Brasil Guitar Duo - Cinema Arts Centre - July 3, 2009

Everyone knows, perhaps, of my love of Kaki King, the way she and her instrument seem to be perfectly coalesced into one extraordinary musical state of being. Well, the Brasil Guitar Duo, João Luiz and Douglas Lora, is like Kaki King on crack. What I heard Friday night was an intensely focused, beautifully executed performance of several classical pieces. Like anything truly excellent, of course, their popularity isn't exactly teeming at the sides. The audience consisted of approximately a hundred at best (all of them well over 50, minus me and my wife; the youth were probably out watching Transformers, a movie I have yet to see and never will, more because it looks like it sucks rather than because it probably does.) Our duo performed like electrons hopping levels; Mr. Luiz seemed keenly stolid for the most part, weaving incredible streams of clustered notes along the entire guitar, whilst his other half, Mr. Lora, seemed so exasperated in his facial contortions that you wondered whether the music was actually using him as a conduit and he was really playing at all. Lora would look at Luiz as if for approval; Luiz would turn a soft interlude into a rock riff, smile at everyone with extremely self-satisfied humor and then return to his stoicism. It was simultaneously bizarre, wonderful and aurally awesome, and a visual treat to boot, to see two virtuosos playing, well, anything. If I were them, I would take out some insurance on those thumbnails. This isn't even my genre, really, and I was quite impressed. B+

Setlist:

Gavotte & Variations - Jean Phillipe Rameau
Four Preludes and Fugues, Op. 199 - Mario Castelnuevo-Tedesco
Waltz, Prelude - Douglas Lora Las Casas
Vasu Brasileira, Cordao De Saideira, Zanzibar - Edu Lobo
Don Quixote, Sete Anais - Egberto Gismonti
Bom Partido - Paulo Bellinati

Encore:
Some cool samba song

Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown (2009)

How do you follow up the only remarkable album of your musical career? Allow me to relay a story I read on the internets:

There was an old man, a boy and a donkey. They were going to town and it was decided that the boy should ride. As they went along they passed some people who thought that it was a shame for the boy to ride and the old man to walk. The old man and boy decided that maybe the critics were right so they changed positions. Later, they passed some more people who thought that it was a real shame for that man to make such a small boy walk. The two decided that maybe they should both walk. Soon they passed some people who thought that it was stupid to walk when they had a donkey to ride. The man and the boy decided maybe the best thing would be for them both to ride the donkey. Soon, they passed a group who thought that it was a shame to put such a load on a poor helpless animal. The old man and the boy decided that maybe the critics were right so they decided to carry the donkey. As they crossed a bridge, they lost their grip on the animal and he fell into the river and drowned.

The moral of the story: If you try to please everyone, you will eventually lose your ass!

D+

Underworld - All Points West Music Festival, Liberty State Park - August 8, 2008

August 8, 2008? Yeah, I know. Ok, here's the explanation, really. A few days ago, I bought a $1500 20oz Pepsi. This particular Pepsi, unlike the stock market, jumped from its initial price of $2 when I accidentally spilled it all over my laptop, thus destroying it (immediate shutdown, internal fans blowing, frothy brown liquid seeping out the USB ports.) So what does a mad hatter do? He dismantles the thing to salvage anything of importance, remounts the hard drive to another computer and saves the data for future use on his now current and brand spank-me-daddy new laptop. Why I am telling you this? Because, well, restoring your data engenders this habit of perusing random files, and therefore, my tortured readers, I found this review, which I didn't post during my Radiohead lovefest way back when. Truth be told, Underworld deserves some lovin' anyway, even if what I'm about to post below is very short. Oh, and I promise some new content soon; I'm being a procrastinating self-aggregating information junkie. Pffft.

Playing right before Radiohead kind of sucks. When almost an entire festival shows up right before the main attraction, you've potentially got a very impatient audience. Underworld didn't seem to care, blitzing everyone with an hour-long barrage of carefully selected intensity. Each song, to its sometimes detriment, was about nine or ten minutes apiece. I say detriment because this stuff, while very good, is still heady and extremely hard to listen to back to back to back. Repetition only goes so far sometimes without much variation. That said, there were several moments of excellence, namely the inflatable white columns amidst the ferocious "Two Months Off," singer Karl Hyde's frantic hand-held camera histrionics to the madness of "Cowgirl" and my favorite boom boom beat in "Jumbo." Oh, "Shudder/King Of Snake" was fucking wicked, too. Very good song selection from their catalog, perhaps not sequenced quite right and definitely could have benefitted from the evening dark rather than daylight. B-

Here's most of the setlist:

Glam Bucket
Cowgirl
Pearl's Girl
Jumbo
Two Months Off
Born Slippy .NUXX
Shudder/King Of Snake
Moaner

Two Minutes Hate

For those unaware of what this is, please read here briefly for an explanation.

Fucking Bono he's so cool he once gave the Pope his signature Armani sunglasses but not cool enough to reward those who fill his eternally deep coffers with tickets for his large stupid impersonal shows. Hey fuckbag perhaps if you took those rosy rubies off you'd realize your efforts to bring quote awareness end quote to third world countries is as stupid as thinking that if you drop a truckload of cash onto a pile of horseshit that at the end of the day it'll be gone when all you'll really have is horseshit covered with cash and flies you third-rate Geldof crony. Fuck you and offer a real solution, not some altruistic self-congratulatory nightcap you give to temper your megalomaniacal assbag tendencies.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon (2009)

Based on my mild savaging of The Joshua Tree, one would expect that I harbor some infantile hatred of everything U2. Not so, Mssr. Pangloss. I actually love early U2 and find most of their remaining output to be beautiful little musical gems surrounded by middling corporate schlock. Case in point: No Line On The Horizon, yet another album that I and many people have bought at this point, out of nostalgia, awe, completionism, or just a simple pining for a good song. But make no mistake, this is no better an album than anything in recent years. "Get On Your Boots," by merits a sequel to "Vertigo," is okay, but what really gets me is "I got a submarine / You got gasoline / I don't want to talk about wars between nations / Sexy boots." Sexy boots? Sexy boots? Yep. It's actually more annoying when heard.

Anyway, that's my only real gripe. Everything else is business as usual: long boring filler ("Moment Of Surrender," "Unknown Caller"), excellent Edge guitar textures ("No Line On The Horizon" and "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight") and my favorite song -- which every U2 album has -- the gorgeous "Magnificent." I love the the vintage tinkling guitar and chord sequences. It's a definitely a keeper and probably will sound great live. Otherwise, file it with the rest of their stuff and make sure not to kill yourself in trying to see them when they come around. C-

Free - Fire And Water (1970)

I never really understood why a supremely excellent band such as Free never quite made it, whereas a more commercial sounding band (on the whole) such as Bad Company became huge. Oh wait, I just answered my own question. That still being said, I prefer Rodgers' soulful gravelly voice and Kossoff's stately understated guitar any day.

First things first, "All Right Now" is the only reason these fellows were truly noticed, and that's a shame, because not only is it not representative of the Free sound, but it's not even the best song on the album. That accolade, in my heretofore unembellished opinion of such things, would go to the title track, but the beautiful "Oh I Wept" or the piano-laden "Heavy Load" or even "Remember" might be your thing. You know, most of popular music nowadays is so devoid of soul that it's so fucking refreshing to hear it here in its bare, unapologetic entirety. Guitar aficionados may not name Kossoff in the top 50 guitarists ever (hell, even I didn't ), but his quietly grand sense of playing is no more apparent than on this record; and Rodgers, for his part, may not have turned in better performances than he does here. It's a damn fine album, and shame on you if "All Right Now" is all you've ever heard. Atone for your sins! You can make it up to me by declaring a greater love for Free and a lesser love for Bad Company in the comments section; only then will I forgive you. B+

Machine Head - The Blackening (2007)

Having been considerably absent for some time -- my sincerest apologies, sack of soiled diapers and anything else to alleviate the ponderous lack you must certainly be feeling -- I have decided to begin on a good note and shall fiddle my furor for another day, because believe me, it's so there. And with that, let me tell you, as a purveyor of all things metal, this is an album you need to sink your zoobies into. (I'm tawkin' to youz to you, Master Cianan.) Even if you're not into metal, and you'd like to sample something one day, this wouldn't be your worst candidate.

The albums opens with "Clenching The Fists Of Dissent" -- a ten-minute anthem against our leaders of yesteryear who likened anyone who didn't support their ideas as unpatriotic. What a fucking doozy of a song. When I saw them a few years ago, it was the best opener to start with as well. I love the acoustic intro and the somber ramping up of the massive riffage and delicious solos. Yum yum yum. "Aesthetics Of Hate" was a song written for the murdered Dimebag Darrell after some conservative cockateel declared all metalheads to be mindless dirtbag barbarians and ergo Dime deserved to be murdered for inspiring such shithead followers. I'm careening for lack of practice, excuse my politics. Basically, this album is like a happy completion of your nifty little musical checklist of sorts. Riffage: check. Attitude: check. Solos: OMFG check. "Halo" is the purest example of this. Best song on the album and possibly best song by these guys, period. The solo feels like a modernized medley of "Freebird" and "Green Grass And High Tides" with vintage thrash for good measure. The notes, even among the heaviest riffs, can be described as not so much clean as distinct. I'm pretty much at loss for this one. It's a proggy thrash album with melodies and anthems and gorgeously brutal solos and actually contains meaningful lyrics. Among any genre, that's not as commonplace as you think. So, what in the cannoli are you still reading this for? Welcome back me! A-

The Kinks - Arthur (Or The Decline And Fall Of The British Empire) (1969)

I know a few people who love the Kinks. I know a few who hate them. I know a few who haven't a clue who in the Sarah Palin they are by name, yet have heard "Lola" a billion times or any of the several covers Van Halen has done of their songs ("You Really Got Me," "Where Have All The Good Times Gone?," "Dancing In The Street"). So where, you might ask, do I stand? Well, I think Ray Davies is a solid songwriter, but whose penchant for large themes and minute storytelling is a wee bit messy. Musically, I think the Kinks have a wide variety of interesting riffs and melody changes, but whose total sound is a bit homogenized and therefore makes it difficult for me to remember much. The Kinks are very much like an exercise in the dual existence of quantum mechanics and the theory of relativity insofar as they can't seem to make the tiniest of the tiny mesh with the grandest of the grand. And that's precisely why no Kinks record will ever receive a B grade or higher, since not a one are essential; they feature a few excellent songs and are otherwise comprised of a continuum of sameness. This is not to say the records are bad, either; in fact, I don't think the Kinks have many bad songs at all; they simply don't have too many great ones.

Therefore, let's get specific. Arthur is a concept album; it's long-winded and cumbersome, like an old horse with three legs trotting uphill. I actually tried to really listen to the lyrics on this one and like most rock lyricists, Ray hopes by being descriptive that you'll garner the broader idea. Great job, Ray. The British Empire is declining and I can feel it in every note of this slightly upbeat mid-tempo music you're singing along to. "Shangri-La" is amazing; if every song was like this, I might not have written the aforementioned. Beautiful acoustics and chord changings, a great harpsichord backdrop, nifty interludes, a powerful chorus, eclectic guitar-work -- and it feels epic, even though its five minutes. But for five minutes, "Shangri-La" carries more potency than the entirety of the album. "Victoria" is a solid rocker; but beyond that, everything else is pretty good and I would not be able to name any other songs, even under threat of no more Guinness. There's a reason these guys never became as huge as they could have and also why they've never been completely forgotten -- and sometimes impossible to form an opinion of! Ergo, expect my reviews of their subsequent albums to be eerily similar to this one, and also expect me to avoid doing so for as long as possible. C+

The Pogues - Red Roses For Me (1984)

With anything Irish, there's always an element of "what the fuck?" wherever we happen to show our pasty freckled faces, so it should be of surprise to no one that the Pogues are invariably multifaceted in this respect. I mean, really, myself and Master Cianan are ample enough of a problem to the world, jettisoning our delectable snark or poo onto unsuspecting citizens like drunken clowns; can you imagine an army of like replicates? Madness... Joking aside, because I've gone completely off subject, the Pogues meld traditional Irish folk melodies and harmonies with a potent musical ferocity akin to the punk of the Sex Pistols, courtesy of resident lyricist/vocalist Shane MacGowan. That's right: this is Irish folk music that will grab you by the throat and crush it. Don't believe me? Imagine a perfectly symmetrical box. Then listen to "Waxie's Dargle." Is the box still there, or has it turn into a collapsed squiggle of lines? I admit for some the thick slurring of seeming vocables may be a bit much at first, but who would you rather recite you lyrical poetry: a drooling drunken Dionysus or a sober stoic Antisthenes? MacGowan's no whiskey tenor, and his occasional gruffness might repel some, but that's the price you pay for singing it honest. Other faves: "Transmetropolitan," "Streams Of Whiskey," "Greenland Whale Fisheries," etc. Oh, "Battle Of Brisbane, too. You can only fault yourself for not listening to this hereafter. B

Grand Funk Railroad - Caught In The Act (1975)

They've been revered on the Simpsons, broke the Beatles attendance record at Shea Stadium and had the chutzpah to imply that they were America's band. Meanwhile, critics loathed the lilies out of them and their rapid ascension to superstardom deflated just as quickly. So why, pray tell? Well, because these guys -- musically -- are pretty bad. Like many bands, past and present, they had a dozen great songs scattered across amazingly awful albums; but where other bands fizzled, Grand Funk proved that it really is all in the timing. For one, they had a genuine raw energetic live act; secondly, they unabashedly positioned themselves as not-British Invasion; and furthermore, they wrote a fucking ton of songs and released a gazillion and one albums within a few short years. Like the pop bands of today, they realized that constant exposure, for good or for bad, will give you perhaps a few more miles out of the galllon. Mix it all up, swish it around in your mouth and pick only the choice morsels from your teeth, and what you get is this live gem, Caught In The Act.

Ever wonder why Homer says, “You guys don’t know Grand Funk? The wild shirtless lyrics of Mark Farner? The bone-rattling bass of Mel Schacher? The competent drumwork of Don Brewer?” Well, this is the album for you. I personally think Mel Schacher is the main attraction; he plays the bass like he's the lead guitarist. But otherwise, this album is all about heart. No one is ever going to put Mark Farner on a list of even the 100,000 greatest guitarists, real or fictional; and no one is going to practice their chops over Don Brewer's simplistic drum lines? But who cares? This is simplistic, soulful rock in perhaps its greatest setting: a live concert. How else could these guys do a better version of "Gimme Shelter" than the Stones? Its fucking meaty, that's why, whereas the original is just a touch stilted. So gather all ye round, my fellow rock 'n' rollers, play some "Footstompin' Music," eat yourself some "Black Licorice" and come on and ride the railroad, one more time. Oh, and do not, I repeat, do not defer to the studio equivalents. You will be sorely disappointed. A

Blue Öyster Cult - Secret Treaties (1974)

Let's get some things out of the way first; some of this will be generally repetitive, but I feel the need to reassert myself. 1) I love Buck Dharma. Even in songs that I tepidly wave my meh scepter at, I totally dig his guitar-work. 2) BOC lyrics are fucking stupid. Like Pete Sinfield or Bernie Taupin, Sandy Pearlman is a poet (cough, cough) and poets love to relish; therefore 3) poor Eric Bloom, who was tasked with singing this poetry; it's in his sincerity that I find him annoying.

That said, let's begin. I've set the bar mighty low, haven't I? Fortunately, this is probably BOC's most cohesive album. When I say there aren't any bad songs, it's because there really aren't any. Despite stupid titles like "Career Of Evil," Subhuman" and "Dominance And Submission," the album is pretty solid. Sure, the harmonies and textures are still a bit odd, but that's BOC. What should really get you ramped up, though, is the album's final three tracks. The tasty opening riffage of "Harvester Of Eyes," the manic flailing (and abrupt ending) of "Flaming Telepaths" and the grandiloquence of "Astronomy" are the main reasons I come back for refills, but there's so much more to them than that. I wish they were streamlined into one long epic song, really, but I suppose sometimes it's more feasible to eat a slice rather than a whole pie. Oh well. I know people know their hits, but hits sometimes are just shining beacons on otherwise incredibly dross albums. With this one, you won't skip a track. Just taste the tastiness already, because Buck Dharma's gonna git you wit it. B