Blogs

Ashford and Simpson
The Rrazz Room
Review by Tamara Palmer; Photos by Mike Battaglia
May 10, 2008

Better than: Most of the last 20 years in R&B
Stream: New remixes of classic Ashford and Simpson hits

The Rrazz Room at Hotel Nikko is a tiny jazz lounge where personal space is at a minimum. But it was still an unexpected surprise and an instant delight to end up in a front seat that was mere inches away from Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson, ridiculously within reach of the legendary songwriters who penned, among many other enduring classics, “Reach Out and Touch (Somebody’s Hand).”

The influence of Ashford and Simpson on modern music is untold, whether through being sampled or covered by hip-hop artists or vocally imitated by house and neo-soul’s so-called divas. Ashford and Simpson sip from the fountain of youth, just as their melodies and sentiments do; in person and from an extremely close vantage point, both appear in amazing, healthy shape.

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The B52s
The Independent
Notes, Photos and Video by Janine Kahn
May 9, 2008

Better Than: Watching trippy B52s YouTube clips. These guys will blow you away live!
Stream: The "Private Idaho" video clip I have for you under the fold!

"Rock Lobstah! Down Dowwwwn!" sing-says Fred Schneider in that voice I've heard over the radio waves since childhood, and the some-150 people packed tightly together by the front of the Independent's tiny stage slowly melt to the ground, crouching low as the band does the same onstage - before popping up with a cheer and some otherworldly dance moves. It's 11:30pm on Friday night and the B52s are on their third and final encore song, their energy as wild and wacky as it was when their set started nearly two hours and 16 songs ago.

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Unpoppable, The Dead Hensons, Borts Minorts
Bottom of the Hill, May 10, 2008
Notes and Photos by Mike and Jenny Cash

Made up of a guitarist, a drummer, and a balloon bassist, Unpopable's self described elastic blues is much like the art of balloon sculpture. It's colorful and delightfully twisted. And like that fine art, you are transfixed by the process and eagerly look forward to the result.

Probably the world's only Muppet Cover Band, The Dead Hensons are an eight piece rock band exclusively covering the upbeat songs from early Jim Henson projects (mainly Sesame Street, the Muppet Show, and the Muppet Movie). A little strange until you remember that since the 70s, 40 of the songs and albums from the Jim Henson World have been nominated for Grammy's with 14 wins. Not bad base material and The Dead Hensons know how to rock each one.

If Salvador Dali had done music he would have paled in comparison to the truly eclectic Borts Minorts. One part performance art, one part manic techno musical extravaganza, all around fantastically mesmerizing. In his trademark unitard, and flanked by his accompanying backup dancers, Borts manages to blend more action into 45 minutes than a full week at the circus. The crowd at Bottom of the Hill was treated to his mini opening act Fou Fou Ha. Imagine Dr. Seuss directing a dance troupe of court jesters and you might be near the same solar system of describing it.

Borts Minorts is Cirque du Soleil on acid, no chaser.

Click the image for many more photos from Saturday's show.

(Atmosphere's Slug and one of his many fans)

Atmosphere
May 8, 2008
The Grand At The Regency Center
Words and photos by Jennifer Maerz
Better than: Hearing Hilary rap to Barack: Most of this garbage I write/That these people seem to like/Is about you/And how I let you infect my life

Hilary and Obama have it all wrong. They’re wasting time, tarmacs, and Tuesdays trying to win the hearts and minds of America, because their methods are all out of whack. If either one of our Democratic presidential hopefuls would just follow Atmosphere’s lead, they’d have all the super delegates throwing their hands in the air (so long as those super delegates were, like, white weed smokers between the ages of 16 and 26).

See, the first step towards becoming irresistible to your constituency is a little thing called the karaoke flyer. The flyer possesses the magical power of making folks memorize your platforms verbatim.

Don’t get what I mean? Just ask Atmosphere’s main man Slug.

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KT Tunstall
The Warfield, 8 p.m.
Review, Video and Photos by Janine Kahn
May 7, 2008

"I never knew a horse and an owl could do that," says an amused KT Tunstall, blinking in coquettish mockery at the two objects that somehow tangled themselves together over the course of her Wednesday night Warfield show. We suspect guitarist Sam Lewis had something to do with it, given his proximity to the props.

If only plastic could talk.

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A list of things of note at Neil Martinson's Smile Club at The Knockout's Cinco de Mayo night:

Super cute two-girl White Stripes-y opening band called Two Seconds.

My friend Tara reporting that there was someone in the bathroom, pooping, and talking to her friend on the phone about pooping. "Oh my god, it's so weird to be pooping in a bar!"

A pair of the kind of girls who are so pretty and funny they're distracting everyone in the place with their teal zebra-stripes and '80s lace stockings.

The band we came to see, Venus and Mars, psych-Brit-popping the hell out of some beautiful songs and not only wearing matching short-sleeved button-up shirts but also featuring a 12-string guitar.

My new phrase for anything you feel may be awkwardly attracted to, sexually or otherwise: "I want to slow dance with it." So I want to slow dance with the photobooth, which is so skilled that it causes the two distracting girls to lay around on the floor for a while, and puts Tara and I in the right place at the right time to hear a woman yell from the back of the room "The music is adequate!" --Hiya Swanhuyser

Jessie (a top femme butch) is covered up by polyswitch Levi during Friday's IMsL auction.

International Ms. Leather Weekend
Holiday Inn on Van Ness and Pine
Review, Photos and Videos by Janine Kahn
May 2, 2008

A large pale woman in a red silk corset gyrates in the middle of the carpeted floor as another woman smacks her over and over with a single strip of leather. Bound by the neck to a padded post, the amber-haired lady dangles gracefully, legs spread apart, hands moving in almost Middle Eastern motions, closing her eyes in bliss as the whip strokes, then strikes rapidly.

Across from this scene, a handsome butch in a leather harness with an "O" ring at the back cries out as her mistress flogs her bare bottom. Beyond that, a fully clothed couple wrestles with a muzzle - eventually strapping it on the designated sub for the evening and securing her to a large black cross.

This is probably your average evening at S&M dens across North America, but this is no dimly lit dungeon. This is the basement of the Holiday Inn.

How International Ms. Leather executive producer Glenda Rider got the folks at this fine establishment to sign off on this weekend's activities is flat out amazing - I'm told it took a lot of paperwork. And a lot of crossing your fingers that IMsL attendees stick to the playspace rules, like the following, printed neatly and slipped into the conference take-home totes:

Rule #12 Blood Play (including needle play): The playspace floor is carpeted. Please bring tarps, blankets or other coverings to ensure that the carpet stays free of blood. Please bring teknicare, betadine or other anti-infective as well as band-aids or gauze as required.

Rule #16 No scat water sports, breath play, open flame branding or fire play allowed. Medical branding devices which do not use an open flame may be used with prior permission from the Senior DM.

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(David Karsten Daniels singing "Martha Ann" at SXSW because my photos turned out terrible)

David Karsten Daniels
May 1, 2008
The Hemlock
By Jennifer Maerz
Better Than: quiet shows where you have to stand the whole time and listen to someone who's happy about life all the time

David Karsten Daniels just got married. Last week. He told me. Well, he told all of us at the bar last night. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Not that it’s ruining any romantic ideas I had about the Seattle-based songwriter. No, it’s nothing like that. It’s more that I worry it’ll ruin the romantic ideas I have about his music. See when people get married, that usually means they’re happy. Which means they’re gonna be all gushy about someone for a while. Which means maybe they’re gonna forget about writing bitter, weepy, beautiful ballads about what it was like the last time someone left a stinger in you that swelled real bad and refused to come out. I like those kinds of songs, sometimes. I like them when Bon Iver writes them. I like them when Elliott Smith wrote them. I like them when Chad VanGaalen writes them (I especially like them when Chad VanGaalen writes them about accidentally killing himself and his girlfriend because he fell asleep at the wheel. My moods can get creepy like that). And I like them when David Karsten Daniels writes them.

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Checked out the new Pirate Cat Radio space last night. Que bella! I expected a sweet, scruffy, tiny place staffed by can-do anarchists, but instead, it was a regular little cafe with a professional-looking glassed-in studio space in the adjoining room. Also, the cafe workers are probably can-do anarchists, but whatever their political bent, they serve beer and wine while they tell you the signed James T. Kirk 8 by 10 glossy photograph in the display case isn't a joke, he really does want Pirate Cat Radio to rock on.

It was an extra classy night, what with the closing party for Bunnywhiskers' art show giving the place an extra sleek, prettified vibe, but I bet it's always one of those places where you walk in and you feel like you've been through the awesome machine. Maybe it's just lit to be flattering. Anyway, after my pal Momo Cheesy did some jazzy, dirty, good things to "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Say Say Oh Playmate" and other children's songs, Kidd Cook sat down and harmonized the fuck out of "That's All Right." It was so beautiful everybody cried. After that Momo and I had to leave because she was going to the Akron Family show, but she told me Chris Jones was up next and that he's going to be the "next big shiznit." --Hiya Swanhuyser

Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks at The Fillmore
Review by Liz Iversen; Photos by Loren Risker
April 27, 2008

Better than: The NHL Playoffs
Download: Hear most of the new album.

There’s something inspiring about seeing a band of skillful veterans who so obviously love what they do. Despite a few false starts and some technical difficulties at the Fillmore last night, Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks put on a great show and had—it seemed—just as much fun as the audience.

Clad in a white button-down shirt and jeans, 41-year old Malkmus was cool, relaxed, and assured. Opening with new tracks “Elmo Delmo” and “Hopscotch Willie” from Real Emotional Trash (Malkmus’ fourth album with The Jicks since the disbanding of Pavement in 1999), the band made extended jams look simple. It’s hard not to be won over by Malkmus’ stage presence. No tricks are necessary; the subtlety and ease of his movements is captivating.

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Mortified
The Make-Out Room
Review by Ashley Harrell
April 25, 2008

This weekend’s Mortified – the live performance of adolescent diary entries, poems, songs, etc. – had the Make-Out Room audience gripping their stomachs, spitting their drinks, and occasionally sighing at certain heartfelt moments not entirely unique to teenage years.

Yeah, it was funny and all, but I was sort of hoping that one or two would bomb and show us the true definition of mortified. After all, the only thing more embarrassing then teenage thoughts is unintentionally bad comedy. But the creators of the show know better than to throw talentless amateurs on stage. They spend hours and hours reading through raw material, crafting people’s stories, and choosing performers. Although they are constantly looking for new talent, they often wind up using the same seasoned performers time and again.

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(Click the image for more photos from last night's show.)

It seemed like the entire audience was about to implode from Red Bull or Sparks intoxication, bouncing to an unsurprising dance set from the opening DJ act Vin Sol. His set felt like it would never end, but if you wanted to sweat your sugar overdoes out rather than wallflower your self with a pricey drink, this was quite the dance room to be in. And it is always worth it to wait for an attractive, energetic and lyrically masterful French girl to take over the stage.

Yelle--along with her keyboard player and drummer-- gave it her all, leaving no one with a moment to catch their breath. It was that fun. If we all knew French, we would know that Yelle's lyrics are the best part. Still, it's refreshing to see a band sweep over a sold out show and invoke such positive energy in a language most of the crowd didn't understand. Everyone left feeling like a better person, sweating, singing, snapping, shaking, and clapping away their thoughts. And it all ended in time to sleep before school the next day, so there's no excuse not to go home and translate the lyrics. --Gretchen Robinette

Death Cab for Cutie
April 23, 2008
The Fillmore

Review by Melissa Baron. Photos by Janine Kahn

Better Than: America's Next Top Model and/or the Real World. A little bit more culturally valuable too.

Download: Archived live performances streaming from Seattle's KEXP. They have some excellent songs from the Cave Singers in addition to some super live Death Cab.

There's something special about bands from Seattle. When they appear on stage it's hard to detect which people are roadies and which are actually musicians. They look understated, like they just walked off the street.

Seattle bands forget the frills and gimmicks, the mustaches, suits and over-synthing that many contemporary artists seem to embrace. Often their music takes a similar approach. When they play live, stripped bare of over processing and ProTools they bring something incredibly special to the stage.

Not even signing to a major label in 2004 could extract the charm from Seattle's Death Cab for Cutie. The four piece comprised front man Ben Gibbard, guitarist Chris Walla, bassist Nick Harmer and drummer Jason McGerr rocked a sold out Fillmore.

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(Fuck Buttons)

Fuck Buttons and Caribou
April 23, 2008 at the Independent
Photos and review by Jennifer Maerz

Better than: All the other "Fuck" bands.

The Independent was sold out last night for the combo of Fuck Buttons and Caribou. As the club was still filling up, though, the lighting guy was having a chat with a photographer, who wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be too dark when Fuck Buttons took the stage. The lighting guy just shrugged. “I don’t know what to light anyway,” he joked. “It’s just gonna be two guys doing this [here he made the universal motion for scratching turntables] anyway.”

Yeah, that’s the bummer about electronic shows sometimes. A lot of times it's just a guy – two if you’re lucky – just doing this over a laptop. And then you just have to hope that the beats get the crowd kinetic enough that you can watch your neighbors when you’re bored with the stage.

The thing about Fuck Buttons, though, is that they’re more than two men and an iMac. Their music is downright menacing, an avalanche of white noise with flurries of static through which cold winds of melody occasionally tunnel.

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Tift Merritt
Great American Music Hall
Review and photos by Ashley Harrell
April 15, 2008

Showing up solo at a Tift Merritt show seemed like a bold move.

The alt-country singer/songwriter from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, writes her songs mostly about longing and heartbreak, and her lyrics are – well – let’s just call them sincere.

But Lisa, a lawyer who dreams of opening a bakery, didn’t know that when she won tickets on KFOG Tuesday morning. She had only heard the one song on the radio: Merritt’s current hit single, “Broken,” from her new album, Another Country, which Merritt composed in Paris, seemingly while grieving for (another) lost love. The song reminded Lisa of the country music she liked while growing up in West Virginia. So although she couldn’t find a date, Lisa decided she would go anyway, drink some wine, and enjoy the music.

Now Merritt was on the Great American Music Hall stage before Lisa, belting her anguished lyrics.

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