Black Angels Ascending & Waiting To Take The Stage At Slim's
Friday San Francisco's Slim's played host to a sold-out mini "West Coast Psyche Fest", as Austin's, The Black Angels, were in town in behind last year's epic release, Phosphene Dream. The mighty Texans were supported by SF's own titans or "trip-RAWK" Sleepy Sun, for a show that blew minds and the doors of the SOMA club. While San Francisco may be viewed as the Mecca of the garage-psyche scene, anyone in the know, knows, it is more the genre's Medina. To continue the extended metaphor, Roky Erickson and the 13th Floor Elevators brought psychedelia to SF from Texas like musical Muhammads. His "freak out, drone and groan" took root in the city by the bay and the rest is as they say, one version of history. On the approach to the club it was clear that their was a lot of the infamous "Brown Acid" circulating around. I witnessed several attendees trying to get right after getting real gone before the show. Inside they were dropping like flies as the music overwhelmed some who hadn't found the right ratio of booze-to pills-to pot-to (insert psychedelic of choice). It was kind of refreshing to be in an environment that felt as authentic as the bands on the bill.
Sleepy Sun's Bret Constantino
Sleepy Sun had the audience in full rapture when I entered, delivering a truly inspired performance of the HEAVY. Their sound has always reminded me a bit of Led Zeppelin's in that it is blues-based and versatile for a genre that too often seems content to recreate instead of innovate. With the departure of former "Sun" Rachel Fannan (off pursuing her solo ambitions), I was curious how this would influence the band's dynamic. All questions were answered however, as Sleepy Sun tore through their set with a more focused and refined sensibility. Singer, Bret Constantino, was in full shaman mode confident and comfortable in his role as leader of a band that has limitless directions to explore musically. For me there is no more evident example of this than the song "Lord" off their debut Embrace. The song is a meditative piano-driven ballad with an odd time signature and a beautiful guitar hook that lazes around the core melody. Constantino has a wonderful instrument in his voice and the rest of the band have the chops to take the music to places they may still, as yet, be unaware of going. New song "Toys" hints at the possibilities that await this most interesting of local bands. Their music has a sway and often dreamlike quality to it, which suddenly erupt into punishing grooves. Having seen Sleepy Sun on several occasions over the last couple of years, this was by far my "Ah ha!" moment. 2010's Fever seems to be the tip of the iceberg for this quintet and the time spent touring has turned them a real force on stage. Constanino's natural charisma filled any void left by Fannan's absence.
The Black Angels in strobes inducing phosphene dreams...
The Black Angels have often been called purists in regard to their devotion to what some view a retro-obsessed style of music. Let me say for the record this band is as forward leaning in their music as anyone on the music scene today. Too often bands play coy with influence and inspiration, as if their music comes out of some vacuum. What The Black Angels have always done, particularly with Phosphene Dream, is appropriate the musical touchstones of previous generations into something that feels fresh and of THIS moment. This is not a band that mimics, this is a band that continues a conversation that started in the mid-60's, recontextualizing their musical heroes for these times. The wave of excitement that swept through the room when they hit the stage was palpable. They have built a devout fanbase through years of constant touring and the relentless pursuit of achieving collective transcendence in the live medium. From the pounding tribal beat of their opener, audience and band alike, were off on a journey where the destination wasn't as important as how we were going to get there.
Black Angel, Alex Maas
Bandleader Alex Maas has the kind of voice that oozes cool, while not sounding affected or studied. He's the kind of guy you want leading you into the psychedelic forest the band inhabits because you know he won't let you get too lost. Driven by the propulsive drumming juggernaut that is Stephanie Bailey, songs like "Bad Vibrations" cut a swath through Slim's. Part of the fun was watching the audience snap out of its trance when songs ended, needing time to reorient and process. Other numbers like "Sunday Afternoon" have a sass that kept people moving while remaining transfixed - not an easy feat. The Black Angels songs are often anchored, in addition to Bailey's ground and pound, by walking basslines that often tweak the blues formula just enough to make the familiar seem strange and dark. It's the one instrument that gets passed around between band members. I could see the jams taking place back in Austin with someone stumbling on a riff and "Angels" reaching for whatever instruments are within arms reach to push the idea foreword. Kyle Hunt, Nate Ryan, Christian Bland and Maas create a supernatural drone on guitar, bass, keyboards, drums, and shakers. "You On the Run" from the album Direction To See A Ghost is a perfect example of the otherworldly quality to the band's music. It sounds like the soundtrack to a Hydra's journey through the underwater world. The inventive use of strobes facing the band projected against a simple black and white wave designed backdrop, created the "phosphene dream" that inspired the album's title. The crowd was locked in with the band from the opening notes to the final tone diminished into the night air. This is "freak out" music done with elegance, respect, and a sense of ritual. You know a show is good when everyone waiting in line for the bathroom turn into a bunch of Chatty Cathy's. People left the club wild-eyed and looking for a place to go continue what The Black Angels set in motion, a fevered dream that felt communal.
A lot of stuff was being passed around, trust me...
So often I go to shows and wonder how different they would be in a more hallowed and romanticized decade. I left The Black Angels and Sleepy Sun show at Slim's knowing that there was no better experience to be had in any other dimension of time or space. This is why we go to see live music, to experience something that takes you out of the normal and inserts you into the possible. These bands prove that it is possible to have one foot in the past and the other in the future, while straddling the decades between...and that's not just the "Brown Acid" talking.
Trentemoller leads the rapture @ Mezzanine...photo by RLC
Anders Trentemoller is a Copenhagen-based electronic music producer/composer/multi-instrumentalists/remix specialist and former-DJ. With so many slashes used by people to describe what he does, the one glaring omission is live stage performer. This past Saturday night Trentemoller (the name he is commonly known by) brought the LIVE performer in full force to San Francisco’s Mezzanine for a sold out, one of a kind musical experience that is deserving of as many descriptors as the artist himself. By no means was this one man behind the glow of machines but rather a full seven-piece outfit, featuring some of the most talented Danish musicians I would imagine in any genre. Trentemoller’s music is not easily described but his live show is. In a word, Brilliant! Now for a bunch more words in an effort to capture the scene, music, and general atmosphere he created at Mezzanine.
Dark and mysterious with a touch of whimsy...photo by RLC
Having not been to the states in close to two and a half years the audience – easily as eclectic and diverse as the artist they were there to see – were clearly eager with anticipation. Trentemoller has been touring behind last year’s release of his second album Into The Great Wide Yonder. His European shows and festival appearances have been epic stagings, so I was curious as to how he would bring that to a relatively small club environment. The stage had a scrim erected across the front of it made of an industrial fabric separated into strips of reflective orange, with smaller “faux walls of fabric” set back acting to further break up the stage. This gave an interesting depth of field that worked to obscure the band partially, while filtering the various lighting arrangements into the house. Set opener, “Mash and the Fury” set the tone for a night of dark and mysterious music that builds into a release of house-inspired glory. Amidst the ominous decay of electronic sounds and atmospheric touches, were guitars that whipcracked making me think of Ennio Morricone. Only this time, The Good Bad and Ugly was set in Iceland, with Clint Eastwood riding a horse alone across a barren arctic landscape. In Trentemoller’s world, songs and sounds act as cinema as much as musical pieces, each with their own story arcs. I witnessed many dancing out these storylines. Some as post-apocalyptic nymphs or ballerinas twirling their way through digitally enhanced tundra, others as Ninjas dance-fighting their way through a crowded dance floor against an invisible foe. A look around the room reminded me of a scene lifted from Thunderdome, only with a more European fashion sensibility and much better access to bathing. The upper rim of the industrial warehouse-style club packed tight with people thrusting arms in time with the beat at the stage.
Darkness falls...photo by RLC
Midway through the set the scrim in front of the stage was lower to expose the band filtered through a wash of strobes and perfectly choreographed lighting. The type of lighting I would normally associated with a huge RAWK show by the likes of a Radiohead or Coldplay. The artist’s attention to detail came through not only in his music but also in its live representation. Trentemoller’s music often transforms from cold detachment into euphoric splashes, then, quietly morphing into what sounds like an ominous journey through a dark Nordic forest. He led the band and audience with the exuberance of a classical conductor. The set was softened by some beautiful vocal performances from Josephine Phillips and Ina Lindgreen on the songs “Even Though Your With Another Girl” and “Sycamore Feeling”. Both women are also in Danish band Darkness Falls (which Trentemoller produced), their vocals adding an ethereal quality that swept across like a warm breeze that somehow emerges out of a snowdrift. Set closer “Silver Surfer, Ghost Rider Go!!!” was a wild ride that conjured its title and had the crowd erupting into a frenzy of dance and self-expression you rarely witness in American audiences. This song fuses surf guitars with Goth and Industrial elements, and Trentemoller seemed to relish the effect it was having on the crowd. He returned for an encore shortly after it was apparent no one in the audience had any intention of going anywhere. The band throughout the show was as enthusiastic as their leader, ending the set with instruments held aloft triumphantly like conquering Vikings, fresh from the slaying Grendal. This is the kind of confidence a band used to playing HUGE festivals back in Europe bring to the table that is often missed in American Indie Rock.
No caption necessary...photo by RLC
At the end of the near two-hour performance I was left feeling like I had been through something dramatic but not overwrought, communal and special. After this performance he and his band were headed to Coachella for their festival debut there. I’m sure for the uninitiated that happen along his set, many will be converted into Arctic fairies, traipsing through a cinematic wonderland of their own creation, then entering a wormhole that deposits them back into the Southern California desert. For more on Trentemoller listen to this week’s “What Duvet Said…About Music” for a conversation I had with him prior to the show. He has also been tapped to curate a Late Night Tales compilation and as mentioned above is producing Darkness Falls first full-length release out early this summer (Trenetemoller produced EP available on iTunes). Here his remix of his own song "Shades of Marble" below, along with a video for "Silver Surfer, Ghost Rider Go!!!" from the Rokslide Festival.
These are the types of photos you get when you can't bring a camera into the show
Coachella for San Franciscans tends to last far longer than the three-days in the desert many are about to participate in. By that I mean, being the next market for bands travelling to and from the perennial “buzz bin” showcase and reunion spawning Woodstock for hipsters, we are blessed in the Bay Area to see many of the bands playing the Indio Polo Fields – all from the comfort of our own slice of far foggier hipster heaven. One of the more highly anticipated Coachella performances is the return of Polly Jean Harvey after several years of touring inactivity stateside. PJ Harvey performed at San Francisco’s Warfield Theatre last night in front of a sold-out crowd of 2,200. Harvey is on tour – by tour I mean last night’s performance, Coachella, and two shows at NYC’s Terminal 5 - supporting her latest release Let England Shake. This album is a rarefied musing on war from various perspectives, done largely in a subdued, British folk tradition, that would feel more current to people from the 19th century than those expecting the “Sheela-Ne-Gig” exhibitionism of Harvey’s indie-rock past. Harvey is an artist in the truest sense of the word. Her recent albums have reflected her dogged desire to follow whatever muse inspires her, critics and fans alike be DAMNED!
This made for an interesting setting at the Warfield where the packed house was treated to music that required attention, reflection, and perhaps most importantly, quiet, to derive the true benefit of one’s concert dollar. Sadly, save for those packed in tight on the floor and those seated in the balcony, little quiet was on display. The chatter seemed to focus largely on, “how cool it was to FINALLY see her…” and “What a HUGE fan of her music I am…” and “She’s just soooo GREAT…” BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! This should come as no surprise considering how most concert experiences have become as much a celebration of self as the music everyone gives lip-service to being there to see. As a veteran of the Coachella festival over the last few years, this “Paean to Self” is why I wasn’t interested in attending this year. The shift in recent years has been away from the music and musicians toward the attendees and their triumph of lifestyle as substance. I was hoping to escape some of that seeing Harvey at the Warfield. Alas, I spent a large part of the evening trying to navigate around over-zealous security guards, hell-bent on protecting the sovereignty of the “aisle” – which are seemingly ubiquitous – and the various pockets of chatterboxes or those texting away in a glow of communicative ecstasy. As someone interested in what Harvey had to say, it was a bit distracting to say the least.
A Victorian vision worthy of Heathcliff...photo by RLC
None of the above commentary should detract from the brilliant performance Harvey and her gifted band put on for those that chose to focus on it. A band that included longtime collaborator John Parish (bass, guitar, piano/keyboard, vocal) and legendary Bad Seed, Mick Harvey (guitar and various other instruments), along with a wonderful drummer invoked the songs with the perfect balance of heft and delicacy, which suited the material largely drawn from Let England Shake. Harvey, always an arresting performer, did not disappoint musically or visually. She entered the stage like a feather festooned, Victorian goddess, who had wandered in from a contemplative walk through the moors and crags of Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Clutching an Autoharp in a full-length, white trumpet style gown with the slightest slit revealing black knee-high Victorian leather boots and adorned with a black-feathered headdress of grandiose proportions, her face paled with theatre makeup, she was set off from the band on stage right. She delivered her songs in a powerful lilt with well-postured conviction. The show was lit using classic theatre lighting of varying shades of white and amber. Having the band offset from Harvey making her “narrator” to the bands actions complemented the stark lighting and staging – too bad this was not more of a theatre-going crowd. Early set highlights included “Let England Shake”, “The Words That Maketh Murder”, and “The Last Living Rose”. Harvey is as understated these days, as she was unhinged during the Dry and Rid Of Me period of her musical career. Even when she strapped on a guitar for songs, “This Is Love” (from Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea) or “Down By The Water” (from To Bring You My Love), she was an exercise in restraint and elegance. Her new album really was the focus of most of the show and songs like “Bitter Branches” and “In Dark Places” are easily as necessary as anything from her revered back catalog. The latter song features the wonderful vocal harmony and interplay between her and Parish. For a album based on a the relatively dark theme of war, Harvey’s songs and treatment of them live bring out the heroism and resoluteness of conviction that often lead us there.
The mysterious PJ Harvey shrouded in the blackness of war...Or, another cheap camera phone pic.
Her near two-hour set was more akin to a theatrical performance than the cathartic RAWK show some may have been expecting. The only words uttered by Harvey were heartfelt thanks at the end of the set and the introduction of her band. When she returned for an encore, which included a deliciously mysterious version of “Angelene” (off Is This Desire), that feeling of catharsis was reached for anyone that followed the dramatic arc of a performance and performer whose idiosyncrasy is rare in music these days. Simply attending a show to say you were there with pictures to prove misses the point of why we value artists in our society. In the case of someone of Harvey’s ability it is to meditate on what it means to be human and why we gather at communal events in the first place. It might just be to feel connected to some common love or celebrate the survival of the daily wars being waged on our sensibilities. In a world of distractions it would be nice if we allowed ourselves a couple of hours to simply focus, and not be distracted.
Young musicians playing live these days often come in a variety of “packages”, with several stances on display. You have “youth in revolt”, middle finger proudly raised, rallying against the world. “Apathetic youth” with hangdog disaffection and a hint of apology on full display. “Earnest youth” trying to win you over with willful community building exercises. Then there is something rarer, subtler and less contrived, performers that both exude a natural confidence, while at the same time, bearing a real and unfiltered vulnerability. I witnessed one such performer at San Francisco’s Café Du Nord opening for Ron Sexsmith on Thursday night. The performer should not be a stranger to the readers of this blog but to San Francisco she is largely unknown. Caitlin Rose was in town to mark her SF debut in support of her highly acclaimed full-length album, Own Side Now. This Nashville singer-songwriter - accompanied by Jeremy Fetzer on guitar and Spencer Cullum Jr on pedal steel – played a forty-five minute set of some of the prettiest, heartfelt, and wry songs that belie the relatively young age of Rose. Many reviewers point to pedigree to explain her precocious grasp of human nature and love’s true ways – Caitlin’s mother Liz is an acclaimed songwriter. But Liz Rose didn’t live these particular experiences, love these boys and put these words, melodies, and chords together, Caitlin did. So we can dispense with the backstory and get to the reviewing.
Three was a magic number at Cafe Du Nord...photo by RLC
It was refreshing to see a scaled back line-up, offering a break from the more traditional “rock band” set up. This really suited the individual playing and put the focus firmly on Rose’s emotive and powerful voice and the words being emitted. The older crowd gathered were largely there to see Sexsmith but many had heard the “buzz” Rose has created in Europe – where she has been whole-heartedly embraced. With each song the audience moved closer and the room filled in. Rose has an easy charm, a combination of the girl-next-door with the girl-you-wouldn’t-want-to-cross. Opener “Learning to Ride” was treated gently and served as a perfect introduction to her songs for the unfamiliar audience. The interplay between Fetzer and Cullum Jr. was a real pleasure to watch, both are studies in restraint and how one well-placed note speaks volumes.
Pay attention, you might learn something. RLC
Rose’s gifted voice can ache with the best of country music’s hallowed female singers she often gets compared to. But, there is a modern quality to how she approaches a traditional form. Her songs have just as much in common with Jackson Browne as Patsy Cline. When she played “Own Side” the stage seemed to dissolve into a bedroom, with Rose strumming her guitar, while purging the demons of her self-destructive nature on the edge of her bed. Her intro to the song “New York” was an interesting moment to watch an artist come to terms with the change in meaning for one of their songs. She noted that the song was originally written as a slag against a city she may not have been ready for yet and an unwelcomed invitation she received there but time, travel, and experience made the song come off more as a celebration of the triumphs the city represents.
Jeremy Fetzer...photo by RLC
“Spare Me” was a great mid-tempo tune that allowed Fetzer to cut lose and display some fine leads. He dials in the classic tone you associate with country music, while also underlying Rose’s vocal flourishes with subtle, delicately picked notes. The same can be said for Cullum Jr.’s truly wonderful atmospheric playing. Both musicians are steeped in the tradition without feeling soulless in the execution. If there is any justice in the music world the song “Shanghai Cigarettes” will not only be a huge hit – replacing some of the inexplicable “hits” topping country charts currently – but also, be covered by as many artists and in as many different languages as possible. Yes, it’s that good a song. It is much more in the pop vein structurally and may be a window into the types of songs Rose is capable of writing in the future. This song had every butt in the room tick-tocking in time with the driving chorus. For me one of the highlights of the set was a song that I’d never heard her perform and was treated very differently than on the album, “Comin Up”. It showcases Rose’s vulnerability as an artist and then shifts in the middle section into a bawdy honky-tonk stomp. The song captures Caitlin Rose at this point in her career, confident in who she is and tough enough to allow her personal and emotional flaws to be exposed. She is able to translate that as a performer in a way that is not affected or a stance but genuine. By the end of the set the audience was at a Caitlin Rose show as sure as they thought they were at the Ron Sexsmith show.
The NEW Sonny and the Sunsets album...the hits keep comin!
People come to San Francisco with expectations that far exceed the city's ability to deliver. The weather here, for one, betrays the California myth of sunshine year-round. It is not always sunny in California as any SF resident will tell you. But nobody told Sonny and the Sunsets on their new album, Hit After Hit, due for release next Tuesday, April 12th on Fat Possum Records. Never has a sunnier collection of songs been assembled to help deliver some much needed vitamin D into our pale-skinned and meteorologically challenged city. This is good news not only for San Franciscans but anyone who wants summer to start NOW! Hit After Hit is the follow-up to 2009's, Tomorrow Is Alright and it represents a more focused album, while losing none of the laid-back, easy charm Sonny and the Sunsets are known for. "She Plays Yo Yo With My Mind" is music made for the few sunny days we see here in SF. I imagine a girl and boy alternateingly zig-zagging their way down Valencia Street on bikes with perma-grins, wind blowing their hair back in a wordless tribute to the carefree. Sonny Smith has a seemingly effortless songwriter's touch for turning the simplest melodies, which, might sound disposable in lesser artists' hands, into something that the world needs to help sweeten our time spent here. Songs like "I Wanna Do It" and "Teenage Thugs" have a familiar quality that you can't quite place because the songs sound timeless. In fact, Sonny Smith is a man out of time. He could have just as easily been topping the charts in 1957, alongside Mikey and Slyvia, as in 1965 positioned next to the Cryan Shames on the charts, or occupying the mid-70's with Jonathan Richmond. The "Sunsets" areRyan Browne, Tahlia Harbor, and Kelley Stoltz. Stoltz, moonlighting as drummer, and Harbor contribute sweet harmonies throughout Hit After Hit, balancing Smith's tuneful story-telling. "Girls Beware" would be at home on the Dirty Dancing soundtrack and "Home and Exile" will have you reaching for the surfboard you were sure you had. The production on Hit After Hit has the perfect amount of throw-back reverb and early Stax Records inspired production. "The Bad Energy From LA Is Killing Me", in addition to having a wonderful title, is the aural equivalent of the realization that someone spiked your drink with some LSD earlier in the album, AND IT'S KICKING IN! Songs that come after like "Don't Act Dumb" and "Acres of Lust" shimmer and twinkle with psychedelic glory. While this might sound like nothing more than an homage to yesteryear, it is in fact exactly the type of idiosyncratic music that seems missing in the music landscape. These are nice songs performed by nice people in a too often bad world. We all are in need of some fun in the sun. Sonny Smith just asks in album closer "Pretend To Love Me" to , "pretend to love [him], pretend to care." He makes it awful easy with Hit After Hit. Duvet says get your bikes ready, wax up those boards, and load up the picnic basket because summer begins April 12th with the release of this record.
Shilpa Ray makes the harmonium and essential RAWK instrument...photo by RLC
Brooklyn quartet Shilpa Ray And Her Happy Hookers laid waste to San Francisco’s Bottom of the Hill last Thursday night opening for Japanese psychedelic band Acid Mothers Temple. The room was full when Ray and the Hookers took the stage and unleashed a carnival of blues-soaked, often transcendent rock tunes from their recent release, Teenage & Torture. The band is currently on a tour that takes them across the entirety of the country and they sounded battle-tested throughout the nearly hourlong set. Ray admitted to suffering from the effects of a long night in Los Angeles coinciding with “feminine issues” – which, probably no male writer should dare mention in print – Ray quipped, “No Midol can make this happen.” The diverse audience stood enraptured and offered "weed" to help medicate, to which she replied, “Oh, I forgot this is California.”
Happy Hookers, INDEED!...photo by RLC
I use the term unhinged a lot when trying to describe certain artists. In the case of Shilpa Ray And Her Happy Hookers it is a clear use of the word. But, it’s a channeled chaos funneled through some very well-written and performed songs. I went into this show expecting something more reverential and "arty". I left being fully treated to a RAWK show on par with performance heavyweights like Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds and Sonic Youth. The band has the ability to navigate between driving rock numbers like “Hookers” and “Heaven in Stereo” and the dynamic nuances inherent in those songs, with the more trance-inducing, raga-inflected vibe of a “Venus Shaver”. The through-line being the bluesy swagger and committed vocal delivery of Ray.
Shilpa Ray...photo by RLC
If the harmonium reached its peak in the early 20th century as a smaller scale pipe organ in churches, this common Indian instrument played by Ray re-constituted the Bottom of the Hill into a different kind of place of worship. The congregation was led through a mass of inventive and purposeful hymns to femininity, disease, and heartbreak. Despite the seemingly dark subject matter, Shilpa Ray And Her happy Hookers are a joyous live experience, a celebration of performance and craftsmanship. Shilpa Ray is like Patti Smith, just as unique, defiant, and powerful but remade for a generation in desperate need of a kick-in-the ass! Like Smith, Ray’s band is a ferocious contingent, particularly guitarist Andrew Bailey, who is the Lenny Kaye to Ray’s Smith. Bassist Nick Hundley provided the pulse and thunder playing off a fill-in drummer who was only playing his second show with the band – literally not missing a beat.
Hooker, Nick Hundley with Shilpa Ray...photo by RLC
The interesting thing to watch was how inspired the young women looked in the audience. In Ray they could find someone whose talent and force of will was on full display, as she owned every inch of the stage. This seemed to be modeled back by the women in the audience, singly along with straightened spines, owning their femininity in the traditionally male world of rock. This band not only deserves attention, they command it – a rarer feat in the too-kool-for-school, ironical landscape of today’s “alternative rock”. I will be sure to re-beat the drum when Shilpa Ray And Her Happy Hookers come back to San Francisco in mid-May to play Bimbo's with Philadelphia’s RAWK circus Man Man. To hear and learn more about Shilpa Ray And Her Happy Hookers listen to this week’s “What Duvet Said…About Music” Issue 24 podcast, which will feature my interview with the band immediately following their show. The podcast can be found here on Wednesday. Below is some video taken LIVE and uneditied with my trusty FlipCam.
Camera phone cameras rule because that was all I had...photo by HFC
Justin Townes Earle undoubtedly strikes an immediate presence on stage at 6’ 5” tall, lean and boyishly handsome, with an easy charm and a devilish twinkle in his eyes. But what is also clear from seeing him play to a near sell-out crowd at San Francisco’s Great American Music Hall on Tuesday night, is that in addition to all that natural charisma, he is a serious songwriter on par with his more famous namesakes. The near two-hour set drew from his entire three-album catalog, with a few well-chosen covers. Performing alongside an electric fiddle player and upright bassist, this stripped-down approach to his songs put the focus on his expressive voice and keen lyrical sensibility. Songs like, “Slipin & Slidin”, “Hard Livin”, “Mama’s Eyes” and “Christchurch Woman” (dedicated to and inspired by the recently earthquake stricken New Zealand city) speak to an honesty and truth deep inside him. Some of these songs can make you feel things you don’t want to feel and might be a little bit afraid to sit with. What was truly remarkable to watch was how engaging and dynamic a performer he can be. Most performers won’t hold your stare or look beyond the crowd gathered before them, but Earle seems to want to make sure you understand what he’s singing about, that you get it. Like his father Steve Earle and godfather Townes Van Zandt (from whom he gets his middle name) he has the ability to distill feelings into the simplest of terms.
JTE tellin' you straight...photo by HFC
At only 29 years old he has lived a hard life few of us can imagine, let alone identify with, a topic he doesn’t shy away from addressing on stage. The intros to his songs often contained biting remarks directed toward his father or explicit detailing of his battles with drugs and alcohol. However, this was tempered by a sense of humor and humility about those very same things. He seems to have accumulated the wisdom of a man twice his age, a wisdom that is chronicled in his songs but often defied in his personal life. I don’t want to characterize his set as a purely reflectional, soul-searching experience. In fact, the set varied from the shuffle of “Ain’t Waitin” and “Move Over Mama” to the bluegrass trad-country of “They Killed John Henry”, “Wanderin”, and “Boy Keep Movin”. Earle played solo for a few songs, which included a “Houston blues” he relayed Townes Van Zandt deemed essential to any set. This song highlighted how gifted a guitar player he is, as he walked the stage lost in the beauty of the notes emanating from his six string.
Haunted by ghosts...photo by RLC
The set closed with truly imaginative re-workings of “Midnight at the Movies” and “Harlem River Blues”. These songs were well suited to the more stark arrangements inflecting the former with understated elegance and stripping away the latter to its gospel core. The encore featured a commanding rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s “Racing in the Streets” off Darkness on the Edge of Town. Like Springsteen, Earle writes songs that put you in situations that you aren’t brave enough to put yourself in, but through them you get a glimpse of what it might look like for you if you were. He closed the show with another incisive and enigmatic songwriter Paul Westerberg’s, “Can’t hardly Wait”. Earle had something of a hit with the song a couple years back. There is no doubt that Justin Townes Earle will one day have his songs covered with the same reverence as his father and godfather’s songs have inspired. Already at work writing new album Earle seems to be following the advice his grandmother gave him when she told him to, “Just keep going.”
On Tuesday night at San Francisco's Rickshaw Stop Kurt Vile and Violators brought their street tough, Philly Folk to a near sold out crowd. Vile alternates between acoustic driven space ballads and prodding electric guitar stomps, all soaked in a fair amount of reverb. The Violators added sonic punch and understated flourishes with heavy doses of chiming guitars. Openers Hurling Piss delivered 90's inspired Nirvana meets Sonic Youth cum 12 bar blues, with plenty of guitar solo histronics. Co-Headliner, The Soft Pack, kicked the skinny-jeaned hipsters in their skinny little ASSES! The band has been on a seemingly endless tour and the fruits of their labour are clearly evident as their songs had a crystaline intensity. In attendance were a myriad of Indie Rock "who's whos" including members of Dum Dum Girls, Girls, and Seventeen Evergreen. The following is my Haiku review or, "Haikiew", of the show...and below is some unedited footage shot on my trusty FlipCam of Vile's song "He's Alright".
