The other night, I sat down to write what should have been a short, fairly straightforward review of a Casiotone for the Painfully Alone show but what came out was a (still relatively short) treatise on why Owen Ashworth is one of the best young songwriters working today. I’ve got a lot of pent-up feelings about Ashworth and apparently haven’t found nearly enough opportunities to write about him (a recently-discovered Word doc full of ideas for a review of Vs. Children that I never wrote bears witness to this fact). I really do think that he’s one of the best things going right now in indie-pop, though and since he’s been perennially underrated, I feel a responsibility to evangelize whenever given the opportunity. So, what makes this guy so great? Well, a lot of things—his melodic sensibilities, his ability to work wonders within a narrow set of aesthetic constraints—but more than anything, his lyrics. He’s got Stuart Murdoch’s knack for writing character studies with real depth, Morrissey’s dark wit and like the authors of some of my favorite short stories (Salinger, Murakami and O’Connor all come to mind), he’s sentimental but doesn’t shy from the ugly stuff. All of this is to say that Casiotone for the Painfully Alone is, in my opinion, wholly deserving of this unapologetically fanboyish rant and if you haven’t checked out his records, you should do yourself a favor by starting with Vs. Children and working backwards. The aforementioned show review and some photos can be found at PopMatters.
This year I did things a bit differently down in ATX: I attended most of the SXSW Interactive festival and stayed for a little over a day’s worth of the music. And while I wasn’t covering the festival for anyone this year, I still couldn’t resist snapping a few shots of Carsick Cars, Fucked Up and Sleigh Bells, which you can see here. This year’s highlight for me was probably IAMSOUND’s showcase at Malverde, not because Zooey Deschanel was in attendance (she was and reportedly smiled at Alex!) but because the bands performed on an open air, second floor balcony, set against a backdrop of neon green insulation foam and steel, thanks to the unfinished office building across the street. Fool’s Gold and MEN were both great, jj was confusing and Sleigh Bells destroyed—that is, until their set was cut short by Austin’s mandated 2am closing time. Luckily, I still managed to fire off a few shots during their truncated set, some of which came out quite well, if I may say so myself.
Despite her undeniable talent, Joanna Newsom’s work can be pretty impenetrable. In the age of the disposable MP3, there are few things more intimidating than two hours of music spread across three platters and that’s not even taking into account Newsom’s penchant for verbose, densely-packed lyrics and generous runtimes. So, if you find yourself looking for a way into Have One on Me, might I recommend seeing Newsom live? At the Sixth & I Historic Synagogue on Tuesday night, Newsom and her band treated fans to a set that was not only masterfully executed but also expertly curated and sequenced (as luck would have it, you can stream a recording of that show, in its entirety, at the NPR website). I walked away from the performance feeling like I had a better grip on Have One on Me, which says a lot about Newsom’s ability to sell some pretty challenging music in a live setting, I think. Read my review of the show and see my photos at PopMatters (apologies for the subpar photos—the room layout and Newsom’s harp and mic stand placement made it all but impossible to get a clear shot of her face).
It’s no secret that Spoon operates like a well-oiled machine: 16 years in, the band has mastered the art of making flawlessly executed sets look effortless. As if they needed to sweeten the deal (they don’t), the band has assembled a totally stacked lineup for the Transference tour, enlisting both the Strange Boys and Deerhunter as opening acts. Don’t snooze on this one—chances are high that you’ll never see these three bands share a stage again outside of the festival circuit. See my photos from their first of two sold out 9:30 Club dates at Stereogum and read my full review at PopMatters.
I’ve always wanted to write a piece on Sparklehorse; I never imagined, however, that I would someday find myself writing an epitaph for Mark Linkous. Linkous’ first three albums were really important to me growing up—they’re the kind of records that you can live with for, say, 10 years and keep finding new things to love and new ways to relate. So I was pretty bummed to hear of Linkous’ death last weekend, in part because, as his split with Fennesz last year demonstrated, he seemed to have a lot left to give as an artist. There was, however, always a tension between Linkous’ personal and artistic lives, a fact I tried not to shy away from in the eulogy that I wrote for PopMatters. Linkous’ work was always informed by his personal struggles and I think it’s important to acknowledge that fact, as it provides us with a way into his records, which he seemed to want people to understand. For more insight on Linkous, I would recommend the short documentary film Belly of a Mountain (Part 1 | Part 2), which contains some pretty candid interviews with the man himself. Rest in peace, Mark. You will certainly be missed.
Were it not for the Blood Brothers, I might never have taken up music journalism. They were the first band I ever wrote about, the first band I ever photographed, the first band that ever put me on their guest list and the first band I ever interviewed. As such, I’ve always felt like I owed them one, especially since they never quite got their due outside of punk/hardcore circles (the notable exception being PopMatters, which rightly championed the band from early on; Mike Meginnis’ 2007 essay on Young Machetes, war and rhetoric is particularly noteworthy). So when given the opportunity to review the band’s freshly reissued catalog, I went a bit overboard and penned a 6,000+ word essay that, thankfully, PopMatters has seen fit to print. I’ve always felt privileged to have witnessed a band as vital, inventive and dynamic as the Blood Brothers were at their prime; hopefully I’ve managed to convey at least some of that excitement in my essay, which you can read here.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt my skull rattling around inside my head at a show; leave it to Mission of Burma to remedy that, with a Saturday night set that was by turns intense, tuneful, noisy and anthemic. Forget comparing them to other reunited dino-rock acts—these guys put on a live show that musicians half their age would be hard-pressed to match. Also worthy of note were Office of Future Plans, J. Robbins’ new band, who were delightfully reminiscent of Jawbox. My review and photos can be found at PopMatters.
NPR’s Joel Rose did a story on World’s Fair Use Day for Weekend Edition Saturday.
Last month, I organized an event for Public Knowledge entitled World’s Fair Use Day. Over the course of two days, we attempted to highlight some of the creativity and innovation that the doctrine of fair use allows, by showcasing the work of technologists, musicians, entrepreneurs, filmmakers, educators, remixers and cartoonists. Among the speakers featured were Pennsylvania Congressman Mike Doyle, Negativland’s Mark Hosler, DJ Earworm, Copyright Criminals director Kembrew McLeod, RIP: A Remix Manifesto director Brett Gaylor, “Garfield Minus Garfield” creator Dan Walsh, Sita Sings the Blues director Nina Paley and cultural critic Mark Dery. TechDirt’s Mike Masnick—who also spoke at the event—did a great job of summarizing the conference here and here. The event also got written up by PC World and the San Francisco Chronicle and was mentioned in passing in a CNN story on DJ Earworm. An archived webcast and links to photos, tweets and liveblog coverage can be found at wfud.info (photo of me, Brett Gaylor, Kembrew McLeod and Mark Hosler by the one-and-only tvol, used under a CC-BY license).
The 2009 edition of “Slipped Discs,” an annual feature highlighting records that PopMatters writers felt slipped through the critical cracks in one way or another, is up this week. I wrote up two albums that, in my opinion, didn’t nearly receive their due: Wye Oak’s The Knot and David Bazan’s Curse Your Branches. Check out the feature here.
With love and squalor
Nitsuh Abebe’s fitting eulogy for J.D. Salinger quite ably sums up how I feel about my favorite author’s passing:
agrammar:
One morning a nice young man comes to your house. You invite him in and share some coffee. He’s thoughtful and charming — good company. He makes a miniature Ferris wheel out of toothpicks and jelly beans and sets it turning on your coffee table. That’s amazing, you say: how did you do that? He frowns and shakes his head.
Eventually he wanders off down the hall and locks himself in the back bedroom. He spends all day there. You can hear him hammering, sawing, drilling. No idea what he’s up to, but he seems content back there. At first he’ll talk to you through the door — just letting you know he’s doing well back there. But not often. After a while you just leave him to it — maybe even forget he’s around. But every hour or so, you notice the Ferris wheel spinning on the coffee table, and marvel at it, or toy with it, and wonder what he’s up to back there.
The whole day passes. And only when it’s getting really late, when you know it’s just about time for him to get some sleep — that’s when he emerges, seemingly satisfied with his very long day of work, and slips away.
No idea what’s back in that room. Maybe he left some incredible gift for you; maybe he didn’t. Maybe he built something for his own reasons and then tore it down. Maybe he locked the door behind him. Either way, it’s hard to feel too bad about his leaving: he spent a very, very long day where he wanted, how he wanted, building whatever he wanted to build. And maybe he left it behind for you to play with.
