concert

FYF Fest/Big Freedia (9/6/2010)

brittany — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 06:00:00 +0000

Los Angeles, California

In 2008 I attended what was then known as Fuck Yeah Fest and despite confusing and complicated scheduling, it was obvious that the festival’s mastermind, a very young Sean Carlson, was on to something special. Fast-forward two years and the fest has a new name (FYF Fest), a more centralized location (Los Angeles State Historic Park), and a killer lineup (The Mountain Goats, The Rapture, and Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, among thirty-four others). I thought this would be Carlson’s year, but I’m sorry to report that the fest was a bust. I appreciate Carlson’s enthusiasm and obvious passion for independent music and I especially love the many affordable shows he throws all over town, but there were many problems I can’t look past.

Fans paid $30 for twelve hours of entertainment, which was quite extraordinary, though it was hot, dirty, and dusty. Security guards stripped concert-goers of their water bottles and food upon entering the park. This was fucked up because a.) Lines to get food were well over an hour long, b.) Water bottles, no matter what vendor you visited, were four dollars, and c.) The food was grossly overpriced. All of this was incredibly upsetting, but I was going to stick it out until 10:30 p.m. so that I could witness the magic that is my latest obsession: New Orleans sissy rapper, Big Freedia.

I caught amazing sets by The Mountain Goats, Dead Man’s Bones—which features an awesome children’s choir who dress up as various historical figures—and Man Man, but my enthusiasm was dwindling. I was sick and dehydrated and after purchasing one $4 water bottle, I couldn’t bring myself to buy another. Earlier in the day I heard that Big Freedia was playing an after show at La Cita, a popular Mexican bar in the heart of downtown L.A. So, just after three hours of FYF Fest, my two friends and I walked over to Chinatown and sat down for some much needed food and drink. I feel compelled to report that the only other patron at the restaurant was Keith Morris, founding member of seminal Los Angeles punk band The Circle Jerks.

Bounce music is a type of rap that was born in New Orleans. Despite being around for nearly twenty years, it took a group of “sissy” (gay) rappers like Big Freedia to breathe life into the scene and get it recognized on a national level. Sissy bounce, as it’s now known, deals with slightly different themes than bounce music, like men who are on the down low. Freedia’s song “Hit Me on My Next” is about creeping in the different wards of New Orleans with straight men. “I’m full of gin; I’m going to do that boy again. He’s full of that Jack; so why don’t you hit me from the back,” is pretty classic Freedia.

By the time of her show at La Cita, I’d been listening to her album Queen Diva non-stop for months. Never a huge fan of rap, I was quickly drawn in by the back story of sissy bounce and Freedia’s infectious beats and clever rhymes. A few months ago I interviewed Freedia for a piece I was writing on sissy bounce and she told me her show would essentially, blow my face off. I was skeptical and nervous for her. How well would New Orleans bounce translate and more importantly, would jaded L.A. hipsters get it?

When Freedia showed up on stage my heart soared with joy. Her two back up dancers wore nothing but small tank tops and booty shorts and it immediately became clear that their only job was to shake their shit or do what Freedia refers to as “pussy popping.” They were awesome, but Freedia commanded the stage. She was both masculine and feminine; intimidating with a deep voice and lanky frame well over six feet tall, but oh so lovely in dangly heart-shaped earrings and a massive, glittery necklace.

One of the tenants of bounce music is engaging the audience and when Freedia wasn’t having us chant back “Big Freedia the Dick Eata,” we were yelling the classic New Orleans chant “Who dat.” She went through her most popular songs, like “Gin In My System,” “Azz Everywhere,” “Y’all Get Back Now,” and “Rock Around The Clock.”

Simply put, it was the best show I’ve ever been to and the only show I’ve ever danced at. I am notorious for being stoic and boring; no matter how many Crown and Cokes I consume, my feet always stay firmly planted. No one at La Cita could resist Freedia; her music was that good; she was that engaging; her charisma that infectious. We were all sweating with Freedia, dancing, laughing, and having the time of our lives. At one point I looked around the bar and noticed that everyone was having a blast. Los Angeles did get it and what’s not to get? Big Freedia gives her audience all she’s got and she lacks the smug, pretentious attitude that so many artists in the rap community seem to have. Big Freedia’s currently on a West Coast tour and I highly recommend you catch one of her shows; it will quite literally blow your face off and you will be all the better for it.

Photos by Ramiro Rubio

Written by: Tina Vasquez, September 27th 2010

Le Tigre: On Tour

admin — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 19:00:00 +0000

Directed by Kerthy Fix

“What’s the status of Le Tigre?” an eager—albeit slightly angst-ridden—fan asks Kathleen Hanna during the Q&A session after the screening of Le Tigre: On Tour. I, too, had been wondering the same question—because this band, who has proven so formative to women young and old everywhere, seems to exist only in our collective lesbo-feminist consciousness at the moment. For myself, in particular, I was introduced to Le Tigre’s music a year before they performed their final show in NYC, on 18 September 2005, so I never had the opportunity to witness their awesomeness in concert. Their existence to me, in other words, was always to me like a memory, an extant pastness that is real but not actual in that particular moment. I think their existence, for me, is kind of like how people understand Jesus or Santa Claus: he’s touched their hearts, and therefore he’s real… at least they think he’s real, but they’ve never actually seen him.

Which is why this documentary is so utterly amazing: the film, comprised of compiled concert and backstage footage from their final tour for the album This Island in 2004, and including more recent interviews with the trio—Johanna Fateman and JD Samson, in addition to Kathleen Hanna—is essential to the band’s continued existence in our collective lesbo-feminist consciousness. Seeing footage of live performances made me dance in my seat, and it brought tears to my eyes, particularly during the scene in which Hanna turns to Samson and gives her an acknowledging look—the “this is it” moment—of it being the last performance (“Deceptacon”) of their final show.

Director Kerthy Fix did a brilliant job creating this documentary in a way that proves attractive to all audiences: her attention to the trio of characters, and their feminist, queer ethics that embody the desire that each person be her “own lost hero,” as Hanna professes, speaks to everyone who wants to cultivate themselves as strong, powerful, and unique individuals. The documentary-as-archive is so crucial not only to preserving the band’s music, but also Le Tigre as a seminal part of the riot grrl movement, which has been built by the enterprising musical endeavors of the band collectively and separately, as each has her own individual pursuits.

Here we can think, of course, of Kathleen Hanna’s previous band, Bikini Kill, as the foundational component of this movement. And, as we Bikini Kill fans know so well, there is a scarcity of Bikini Kill footage out there—they existed before the explosion of the Interwebs, of the social media sites and blogs—so having this documentary is a welcomed addition to the steadily growing archive of the feminist and riot grrl movements.

Kudos to Fix for providing feminists young and old with this filmic insight into the iconic band—from Hanna’s deadpan explication of dressing room snack items (i.e., a bowl of fruit fit for the pope) to Fateman’s detailed vitamin regimen and Samson’s coming to terms with her Casanova status—and their raw lyrics and hot dance moves (“West Side Story meets Jazzercise,” to be precise).

Le Tigre: On Tour does not yet have a distributor; indeed, it’s still in the processing stages, pre-color correx and sound fix. Hopefully, by the end of the year, this film will be picked up and shown in theatres across the world for all the Le Tigre fans who, like me, long to connect with the band that filled their hearts and heads with sweetness and light.

Written by: Marcie Bianco, June 17th 2010

Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live

admin — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 23:57:00 +0000

By Renaissance

Cherry Red Films

Renaissance is a notable 1970s folk rock band that developed a large fan base by having symphonic rock instrumentals contrasted by haunting female vocals and whimsical, intelligent lyrics. Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live includes video from the band’s performances at Capital Theatre in 1976 and their 1979 performance at Convention Hall. A great fuss was made when Cherry Red announced their release of Renaissance's concert footage. Between 1976 and 1983, Renaissance was in its prime output stage, so fans were excited by the idea of getting to experience the band’s concert during this pivotal point of development. However, it seems all of the enthusiasm was for naught.

The quality of the DVD itself is questionable and has received a great deal of well deserved criticism for the poor quality of the video. Though black and white footage has the potential to be beautiful in its own way, we get grainy, smoky, and at times completely indiscernible images of the concerts. (The menu is hideous, and is, ironically enough, created from a screen capture of the contained footage.) The camerawork is monotonous and rather random at times. Many of the shots were terribly framed. Random microphones and the movements of another band member obstruct the view of Annie Haslam when she sings or speaks. The majority of the shots consist of a rather unusual close up of the talented female lead, where she spends the great deal of time with her eyes closed.

The condition of the audio on this DVD also suffers. Haslma’s beautiful voice is lost within the background crackling, microphone interference, and temperamental volume. Rather than complement her voice, the audio makes the accompanying instruments sound like a swathe of annoying background noise.

The performance itself is passable if you concentrate on the insider dialogue between Haslam, other band members, and the audience. This is something that is truly priceless from the stance of a Renaissance fan, something you could not obtain anywhere else. However, these snippets of conversation between musical numbers were about the only thing I found even remotely entertaining on this DVD.

Unfortunately, the poor quality interferes with the ability to truly enjoy the works of what is arguably one of the most influential folk rock bands of the twentieth century. Though there must be some sort of legitimate reason why the film could not be better restored, I think it is a disappointment to say the least.

All and all, Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live is worth the money if you are an avid collector of the band’s works. If not, I suggest you stay away.

Written by: Jacquelyn White, September 24th 2009

TV is My Parent

admin — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 23:00:00 +0000

By Sia

Monkey Puzzle Records

Sia's latest release is a concert DVD called TV is My Parent, which includes a set from her concert at the Hiro Ballroom in New York, four music videos, and traditional "behind the scenes with the band" footage. While I'm a big fan of Sia's quirky avant-garde pop, a concert DVD isn't usually something I would pick up. If I already have the music on CD, why do I need lower quality versions punctuated with inaudible on-stage banter? However, I have to admit that once I started watching the DVD, I was really really enjoying myself.

What makes a project like this work is Sia's relationship with the audience. This isn't a spectacle like Gwen Stafani and her Harajuku Girls, or Britney Spears lip-syncing her way through a series of electronically-produced songs. Sia's playfulness and energy are infectious, and her vocals have an intensity that demands immersion.

The show opens with Sia and her bandmates dressed as day-glow children's drawing. Most of the concert set is from her latest album, Some People Have Real Problems. The songs chosen for the DVD showcase Sia's songwriting at its best, from the haunting "Breathe Me" (a song some of you might remember from HBO's Six Feet Under series finale) to the honest and flippant "The Girl You Lost to Cocaine" that features satisfying lines like: "'cause I'll never get laid while I'm running your life." Her radio-friendly "Little Black Sandals" opens the concert and also features an adorable young girl singing backup.

The concert is definitely the highlight of TV is My Parent. The "behind the scenes" filming is fun—particularly when she's scheduled to do a signing at Starbucks, but can't find the right one because there are four on the same street. The problem is it doesn't tell the audience much about her creative process or thoughts about her music.

Following the band around makes the viewer feel distinctly like being the only sober person at a party, seeing a drummer rub his nipples is only really amusing once.

The music videos are great, and (as any Sia fan would expect) they are weird. The line between creativity and hipster obscurity is finely tread here but she comes off more Bjork than Feist. "Soon We'll be Found" is the real gem, with Sia's signature child-like art being used as a metaphor for the innocence of new love.

While I've never considered Sia in the vein of feminist music, there is something distinctly refreshing about her approach to sexuality in her lyrics and her own aesthetic. While aloof and friendly on stage and when interacting with fans, Sia is clearly an artist first. Her songs are largely about connecting to other people and could be applied to the complexities of any relationship.

My feeling is that TV is My Parent is for Sia fans. If you're new to her music, a better introduction would be to buy her solo albums and prepare for the unexpected urge to do interpretive dance.

Written by: Jennifer Burgess, July 25th 2009

Loney Dear (4/5/2009)

admin — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:09:00 +0000

Lille Vega

Copenhagen, Denmark

It is so ridiculously obvious why the kids are flipping out about this impressively under-the-radar Nordic crooner. It doesn’t matter if gnat-attention-span hipsters can’t name his influences, the history that brought us to now. It doesn’t matter if they forget the album tomorrow (though it’s clearly their loss). What does matter is when amazing music comes forth. What matters is keeping it in our hearts once the fair-weather fans have moved onto the next big college radio hit.

When I was coming up, Polyvinyl was a key player among emo purveyors. These days, the nice Illinois-based label folk have expanded to include distant cousins of the much-co-opted genre. Loney Dear, alternately known as Swedish multi-instrumental Emil Svanängen, plays a strange mix of heartfelt crooning and synth. On Dear John, his second major U.S. release, following Sub Pop-released 2007 Loney, Noir, Loney Dear is in top recorded form.

In person, Loney Dear is a more handsome, thinner, sufficiently Aryan Perez Hilton, thankfully also missing the boorish manners and cum jokes. Lille Vega—conjoined twin of the larger Vega next door—is not a hidden club with no sign, for in a city the size of Copenhagen, that doesn’t usually work for very long when everyone who is anyone knows everyone else. Despite being along one of the city’s main drags, Vega brings some of the best shows in town. I flashed my passport and was in the door, camera tucked in back pocket of my partner’s not-so-skinny jeans. My partner and I did not wear the requisite faux Keffiyehs and high tops, but thankfully my man was on hand to translate the bands’ Swedish mumblings between songs.

Opener Marching Band—whose MySpace made me a believer before they took the stage—stole the show as duo Erik Sunbring and Jacob Lind had turned quintet with a backing band for the affair. Bearing no resemblance to kids in matching uniforms who like to feel each other up at sleep away camp, the two did make a visually unlikely pair. Erik, in a sports jacket and tight pants, bounced to his own music on one side of the stage. With shoulder-length hair grazing the top of his wolf-emblazoned brown sweatshirt, Jacob did his own whistling while vigorously tapping various sound machines.

As they packed up after an incredibly short set, the room filled up in anticipation of the headliner. There are two ways this can go, I thought, for it is what I always think. The band will either mimic their own album with eerie precision, or the man about to take the stage will in no way resemble the crooner on the CD. The latter isn’t generally a problem for me, since why show up to hear the same tracks you have at home? Live versions are passed via bootleg for a reason. And yet, if it were ever possible to mangle a live performance of one of the year’s most celebrated releases, I believe it happened before my eyes.

Loney Dear, much as I hate to admit it, was a disjointed, confusing mess. Svanängen staggered onto the stage as the volume was cranked so high that even the most seasoned concert-goer began stuffing plugs into their ears. Perhaps I should not blame Svanängen as much as the folks in the sound booth. Has your face ever vibrated, independent of your body, from being too close to an amp? Have you ever felt as though your teeth and brain might shake loose and end up lying next to the empty Tuborg bottles at your feet? When an acoustic song began, I sat down on a bench to try to calm my nerves, frazzled by the shift in sound, praying this coherence was not temporary. But after one verse, the bass and pounding drums rejoined, and any semblance of listenable music was gone. Unless you’re following the Dead in a van, one should never feel as though being high for a concert would make it a better experience. If I smoked, I’ve have sought refuge in the lobby’s eight-dollar-a-pack machine.

It didn’t help that the only female among the ten-plus men that took the stage all evening was relegated to playing a tambourine and, occasionally, hitting a cymbal. “They can’t even give her a full drum set? All she can do is play the theme from Shaft.” To make things worse for our lone lady musician, by song two, the crazed Loney Dear front man had stolen her tambourine and would pound on her keyboard from his upside-down vantage point while she was forced to merely stand there and watch. I get that the dude is a “multi-instrumentalist,” but could he try to focus instead of meandering around, stealing the other kids’ toys? Straining to hear vocals behind the deafening bass, I could barely make out the album’s best track, “Airport Surroundings.” My head was starting to hurt. Badly.

I will admit that my partner and I exchanged nods before exiting the building, long before anyone else had considered doing the same. Danes are a reserved bunch, and I saw no disgruntled stares as many stayed to hear the band finish. I wondered how they really felt as I breathed in the cool spring air, away from the shaky mania of the club. My headache started to lift; safely on the streets, not a moment too soon.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 13th 2009

Nine Inch Nails (12/7/2008)

admin — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 00:57:00 +0000

Rose Garden Arena

Portland, Oregon

I've never been a diehard Nine Inch Nails fan, but have listened to them on and off since high school. I've never seen frontman Trent Reznor or his music as misogynistic; in fact, "Closer" is one of my all-time favorite songs. And to be fair, the only semi-nude images on visual display in this show were equal opportunity, male and female.

Whatever else you want to say about them, NIN gave fans in Portland, Oregon their money's worth. Playing for more than two hours—with a five-song encore—we were treated to old favorites like "Head Like a Hole" and "Closer," taking us back to a time where materialism was (briefly) very un-hip. Reznor's performance of tracks from NIN's more recent albums (With Teeth, Year Zero, and The Slip) such as "The Collector," "The Hand That Feeds," and others, were equally juiced.

Reznor, who never uses the same band for more than one tour, selected a very talented ensemble for this one; his musicians, dressed to match him in his trademark black muscle T-shirt and jeans, used an unusual variety of instruments that included the lap steel (on "All the Love in the World"), banjo, and cello. While I was warned ahead of time by a longtime fan to bring earplugs, the sound quality at Portland's Rose Garden Arena was so perfectly engineered that they weren't necessary. An amazing light show added to the performance. The one exception was an extended version of "A Warm Place," which, coupled with the serene lily pond setting, nearly put me to sleep.

The only disappointment—in addition to getting charged $5.75 for a Diet Coke—was NIN's opening act, The Bug. This quasi-reggae singer, paired with loud (versus good) electronica, seemed to do little more than gyrate her hips while repeating the words "crazy motherfuckers" most of the time she was on stage. Tiring, to say the least.

Written by: M.L. Madison, January 3rd 2009