicate ideas, questions, truths, emotions--or all of the above--common to the human experience. In other words, you don’t need to be a deaf, dumb and blind pinball champion to appreciate the Who’s Tommy.

The Antlers’ new album, Hospice, uses a fractured relationship between a hospice worker and a young, terminally ill girl (Sylvia) to muse about mortality and all its repercussions--loss, loneliness, anger, empathy, guilt and the like. Singer/songwriter Peter Silberman, whose lyrical and compositional maturity belie his age (23), switches vantage points throughout the album, allowing glimpses into each character’s inner workings.

Complicating matters--in a good way, it turns out--is the patient’s condition. She apparently has cancer, but it’s her mental illness and the resulting nightmares and visions that make the relationship so antagonistic and heartbreaking. In the liner notes, Silberman explains (in character of the hospice worker, it seems) that “something makes her sting, and something makes her want to kill. It made her crawl under that house, and stick her head under the stove.”

The Antlers punctuate the interactions with huge swells of sound that wouldn’t be out of place on a Sigur Ros record, and subdued sections anchored by a gingerly tapped piano or lightly strummed acoustic guitar along with shimmery, atmospheric synth textures (see “Kettering”). It’s in those quiet portions that Silberman employs his greatest attribute--a beautiful, alabaster falsetto that’s more hushed than Jeff Buckley but less wispy than Antony and the Johnsons.

Ah yes, but this is supposed to be a live review, right? The Antlers did, in fact, play Cafe Bourbon Street last Thursday as a three-piece, though few were there to see it. (Our Cat Philip, however, did not open the show, to my disappointment. Bourbon Street’s website is notoriously inaccurate. Get on the ball, Bobo!) The mostly empty bar lent the show a vibe that was more flat than intimate, and the band hasn’t completely figured out how to replicate Hospice live yet. The climaxes were even more powerful when heard at arm’s length, but the subtleties weren’t quite as subtle. And I missed the acoustic.

The hardest thing, Silberman sings on “Wake,” is “letting people in.” He wisely jumped that hurdle with the Antlers, beginning Hospice as a solo project and gradually adding contributions from others until the Antlers became a real band, not just a nom de plume. It’s a potent combination on record, but the band needs some more road-testing to match that chemistry onstage.

Still, despite those shortcomings and an incredibly short set, I’m glad I ventured out. I particularly enjoyed “Shiva,” as well as the sheer epic-ness of “Atrophy,” with its desperate coda: “Someone, oh anyone, tell me how to stop this. She’s screaming, expiring, and I’m her only witness.” Haunting, but really pretty.

So yes, the Antlers are worth seeing live, but more importantly, go pick up or download Hospice. And when you do, listen from beginning to end. It’s a concept album that demands and rewards your attention.

Photos from the show
mp3: The Antlers - Two
mp3: The Antlers - Bear
The Antlers WOXY Session