Monday, March 30, 2009

SXSW: Fastball at Aces

Granted, Fastball are a local act, but the audience is jazzed to see them all the same. And why not? There's a tendency to use SXSW as a launching pad for all the new exciting things you'll be listening to in the hot summer funtime.

If Fastball's opening number is any indication of the comeback they're hoping to make, then they're certainly going to do it with gusto, Thin Lizzy guitar solos and all. They bring with them to the stage a certain sense of professionalism as evidenced their use of the most effective opening number and the minutes spent tuning beforehand.

Tellingly, they slink into their second song with a little more swagger and a little less force. Due to sound problems, they've had to abandon any use of their keyboard and relegated it as a prop leaning against the wall in the background. Still, one wonders what sort of sublime beauty is going to be missed as a result during the quieter moments.

As a resounding answer, they begin to play "Out of My Head," probably their second biggest single. Keyboard or no, they are determined not to be stopped as the lead guitarist pulls off a sweltering solo. Having dispenced all keyboard doubts, they roll right on into funkier territory as they play their next song with just a hint of cheekiness. They may be the band with the worst haircuts, but tonight they are owning the moment as they slip from song to song, sometimes even seguing from one to the next.

Placed on a stage with a bar between them and the audience, the band takes a moment to chat up the bartenders and lose all momentum. Theis seems to work for them, however, as the next song smolders a little before taking off into their more familiar uptempo Fastball territory. Once familiar footing is achieved, they take it back to really familiar territory.

Opening the next song, the drummer fidgets with his kit as the technical difficulties are not quite finished for the evening. The lead guitarist, decked out in his leather jacket and some really nice spats, takes the moment to connect with the audience as he strums the opening chords of their once ubiquitous single, "The Way." All this despite the rest of the band's concerns over how much time they have left. With just this last song to go, they start out harmoniously before shifting from crunchy power chords to ambient solo time. Teasing out the end of the song for all they can, they end as they began: taking the moment for all its worth without excess.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Prepare Soul for Departure pt. 2: Thou Shalt Not Always Necessarily Kill

Sadly, it looks as though thous shalt not always kill. Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip are the first casualties of the South By SouthWest Music Conference as it's already been announced that Mssr. Le Sac is waylaid by illness and won't make it stateside.

Scroobius Pip, of course, will be hosting some event or another but, sadly, no music. Were the Holdsteady not playing, I'd be destitute, devastated and getting ready to John Berryman myself if I could only find a bridge and a blizzard. Still, I consider going just for the majestic sight of Pip's beard.

I imagine myself as that woman in the bible: so lonely, so desparate... so convinced of JC's power that she's satisfied just to touch the hem of his garment. Jesus, touched by her faith, grants her his grace.

Possibly. Maybe... If I touch Scroobius' beard, I, too, can be loquacious?

Incandescent?

English?

Possibly?

Maybe?

I ponder this before ordering another whiskey.

prepare soul for departure part 1

It's time. Fog has crippled the Houston airport. My flight's been cancelled. I'm funneled to an earlier flight and placed next to an older gentleman incapable of using words like "excuse me" or "please." Common usage may or may include phrases like, "Excuse me, I believe your sitting in my seat." i wonder if this is a tactic espoused by the Ted Turner biography that his clumsy middle management hands thumb through so voraciously.

I imagine him as one of those bonus recipients that our great new presidenet Obama is so publicly shaming right now. I imagine a whole section of the plane devoted to him and his ilk. Coach. 1st class. Asshat. He's grossly impatient. I hear him mention a board meeting in Houston. Somehow, being brusque will get us there faster.

I want to turn to him and say, "Dude. Sir. I realize that you feel like you're a very important person and all. But. Seriously. Are you trying to make this flight feel eight hours longer?"

I imagine his stunned reaction as someone actually tells him face to face, "Sort your shit out. Dude. Sir."

That's right, mofo. It's e.m.pennington, word ronin extraordinaire versus your blood pressure medication.

And then I realize, as we are inflight to Houston to Austin for South By SouthWest, that the adventure is only beginning.

Wheee!

Monday, March 16, 2009

Ronin Rock Gets to the Heart of the Matter

The heart of the music is more like it. This week I will be taking off for the fair city of Austin, Texas where I will be indulging in the annual South by Southwest Music Conference. For those of you in the know, of course, its SXSW and will be referred to as such from now on.

There are really only two bands that I wanted to see this year: Gogol Bordello and the Holdsteady. Having gotten my Gogol in, its time for some Holdsteady. Which I hope to catch in Austin. Additional highlights will hopefully include Dan LeSac vs. Scroobius Pip, Third Eye Blind and Okkervelle River. Its a real exciting time for me.

Thanks go out to E and Travis for making this happen (especially E for helping me with so much beforehand and during), Tyler for being my partner in crime, Vic and her husband for putting up with us and Lauren for much of the same. If I can get my cellular service to stop being failure, I might even get to twitter it at pennifuzzbox@twitter.com. High hopes. I know. But you never do know, really.

Thanks for being here. Hope to have fun exciting stuff to bring back to you all.

Floating On with Modest Mouse at the Sunshine Theatre 26 February 2009

Typically, you hear an air raid siren, it’s time to run. That’s when trouble starts. Tonight however, is different because it signals that Modest Mouse has taken the stage. Isaac Brock, clad in the obligatory Pacific Northwestern garb of jeans, t-shirt and flannel, takes to the moment to announce, "Hey, we’re the rock band!" Without another word, the band launches into Good News’ "Satin in a Coffin." The audience sings along to every word.

When Modest Mouse first announced itself to the world at large with their epic bad time sing along "Float On," it seemed as though the rock and roll deadpool gained a new candidate in Brock. In interviews he came off as sullen and aloof. And those were the interviews where Brock wasn’t dogged by (if not completely indulging in) the constant rumors of drunken mania and possible psychosis in a reputation he couldn’t or didn’t seem to want to shake. Coupled with the hushed and sprawling majesty of Modest Mouse’s aptly titled Good News for People who Love Bad News, one could be forgiven for expecting the worst.

With the release of their follow up, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, a new Modest Mouse emerged. Paired with Johnny Marr (of Smith’s fame), the new album was muscular and focused where its predecessor was epic and lush. Brock also appeared more focused in the media, as though he was taking his place in the rock pantheon seriously. Still, Brock has often come off as a songwriter at war with himself. He knows how to write the songs with the catchy melodies but never actually seems to indulge in them.Tonight, as the lights dimmed and the crowd chanted the band’s name in anticipation, the question lingered: which Brock was going to show up?

Fans concerned with whether or not the band sold out to the mainstream are almost instantly gratified as the band steamrolls into a song from their earlier indie catalog. Taking care of their newer fans, they shift just as quickly into "Dashboard," the first single from their last album.

While the band has always centered around Brock, drummer Jeremiah Green and bassist Eric Judy, there is no doubt that Brock is the band’s super-ego. The band has done their best to set up the stage to accommodate the three of them plus another guitar player (who is not Johnny Marr), a keyboard player and a percussionist. Still, Brock is consistently just a little more well lit than the others. It’s a part of being the singer songwriter and Brock seems to accept it just a little grudgingly.

In fact, Brock does very little to promote the idea of the lead singer as rock god. He spends very little time indulging in stage banter and when he does, it’s often to talk about the constant tuning he’ll do over the course of the evening. It’s almost as if he’s bantering to the soundguy. In fact, the whole band seems oblivious to the audience’s presence as they gravitate towards one another in the more orgasmic parts of their set. The music is where they live and if you want to see a band that lives only for the music, you came to the right show.

Brock, in particular, does his best impression of a live wire dangling on the floor. Starting with the first song of the show, he often sings into a separate mike, rigged to sound like a bullhorn, as though his life depends on it. At one point during the evening, he’ll even serenade the pickups on his guitar.

Slowing the pace of the show down a little, the band plays "Missed the Boat," We Were Dead’s answer to "Float On. Flaunting the sort of musical proficiency that will pervade the evening, bassist Eric Judy switches to acoustic guitar as the keyboard player moves to an upright bass. Afterwards, Brock indulges one of his few rock star moments of the show and implores the audience to show him their tits. The male audience, that is. Of course, the guys comply.

Moving onto "Wild Pack of Family Dogs" and "the View," Brock finally seems to be warming up to the audience. Then he indulges in the band’s other rock star moment of the evening.
Halting the band midway through "Paper Thin Walls," he declares, "It’s kind of a bullshit song. The second half is exactly the same as the first. You just play it twice." He asks the audience if they want to hear it again and they indulge him. Although it’s obviously a showbiz stunt (and another helping of self deprecation), the band stops and starts the song with an admirable proficiency.

As the band rips through "Bukowski" and another old school jam lost on fans of their major label catalog, the audience has got to be getting antsy in anticipation of "that song." That song that showed up on Guitar Hero even. Will "Float On" be the rousing bar singalong originally promised when it was first released as a single? The band pays no mind to these sorts of thoughts as they rip into another old school number with a muscular riff and a juicy chorus before taking their encore break.

Returning to the stage, the percussionist starts off by tapping some bongos. As the band suddenly lifts into "Float On," the sing along is hardly disappointing as everyone raises their voices. While it should be inspiring to see an audience so united in a "moment," it hardly is as Brock seems unwilling to indulge in any more time spent on the song than the original recording allowed. The band provides solace for old school fans as they tear into "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" and "Cowboy Dan."

Finishing the set with "Spitting venom," Brock turns to the audience to apologize. "We’d like to play more," he admonishes the audience, "But we have to finish by a certain time here." Possibly an inference to a last minute venue and time change for the show, it seems more likely that an apology for having to cut short a band exactly where it wants to be. Playing its music.



your bitchin' mixtape
(Substitute the songs I didn't recognize for your favorites that they missed. Personally, I'll be putting "Light It Up" in there.)

Satin in a Coffin
unknown song
Dashboard
Black Cadillacs
the Good Times are Killing Me
3rd Planet
Invisible
unknown song
Missed the Boat
Wild Pack of Family Dogs
The View
Paper Thin Walls
Bukowski
unknown song
unknown song
encore break
Float On
Tiny Cities Made of Ashes
Cowboy Dan
Spitting Venom