art is the new religion

My Brightest Diamond

My Brightest Diamond, a.k.a. Shara Worden, released her second album last week.  I don't have A Thousand Shark's Teeth yet but I'm going to snag a copy on vinyl as soon as possible.  The tracks I've heard from it, online and during a live set earlier this year at SXSW, are even more haunting, gorgeous, challenging and ambitious than those on her first album.  I love to hear an artist grow, mature and stretch, filling an ever more unique shape amongst the edges of their influences.  I usually despise it when people compare artists to Jeff Buckley, either because the comparison is completely unfounded, or because the comparison just highlights outright imitation.  Shara comes close to copping a few of Jeff's most unique legacies in her vocals, songwriting and guitar tones, but for some reason I register her similarities as tributes and not theft.

I got to see Shara perform at SXSW earlier this year in a church with gorgeous acoustics.  I sat with dear friends, eating homemade cookies we bought from the churchgoing ladies while Shara serenaded us with her opera-quality voice, theatrical garb, and comfortable command of dynamics.  Watch this live performance from Other Music (a record store in NYC - I used to work right across the street from it) for a taste of Shara's talents.

Hear more of Shara's thoughts about the new record:

Shark's Teeth - Part I from My Brightest Diamond.

The copy editor in me would like to point out, due to the placement of the apostrophe in the album title, that we're talking here about one thousand teeth (which come from a shark), and not all the teeth from one thousand sharks.

• Buy A Thousand Shark's Teeth from Insound (mp3).

Ted Nugent at The Fillmore

It's been a crazy week.  I was out sick, work's been wild, and then last night I found myself at the Ted Nugent show at the Fillmore. 

As I mentioned yesterday, my friend Chris was playing with the opening artist Alex Winston.  He smuggled me into the venue before the doors opened with this impressive custom VIP pass and we caught up over a pre-show meal in the Fillmore's dining room.  We killed time before their set in the backstage area, which is really on the side of the stage on two levels.  Since Ted doesn't really spend time backstage (he probably lingers in his plush tour bus or nice hotel room and then shows up minutes before his set starts), Alex and her band had access to the main backstage room on the upper balcony. I was able to watch Alex's set from this vantage point. 

After her set concluded, the guys had to load out their gear.  I knew I had at least half an hour to kill so I left the backstage area to wander around and people watch a bit.  I'd estimate Nugent's audience to be around 85% male, and I was definitely the only female wandering around by herself.  The people watching was interesting for a little while, until I started to feel a little creeped out by the leers of drunk dudes.  I walked back up to the side balcony and attempted to re-enter the safety of the backstage area and was promptly stopped by the bouncer at the entrance.  Apparently even with my fancy VIP badge, I still needed to be escorted by a band member.  Nugent's security is pretty tight.

I sent Chris a text telling him to come save me, then took a seat on the public side of the balcony where about 40 or so fans were waiting to watch the show.  A few moments later, two burly dudes came in and ordered a few people to clear a walkway.  Then the 'Nuge himself strode in, all hat and flowing hair, long legs and smug smile. He was surrounded by about five men, all making a quick walk of the 20 or so yards to the backstage entrance.  It happened so quickly that most people just had enough time to turn their heads and smile and maybe let out a "Hey, man!"  Except for one woman:

"Teeeeed!  THAT'S TED!!!"

She wobbled to her feet and teetered after the entourage, sloppily grasping over the shoulders of the rear bodyguard.  Though her desire to touch her idol was indisputably fervent, the fact that she was at least a few drinks into her evening softened the effects of her pursuit.  She almost seemed to be grasping for him in slow motion, yelling out his name at full volume while forty other fans stood by and watched.  It didn't take Ted long to disappear behind the backstage curtains and it was over as quickly as it started, but the woman's night was made.  "That was TED F*$^IN' NUGENT!" she yelled as she tottered back to her friends, elated.  I can only imagine how many times and to how many people she'll tell this story for years to come.

I finally made my way backstage again and before reuniting with Chris I watched a few songs of Ted's set.  In addition to a fully painted backdrop, his stage set included: 

• a semi-automatic weapon (fake?)
• US flag
• California state flag
• animal skull
• animal pelt
• Ted Nugent-branded wall of amplifiers
• raccoon tail, affixed to pants

Got Me In A Stranglehold

I've been sick this week but managed to rally today, just in time to see my friend Chris who is in town tonight playing at The Fillmore in Alex Winston's band.  He says he hates when I mention my "friends" on my blog, so this should really annoy him.  Here's a video of Alex's band on this tour (Chris is the guitar player wearing glasses):

I don't know Alex's stuff very well, but I do know the headliner:  Mr. Ted Nugent.  Come on, come on up!

SXSW: Motörhead at Stubb's

"Don't forget us.  We are Motörhead.  We play rock n' %$*@ing roll."

I saw Motörhead today at 3pm at Stubb's.  I ended up with a VIP wristband thanks to my friend Steve, so I watched all the madness from the balcony, far away from the inebriated rockers in the mosh pit.

When you get the chance to see Motörhead for free, you go.

Dale Watson at Ginny's Little Longhorn

I've been really forlorn about missing my friends in San Francisco lately, and I was especially feeling it on Saturday since one of my best friends had to cancel a trip she'd planned to come visit me.  So on Sunday afternoon, I called up my friend and neighbor Elise here in Austin and asked her to go see Dale Watson with me at Ginny's Little Longhorn Saloon.  I wanted to celebrate living in Austin by doing something that was truly unique to the city.  It was a 4pm show and it's right near our neighborhood, so Elise couldn't really resist.

Austin's been pretty dead lately, especially in the area by the University of Texas campus where we live. It's between semesters and it seems everyone's gone to visit relatives outside the city.  But Ginny's was hopping to the point where the crowd was spilling out into the parking lot, and we had to hunt for parking across the street.

Ginny's is a hole in the wall joint, but it was packed from front to back for a free show by Dale Watson and for a highly anticipated round of chicken shit bingo.  Instead of catching the bingo spectacle, Elise and I staked a claim in the crowd near the bar, up by the band, eventually scoring two barstools.  Here's what the scene looked like (that's Elise waving hello at the end):

We had some Shiners and caught up, enjoying the music and watching people dance.  Dale Watson was particularly entertaining and I was delighted his band had a pedal steel player in it.  In between songs, Dale promoted the free hot dogs and chicken shit bingo and even sang a rousing song about Eduardo when he showed up with the tamales he was selling.  Yes, San Francisco, Austin has its own version of The Tamale Lady, only he's named Eduardo and he has a theme song.

I tried to shoot some footage of Dale Watson and his band but I ended up mainly documenting the dancing of one of the couples on the miniscule "dance floor".  Elise managed to get a bit of a crane shot effect by grabbing the camera and standing on her barstool, so you can see a bit of Dale toward the end:

Dale and his band play great Texas honky tonk music, and his rich voice is a classic that makes me swoon. If the dance floor at Ginny's were any bigger, I would have wanted to two-step with someone.  As it was, only Elise got asked to dance, and right after she took the silver-haired gentleman out for a spin we figured it was time to move on.

• Buy Dale Watson's new album From the Cradle to the Grave.
  

Show Review: Kathleen Edwards & Davíd Garza

Last night I went to the Continental Club to see Kathleen Edwards.  A friend of mine had been kind enough to get me on the guest list, and I was excited to see her live for the first time.  As luck would have it, my friend Davíd Garza was closing the show so I was really looking forward to the evening.  The photo of Kathleen and Davíd on the right was taken by another friend of mine, the amazing photographer Todd V. Wolfson. 

Since Kathleen's not on an official tour right now, this Austin show seemed like a one-off gig.  She started the set by herself, just her voice and an acoustic guitar, and the nearly-full venue was completely silent.  It was a great way to experience the timbre of her voice and the full force of her lyrics.  Immediately following the first song, she explained how she didn't feel rehearsed and ready, and was really hoping everyone would show up after she finished playing.  "So f@&% you guys," she said to the audience and drowned out the laughter with the start of her second song.  Her husband joined her as her only accompaniment onstage, alternating between electric and acoustic guitars.  They did indeed sound a tiny bit rusty to me, like they just couldn't agree upon exactly the same rhythm.  I thought I saw Kathleen glare at her husband and rock her guitar neck up and down now and then, as if to say follow. this. beat. please. but I was standing behind two really tall fellows so I could have just imagined it.  Aside from her forgetting how the second verse of "In State" started, the rest of the set went smoothly and it was a nice intimate show.  I'm looking forward to her new album Asking For Flowers which will be out on March 4th.

• Download "In State" and buy Kathleen Edwards' most recent album Back to Me.

Davíd kicked off the first Tuesday of a three month residency at Continental Club last night with a few songs from This Euphoria (released almost ten years ago) followed by a whole lot of jamming and dancing.  He had a full band with him including a percussionist, sax player, drummer and bassist (Chepo Pena, who I first heard when one of my college friends was obsessed with a band he was in called Sincola).  I didn't hear Davíd play many (or any?) new songs, which I thought was odd since he is always writing.  But I'd guess that each of his weekly shows for the next three months will have their own personality and diverse set lists.  I didn't get to talk to him at the gig, but he did give me a shout out from the stage toward the end of his set, welcoming me back to Austin from California (first name, last name, pointing at me, the works).  It was a little embarrassing being called out in front of the dwindling crowd, but it went along with the casual and intimate atmosphere of the show and it always feels good to hear kind words from a friend.  During his set I spied another familiar face in the room, my friend Stephanie Black who I met back when we were in college at UT but who has lived in Brooklyn for the past several years.  Turns out she was just in town for one night, so I was happy to get to hang out with her for a bit.  The set was nostalgic for me for many reasons, but in a good way.

Stephanie Black is also a great photographer.  She didn't have her "real" camera with her last night, but she shared these shots with me:

• You should buy Davíd Garza's This Euphoria because it is one of my favorite albums of all time. 

Feliz Navidad Part 2: Jose Feliciano Concert Review

This is a continuation of Feliz Navidad Part 1, in which I recount the lengths I went to in order to gain entrance to the Jose Feliciano concert on December 16th at the One World Theatre in Austin, TX.

I tried to see if I might befriend the Texas Lady who graciously handed over her extra ticket to me, especially since I was being gently caressed by the long tufts of her fox fur coat spilling into my personal space, but her body language reassured me that she wasn't interested.  So I counted my blessings and settled in to enjoy the amazing vantage point from our central seats.  During the show she gave a hoot and a holler and some enthusiastic clapping in all the right places, so I felt reassured that she did in fact like music in general and perhaps Jose Feliciano's in particular.

As the lights dimmed Jose was escorted out to a stool in the middle of the stage while his five band members took their places.  A percussionist, bassist and drummer set up behind him, and that core band was flanked by two gray-haired keyboard players on either side of the stage.  All were dressed in black and were clearly hired guns rather than long-standing band members (the bass player wore his five string bass above his belt in that tell-tale "pro" style), except for the percussionist who Jose mentioned had produced his latest album.  It was hard to tell how long the rest of the players had been touring with Jose.  Since they each had sheet music to read from, it could have been their first show for all I knew, and there was no cohesiveness to make me believe they'd been with him any longer than that. 

It's clear that Jose was the star of the show, and he had the chops and charisma to carry it, but we all know how distracting a lackluster band can be.  The percussionist was clearly the most invested, and his enthusiasm made him a pleasure to watch.  But the rhythm section was barely awake for most of the show and didn't show signs of life until well into the second half.  Especially egregious were the two keyboard players that created a visual frame around the performance:  they were the grimmest gray-haired parentheses ever to hit a live stage.  The keyboardist on the right did not crack one smile, change his facial expression, or even move any body part to any beat for the duration.  He really got my hackles up.  How dare he?  If you've grown that numb to your gig, step aside and let someone else play.  I mean, Jose was born blind in Puerto Rico, taught himself how to play guitar at a young age by listening to records, and has spent the past forty-plus years entertaining people all across the world.  That's a work ethic.  The least you could do is show some respect and not phone it in. 

I think part of why I was so offended at the lifeless band members is because it's clear that Jose came up as an entertainer and prides himself on fulfilling that role.  His entertainer persona is old school;  he spoke to the audience between each song, rattling off corny jokes, riffing on local landmarks and lore and making the obligatory self-deprecating jokes about his blindness.  Since his band members were so comatose, I couldn't tell if they'd heard all his jokes already or if he made them up on the spot.  Strangely, toward the end of the set a couple of his jokes became downright bawdy. After graciously thanking his wardrobe assistant he made a lewd wisecrack about her, and later on he made a randy seasonal pun about what he'd like to do with holly/Holly.  The piece de resistance of this blue humor was a non sequitur about confusing 'oral sex' with televangelist 'Oral Roberts,' which went over like a lead balloon (hm, ya reckon any older folks in Texas go to church?)  It was the slow degeneration of boundaries that one might normally attribute to increasing drunkenness, except he clearly didn't drink anything on stage and kept a steady composure throughout.  Fortunately the awkward jokes were few, and he'd built up enough good will to earn himself some nervous laughter and quick forgiveness.

He was also very professional and old school in taking care to introduce most of his songs, even invoking the phrase "it goes a little something like this" a few times, unironically, which I found endearing.  The set was eclectic from start to finish, with each new song presenting a change in genre.  He's performed in different styles throughout his career, starting out in his teens on the Greenwich village coffee house circuit and then recording several well-received Spanish language albums featuring his unique take on classic boleros.  His breakout hit was a Latin-tinged cover of The Doors' "Light My Fire" and the most successful original song he wrote is the holiday hit "Feliz Navidad".  He's built a career on interpreting classics and mixing things up, and was even the first artist to stylize the National Anthem while performing it during the 1968 World Series.  Thus, the band played flamenco, funk, traditional carols and soft rock favorites back to back with no tie-ins or transitions.  Once the unpredictable tone was established, I found it easy to get into the grab-bag flow of the set. 

Since the concert happened about a week before Christmas, it was clear that everyone in the room was anticipating "Feliz Navidad", one of the top 25 most recorded and played Christmas songs around the world, which he saved for the last stretch.  (He should be exceedingly rich from having written this song, but who knows what kind of publishing deal he might have signed at the tender age of 25 years old?  If anyone knows the details on this, please comment!)  But I found his rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" to be more moving, and definitely one of my favorite parts of the show.  He introduced it as a song that meant a lot to him personally, and played it alone on his acoustic guitar.  It was one of those moments where a song you've heard a thousand times suddenly sounds fresh and you're able to hear it and appreciate it in a different way.  The often silly-sounding repetition of "pa rum pa pum pum" sounded earnest and impassioned in his version.  Jose is a master interpreter.

Perhaps the highlight of the set for me was their cover of "Papa Was A Rolling Stone", which came out of nowhere, hot on the heels of a very mellow ballad.  The rhythm section drew an outline with that dead simple bass line and hi-hat rhythm which Jose filled in with the train-track wah wah on an electric guitar.  The energy in the place rose about ten feet.  Jose built an impressive intensity out of the driving rhythms and laid back pace of the melody, drawing tension from the timing.  Even the drummer showed signs of life (but not that damn keyboard player).  I was deeply satisfied by watching the bass player pluck out that repetitive six-note bassline for six or seven minutes straight.  Your fancy five string bass seems a little excessive at that point, doesn't it?  When the sickest bass line of the evening consists of a repetition of six notes?  (I've said it before and I'll say it again -- I see almost no justifiable reason for a five string bass.  If you can't play it on four strings, perhaps you shouldn't play it at all.) 

I wouldn't characterize Jose as a phenomenal singer, but I truly enjoy the robust timbre of his voice and the way he uses it to wrap around, stretch and subvert familiar melodies.  That languid vibrato and the intensity - it skates the line of shouting at times - can be attributed partly to the flamenco singing style, but Jose also brings a jazz ethos to the way he improvises on a melody.  And as lauded as he is for his guitar prowess, he's not the greatest player I've ever seen; certain sections of songs were a little shaky.  But he would find pockets, usually when he took a solo in a flamenco song, where he took off and flew, and I could have listened all night.  It makes me wonder what kind of concert he'd perform if he let go of the audience's expectations and didn't deliver anything beyond what he himself really enjoyed playing.  But as an entertainer, perhaps that sort of indulgence doesn't cross his mind.

 

I'll admit I was disappointed I didn't get to hear his version of "California Dreamin'".  I love how he took that sunny, ethereal ode and turned it into something forlorn and desperate.  Despite his deadbeat band members and the rigamarole I went through to get inside the theater, I loved the show.  I have a lot of respect and admiration for Jose Feliciano and I feel fortunate to have spent an evening listening to a living legend.

• Buy the song "California Dreamin'" or the album Feliciano! from Amazon.
• If you have a Rhapsody account, listen to a playlist of songs I mention in this post.

Feliz Navidad, part 1

I gave up many things when I moved back to Austin from San Francisco, including my hookups in the local music scene.  Back in San Francisco, I usually knew - well in advance - all the concerts coming to town that I was interested in, plus I could usually procure entrance to these shows with an email or two and would follow up by posting a concert review on SFist.

Now it goes more like:  "Oh that show is coming to Austin??  Tonight??  And it's sold out???  &%#@!"

Which is what happened to me when I realized yesterday that Jose Feliciano was playing in Austin at the One World Theatre that night.  Longtime followers of this blog will remember that I've written of my love for Jose before;  actually I tend to write about him in December of each year (2004, 2005), except for 2006 when he apparently slipped my mind entirely.

Jose Feliciano: 2007
This year's Jose-post starts with me realizing last night that he was playing two shows - one at 6pm and one at 8:30pm - and deciding that, even though he tours rather frequently, I'd better try to hurry up and see him while I still could. The One World Theatre is one of those fancy special events places where most tickets are likely sold to season pass holders, and since it was already Sunday at around 5:30pm when I started looking for tickets, no one was answering the phones at the venue or ticket outlets.  Online, only the 6pm show was listed as being sold but tickets for the 8:30pm show weren't available for purchase.  My last option was to go to the box office to ask if tickets were available, but that would require a 20 minute drive into the boondocks of West Austin in the 40 degree cold by myself, with the chance of being turned down once I got there.

So I figured, what the hell!  And I jumped in my car around 6:30pm in pursuit of Jose.

The Quest For A Ticket
After I found the place, parked in the dark gravel parking lot and figured out which stairway lead to the entrance, I located the box office inside the lobby.  The young guy working at the ticket window told me the 8:30 show was indeed sold out.  Perhaps he inferred from my having made the trek all the way out to the remote venue, and requesting just one ticket, that I really wanted to see the show.  He told me if I waited around he'd try to get me in.  So I crossed my fingers, grabbed a $7 Dos Equis from the cash bar in the lobby and sat on a fancy carved wooden bench at the edge of the room.

I've gone to many, many concerts by myself, and despite always fearing that I stood out like a freak I usually blend in with most concertgoers in age and attire.  Not so with the One World Theatre crowd I joined waiting in the lobby before the show started.  Most of the esteemed patrons were in their 50's and 60's and were decked out in their Special Concert clothing which included silks, brocades, wraps, jaunty hats and leather jackets, and at least one pair of tapered leather pants. 

After waiting for about 45 minutes, I returned to the box office window where Nate the ticket seller sold me a standing-room only ticket, which was a ticket-shaped piece of paper onto which he wrote "Jose Feliciano" and "8:30pm".  He told me I wouldn't have a seat - I'd have to stand in the aisle - and that the ushers would point me where I should go.  "Ask for Skyler," he said.

After a little more waiting, the crowd made its way up a narrow flight of stairs onto a balcony and toward the entrance to the performance area.  The ticket taker smiled at me and asked for my ticket, which I handed over with a smile.  He took one look at it and his face fell.  He gave me a sidelong glance and asked, "How did you get this?  Was it comp'ed?  You're not going to have a seat, you know."

"Are you...Skyler?"  He glared.

I answered his questions honestly and he barked at me to stand to the side while he saw to it that everyone else was seated.  I stood exiled in the cold for about 15 minutes as everyone in their finery filed by with their friends and loved ones, clutching their season tickets in bejeweled fingers.  I have to admit, at this point I asked myself how badly I really wanted to see this show, especially since it seemed dicey that Ticket Taker Guy would even let me in. 

Luck, Be A Lady Tonight
Then I overheard TTG saying: "An extra ticket?  There's a woman here who might want that."
And a woman's voice:  "Really?  Take me to her."

The crowd parted and a platinum blonde Texas Lady sauntered over, swathed in fur and dripping in gold.  Ticket Taker briefly explained I was in need of a seat while Texas Lady gave me the quick once-over. 

"Well fine," she decided, "It's already paid for."

"Thank you so much!" I blurted out and my eyes welled up, ever so briefly, at the kindness of strangers. 

"Karma," she declared, and turned on her heel back toward the entrance.

We were swiftly escorted in to the tiny theater and I took my seat which was almost in the very center of the room, about ten rows from the stage.  I felt a frisson of accomplishment, silently congratulating myself for taking a chance. 

I turned to Texas Lady to thank her again.  "Thank you so much, I really appreciate this," I whispered into the side of her shellacked blonde coif, and she replied, looking stageward as the lights began to dim, "Merry Christmas."

Stay tuned for Feliz Navidad Part 2, Concert Review.

Show Review: Frank Smith

After my friend Ashod politely scolded me yesterday for not following through with what I say I'm going to do, I realized I needed to tell you what I thought about the Frank Smith show.

It was a low-key evening, there were just a handful of people out at the Mohawk after midnight last Wednesday.  It was funny running into someone from San Francisco amongst the small crowd; apparently Matt from High Road Touring moved here about a year ago to get married.  See, I'm not crazy for leaving San Francisco for Austin!

Frank Smith is essentially Brett Saiia and Aaron Sinclair, plus they had a bass player sitting in with them on this occasion.  When I say "sitting in" I mean that literally -- Brett stood, and Aaron stood, and the bass player sat down on a chair in between them, kind of in the back where a drummer would normally be.  For some reason this really distracted me.  Because I would look at Brett for a while and think "nice banjo playing" and then I'd pan to Aaron and think "I really like his voice", but in the midst of that I'd have to see this guy just sitting there, on a chair, playing his bass, staring off into the distance.  It wasn't that I noticed if he was a good or bad bass player, I was just distracted by his positioning.  Brett and Aaron were standing but they didn't move around much either.  I think I would have liked to have seen either everyone standing up, or everyone sitting down like, hey this is a folk show, pull up a chair, it's casual.

Distractions and lackluster stage presence aside, I did enjoy the music.  Brett is an apt multi-instrumentalist and Aaron's got character in his voice.  The two sing well together and they have good songs.  I'm looking forward to see what these guys do in Austin and beyond. 

I need to get my hands on their latest record Heavy Handed Peace and Love.

Frank Smith mp3:  Listen to "Liar and a Thief"

Tonight's Concert: Fair To Midland

I'm going to see Fair To Midland at Stubb's outdoor stage tonight (after dinner at East Side Cafe, yummm).

FTM, who I've written about several times before, play on my love for creative singers with a wide vocal range, interesting instrumentation, art-rawk and general over-the-top-ness.   (See: Tool, Mars Volta, Faith No More.)

Watch the video for "Dance of the Manatee"*:

System of a Down fans (Laurie, I'm looking at you) will be interested to know that FTM are signed to Serj's label, the creatively titled Serjical Strike via Universal Republic.

* That growly nonsense he does before the bridge?  He doesn't do much more of that on the rest of the record.