art is the new religion

Ridiculous Videos

Earlier today my coworker told me he has been "out of touch" and I responded by telling him how I wanted to sing Hall & Oates' "Out Of Touch" to him.  But seeing as he's only 21 years old, he wouldn't appreciate my song so I just linked him to this video.

Yet another genius video from Hall & Oates.  Giant drums!  You can dance inside them, and if you're not careful they will crush you.  There are so many good dance moves in this video.  Why aren't music videos this fun and entertaining anymore?  Slow motion cartwheels!  They don't always have to be such serious business.

Ryan Adams gets it.

I'm also a fan of this one by The Go Team.

More Bands Should Use Twitter

I just read that the band A Fine Frenzy has been using Twitter to post updates while they're on the road.

I think this is a great idea.  It's interesting enough content for fans and it's a really low maintenance way for artists to keep in touch.  It's often difficult for an artist to find a regular and reliable internet connection while they're on the road, but everyone's got a cell phone or mobile device handy. 

I checked out A Fine Frenzy this morning and, while she's really pretty, I found the music a bit underwhelming.  Plus, the chorus to this song reminds me too much of James Blunt's "Goodbye My Lover", and I really resent anyone or anything that makes me think of James Blunt.

Is This Anything?: Dandi Wind

You know that segment on Letterman where they pull the curtains back, show Paul and Dave some sort of object or action, and then they answer the question:  "Is this anything?"  I ask myself that question from time to time, especially when it comes to music.

What I'm thinking of right now is a performance that's happening in San Francisco tonight:  Dandi Wind, featuring the vocal stylings of Ms. Dandilion Wind Opaine.  In my SFist column last week I described her as (pardon the use of the royal "we"):

a truly unique musician and performing artist. Imagine electro-art-punk delivered by a leotard-clad woman whose moves are equal parts Mick Jagger and Jazzercise. (We'll spare you from our impulse to coin the term Jagger-cise.  Or will we?) 

See what I'm talking about here:

I'm not really recommending Dandi Wind, I'm not even sure how I feel about it.  Is this avant garde performance art with a great beat, or a case of style over substance?  Yeah, so.  Is this anything?

Concert Review: The Swell Season

Walking up Sanchez Street on my  way to the Noe Valley Ministry, I passed by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglová (a.k.a. The Swell Season) strolling smilingly toward 24th Street, not a care in the world.  They didn't look like two musicians preparing for a concert and they certainly didn't give off the air of being the stars of Once, a truly incredible film that's currently playing in theaters.  They were enjoying each other and the calm, cool twilight - a sure sign that it was going to be a good night.

The Saturday before last, I saw The Swell Season at Noe Valley Ministry, a small church that's home to the Noe Valley Music Series.  I arrived just as the doors opened, in hopes of grabbing a seat near the stage, but my friend Harold and I were stopped in our tracks when my name wasn't on the list.  (Again.  What's with my guest list luck these days?)  Seeing as the ticket taker was a young woman sitting at a card table, and not a seasoned professional sealed behind a glass partition, we resolved to talk our way in this time.  Ninety minutes, another street-side Glen and Marketa sighting (this time with his arm wrapped around her) and several conversations with Howard the tour manager later, we were escorted upstairs to a wooden bench at the side of the room, about 20 feet from the stage.  The wait was worth it, because we had a clear view. We'd missed the opener and were seated just minutes before Glen and Marketa came to the stage, which was sparsely set with a piano and acoustic guitar and flanked on both sides by an overflow of audience members sitting in the wings.  Glen played the same acoustic guitar with the shredded body that he plays in the film and Marketa spent most of the set playing piano.  From my angle to the stage, I could see her hands reflected in the piano's top, mirroring her movements to us like a chef's at cooking class.

It seemed that most of the audience had seen the film Once that stars Glen and Czech songstress Marketa as a struggling street busker and an inquisitive, aspiring singer, respectively.  The set consisted mostly of songs from the film, several of which elicited enthusiastic whoops just in their first few notes.  This wasn't just a performance by a great acoustic duo; there were so many layers to what was happening.  Here were two musicians, friends and collaborators in real life, who'd made a movie - a movie in which their characters nurtured a great love for each other - and they were performing the soundtrack while stealing glances and beaming smiles at each other from across the stage.  Perhaps I was projecting their film characters' emotions onto the real people, but trust me when I tell you there was a whole lot of love on that stage.  A few times Glen called "Mar" (his nickname for her) over with a nod of his head to come share his microphone on a duet and the intimacy almost made me feel like I was intruding on a private moment. But this was a rare occasion when the audience and the performers were truly sharing a moment in time and an experience together. 

It's clear that those who have seen this film have been hugely touched by it, but it seems as though this fact was just dawning on Glen and Mar during this short tour through the U.S.  Glen spoke candidly about his experience with the film's fans, describing how he and Marketa would be hanging out in Ireland as they always do, but that more and more strangers would approach them to talk about their appreciation of the movie.  He noticed that the fans were pretty much all Americans, and when they set foot in New York City to start the tour a few weeks prior, they were overwhelmed by the positive response they got.  As the frontman for the band The Frames, Glen described having spent the past 17 years always begging for a few more people to come to their next show, joking that by accumulating five new fans each time they came through a city, they could fill a decent-sized venue by the time he was in his 60's.  After all that work, he described the response to the film feeling like doggedly tapping the world on the shoulder over and over for years and it finally turning around and saying "OK, what do you want?"  He pantomimed a startled face with wide, blinking eyes as the punch line.  Marketa had the best response to his recent shock;  he recounted her telling him: "Well if you're going to flirt with popularity, don't be surprised when it turns around and offers you sex."  She didn't say much in the live setting, but you can tell she has a lot to say behind the scenes.

With perfect acoustics and all the love in the room, the audience didn't want to see the show end, and Glen and Marketa didn't seem to mind drawing it out a little longer either.  It was the end of their short tour and after spending some down time at the beach that afternoon, they'd enjoyed a walk around Noe Valley prior to the show.  Was it always this cold and foggy this time of year, Glen asked?  "Yes," the audience said in unison.  "Wonderful!" he said with a sincere and wistful smile.  They granted the audience two encores and Glen lead a singalong to "Banana Man", a hilarious song he wrote for his neice ("B-A-N-A-N-A-ah spells banana-ah!").  A little girl in the front row, asleep on her mother's lap, woke for the song and accepted Glen's invitation to dance on the stage during it.  I've described shows as "intimate" before, but this was beyond anything I've experienced; it was like the wall between performer and audience dissolved and we were all just having a great time in someone's giant living room.

Once is an incredible film and you owe it to yourself to go see it.  *I'm grateful to have gotten the chance to see Glen and Marketa at Noe Valley; it will go down as one of the most special shows I've ever seen.  I have a hunch that next time I get to see them it will be in a much larger venue, and they'll have some Grammys and Oscars under their belts.

Photos by Steve Frauenfeld, who was sitting right near us and didn't mind us accosting him for permission to use his best shots.  Please visit his Flickr page and Etsy shop.

Watch the trailer for Once:

car radio, all acting tough

It's no secret I'm obsessed with music.  I've spent the majority of my career in the music industry (my current job being the single exception), many of my friends are musicians, I've been to hundreds of shows, I own thousands of CDs, a record player, plenty of records, a few iPods, etc., the list goes on.

So here's my sad, sad secret:  I haven't had a functioning stereo in my car for the past three or four years.

Well, that's not exactly true.  My car stereo sort of functions.  Here's what happened.  I'd bought a cheap new Chevy back in Houston right before I moved to San Francisco and made sure it had a factory installed CD player for the long road trip out here.  And once I got here, like I would have when I was in Texas, I left a few CDs scattered on the floorboard of the passenger's side one night.  My car was parked on the street near the Panhandle (that's part of Golden Gate Park for you non-Californians) and when I got to it the next morning, the window was smashed out and the CDs were gone.  So some derelict had caused two hundred dollars' worth of damage to my car just to swipe maybe five CDs that they could sell for what, $25 tops?  Welcome to San Francisco.

      [[ Suggested soundtrack to this post:  Spoon's "Car Radio" from the must-own album A Series of Sneaks  ]]

What I should have done was get the window replaced right then and there.  Do not pass go, definitely do not collect $200. But I waited.  I taped a trash bag over my window and figured I'd deal with it in a day or two when I was less traumatized.  And then one morning I went out to my car, this time parked in relatively safe neighborhood of Bernal Heights, and saw that the trunk was wide open.  Odd.  Oh, I see: another derelict had ransacked my trunk and glove compartment, sawed through my dashboard and ripped the buttons off my factory-installed stereo.  He left a knife and a cigarette butt inside the car as souvenirs.  At that point I'd learned enough to know that the San Francisco cops weren't going to be bothered by a stolen stereo, so I didn't even bother to report it. 

Truth be told, I'd had enough car woes at that point, between being broken into, backed into, burglarized and ticketed, ticketed, ticketed, that I completely gave up on my car.  I figured why fix anything if it's just going to get violated again?  So I didn't replace my stereo.

Out of sheer boredom, I found out that the guts of the radio it still worked.  I could press the little metal rods where the volume and tuner buttons used to be and could listen to the radio just fine.  Of course, there was no display to go by -- just some metal and a few rods and the slot where the CD should go (forever jammed with my Best of Stevie Nicks CD).  So I learned to tune into stations I wanted to hear by turning the metal tuning rod and counting each click.  There was a four-station span between 96.5 and somewhere in the 99's that I would 'shuffle' through -- click-click-click-click-click -- easy listening to slow jams, Chicago to Cameo.  Each time a new person got into my car they'd see the gaping, buttonless metal expanse and invariably say, "Whoa, what happened to your stereo?"  And I was happy to regale them with the woes of being a car owner in the bay area. 

I've lived with my buttonless stereo for several years now.  I've gotten savvy enough so that I only get maybe two or three parking tickets a year now (down from one or two each month), but you can't be savvy enough to avoid being rear ended by a taxi driver in the 15 mile per hour merge lane at SFO.  And don't even ask me about Black Thursday.  But I think I've reached a peace with my car in this city. We've avoided any major mishaps for probably a good year or more. 

Which is maybe why I decided, finally, to buy a new car stereo.  Detachable face of course, and compatible with my Nano.  I picked it up a few days ago, and it's been overwhelming.  I can tune into any station I want with pre-set buttons.  I have a volume knob.  And once I figure out how to hook up my Nano, I'll be able to listen to my own music.  I can't wait until one of my friends hops in my car and wants to play me their new CD, and I can finally say "Be my guest".

It's like having a whole new lease on life.  I almost wish my work commute were longer than 10 minutes. 

I said almost.

When The Lights Go Down In The City

My latest installment of When The Lights Go Down In The City is up on SFist.  I'm giving away two copies of John Vanderslice's latest Emerald City and I also have short show reviews for St. Vincent at Cafe Du Nord and Rufus Wainwright at Nob Hill Masonic Auditorium last Friday.

 

So go read it!  Please and thanks.  And if you like it, click that little link at the bottom of the post that says "Recommend this".

Then watch JV's video for "Time To Go":

Listen Up: Fionn Regan

Fionn Regan's debut album The End of History came in the mail to me along with Ryan Adams' latest, in a package from their label Lost Highway.  He came in good company so I had to check it out.

Fionn's a young Irish singer-songwriter who writes simple melodies carried by dazzling fingerpicking on his acoustic guitar.  He's confident enough to namedrop Paul Auster in rhyming lyrics, but he also knows how not to overdo it.  His breathy melodies roll gently and pleasantly along with enough intriguing twists to keep you engaged.  This is the perfect record to relax and get lost in.  Recommended if you like Nick Drake or the mellow side of Lindsey Buckingham.

Watch his video for "Be Good Or Be Gone":

The End of History is out now.

Ann Wilson's Solo Outing

I missed Heart at the Mountain Winery on Wednesday night, but I was excited to get this good news in my mailbox:  Ann Wilson is releasing her first-ever solo record called Hope & Glory on September 11th through Zoe/Rounder. 

The first track off the album is a cover of Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song", which seems perhaps a little too obvious, but the results are good. 

Ann Wilson - "Immigrant Song"

I'd frankly be happy to hear Ann sing the phone book, because she has one of the best rock n' roll voices of all time.  This record's a collection of covers with social significance, featuring guest spots by Alison Krauss, Rufus Wainwright (swoon!), Gretchen Wilson and of course sister Nancy.  Her duet with Elton John ("Where To Now St. Peter", streaming here) kind of overwhelmed me at first; he really attacks his part with gusto.

At the latest VH1 Rock Honors event, Gretchen Wilson amazingly survived covering "Barracuda", a song that will kill many lesser singers. 

While I have to give Gretchen two snaps up for her efforts, I really don't understand the point of having a tribute cover band - however famous they may be - when the real thing is there at the event to perform as well.  I would have rather just listened to Ann sing all night.

Speaking of, let's listen to the real "Barracuda":

Show Review: Eisley at Cafe Du Nord in SF

Eisley's show last Thursday at Swedish American Hall was a rare chance to see the family outfit perform completely acoustic in an intimate setting. They'd just come off a plugged-in tour with Gomez and The Fray playing enormodomes like the Shoreline and were joking about how playing acoustic guitars is a lot more physically demanding. The quintet (three sisters, a brother and a cousin) from the tiny town of Tyler, Texas, were in good spirits during the show, demonstrating their Southern charm with self-deprecating between-song banter:

Chauntelle:  Next we're going to play a real old moldy for y'all, it's called "Telescope Eyes".
(Audience cheers)
Chauntelle, startled: Really?  I'm glad y'all like that song because...I don't.
(Audience laughs)
Chauntelle: Seriously, I wrote that foreeever ago, when I was like...
Sherri: Sixteen?
Chauntelle: Yeah like 16 or 17.
Stacy:  Someone came up to me at a show the other night and requested it but they thought it was "Tell Us Goodbyes".   
(Audience laughs)
Chauntelle:  Well that would make a whole lot more sense because the real title doesn't mean anything.  I'm serious!

Their performance was laid back, but the harmonies were spot-on and angelic as usual.  The setting of the Swedish American Hall was perfect for an acoustic show; with wood floors and beams and spare decorations, it felt like you were sitting inside the body of an acoustic guitar.   The only downfall was the lack of security. 

Now, I can't imagine an acoustic Eisley show getting out of hand, but I sure was wishing someone would crack down on the use of flash photography.  It's like one guy got brave (or ignorant) enough to flip his flash on, and when he wasn't wrestled to the ground by a security guard (which would happen in better-patrolled venues) it was like a green light turned on and every kid with a cameraphone or digital camera (seemingly most of them) started going wild.  Toward the end of the set, it felt like there were strobe lights in the room, and I got dizzy a few times.  I just barely restrained myself from screaming at a dude setting off an enormous flash over and over right by my line of vision.  I'm guessing the band was feeling blinded too, but were too polite to say anything.  There's a reason why most flash photography is banned from shows, and photographers are generally only allowed to shoot during the first three songs.

Other than that, like I said, the show was great.  And undoubtedly well-documented.  Here's a video I found on YouTube:

Eisley's new album Combinations comes out on August 14th and you can catch them, plugged-in, on tour this fall with Mute Math.

And I'm Back

Is this thing on?  Is there anybody out there?

It's been exactly one year since this here blog has seen any action, and it seemed appropriate to fire it up again in honor of my plans to see  Hall & Oates tonight at the Palace of Fine Arts Theatre. 

Hall & Oates were an indirect inspiration for me to start a blog.  Three summers ago I belonged to a mix CD exchange club which only lasted for a few months, since we were burning CDs and mailing them to each other.  The group of us kept in touch via email;  many of us had never met face to face but all shared an interest in music.  I remember composing an email for the group about the wonders of the still-fairly-new iTunes music store, because it enabled me not only to purchase Hall & Oates' 17-song greatest hits album for a bargain price of $9.99, but it also let me avoid the judgmental eyes of, say, an Amoeba Records clerk, as well as eschew the CD artwork, which no doubt would have featured several photos of both Hall and Oates, whose music I truly love but whose puffed up mullets and pastel blazers I could do without having to look at.

I can't recall if I ever sent that email to the list, but I remember thinking I wished I could archive that thought in a form more permanent than email and more public than my own written journal. I was also looking for an outlet for my long-held music obsession, since I was no longer doing it as my day job as I'd been for the past seven years.  Ahoy, blog!  art is the new religion was born at the end of July 2004.

Three years later, I've got under my belt one intense blogging dayjob and an ongoing stint as SFist's Music Editor, and while I've been blogging to larger and larger audiences it's gotten to be less personal.  I've missed this blog, and I'm back in case anyone would like to listen.  I'd hoped to bring you a new and improved blog design, but you'll just have to suffer through this one for a little while longer.

If you care to bookmark this blog, you can now do so at http://www.artisthenewreligion.com.

To circle it all back to Hall & Oates, I leave you with the most brilliantly unenthusiastic video I have ever seen: