Nervous Breakdown Review: Joaquin Phoenix

Joaquin (pronounced JOE-QUAN), 

Sorry to hear about your bro.  Not about his death: the millennium would have been a drag for him, so he dodged a bullet.  What I'm really referring to is the fact that you are seriously tarnishing what could have been a brand name in Hollywood (if reproduction was in your future).  I like you, I always have.  When you look your worst, you look like young Greg Dulli at his best, which will get you at least a cup of coffee where I'm from.  You added a homoerotic charisma to Gladiator, you played the neutered brother in Inventing the Abbotts and according to IMDB, you played Johnny Cash in a movie called Walk the Line.  All good solid roles that had nothing to do with M. Night Whatshisface.  I always thought you were kind of lazy and that if you tried a little harder and choose some better movies you could have been a Heath Ledger or an Anthony LaPaglia.  But you quit acting to pursue a career in music.  

I caught a sneak preview of your new hip hop songs as evidenced here:

Homeboy you are losing your mind!  Now on your best day you look like Jerry Garcia at his worst. And I don't like that. I actually pray someone sends your agent a script by M. Night Whatshisname that teams you up with Mark Wahlberg just to get you out of this funk.  Where are your parents? Girlfriends? You are going to be playing the Gary Busey role in an episode of Entourage in the future if you aren't careful. 

I wish you well and pray that no one lets you near a recording studio. 

Cheers, 

T.G. Siblog 

The Thom Siblog wants to know what you are listening to!

As I sit here listening to 808s and Heartbreaks by Mr. Kanyeezy, contemplating the giggle-inducing-did-he-really-say-that couplet, "Looking at your history/You're like the girl from Misery," I was considering how it was only a few weeks ago that the best! music! of 2008! was announced by anyone with even the slightest modicum of insight into the current musical landscape (don't worry- they let Chuck Klostermann do a list too).  

So now that we are a few weeks into 2009, what are you all listening to other than the new Animal Collective?  Anyone find something on someone else's list? Or is there any record you still haven't found the time to hunt down?

What I've Been Listening to (with very useful links while supplies last): 

Titus Andronicus- The Airing of Grievances- Mmmmm. I can completely chalk up my love for this band to many a night spent in a body odor laden elk's lodge waiting for the Get Up Kids to take the "stage."  The members of Titus Andronicus were probably at those shows, and singer Patrick Stickles was probably running home to practice his own songs immediately after.  Enthusiastic, ramshackle kitchen sink punk rock with touches of emo (the good kind), shoegaze, early Bruce Springsteen, and a Pogues-style outro so good it renders Ted Leo's "Timorous Me" nearly obsolete.  The reason that their self-titled, Seinfeld-nodding debut continues to grow on me is Stickles doesn't fall into the modern day punk clap trap of singing about relationships, bro-dom or politics.  Rather, Stickles shrieks, screams and stammers about Camus, the pointlessness of life and art, and the end of the world.  Right down to the spoken word verse from Shakespeare's eponymous play at the end of the first song, The Airing of Grievances is a sprawling impressive debut record.  Their live show is not to be missed:  the band's mixture of unpretentious energy and old school punk rock posturing (when was the last time you were at a concert where it seemed appropriate for the singer to stick the mic in the front row?) will surely win you over if their record does not.  Sing with me: "Your life is over!" 

Air France- No Way Down EP- Is it lame that I rediscovered this Swede-pop band when I was in Uniqlo? It was the only silver lining to a disastrous post-Christmas shopping day, which led me to throw on No Way Down after I had written it off as a bit dull in early 2008.  It's still not energetic but I find myself coming back to it for it's dreamier qualities.  It actually makes perfect sense as department store background music: it's pretty and comforting without ever being overbearing or intrusive.  But if you pay attention, for even a second, you will find yourself humming the songs all day.  

TV on the Radio- Dear Science,- I have nothing new to add to the copious amount of press and praise that has been heaped upon these Brooklyn transplants.  But after seeing TVOTR singer Tunde Adebimpe in the terrific Rachel Getting Married, I couldn't agree with Jack Donaghy more: synergy is bigger than all of us.  If you have been sleeping on this record check it out so we can all sing the opening ba-ba-ba of "Halfway Home" together when they inevitably play a way packed free show this summer in Brooklyn.  

Spider Bags- "Wake Up Drunk"- This actually came out in 2007.  Spider Bags is the psuedonym for Dan McGee, a NJ singer-songwriter who definitely likes Paul Westerberg and Mike Ness.  This is probably his best song to date: a simple sudsy country pop tune that makes you wish it was acceptable to put your arm around the person next to you and sing.  No touching! Look out for his new album that comes out in 2009.

Random:  Would the Thermals put out their new record already!??

I Believe in Mumblecore: Part 1

The incestuous circle of mumblecore personnel recently achieved their highest honor yet as basic as it may seem: Baghead, the latest improv-ed talkie landed a distribution deal with Sony Pictures Classics. If the Duplass brothers felt any pressure, it isn't evident: the film is as confusing, jumbled, low budget and intoxicating as any other mumblecore picture, except it disguises itself as a horror movie. The last film by the Duplass brothers, LOL, suffered from poor critical response (typical of the mumblecore movies) but was ushered through most media outlets due to the hype of the burgeoning scene, which was still shiny and new in 2006. Most reviews of the mumblecore films seem to bemoan them, writing the characters off as self-absorbed and whiny. To that, I respond, perhaps you are too old, complacent in the recent dumbing down of independent cinema or a mixture of both.

Watching films such as Quiet City, Funny Ha Ha, Mutual Appreciation and Hannah Takes the Stairs, enhances me with the same quenching energy that I imagine most American cinephiles felt when watching Breathless, 400 Blows or Shadows in the 60's. Growing up in the 90's, where the Kevin Smith/Quentin Tarantino love of vulgarity and violence dominated the independent movie scene, I can't begin to express how enthusiastic I get watching young men and women making simple movies that convey the confusion of modern interpersonal dynamics. Which is why I tend to be more forgiving about things like plot, pacing and lighting. The Duplass brothers, along with Joe Swanberg, Aaron Katz and Andrew Bujalski, are currently laying the groundwork for a direction more independent films should be headed: back towards sincerity and reality, while moving away from irony with idealized/stylized situations and dialogue. The characters in these movies can be self involved, indecisive, unclear, frustrating and at times, meandering. But doesn't that sound like almost everyone from the age 35 on down?

These films to some extent, are representative of the generation of filmmakers raised by baby boomers and the idealized version of 70's cinema. The blueprint for how the great independent minded directors of the 70's took over Hollywood and achieved acclaim is no longer a viable option. That option has long been rendered obsolete due to the vicious vertical and horizontal integration that makes taking over a major movie studio impossible. Furthermore, the 90's model of Weinstein-Blair Witch-buy-us-an-indie-hit has resulted in the current heap of aim-to-please-distribution-companies quirkcore pseudo-indies. With art-house movie theaters stuffed with documentaries and films with famous actors that lack any real chance for commercial viability such as My Blueberry Nights and Married Life, I see mumblecore as the reboot of independent cinema that it so desperately needs.

A surface level criticism of most mumblecore films, particularly Hannah Takes the Stairs, is that it falls into that other new genre of modern independent film, quirkcore (yes, that's mine). Sure, Hannah climaxes with two twentysomethings playing horns (literally) in the bathtub. But how those people got to the tub is just as confusing, confounded, sloppy and unclear as any relationship I've witnessed in my lifetime. More importantly, the bond between those two people seems just as fleeting as most relationships are. Not every relationship is going to be capital "I" Important and if that isn't represented in independent cinema, it won't be anywhere else. The characters in the mumblecore films distinguish themselves from Miranda July and Diablo Cody's characters in that they live more organically. In quirkcore films such as Juno, Me, You and Everyone We Know and Little Miss Sunshine the characters may have weird habits, act in bizarre ways and rage against a ludicrously black and white version of mainstream corporate America but ultimately, the characters seem to always end up with moralistic Hollywood endings.

Consider the trite, dangerously cute ending to Juno in which everything is just fine for little Juno. She may have a had a kid in high school, but hey, she snagged a boy in track shorts (krazy!) and the traditional mom who worked so hard at being a cookie cutter version of a mom gets her baby. But Jason Bateman's character, whose actions are less than commendable, has to get the hell out of dodge. In Me, You and Everyone We Know, everyone is paired off in the end, right down to the creepy business lady and the creepy cute kid who is obsessed with poo passing. Oh and art wins over commerce. And there were no repercussions for a woman who was having cyber sex with a minor. We all learned a lesson and are happily paired off in the traditional roles being hocked off by every mainstream Hollywood movie. You'd think this was the Brady Bunch! Which is exactly what Little Miss Sunshine is: they might be dysfunctional but they are one big happy family! Which is makes makes the fleeting uncertainty and greyness of the mumblecore films, including Baghead feel so invigorating.

Monday: Baghead reviewed!

Concert Review: Pitchfork Music Festival, Wrap Up

Spoon's misgivings aside, the P4k Festival 2008 was a rousing success. Well booked, well organized and well run, Pitchfork is an anomaly during the summer festival season. It is the festival for people who go to concerts all year round. In my experience, attendees of Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza, Coachella, and to a lesser extent, Austin City Limits are not hardcore music fans. No judgments: not everyone needs to be scouring around the internet searching blogs for new music. But the way people approach music affects how they behave and what to expect during their festival experience. Perhaps influenced by the high ticket price or camping atmosphere, Bonnapalooza attendees seem more interested in the activities that fall on the penumbra of music listening, e.g., the drugs, the drinking, the general debauchery that accompanies camping with tens of thousands of people enjoying the aforementioned activities. Which is almost understandable: those are massive concerts where unless you wait for hours there is not much to do but listen to music played by people you are watching solely on a television screen. It's not to say that the Pitchfork Festival is a MENSA meeting with live music but the amount of intoxicated revellers are less than you'd see at Studio B on a Saturday night with about eight times the amount of people. The Pitchfork Festival has earned it's reputation as a festival where people can have a beer, be comfortable and check out an assortment of quality bands. The bands play nice long sets (45-55 minutes on the mainstages) and there is never a moment where you can't watch the bands comfortably. Additionally, the three stage set up minimizes set conflicts to a frightening extent.

With that said, some suggestions for next year:

• Go global-er: Considering the overwhelming amount of music that Pitchfork supports of an international ilk, over 90% of the artists performing were from the US or the UK. While it is true (and unfortunate) that El Guincho cancelled, there have been at least three or so break out bands from Sweden (Studio, Tough Alliance, Air France) and countless Norwegian metal, French/German DJs that could have spiced up the affair a little.
• Diversity: More girls/hip hop/pop please!
• Take a few more risks: The Elephant Six old guard might turn on a few old school midwesterner scenesters, but Apples in Stereo and Elf Power are positively finished creatively, and it seems silly to continue to use them as slot fillers.
• Less sensitive boys with guitars/frog vocals: While Bon Iver is an acoustic act that had a certain buzz around him that warranted a second stage performance, bands like the Dodos and M. Ward seemed to go ignored altogether or get dismissed with "good but ya know, not the right setting." Why bother then?
• Lose Don't Look Back or seriously reconsider the bands/artists that are booked. From what I heard, Sebadoh seemed barely stoked to be playing some of those songs (for the first time!) and the audience was just about as nonplussed.
• Get more dance bands and put them on later. It was evident that people wanted to dance this year, a sign of a great concert vibe. But unfortunately only Cut Copy played music with a beat during the twilight hours. In a testament to both how awful Spoon were and how bad people wanted to dance, it was inspiring to watch people literally run to the second stage to get down, especially after 10 hours of music and sun. I would even suggest doing away with Don't Look Back and having a dance night either in the park or at a nearby warehouse.
  

Concert Review: Pitchfork Music Festival, Sunday

After passing out in our clothes with the lights on Saturday night, the Siblog crew were prepped so early on Sunday that we had the pleasure of spending an extended amount of time in the World Famous Billy Goat Tavern and Grill, which is adjacent to Union Park. Two rounds of white russians and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich might be henceforth known as the classic festival breakfast.

1:00-1:15pm, Times New Viking: A fuzzy pop punky band on Matador that sings about girls and drugs. What isn't to love? Less than you'd think! This is the second time I'd witnessed this Midwesterner trainwreck live. The first time was opening for the Super Furry Animals and I can't say they won me over this time. Much like No Age, Times New Viking sounds so skeletal that it can be frustrating. It's like listening to songs recorded in mono with only one earphone functioning. To make matter worse for TNV, their drummer introduces every single song with shouted witticisms such as "POP SONG #3/DRUG SONG # 1." Please note: the numbers change but the song quality does not. None of their songs are pop songs: if their blurry soft focus garage rock songs ever touch a solid melody they repeat it for 10 seconds and then collapse back into disarray. A Siblog affiliate contacts me to let me know that the back stage is running late and there is still a chance to catch Mahjongg.

1:15- 1:30pm, Mahjongg: K Records krautrock dance band Mahjongg were very impressive. Though their sound is distinctly influenced by German psychedelic music, it is evident that Mahjongg is also influenced by straight dance music. Which, now that I think about it, is what makes LCD Soundsystem so excellent as well. We only got to check them out for a brief period as Dirty Projectors were about to start on the mainstage.

1:30- 2:00pm, Dirty Projectors: The last time Jarvis came to New York City he hand-picked his opening bands. I was lucky enough to see the Dirty Projectors perform and have been enamored with them ever since. As good as their "cover" record Rise Above is, their gentle vocal interplay is an even greater pleasure to behold in person. The Dirty Projectors play music that is undoubtedly "indie" but I can't help but feel it would be selling them short with that description. Their melodies are complex but not in the XTC vein, where you find them to be slightly grating followed by gleefully addicting. For all of their smooth guitar lines and ineffably beautiful melodies, Dirty Projectors set more of a mood then provide hummable hooks. Which makes watching them (buzzed) on a lovely afternoon even better. I should also take this time to salute Angel Deradoorian, the very talented bassist/singer for Dirty Projectors of which whom the Siblog crew has a massive crush on.

2:00-2:30pm, Boris: Having read/heard/absorbed their schtick (Japanese metal, smoke machines, droning) for the last few years, my expectations were not very high. From the minute they took the stage with clear pink drums and a massive gong, it was clear that Boris was not particularly concerned with my expectations. Fair enough! Playing primarily from their Smile record, Boris played heavy, they played fast and they had the midday audience in a frenzy. Boris played fast trashy metal which, while dense, was rarely dissonant, with the exception of a perfectly pitched drone guitar that accented their riffage in all the right ways. A true festival miracle!

2:40- 3:15pm, HEALTH: Another P4k festival surprise. Hyped up LA noise-makers HEALTH "brought it" on Sunday. HEALTH sounds like No Age if they put some more effort into their song writing and didn't bother with the pretense of playing "pop" music. They also sound like murder, probably within a tribal circle of an angry mob. I think from now on I might just describe everyone in relation to No Age. My enjoyment of HEALTH is exceptionally shocking given my distaste for their performance on Pitchfork.tv's Don't Look Down. The band shrieked, the guitars sounded like metal being cut in two by a violent wielder (in a good way) and the drums shook the trees and blanket dwellers. One of my favourite discoveries of the festival. Also their merch rules.

4:00- 4:50pm, Les Savy Fav: It's easy to pretend Les Savy Fav is nothing more than an abnormal looking lead singer with a penchant for silliness. There is something about the rest of LSV's everyman normality that makes the band seem less "schticky." Besides, they get increasingly closer to perfect with every record they release. Purists will argue, ROME WRITTEN UPSIDE DOWN, LSV's debut EP is their quintessential release but I would argue for 2007's Let's Stay Friends. Had LSV decided to record such an album in 2003/04 instead of going on hiatus or (admirably) recording singles, LSF might be a bigger band. But why would they do that? Les Savy Fav already play with the confidence of eternal headliners. Opening with "The Equestrian" and tearing through the first half of Let's Stay Friends as well as highlights from Inches, Tim jumped into a garbage filled basin and only to be lifted into the audience before putting Cher to shame with his costume changes. Beware of appearances: for all their hooks, energy and showmanship it is Seth Jabour's echo laden guitar lines that really hold the Fav together.

6:00- 645pm, Ghostface Killah & Raekwon: What can be said about my hometown boys taking the stage to a packed to the brim audience, all holding their hands up in a "W"? Due to a European tour commitment they were dashing on the stage coming right from the airport! Why do they do it? Is it the love of the fans? Is it the love of the game? Oh no. It's because (according to Raekwon, henceforth, the "Chef"), "Chicago is one of our biggest markets!" Oh Chef! They busted into "Criminology," setting off 45 minutes of Wu-beats that focused primarily on Only Built For Cuban Linx, Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) and to a lesser extent, Fishscale. The guys are both extremely charismatic performers and gave the audience anything they wanted-- to the point where one of the emcees would cut a beat if the energy seemed to die down. There was a funny moment where someone yelled for "Kilo" and the audience perked up. The DJ told Ghost he'd didn't have it, to which Ghost just deadpanned, "That's fucked up, man." Ghost spit the first verse of Dilla's downbeat "Whip You With a Strap" without breaking a sweat but it was the Chef that was ultimately the duo's showrunner that Sunday. I just wish there would have been some Supreme Clientele and Pretty Toney represented. And duh, there was an ODB tribute/excuse to play "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" that had the audience bursting with fruit flavour.

7:30- 8:15pm, Bon Iver: Since the P4K schedule had been posted for weeks and my obsession with Bon Iver had already reached it's zenith, I'd already written off Spiritualized as a necessary sacrifice. I was also under the impression that Mr. Spaceman would be playing one of his "Acoustic Mainline" gigs and I wouldn't be missing much. Well he did not and this caused multiple problems. First off, I love the big woozy pill laden rock and roll of the early Spiritualized records, from Pure Phase right on through Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating in Space. To watch the captivated crowd in the crisp setting sun as I retreated to the woodsie second stage to watch Bon Iver was a little sad. But it was mostly worth it. Or it would have been if the second problem didn't exist: Spiritualized sound bled right through to the other stage, making Mr. Vernon's precious harmonies a bit difficult to sort out at moments of extreme loudness. Sound adjustments aside, Bon Iver has perfected playing his debut record live. He knows the places where people will sing, the order to play the songs and which songs to omit. Even with the noise in the background and the distance between myself and the band it was no surprise that "For Emma" was a festival highlight for me. It is the chug that drives "For Emma" that makes it so powerful. It is hesitant but determined. It's the reluctant sound of having to move forward, onward, upward. When the horns mirror the vocal lines they feel like rays of hope shining during our bleakest moment. As the outro soars there is a palpable feeling that something beautifully horrifying has passed and the release feels pretty magical. While Vernon himself tells us that these songs are "not the sound of a new man" (on the wisely omitted "re: Stacks"), "For Emma" feels like a distinct moment of change. No other artist in recent memory has made me fight back tears so often or sound so damn emo.

8:15- 9:00pm, Dinosaur Jr.: Rock. Hard, blistering solo laden indie rock. Dinosaur Jr. probably sounds better now than they ever have. They played lots of tracks from 2007's Beyond, minor alterna-hit "Without a Sound" and of course, their anthem, "Freak Scene." I will admit that I did not pay them the closest attention as I'll be seeing them at ATP NY in September.

9:00- 10:00pm, Spoon: I love the band Spoon. Which is what makes writing this so so hard. I've seen the band several times and admittedly the only time I saw them and enjoyed it I was black-out drunk on tequila. But this was Sunday night festival headlining slot Spoon. Even the notoriously difficult Animal Collective was able to keep the energy high enough for people to be hippie dancing to their squishy muppet pop. To say that Spoon did not "bring it' is an understatement. Furthermore, I'd like to say that this is entirely singer/guitarist Britt Daniel's fault. Aloof, slightly antagonistic (why is he treating his guitar so harshly?) and constantly fiddling with his guitar pedals, Daniel was like the anti-front man. On record Spoon plays slight experimental pop but it's become apparent that Daniel wants to really lean on the experimental side when they perform. He might need to either write new songs to accommodate this or learn the chops to pull his current catalogue together live. Sadly for the rest of the band, most of his attempts to subvert came from an echo box that he triggered on his vocals every fifteen to forty-five seconds. On top of their lack of audience engagement, Spoon opted to play the silliest most un-festival set imaginable. Even Britt looked bored. Opening with a blah version of "Small Stakes," the band segued into "My Mathematical Mind" (!?!). But don't worry, they played "Rhythm and Blues," "The Beast and Dragon, Adored" and "I'll Summon You." Shrugsies! They did play Series of Sneaks opener, "Utilitarian" but that jolt of energy only lasted around 2 minutes. By the time they got around to "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb" and "The Underdog" the audience was fed up and filing out and who can blame them. If your band can't entertain 14,000 or so people playing pop songs that the majority of the audience knows all the words to, you need to go back to the drawing board.

Concert Review: Pitchfork Music Festival, Saturday

This past weekend the Thom Siblog and his affiliates descended upon Chicago for roughly 72 hours to drink too much Fuze, ogle rock poster art and check out the dozens of bands playing the Pitchfork Music Festival. Having attended the festival in 2006, I noticed some minor changes to the festival set up: this go around there was a more substantial third stage (which I believe can be attributed directly to last year's police baiting Girl Talk set) and jumbotron-esque screens that alternated between Pitchfork.tv promos and the acts performing on the main stages.

Truth be told, Saturday morning looked grim, weather-wise. When I pulled the curtain to my hotel room open I expected to see an idealistic mix of sun, sprinkled with some clouds, with a light breeze gently shaking the trees. What I got were torrential downpours. One trip to the Walgreen's later, ponchos were acquired (Sox, not Cubs) and off to the Festival we went.

1:00-1:30pm, Titus Andronicus: We arrived early to see the lit-obsessed punkers play an energetic set to an early crowd covered in misty rain. They opened with a guitar-and-shrieking-only version of "Common People" which sadly, did not segue into a full band version. Learn it guys! Even without the knowledge that this band is from Central New Jersey, I could have spotted these enthusiastically dorky rock kids from a million miles away. They have a naive energy that the drummer from Times New Viking tries to produce but fails: every member of Titus Andronicus was flailing around, singing/mouthing/shouting every hysterically dramatic verse and chorus, regardless of whether they were mic'ed or it was necessary. They rarely looked cool or postured: even when lead singer Patrick Stickle, donned in a Batman circa '89 t shirt, grabbed a flag tied to a microphone stand to wave it around, he struggled with it as he couldn't seem to stop jumping around long enough to properly operate it. They closed with their anthems, "Titus Andronicus" and "Fear and Loathing in Mahway, NJ" before Jay Reatard kicked things off on the opposing stage. Melodic and raw, earnest and endearing, Titus Andronicus somehow managed to live up to the expectations set by their excellent debut album, "The Airing Of Grievances" without playing it's best song, "Arms Against Atrophy."

1:30-2:00pm, Jay Reatard: As I previously mentioned, the jumbotron screens enabled festival goers to watch the other main stage band while camping out to get a good spot for a band you'd prefer to see. For example, while I remained at the Connector Stage waiting for Caribou to blow my mind, I got to suffer through Jay Reatard's disastrously boring set of recycled punk/rock/guitar jams. I'd already tried digesting Jay a few times beforehand and failed to see the fuss. Personally, from everything I've read and heard of him, I think he is a bit of posturing noob. Donning flying-v guitars and long hair, Jay and his band tonelessly shouted through song after song, making sure to announce the song title obnoxiously before bursting into a song that needed no introduction. Example: Jay screams "RED MEAT." Bands kicks in. First line "RED MEAT! GUNNA EAT YOU ALIVE!" Avoid at all costs.

2:00-2:40pm, Caribou: After enduring Mr. Reatard and more drizzling, Dan Snaith and Caribou took the stage. Although I've never had the chance to pontificate about them on the Siblog, Caribou has quietly become one of my favourite bands of the last few years. Last year's Andorra is a gorgeous and intricate set of songs that strips away the krautrock/hip hop influences that dominated The Milk of Human Kindness to achieve even greater success. While they were initially plagued by sound problems, they opened with an extended version of "Sundialing" segueing perfectly into a bass heavy version of "Melody Day." Every member of Caribou plays such a huge role into recreating the fragile yet dense songs that Mr. Snaith hones in the studio, but none more than Brad Weber, Caribou's drummer. Most of Caribou's finest moments are propelled by hard hitting percussive centers and thus by the time they played "After Hours," Dan (who also plays drums live) and Brad managed to find the hypnotic groove that makes them such a worthwhile and enduring live act.

2:45- 3:00pm, Icy Demons: We left the Caribou set a little early to catch Icy Demons. Hailing from Chicago/Philadelphia, Icy Demons are most notable for being Pow Pow's (drummer from Man Man) experimental side project featuring members of Need New Body. That is to say, a jazzy rock free form hybrid. Although I enjoyed their 2006 LP, Tears of a Clone, I did not find much of Icy Demons to be very enjoyable that Saturday afternoon. The songs were not experimental but were certainly free form: the female member of the band simply fanned herself while occasionally providing back up vocals. The whole affair had bad-world-music-band written all of over it and Pow Pow, who usually compels my attention during even the most distracting of Man Man's on-stage antics seemed content to play basic backbeats. Due to my love of Man Man, I am still looking forward to checking out their new record on Pow Pow's Obey Your Brain label.

3:00- 5:00pm, break time: After Icy Demons, we took a few minutes to embrace the Pitchfork festival for all it's non-musical amenities, of which there are plenty. One of the many wonderful things about the Pitchfork Festival is that it manages to provide distractions that never seem unnatural to the music festival. Whether it be an old school record fair in a tent or booths littered with the premier indie labels hocking tote bags or a Whole Foods tent selling fresh organic produce, there didn't seem to be too much space wasted on corporations hocking lifestyle items or collecting demographic information. Chipolte, arguably the biggest sponsor, didn't have food available; all the food vendors were exclusively local businesses. Both Siblogs purchased Secretly Canadian t-shirts and Matt Siblog harassed many a record label booth with questions about their least popular artists. We also managed to lay low and avoid the Rip Van Winkle-esque acappella stylings of (who knew!) the weekend's most beloved band, Fleet Foxes. Around 4:30 we began to mosy over to the Aluminum Stage where the weekend's most polarizing band, Vampire Weekend were to take the stage.

5:00-5:50pm, Vampire Weekend: The funniest part of Vampire Weekend is watching people attempt to dislike them. As they came on we watched people nervously look around to see if anyone else was singing along. God knows that we were! For all the Fleet Foxes Kool Aid being guzzled down by the indie-masses (whatever the fuck THAT means) I cannot understand the resistance of these same masses to embrace Vampire Weekend. By the end of their set, the audience warmed nicely to the crystal-clean pop but not without making the young men earn it a bit. Even the band seemed to acknowledge their own fear of the situation, with singer/ham/guitarist Ezra Koenig saying, "This is going much better than we anticipated." We also egged the audience to sing along with great success on songs such as "A-Punk" and "One (Blake's Got a New Face)." The latter, their S/T album's sole clunker, takes on a whole new context live when the audience provides the call and response vocals, negating the one scuff in the band's glossy repertoire. They played one new tune which antagonistically snags the staccato guitar line from Paul Simon's "Crazy Love, pt. 2" while still putting their own anxious spin on it by playing a bubbly drum sample over it. Set highlight: During "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa" the very pretty, very preppy, very clean (a telltale sign of a late day/rain avoiding entrance) girl in front of me was a bit embarrassed when Ezra barked out the chorus, with an emphasis on the line, "Do you wanna fuck like you know I do?" remarking that she never knew that was the lyric.

6:00- 6:50pm, !!!: New York dance punk legends (is it too soon?) !!! took the stage without an album to support and apparently, a hell of a lot to prove. Singer Nick Offer made a point to mention that even though !!! had one of lowest overall scores of the bands playing at the festival they remained one of the highest billed. Perhaps that is because none of those scores ever took !!!'s live show into account. It's a bit of a rock cliche, to remark that you need to see a band live, but hell, you need to see !!! live. Nic Offer's effeminate dance moves and the blistering dance-punk-house-funk musical hybrid that provides the basis for the aforementioned moves has been simmering for years and never fails to work the audience into a frenzy. The band primarily played tracks from last years under appreciated Myth Takes, but did manage to play one excellent new song that seemed to venture into a smoother, more R & B direction while maintaining the classic !!! dance groove. Oh and next time play your classic mayoral bashing hit!

6:50- 8:00pm, The Hold Steady: The Hold Steady went out as soon as !!! went off and seemed to play for an eternity. They started their set with their typical sloganeering: "Are you ready to build something this summer, Chicago?" Craig Finn, the plaid adorned non-singer for the Hold Steady asked the crowd. Oh jeez. I'm not sure what exactly the Hold Steady are building this summer but I know I'd like to be heading the demolition crew. Over the years my feelings for the Hold Steady have progressed as follows: appreciation (Almost Killed Me), adoration (Separation Sunday), disappointment (Boys and Girls in America) and now, utter disgust (Stay Positive). If building something involves empty sloganeering ("Let's all be part of something bigger!"), reminiscing about punk shows, suffocating self-referencing and name dropping that would put G-Unit to shame soundtracked by music that would be played at a state fair in North Carolina, I think I'll pass.

Sometimes I think their mass popularity confirms my worst suspicions about independent music (whatever the fuck THAT means): that the scene that was once created as a haven for weirdos has shifted 180 degrees and has been co-opted by the same types of people that marginalized those weirdos. Somewhere in the 90's it was universally decided that the automaton nature of the 80's was wrong and as a result the notion of appearing countercultural and unique became important from Generation X on down, resulting in an independent music scene that is swarmed with people who, if indie weren't so fashionable, would be marginalizing the people who would be involved in that scene whether it was fashionable or not, all in the name of seeking culture outside the "mainstream" (whatever the fuck THAT means). When their lead guitarist takes out a double guitar and everyone goes crazy, I'm not sure whether I hope they are being ironic or sincere but realize that this band isn't for me anymore. Adieu!

8:00-8:40pm, Jarvis Cocker: It would be redundant for me to point out the tall, lanky nature of the former Pulp frontman but it is so necessary to understand the appeal of Mr. Cocker's live performance. It is would be as if someone taught a robot every show stopping/butt shaking/sexy dance move and then that robot was transformed into a rag doll with pencil thin legs made of wax wearing George Burns' glasses before the performance of said dance moves. Much to the chagrin of the audience, Mr. Cocker does not play Pulp tunes and even went so far as to not play many songs from last year's underrated Jarvis. But the fact that Jarv opened with two new songs to rapturous applause is a good indicator of how well he can deliver them. A new song, "Caucasian Blues" had some exceptionally funny lyrics as did the John Peel dedicated, "Girls Like it Too." The one drawback to Mr. Cocker's songs is that much like post-Smiths solo Morrissey, most of the tunes have serviceable music backed by wry lyrics and thus, hearing them for the first time live can be a bit unsatisfying. Regardless, "Black Magic" was still a highlight even though I heard it as I was cutting across the grounds to sneak a peak at No Age.

8:45-9:05pm, No Age: For the uninformed No Age are two guys, one drummer and one guitarist. They play songs that oscillate between precious noise and fuzzy-as-hell pop music that manages to never stick in my head. Thus, I spent a few minutes watching a guitarist and a drummer play what sounded like demos someone would make for a band except that this is the band. I did manage to hear Nouns highlight, "Teen Creeps" but left to see which version of Animal Collective would be closing the first night of the festival.

9:05- 10:00pm, Animal Collective: The Siblog affiliates spent some time debating whether Animal Collective would "bring it" on Saturday night or whether they'd play dauntingly long musical segues and all new songs. While they didn't play a Rolling Stones-esque singles set (does AC even have singles, really?), Animal Collective naysayed everyone who thought they'd contrarily play a set of exclusively new songs for a mass of exhausted festival goers. The Collective weaved in and out of beautifully melodic passages, teasing the audience with musical hooks from popular songs before burying that hook until the song appeared. Around ten minutes into their set I could have swore I heard the chant from Panda Bear's "Comfy In Nautica" only to be rewarded with a face melting, slow light strobing version of the song later on. The Collective brought tasteful lights that complimented the music perfectly, without ever taking the focus away from the band. In addition to the Panda Bear favourite, which elicited shouts of joy from hundreds of yards away from the stage, the band played "Peacebone" and closed with an extended version of "Fireworks" which had audience members setting off their own noisemakers.

Rant Review: Fluxblog's Matthew Perpetua Takes On Indie Ennui

Yesterday one of my favourite music writers and bloggers, Matthew Perpetua, posted a pretty dead-on synopsis, an anti-manifesto of sorts, that highlighted some of the problems plagueing that undefinable universe known as Indie Rock on Fluxblog. Being a long time reader and fan I wasn't particularly surprised that Mr. Perpetua and I had a very similar take on the latest wave of bands to dominate the internet and more increasingly so, the mainstream.

Although I disagree with Mr. Perpetua that we have seen the last of the Joy Division trickle down (Fall-Out Boy/The Killers will undoubtedly highlight Ian Curtis' most melodramatic tendencies for a whole new generation of angsty youth) and the "we're playing cheap Casios, lolz 80s!" boogie down isn't going to go anywhere so long as the reigning monarch of the indie elite give Cut Copy's mediocre records unnecessary acclaim, I too have long had enough of the "limp psychedelic folk, faux-Animal Collective bullshitting, and lame-ass attempts at mimicking the Jesus & Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine."

Mr. Perpetua continues his thesis, rather eloquently, with a frustration rife with passion for music and thoroughly nerdy. That is to say, mostly endearing. The fourth paragraph reads like an Obama-esque plee to blog readers everywhere:

We need change. We need to get away from the anti-intellectualism of this horrible era. We need to acknowledge and then subsequently reject the insidious, often unremarked-upon sexism that dominates 00s indie rock culture. We need to move on from recycling the work of the same old "safe" artists, and abandon the comfort of familiarity, and get back to embracing novelty and innovation. We need new artists with new influences.

Hmmmm. Where have I heard that sentiment before?

It is in the final paragraph that Mr. Perpetua's thesis begins to morph from Obama-esque inspiration to Jeremiah Wright-esque soapboxing:

So what do I want to hear? It's hard to say, really. I want something new, I want to be surprised. I want artists with strong personalities that don't conform to traditional expectations of rock/pop/hip hop stars. That said, I can offer some tips, and point in the direction of artists whose work ought to be reconsidered, and records and songs that may be worth mining for musical ideas. In the coming months, I'll be offering up New Influences on this site, and who knows, maybe someone out there will find themselves inspired. The artists and songs I plan to spotlight are generally well-known, and many will have something of a legacy, though usually restricted to their particular genre. I don't ask that people clone these songs, but instead give thought to what makes them tick, and apply that to their own work.

I posted this final paragraph in it's entirety to ensure nothing is taken out of context. My first problem with the ideas contained in the above paragraph is that it implicitly implies that all or, quite frankly, any band or musician would like to cater to any one person's tastes, in this case, Mr. Perpetua's. To be blunt: Who cares what Mr. Perpetua wants to hear? To be specific: it's not that I don't care about Mr. Perpetua's opinion on recorded music. To the contrary, I've been reading Fluxblog every single day since 2004. I have discovered countless new bands from reading Fluxblog and have checked out many of Mr. Perpetua's non-Fluxblog writing endeavors. What I am saying is that a rock critic giving "tips" or "pointing artists in the right direction" is exactly the same as a record executive suggesting a band change it's sound to make it more commercially viable. In this case Mr. Perpetua's isn't concerned with giving tips for commercial viability, he is giving tips on how to become a band that Mr. Perpetua would enjoy. Oh how blessed is the music community now that we know how to please the writer of Fluxblog!

The most egrerious offense that Mr. Perpetua goes on to commit is that rather than highlight new bands that are waving the flag of originality or innovation in his opinion, he decides he is now going to give bands suggestions on who to be influenced by. Basically, in this instance, Mr. Perpetua treats music creation like his own Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Now, I consider myself more of a critic than a musician, but I was always under the impression, perhaps naively, that artists created music that expressed what they were feeling, following their muse, no matter how misguided. Obviously this is a generalization, but it should be noted that for someone to explicitly suggest what bands and songs to be influenced by, any music created as a result will undoubtedly suffer from a lack of sincerity, and why shouldn't it? Mr. Perpetua is acting as svengali, someone who doesn't play in the band but suggests what bands to listen to in order to appeal solely to him. After offering up, "Miss You Much" the exceptional single from Janet Jackson's quinessential Rhythm Nation 1814, Mr. Perpetua even goes so far as telling us WHAT you should take away from the song:

I suggest that musicians focus their attention on the arrangement of "Miss You Much" rather than Jackson's vocal performance or persona, but I would be remiss not to mention that her presence is essential to the success of the piece.

To criticize his choice of song is definitely missing the point of the piece and thus pointless. It doesn't matter what song he chose: telling bands what to listen to in leiu of letting musicians choose what they want listen to based on their own taste is simply a flawed idea in and of itself.

I actually refrained from commenting on yesterday's post until I read a post on Mr. Perpetua's FluxTumblr today that was in response to a post pertaining to Fluxblug on Idolator. It was pretty similar to when I tried to give Josh Homme a brief pass on his disgusting, unforgiveable display of jock-ular homophobia only to realize by his pathetic, careless non-pology, that there is simply a difference in our fabric that will probably not be resolved. Note to sensationalists: I am not implying Mr. Perpetua is a homophobe or anything he did was on par with Mr. Homme's ignorance. It should be noted that Mr. Perpetua takes a refreshingly progressive stance on masculinity and gender. What I am trying to illustrate is that Mr. Perpetua and I have some fundamental differences on the notion of what role a critic plays within music.

The final paragraph of Mr. Perpetua's post on FluxTumblr:

Remember back in the late ’90s, and you had some critics and reissue labels going on about post-punk/punk-funk/leftfield disco, and then within a couple years, we suddenly had a wave of bands doing that sort of thing, and some of them were really quite good? There’s a lot of times when that sort of thing has happened. I definitely noticed a lot of indie types from around the world doing deliberately chart-pop type stuff after the whole “poptimist” thing set in around 2002/2003. I have no idea whether anything I’d put out there at this point in time would stick with people, but I think it’s definitely part of a critic’s job to influence working artists, and a lot of people have forgotten about that.

Without delving too much into the role of what a rock critic should be, it goes without saying that Mr. Perpetua overstates his, and all critic's importance within the realm of music. The point of music criticism is not to influence bands, it's to influence listeners as a whole. And while sure, everyone harbors fantasies of a band reading a review as constructive criticism (noted fairly eloquently in the FluxTumblr comments by Al Shipley), to outright dictate what bands can do to be deemed innovative by one person seems short sighted, baby-ish and immature. What if every band listens to Mr. Perpetua's advice and the marketed is flooded by songs that have that Perpetua sound? It is unlikely to happen, but it goes without saying that would be a frustrating as everyone trying to nick the JAMC.

While it's really tidy to note that in the 90's critics heralded a certain type of music, in this case, "postpunk/leftfield disco," later became a popular form of music in the underground, Mr. Perpetua misses two key points. One, in those cases, critics weren't sitting on a cloud passing out nuggets of wisdom about what is and what is not acceptable to be influenced by. They were simply giving records they liked praise, much like Fluxblog does wonderfully on a daily basis. Perhaps a few people who read those reviews then started bands. But if they did, they did it was on their own volition, not in the hopes of pandering to the people writing reviews.

Second and most importantly, Mr. Perpetua sells musicians a bit short to assume that musicians would start incorporating pop music in their music due to critical praise. Isn't it possible that the musicians heard the same pop music being praised and were moved on their own to incorporate it in their music?

A good rock critic should do nothing but express his unflinching and (ideally) educated opinion about what he likes and dislikes. If that critic has an interesting voice and earns the respect of readers enough to influence them to check out new bands or types of music, the rock critic has succeeded. Attitudes like Mr. Perpetua's enforce the rock critic cliche that rock critics are nothing more then suburban dads who couch their son's baseball team with a zeal that can only come from not being able to succeed at baseball himself.

But rest assured that I am not the type of guy who would criticize without coming up with a pro-active solution for Mr. Perpetua: if you want to hear music that excites you, that is chock full of influences you feel are unheralded, go start a band. Create the music you want to hear if no one is making it. But don't demand others make it for you. It has never been cheaper or easier to write and record music. Perhaps if you took the time to create music and have it laid out for people to judge freely and without much effort, you'd realize how insulting and obnoxious it would be if I then told you who your music should have been influenced by for me to like it.

In the meantime, let's all revel at what happens when rock critics make music.