Last night, while you were busy not standing in line with a printout of your MySpace profile with Secret Shows in your top friends on Bleecker St., these people were:
Honestly, was Gelmania at Rififi worth it? Yeah, probably. But acknowledge the awesomeness that must have been seeing Neil fucking Diamond at a place as tiny as the Bitter End (capacity: 110 JD McNugents), down in the NYU drinking quad Village. Speaking of, the Voice got setlist:
"Solitary Man"
"Don't Go There"
"Home Before Dark"
"Really Amazing Grace"
"Kentucky Woman"
"Cherry, Cherry"
"Sweet Caroline"
By Amrit Singh & Brandon Stosuy
When we arrived Sunday we didn't have to wait in line or battle our way through the parking lots. Not because we're some important VIP's -- there just wasn't anyone there. The crowd picked up a bit throughout the day, and was more than respectable for the last couple nighttime sets, but otherwise this felt like a graveyard filled with palm trees and girls in bikinis. Yes.
The first band we caught was Holy Fuck (our least favorite of the current crop of "fuck" bands). OK, sure, we liked it better when Faust -- or insert some other Kraut-y name, or Cul De Sac, if you will -- did it, but Holy Fuck had plenty of energy, looked happy to be there, and own interesting equipment. It's the little things. Still, The Toronto quartet sound pretty much the same as they did two years ago, so we're trying to figure out the sudden popularity surge. Ideas: Crowds have come to terms with how much they love to chant "Holy Fuck" (as they did at the Gobi Tent), indie-rock kids are have since learned how to dance and groove to instrumental acts ala Battles, or people went and got them confused with Fuck Buttons or Fucked Up.
We went from Holy's set to see I'm From Barcelona: Yes, everyone fit on stage. The confetti poured off of it, though. After working the audience into a froth, members of the band spilled off the stage, some into the audience and onto the makeshift dance floor, while others stood on the crowd barrier and cheered folks onward. This many happy Swedes makes up for the Field's cancellation. As did other Swedish folks, Shout Out Louds, who sounded a lot like Robert Smith and friends -- but not in a trill Black Kids way -- out on the Coachella Stage. Nothing amazing, but solid. Hooray for Sweden.
Swervedriver were more than solid, but sadly the Mojave Tent was only 1/3 filled (if that) during the band's reunion set. Sonically, Adam Franklin & Co sounded great -- the heavy interplay of those muscular shoegaze guitars washed over us, brought us right back to Raise and Mezcal Head. We look forward to the sold out Bowery show, sirs (tix for Music Hall of Williamsburg are nearly gone -- get 'em, you'll be happy). In the Mojave's following set, fellow classic Brits Spiritualized had more luck with the attendance, though Jason Pierce & Co had plenty of feedback swells/sound problems for the first few songs in their Acoustic Mainlines set. Still, it's hard not to like "Lord Let It Rain On Me," "True Love Will Find You," and "Hey Man," etc., backed by three perfectly pitched female gospel vocalists and a small string section.
After catching two bands we loved as teenagers, we figured we should see an actor who once did a good job playing a teenager.
By Brandon Stosuy
For their first U.S. show in close to a decade, Portishead showed up as a chilly six-piece, delivering Coachella's set to beat: Beth Gibbons, intense in black, looked both devastated and triumphant while Geoff Barrow rotated between drums/electronics/turntables, and Adrian Utley manned various guitars. The Bristolers brought it -- both the sound and their performances were great. Mixing up oldies/newbies in a stream of icy "trip-hop" that managed to turn the slight Indio breeze into something capable of causing goosebumps, they opened with prematurely (and presently) loved Third opener "Silence" -- they did know what we wanted! -- following it with a mix from all their studio albums: Dummy ("Glory Box," "Wandering Star," "Sour Times," etc.), Portishead ("Cowboys," "Over,") and Third ("The Rip" and its white horses, "Machine Gun," "Threads"), etc. Consider us blown away. Don't believe the hype? Listen for yourself, but imagine it coming through really big speakers. Supplement the audio with these visuals:
By Amrit Singh & Brandon Stosuy
Well, this was the best Saturday we've had in awhile. We started the day with an afternoon set by SM & the Jicks. Malkmus, properly protected from the UV rays in his shades, outback hat, and long-sleeved shirt rolled-up just so, tempered the heat with his as-usual funny between-song banter: "M.I.A. says hi," "I'll get Jack Johnson on your ass...," etc. At one point, commenting on the temperature, comparing April in Indio to July in Stockton (Mike Clark chimed in that it was like Portland in 20 years), he rattled into an a cappella chorusing of "Black Hole Sun" before noting "If I had that song, I'd be there," (i.e. the main stage). "But I don't, so I'm here," (i.e. not the main stage). That's right, bitch. And the music? They sounded great and noisy, focusing on Real Emotional Trash: "Dragonfly Pie," "Elmo Delmo," "Hopscotch Willie," "Cold Sun," "Gardenia," "We Can't Help You," etc. Sorry, "Range Life" requester guy -- maybe some other time.
After Malkmus we headed to that aforementioned Main Stage to see Death Cab's Narrow Stairs stuff live. As someone in the audience noted the moment the band made their way onto stage: "Ben, you've lost weight!" Also, he lost the glasses. And bassist Nick Harmer gained the ability to look exactly like Zach Galifianakis...
By Amrit Singh & Brandon Stosuy
You know what sucked for every band following Les Savy Fav yesterday? The fact that they had to follow Les Savy Fav yesterday. Under intensely blazing Indio heat, Harrington and his hockey blogging art-punkers set the bar high for hijinx and outright spectacle right from the go, with Tim coming out in miner's gear, yelling "Daggummit, get off my property!" and then revealing there were 500 gold coins buried under our feet. Of course the old timey character was stripped by song two, replaced by red skivvies and a trash bag. The combo of bright sun ("Hey sun we dare you to get hotter you puss bag!") + Tim's reflectively white belly made for some washed out photos, but you'll get a sense of all the sweat that descended. Also on the menu: Tim whipping out his prick (sort of), riding kids like horses, and soul kissing two dudes and a girl front row. As much as we highlight those antics, though, know that as always Les Savy Fav also brought the hot rock. We could've gone home happy if there weren't 11 more bands to see.
By Amrit Singh & Brandon Stosuy
While watching Verve's main stage set last night we found ourselves wondering something we don't usually wonder: What would it be like to live inside the head of Richard Ashcroft for a day? The lanky, impeccably cheekboned vocalist -- who can easily pull off wearing a shirt opened to the bottom two buttons, all the better to make room for his gem-encrusted cross -- has such an obvious god complex (does god swagger?), but manages to channel it in a way that you don't hate him. It's more like, "This man was born to be nothing but a rock star." And we need more people like that. More of that rock pomposity in the age of MySpace and everyone-has-a-band, etc.
He started the set in appropriately dramatic action, giving a "this is music!" shout, before easing into the song of the same name and shifting into "Space In Time" and "Sonnet." They focused on the hits: "Lucky Man," "Life's An Ocean," and "The Drugs Don't Work," among others, but the song that received the biggest crowd swell was a dramatic, starry-sky "Bitter Sweet Symphony" (shooting star just before they hit the stage, true story, recalling "Hyperballad" last year). Ashcroft, who said he was leaving for Las Vegas after the set, dedicated the anthem to Hunter S. Thompson. With beers at $7 a pop and not being allowed outside the Beer Garden, we were way too far from the gonzo new-journalist's mindset, but hey, why quibble.
They also performed the newish track "Sit And Wonder." We stood and wondered why they'd bother with new material, since the crowd clearly wanted the old hits, but gods must create (or as Richard put it "new music is what this band does."). It wasn't horrible, but it felt labored, the bass-line self-consciously funky, and the overall structure less flowing than the rest of the set. It reminded us of Happy Mondays, basically, which in the end offered another opportunity for Ashcroft to prance and primp. Which is why you came to watch 'em. Cue the smoke machine.
Click on for video of "Bittersweet Symphony," and photos of Richard's cheekbones.
Say what you will about Paul Simon, dude from Los Lobos, but the guy's written more of the Great American Songbook than anyone playing Coachella this weekend. Aside from Prince. And Black Kids. Last night a motley crew of performers descended upon the Howard Gilman Opera House for Brooklyn Academy Of Music's month-long celebration of the Simon catalog. Earlier this month, we saw David Byrne visit Graceland at BAM and that was sort of thrilling. That was part of "Under African Skies" night. Last night's American theme ("Simon revisits the quiet railway stations, urban rhythms, and immigrant dreams of his greatest American tunes," according to the event program) resulted in a more mixed bag. A bag of Josh Groban.
Saturday night's Live featured Ashton Kutcher as host, Ashton Kutcher in one too many Cool Pix commercials, and Gnarls Barkley as musical guest. We never got around to posting Gnarls's show at Highline Ballroom with Santogold last Thursday, maybe because we were a little underwhelmed. "This is an overpaid dress rehearsal," Cee-Lo joked sometime after dropping his mic (think he had a few drinks more than the two we saw him take onstage). And it was true: They were dressed (in their '50s finest, Cee-Lo wig and all), and it was a rehearsal. A damn fine rehearsal, sure -- dude can sing, Danger's a subtly smooth character -- but compared to the lastfewtimes we'd seen the duo get Gnarls-y, it was just sloppy. The crowd ate it up, at least. And, more consolation: this performance of "Run" from SNL shows that Gnarls ticket holders have absolutely nothing to worry about. Highline was the first time they'd played the Odd Couple stuff. By Saturday night, "Run" was already killing it. Observe:
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