10 posts tagged “400 bar”

Zack Hexum has the “Swine Cold,” a terrible mutant strain of the original “Swine Flu.” He’s dangerous and wants to spread the virus by touching people with his hands.  Don’t be fooled by his boyish good looks—ZACK HEXUM IS A MONSTER.  JK, readers!  ROFLCOPTER!* Hexum is wholly sweet and friendly and a real trooper (he played a full set plus duets with Kevin Steinman, all while battling flu-ish symptoms).  Even though he reminds me of a hot soap opera doctor, Hexum has that big boy voice that is always surprising coming from the mouths of such teeny, tiny human beings (see:  Ben Sollee).  Thursday’s show at the 400 Bar was nice and mellow, a bit beachy (if beach jams were played under low lights in dank clubs); maybe one-part pop soul, two parts college rock, and a splash of Hollister “SoCal.”  While Hexum sang confidently, head thrown back, eyes closed, heart showing—which is just, you know, sigh—I’m not sure that his lyrics had me at “hello” (mumbling musicians make me merry mrustrated).  I’d hoped that “Princess of Darkness” would be a cute-sad ode to Kelly Osbourne, but it seems, instead, to be about a gloomy wallflower type (could still be about KO).  Nevertheless, live versions of “Sun Still Shines” and “How Many Times” were enjoyable and people-pleasing (this was a “yeah, dude!” crowd) and very much the style of music that primetime TV drools over.  Zack Hexum paging Zach Braff:  “Writing any interesting screenplays about depressed twenty-something existentialists lately?”

Instead of breaking to set up more instruments, get more beer, and/or allowing patrons to smoke a motherfucking cigarette, Hexum invited Kevin Steinman on stage for a duet.  Here’s some math that you might not be aware of:  male singer + female singer = adorable/ovaries swelling.  Female singer + female singer = sexy (or, conversely, the Indigo Girls).  Male singer + male singer = asexual/mildly homoerotic**.  Watching Hexum and Steinman sing together was like watching Olympic divers—attractive bodies doing impressive things, but nobody’s getting turned on.  Possible repressed sexual urges aside, Steinman said some nice things about his duet partner—he considers Hexum a musical soulmate and they have a code word for calling each other to the stage (the Norwegian term for ‘meatball’).  Fittingly, they covered songs by iconic bands with great creative relationships, including the Beatles (“If I Fell”) and the Everly Brothers (“All I Have to Do is Dream”).  True to Steinman’s word, the pair sounded lovely; their voices complemented nicely and the harmonies were spot on.  A lot of dorky things happened on that stage (Hexum played a clarinet; Steinman played the glock; too much meatball was thrown around), but I couldn’t help smiling through most of it.

After Hexum exited, Steinman and his drummer (Troy Groenke) carried on.  I really like this combo when it’s not the White Stripes.  If a singer-songwriter isn’t ready to go full band, a positive small progression is to add a drummer to the mix; at the very least, this helps discourage the “open mic” feel of so many solo guitar acts.  I had seen Steinman play a couple months back, opening for Joe January, but in all honesty, had very little recollection of the show.  I did remember, however, that Steinman met his wife through Myspace, a fact that’s completely irrelevant and fascinating to me.  As a lyricist, Steinman writes about the romantic side of life—love, heartache, self journey, love, love, love.  In person his mild-mannered spirit and brooding good looks suit the prose; I have a hard time not imagining him tucked in the corner of a coffee shop, scribbling furiously in his moleskin journal.  While it’s difficult to breach the formulaic barriers of traditional love songs, it helps that Steinman’s M.O. doesn’t follow the route of novelty or tacky pretense; instead, he seems at a comfortable place, one where authenticity is measured by dedication to the craft.  Songs like “Home” and “Love Always Wins” (it doesn’t, but thanks) are not going to blow minds, but the whole product—the melodies, the voice, the man—is just so likeable and likeability always wins.  THEN, it was towards the end of the show and Steinman pulled a little trick from his sleeve, a sort of politically-charged, conversational verse with wit up the yin yang.  “55 Year Occupation Blues, or, Mom and Dad Won’t You Please Come Home” questions the implications of stationing American troops all over the world and speaks of Steinman’s experiences growing up in Germany while his parents taught at special Department of Defense-funded schools.  Where did this come from?  Is there more?  These are the questions I’m left with.  (Watch Steinman perform “55 Year Occupation Blues” in Berlin HERE.)

Two things must be noted:  1). I’m getting nicer in my older age, and 2). You can find more information on both artists at their respective websites and Myspace pages (see below).  Kevin Steinman will be at the 318 Café in Excelsior, MN this Friday, May 15.

* Just learned this.  I think it’s a helicopter that is rolling on the floor laughing or something.

** I’m not insinuating anything on the Internet, folks, but the two musicians did close the show with a Bert and Ernie song.  I think we can all guess what that means.

Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele - Meet Me In The Garden

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Dent May knows he sorta-kinda-maybe sounds like Jens Lekman, thank you very much.  He also gets the Stephen Merritt reference, and although the mild-mannered Mississippi native is flattered by the association, it’s obvious he wants to distance himself just enough to establish his own niche.  It makes sense, though, the comparisons; all three artists share a tongue-in-cheek humor that glorifies a very specific eccentricity—a silly reverence for serious subject matter and an almost-cutesy collection of cultural references.  On top of that, May plays a ukulele, one of four instruments that are funny simply by existing (the other three are the kazoo, the recorder and the rain stick; the keytar was also hilarious until hipsters embraced it). 

A.A. Bondy - American Hearts

Dent May opened for A.A. Bondy on Thursday at the 400 Bar.  It’s an interesting pairing:  May with his magnificent ukulele and songs about Michael Chang; Bondy with his average-sized guitar and songs about heroin.  When May stepped on stage he looked like a used bookstore employee/lover of Tron; when Bondy stepped on stage he looked like maybe he’d had a rough night.  A 21^st century odd couple, wherein May’s neurotically specific prose complements Bondy’s sloppy-sad loner blues, and the rest is beautiful history.

After all, who writes about Michael Chang (“God Loves You, Michael Chang”)?  Obviously, the same person who bemoans the banality of being an understimulated intellectual stuck in a small town (and stuck in apathy):  “college town boy get off your ass and do something / college town boy, how does it feel to be nothing?”  It hurts in a familiar way, doesn’t it?  I remember when I graduated college with a stupid art degree and was forced to get a “real job” and, as a result, essentially wasted four years of private education to collate paper.  This must be why May’s music is appealing to us average, middle-class Midwesterners:  we’re the new breed of Benjamin Braddock—dissatisfied with life for no valid reason; bored because we have too many options, none of which require much effort or struggle (the idea of blood, sweat and tears is romantic, but getting our hands dirty is gross).  When May sings “I’m over, being sober / I’m an alcoholic / I think I’ll get drunk tonight” (“I’m An Alcoholic”) it doesn’t have the same weight as when Bondy sings “Sweet, sweet heroin / won’t you be all mine / I don’t want to feel a thing / want nothing on my mind” (“Vice Rag”).  This is my one criticism of May:  occasionally his kitschy wit borders on tacky; and while satire is always a little derisive, it’s more effective if the satirist is truly a part of the group he’s mocking, and May seems just on the outskirts of authenticity.

However, believability aside, May certainly charmed the crowd, what with his adorable smallness, dorky-cool spectacles, crazy stage antics (jumping!  While holding his ukulele!), and a genuinely feel-good aura.  By the time Bondy took the stage and strummed his first bleak note, the small standing room was full and the overall mood had changed.  I was immediately reminded of that period in my life when I would drive around the lakes late at night—one continuous loop around and around, chain smoking, listening to Dusty in Memphis, and doing a lot of non-thinking thinking (you know, when your brain totally mellows but you still feel anxious); watching Bondy brought back those feelings, which sounds far too emo to take seriously, but I’m serious.  I was there, man.  I think this explains my current infatuation with “new” Americana/gothic alt-country folk (some day I’m going to find a perfectly succinct term for “new Americana gothic alt-country folk”; not this day).  Although lyrically Bondy describes a world-weariness that comes with painful experience, the honesty and blunt poetics are capable of tugging even the purest heart.  Ignoring the fact that Bondy used to front the Nirvana-esque grunge band Verbena, I’ll say this too:  where May lacked some hard-luck legitimacy, Bondy completely pulled off the “I caught my wife cheating on me, my truck broke down, I have $2 in change, how much for a swill of the cheap stuff?” look.  Perhaps it was the disjointed between-song rambling; rambling never implies a confident, sober, emotionally sound psyche (I wish I could remember, verbatim, the unintentionally amusing things that came out of his mouth).  Whatever the reason, thank you A.A. (and also thank you, Dent) for helping me to confront cheerless self-realizations and loserish tendencies.  It’s like discount therapy (with beer).

Dent May + magnificent ukulele are currently on tour with AC Newman (through mid-March) followed by SXSW and a mini-tour with Animal Collective (!).  Unfortunately, for Bondy fans, it seems his only upcoming show is Bonnaroo in June.  For more information on either musician, see links to their respective websites and Myspace below.

Addendum:  my concert date, Kate, would like it to be known, throughout the e-world, that she would not refuse sex from any of Dent May’s band members, if they offer.

All right.  I’ll just put this out there:  Joe’s a friend of mine.  You may think this makes me biased when it comes to reviewing something that he’s created, but it really doesn’t, for two reasons:  1).  I’m always honest when it comes to art, and 2).  I’m not nice.

When I first saw Joe perform solo, I remember thinking “okay, okay, good lyrics, good songs, but…” and that ‘but’ wasn’t even defined until later, while listening to some sad-sack acoustic whatever at home and deciding that most men and their guitars need more friends—friends with basses and drum kits.  Unless you’re Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith, Dylan, or Jesus it’s unlikely that you’re capable of sitting alone on stage and convincing the audience that your pain is their pain (and lest we forget that all three of those artists plugged it in/turned it up at some point during their careers (Jesus too.  Would it be tasteless to call him the original “rock revivalist?”).  Most musicians require something…meaty—a guttural oomph, a pathetically somber guitar twang, even a steady, explicit beat.  I’m sorry that I have to say this; in a dream world a man and his guitar could (and would) be enough—enough to convey the emotion behind a simple prose verse.  But before words there was sound, and I feel comfortable emphasizing the importance of having a full, distinct sound.  Basically, I’m just tired of the “singer-songwriter,” which is a horrible descriptor, because all singers should also be songwriters (and yes, I realize the naïveté of that statement.  Let’s move on).

Joe’s sound is one that requires a bit of concentration; he mumbles sometimes, and occasionally pulls back from the microphone.  It’s as engaging as it is frustrating (as someone who writes about music), since there were a few moments where I felt tempted to yell something socially inept, like “Can you please repeat that line, I forgot to take notes!”  While he doesn’t have the voice to satisfy Belle and Sebastian fans, I’m so tearfully grateful that his style fails to suggest a twee wet dream about to flood (there’s a time and place for sedate little ponderings about cute girls at the coffee shop, like at the coffee shop).  He’s not obscure at all, and I might even describe what he’s doing as obvious, but with the trickiness of semantics, I don’t want our readers to think I’m calling his music trite or played out.  The contrary, actually, I use ‘obvious’ in the same way that someone might say “I understand what you’re doing because I feel the same.” 

It’s also obvious that Joe is interested in the technical side of music-making; listen to his covers—“Bennie and the Jets” is no longer a showy, middle-age foot stomper (bless Elton John), instead he performs it understated, stripped of flamboyance; there’s even a slight bucolic quality (its sparse rhythm lends itself to late-night country driving).  Isaac Hayes’s “Shaft” theme (you heard me) is similarly made-under as a cool, semi-serious/still-funny, semi-foxy/still-funny tribute to the greatest, self-proclaimed sex machine (intermixed with Dionne Warwick’s “Walk On By”; admittedly, I didn’t recognize this at first, or it didn’t register; a testament to Joe’s musical reupholstering?).  Besides the covers, Joe reserved ample time for original songs, most of which, I’d assume, are candidates for his upcoming record.  “Oh Lilly” is catchy enough, an anti-weepy reflection on heartache and heartbreak that ends with the question no girl ever wants to hear (“You know I want you / but do I need you?”).  “Keep it Together,” one of my faves from earlier shows, resonated better with the addition of the band; other songs were played solo and sounded fine, if not slightly incomplete.  Perhaps this feeling was amplified by how awkwardly everyone repositioned themselves/left the stage; I thought maybe they were practicing for the encore “fake-out.”  Awkwardness notwithstanding (and let’s be real here, who doesn’t appreciate a few minutes of uncomfortable silence to buy more beer?), I thoroughly enjoyed the music and thoroughly recommend it, and yes, my biases are showing.  I don’t care, go support the rock.

Joe and his guitar are playing every Thursday this month at the 400 Bar in Minneapolis.  He’s joined on stage by John Taillon (bass) and Dave Mehling (drums).  For more information:  Myspace and 400 Bar.

For Minnesota Eyes Only:  Weekend Happenings

I have no way of knowing how many of you readers are from Minnesota (my hometown, Vu’s hometown).  Maybe everyone could leave a comment stating their current location (just kidding.  Don’t), and also a personal address and bank account number (not kidding.  Do).  No need to worry, it’s just for statistics and for watching you via Google Earth.

For those of you in Minnesota, here’s a brief selection of upcoming local shows I urge you to check out:

Joe January @ the 400 Bar
Thursdays in February
Doors 8 p.m., 18+
$5 adv / door

This Thursday, Feb. 5, Joe January (formerly of Planes for Spaces) is kicking off a month-long residency at the 400 Bar in anticipation of the release of Broken Record, his debut solo album.  Joe’s niche seems to be rooted in the classics:  classic rock, a little folk-y, a little East Village troubadour, but without the conscious dive into world-weary On the Road blues that so many corn-fed Northerners are fond of emulating (thanks Beat Generation, Bob Dylan and Berkeley).  Besides new songs, Joe will also be unveiling new faces:  he’ll be performing with full band, ready to bring it (the rock).  Courtney Yasmineh opens.

http://myspace.com/joejanuary
Ticketing info: www.400bar.com

Tapes 'N Tapes on Tour

Tapes N Tapes-Le Ruse

89.3 The Current and Vita.mn present Tapes ‘N Tapes
Friday, Feb. 6
First Ave., Mainroom
Doors 8:00 p.m., 18+
$12 adv / $14 door

Vu mentioned Tapes ‘N Tapes in his silly “double names” post (he calls them ‘bouncy’ and ‘dancey’; I call them ‘lucky’).  Lucky that they’re playing First Ave. on Friday, since Minneapolis is their homegirl.  Despite Walk it Off being “eh,” and fuzzy guitar-driven indie rock becoming sort of “meh,” I’m anticipating a packed show.  I’ll be there to review openers Wild Light (harmonica-friendly, ‘fuck’-friendly anthem pop), ogle Erik Appelwick, and, of course, bounce and dance.  Solid Gold and DJs TRL and Wes Winship also open.

myspace.com/tapesntapes
www.tapesntapes.com
Ticketing info: www.first-avenue.com

Me and My Arrow

Fort Wilson Riot @ the 7^th St. Entry
Saturday, Feb. 7
Doors 9:00 p.m., 18+
$6 adv / door

Very few bands can cite “performed a rock opera” as an accomplishment (and some should never have tried; see Ciara, “crunk opera”).  Fort Wilson Riot is suited for this kind of grandiose musical adventure, as their sound blends elements of pop, funk, jazz and rock, daring to be over-the-top, and yet managing to avoid smarmy schmaltz (it helps that Amy Hager has a lovely, big voice).  The very attractive band (guitarist Jacob Mullis looks like Joaquin Phoenix) is opening for local Broken Social Scene fan-kids Me and My Arrow (every town has one), with Speed’s the Name and Ice Palace.

myspace.com/24340438
www.fortwilsonriot.com
Ticketing info: www.first-avenue.com

For future planning:

It's Not Impossible

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Ben Sollee sings like an angel.  A small, winsome angel in a JCrew pullover.  It’s not easy keeping pure of thought, considering this angel plays the cello with the gusto of a wayward prep school dropout on the cusp of a musical revelation (classically trained but has a secret naughty stash of Muddy Waters albums).  Part blue-eyed soul, part nu-folk, with a little easy-on-the-ears Americana thrown in, Sollee has tapped into the same ripe patch that birthed brother angels Andrew Bird and M. Ward.  While he may not have quite the bearded following as Bird, it seems that Sollee has found a comfortable niche half-way between ‘quirky elegance’ and ‘coffee shop troubadour.’  His debut album, Learning to Bend, is very nice, but it feels pointless to praise a musician for his studio work when it’s obvious he’s meant to be heard in real life, in a real dirty club, really intimate and really real, flaws and all.

Ben and his cello played a real, flaw-filled, beautiful show at the 400 Bar last Tuesday.  The crowd was respectful and hushed, which made the few minutes between songs almost unbearably polite (even the cranks that linger close to the bar were strangely mute).  Perhaps everyone was thinking the same thing:  who is this tiny person?  I know what I was thinking:  who’d a thought the cello could be sexy?  (I won’t even bring up the implications of straddling a large, wooden apparatus.)  I’m sure most of us attribute the cello to plain Asian girls in loose-fitting chinos and bobby socks.  Besides Yo-Yo Ma, I can’t even name a professional cellist (and let’s be honest, while ridiculously talented, Yo-Yo Ma doesn’t exactly inspire tingling loins).  But watching Sollee bow and strum and pluck at his instrument was…inspiring, to say the least.  I could easily come up with at least a dozen more sly synonyms for ‘instrument’ (‘sleek music-maker,’ ‘big, strong love tool’) but I won’t.  I already feel slightly creepy for talking so frank about an NPR-revered musician (“Top 10 Great Unknown Artists of 2007”).  Nonetheless, these things must be said and the show must go on.

Ben Sollee - A Change is Gonna Come

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For me, one of the highlights of Sollee’s show was his interpretation of Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come.”  This song has been stuck in my head for, literally, the last year, ever since it became the unofficial mantra for GObama 08.  It was ballsy of Sollee to take such a classic political anthem and change the lyrics, but his voice suits the style, and so I feel OK about his creative bastardization (normally I would hate him for it, on principle).  Other performance highlights:  a short cover of “Crazy” (Gnarls Barkley); Sollee’s preface to “Bury Me with My Car,” in which he confused us simpletons with his book smarts; A solo rendition of “Only a Song” (originally recorded with Jim James of My Morning Jacket); and the encore fake-out “fake out” (you know, when a musician/band starts to leave the stage and then makes a comment like, “I never understood the point of leaving the stage”)—Sollee said something similar but I didn’t roll my eyes like I usually do when a musician tries to be “witty,” therefore, it must be love. 

Ben Sollee and his big, strong love tool are currently on tour.  For more information, visit his official website at www.bensollee.com or his Myspace at www.myspace.com/bensollee.

As a side note, I’d briefly like to mention Kentucky artist, Phillip March Jones, whose work is being featured during Sollee’s tour (t-shirts, stage set).  Jones is the first artist that Sollee’s collaborated with, but hopefully not the last (Sollee talked a bit about his desire to continue building partnerships with new visual artists).  The stage backdrop will be auctioned off for charity at the end of the tour.  Please check out:  www.phillipmarchjones.com.