Nada Surf – Boston, MA

I’m usually more prompt with reviews and such, but I’ve been pondering the Nada Surf gig for the past week. First of all, it’s undoubtedly one of the best live shows I’ve seen all year. Almost on par with Radiohead, to be honest. And while that may sound like a travesty, Radiohead were fun, technically amazing, but didn’t play all the “old” songs that would have had me leaping on the seats and screaming. The Enemy also played a thrilling set – one of those performances where you realize you’re witnessing something huge, something great – this undercurrent of inexplicable tight energy and transmitted sonic power.

But yeah, Nada Surf. Last time they played here, I barely knew any of their music, save the latest album, and saw their live acoustic set at Newbury Comics in Boston. I also had a job then, but that’s another story entirely. Matt was so close that I felt embarrassed because as he sang, we kept making eye contact. And when you don’t know a guy singing rather romantic lyrics, it’s pretty mortifying to keep looking him dead in the eye, assuming one is straight, single and female and attracted to said guy. (Come on, Matt’s not bad looking) But I digress. The lyrics were thoroughly beautiful, sound calm and not too loud and everything flowed in an easy, pleasant way that felt comfortably charming.

Coming back to the present, Nada Surf took over the Paradise Rock Club on December 2nd to a packed house. Standing on the floor, fairly near the front provided a decent view and the sound wasn’t absolutely ear-splitting. We did have to deal with Random Tall Crazy Dancing Guy and Gal who were both dead center, very tall with mad hair and who kept blocking my view.

The band, however, were relaxed in a “I’ve seen it all before” kind of way, that luckily didn’t extend to their playing. Classics like “Killian’s Red” still managed sent shivers through the crowd, building up to the impassioned, aching refrain, where the narrator’s emotions swung wildly over each guitar strum. The whispers of “Blonde on Blonde”  provided a ghostly nostalgia thanks to Matt’s whispery melody and pretty musical swingyness. Newer tracks from this year’s release “Lucky” were not played precisely AS on the album, which gave the music a certain spontaneity. The band really personalized the tracks and the feeling was that we were present in a more intimate session than a big, full on, 750-person gig. “Weightless” was sped up with harsher guitars and a more grating rhythm, that make it feel slightly angrier than the recorded version. “See These Bones” was played at a faster tempo, preventing the track from being as introspective and soothing as on “Lucky.” The band confidently exhibited their veteran status confident in the fact that the audience would love everything and anything they did. Yet Nada Surf are far from arrogant. They encouraged the audience to participate, swaying back and forth to “Inside of Love;” Matt explained, almost giddily, that the onstage visual of such movement was more than amusing. The band even pulled audience members onstage for the final song, “Blankest Year,” inviting not just a singalong, but full on dancing. Nada Surf may be more than a bit tired of playing their hits over and over for the audience’s delight, but they know there are people in the crowd, seeing them for the first time. And thus, as professionals, the band don’t let their job weigh too heavily on their performance and manage to keep even the oldest material sparkling, if not absolutely fresh.

Dead Confederate – “Wrecking Ball”

[Originally published on Stranded in Stereo and rendered here for your reading pleasure.]

Dead Confederate
Wrecking Ball
Razor & Tie
By Miriam Lamey [that will be me]

In order to fully appreciate Dead Confederate’s debut album, Wrecking Ball, it is necessary to trash most preconceived notions of Southern Rock Music. Dead Confederate may hail from the South, but don’t expect any Lynard Skynard references, or the delicate aroma of Southern goodness wafting under generic guitar riffs. Dead Confederate are dark, dirty and dangerous with a fresh take on the meaning of rock – a sense they convincingly convey with a slight snarl and more than a hint of intelligence.

Distorted guitar riffs are a useful tool that Dead Confederate wield well. Tracks like “All The Angels” generate a thick wall of sound that compresses into an ear-aching blizzard of fuzziness and feedback by its close. While it’s a bit intense for delicate iPod earbuds, the sound translates fantastically live to the impassioned extent that band members fall over onstage when caught up in the frenzy (you’ll know this if you happened to catch their appearance on Late Night with Conan O’Brien.) Yet Dead Confederate are deeper artists than just a few thrashing guitars may suggest and this sense has thus far prompted comparisons to Nirvana, among others. This grittiness is palpable, particularly on the album’s title track comprised of eerie guitar riffs and lead singer, Hardy Morris’ ethereal whine, both of which devolve into layered guitars, ripe with distortion and drama.

Dead Confederate are capable of presenting a cleaner sound with the Pearl Jam-inspired track “Goner” where the dustiest instrument is probably the methodic cymbals. Similarly, single and second track, “The Rat” has a heavy, passionate quality worthy of bringing an entire stadium to its knees. Here is where Dead Confederate truly shine as ghostly feedback dissolves to showcase Morris’ distinctive vocals. Guitars build upon one another to explode in angry, misty blasts and then fade back in again to showcase a rather lonely, piercing riff.

All tunes on Wrecking Ball are intensely constructed, sounding neither confusing nor fake. The snarling ache of the melody on “Heavy Petting” is echoed through sharp, jarring guitar riffs, while the dreary, soulful pain communicated through “It Was A Rose” is almost romantic. For a debut album, Dead Confederate display outstanding style and own their sound in a way that suggests this band will grow and become more confident with each subsequent release.

Long Time, No Type

…watching the snow and baking….

No, I haven’t suffered writer’s block, but yet have been subject to the randomness that is called life. Being laid off. Moving. Applying for graduate school. Trying to see if my writing career will actually take off. Starting my own column – this week’s episode can be viewed here. Being scared and excited and curious all at once. And somehow, remembering to be okay with everything.

I was going through a ton of back issues of the Sunday New York Times column,”Modern Love.” Whether or not the love depicted is necessarily “modern” is another story entirely. The collected anecdotes depict modern incarnations and understanding of love, as opposed to a wholly “modern” experience. Mothers and fathers have always felt one form of love for their children, couples feel a different sort of love for each other and there’s never anything as poignant and achy as remembering the first person outside of your family whom you really, truly loved. In other words, the emotion and the mutality of love is unchangeable, the situations more current to today’s society.

The Beatles’ songs explored all facets of love…or lack therof, from the chirply cheesy “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” – which becomes almost heartbreaking when interpreted via the film, “Acoss the Universe” – to the terrifying “Eleanor Rigby,” about a life thoroughly without love. Or other people. And since I apparently cannot discuss anything without returning to music, I felt that this inclusion was fairly apt. Similarly, the “Modern Love” stories are mildly cheesy…like the college student’s piece on modern definitions of relationships…to the agonizing piece concerning a woman who’s fiance passed away, and the subsequent strong bond she shared with her partners mother. Part of me is desperate to submit something to this column, the other part doesn’t feel that my experiences are strong enough and is terrified of falling into the cheesy category. But, who is to judge or diminish my experiences?

Oh, just a New York Times editor.

Why I Love New York

Right then. It’s Memorial Day, probably *the* worst time imaginable to be driving anywhere, but I’m heading to New York at precisely 2pm and can’t wait. Hence the italics and asterisks. Anyway, I have always been thrilled, energized and astounded by New York. Ever since I was little and we’d visit my grandparents in New Jersey on vacation, I’ve always been drawn to the City. It would be a massive treat to pop into New York on a day trip with my family, and I would walk about, big eyed and excitedly talking everyone’s ears off. Yet I’d feel so truly alive once emerging from the sweaty confines of Penn Station, or the cocoon-like, subway stations, up on to the hot, glamourous streets.

And by “glamourous” I don’t mean 5th avenue; I’ve always been drawn to Downtown’s charm, it’s blend of old and new and hints of the 1920s and 1930s.

As an adult, I still love New York. I still thrill to its brilliance and am charmed by that which I always have – it’s energy, uniqueness and sheer volume of people, emotions, thoughts, vibes, personalities all crammed onto one island. Yes, not everything in New York is wonderful; the poverty divide is hideous, it’s incredibly sad to see many homeless people, and the shell of the World Trade Center still presents a reminder of that horrible tragedy.

By the same token, the city boasts stunning architecture, for example the Chrysler Building or The Empire State Building; has a diverse theater community, from Broadway to teeny, random theaters in the Village; presents a range of musical talent anywhere and everywhere, from the famous to the completely unknown; great bars, restaurants (an entire BLOCK of Indian restaurants) nightlife and people; the best pizza on the planet; crazy huge streets; even crazier taxis and traffic; emits this sense of adventure; art galleries; and is, im my opinion, just as F. Scott Fitzgerald described, “glittering and white” despite all the changes, shifts and cultural randomness.

Ringtones have gone Indie

I’m officially in shock.

My wonderfully high-tech cell phone lacks a “normal” ringtone. You can use something that sounds like a shite rendition of an old Chemical Brothers track, a “hip-hop” beat or something that belongs in a bad Eurotrash club. I can’t get a normal “ring ring” sound; it wasn’t offered on my phone. I am guilty of all I will further outline below, yet I picked a song-based track on something so overused and already ripped apart, that I didn’t really have any guilt concerning my selection. My tone is Blur’s ‘Song 2′ (when I remember to turn on the ringer) which has been used in commercials, advertisement and so many things under the sun. And it just kind of cracks me up to hear the “woo-HOO.”

Anyway, I perused AT&T’s wonderful ringtone selection. The possibility of something decent was not bright when my featured “suggestions” were a heinous list topped by Carrie Underwood. So I tried to search for Mansun, being that their first album has been stuck in my head for a couple of days. No such luck. However, I was pretty darn intrigued as to how many “non-mainstream” ringtones I could find.

It does beg the question: are indie bands selling out and trying to be more mainstream by offering up their songs to be bastardized as ringtones, or is AT&T trying to cater to the “hipster” crowd by presenting clips from “hipster” bands?

Well, I found that The Shins, Nada Surf, Blur, The Decemberists, Kate Nash and Oasis have more than one ringtone. Of course, Colplay does too. In my opinion, this lot falls into the more “mainstream” category.

Then I branched out a little; Belle and Sebastian, Sons and Daughters [audible gasp], Longwave (maybe not as “indie” as I’d thought…), Band of Horses (but only the moderately big singles), Mates of State and finally ELBOW [gasp #2] have ringtones available for purchase.

Luckily, or maybe sadly, I did not find anything by Mansun, Yeasayer, Suede (well, maybe, but I’m not sure as it was a horrible Muzak rendition of…something) The Submarines or The Twilight Sad.

I don’t know how I feel about all this. Has the drop in physical CD sales and the reliance on digital downloads made it more profitable to sell tracks as ringtones? It seems to pervert the whole idea of song composition and music itself; one is taking a brief cut from a song and using it to show off to the world how “cool” he or she is, or how “on top” of the latest music scene he or she can be. It’s so pretentious and irritating and part of this “look at me” culture, where people try so hard to be “different” yet resort to mainstream methods of behaviour to do so. Dude, it’s really not cool to be blasting Sons and Daughters as a ringtone. By the same token, if you’re like me and receive a phone without a basic ringing sound, what else are you supposed to do? Use the hideous electronic manipulations that pass as “tunes” and be completely embarrassed? It almost seems if there’s a conspiracy afoot, between phone companies, cell phone providers and record labels, forcing you to shell out $2.50 to not sound like a total jackass when your phone rings in public, or come across as “cool” to a packed subway car.

That being said, there’s always the vibrate option, sans hideous or overpriced ringtone.

The Submarines

The Submarines have popped up rather infrequently on my “shuffle.” The tunes were light, pretty but I lazily skipped over them, as the beats and melodies weren’t really helping to speed up my 25 minutes of torture at the gym. Yesterday, I had this bright idea to walk home across the city. Simply put, I was repulsed by the thought of being squeezed into a germ-infested T car with eight-million other disillusioned office workers, especially since the outdoor air was clear, if not very warm. I arrived at Kenmore, waited for the bus. The temperature suddenly dropped, (thank you schizophrenic Massachusetts “spring” weather) and my attire was rendered totally ineffective against this surprise chill. So I jammed my headphones on, and selected The Submarines’ latest, Honeysuckle Weeks…

Bit of band backstory: the CA native duo (John Dragonetti and Blake Hazard) have had their relationship issues, but are indeed the happy, creative couple. I say this with no bitterness whatsoever. Their story is pertinient, for the lyrics on Honeysuckle Weeks are certianly infused with reflections, observations and the pure enjoyment of loving and feeling love reciprocated. Where this could be miserably sugary sweet, The Submarines instead present a pleasant, airy and truly gorgeous collection of lyrics and melodies; their honesty shines through, making this album a delectable sonic chocolate caramel, rather than a gag-inducing scoop of thick frosting.

Musically, Honeysuckle Weeks is reminiscent of the Stars’ earlier work. In short, it’s pretty indie pop with soft, lithe vocals and charming guitars. On tracks like, “Thorny Thicket,” the band play with light, perky beats, thick, echoey keys and ethereal synth sounds. Hazard’s vocals swing up and above the playful electronica, and she thrills to the words “I cried ‘love, love’ and the skies opened up.” In contrast, the jumpier “You Me and the Bourgeoisie” has a darker vibe with heavier riffs and slightly muffled vocals; the overall effect sounds like The Cardigans a la Grand Turismo sans Nina Persson’s melancholic warbling and The Cardigans’ eerie darkness. Here, The Submarines lyrics, “every day we wake up/we choose love, we chose light ,” give the impression the band are trying to impart their wisdom on top a rapt audience, but somehow (perhaps the cheerful, quick riffs?) prevent the tune from being preachy. Another standout track is the sleepier “Swimming Pool,” that employs light acoustic picking, back-to-basics percussion and bright electronic blips that sound literally like water dripping. Not of the leaky tap variety, mind you.

In fact, none of Honeysuckle Weeks is dreary, or annoyingly upbeat. Somehow, The Submarines manage to push indie pop to the limits and still present an edge – one that occasionally comes across as bluesy and reflective. The joy of this album comes from both the love expressed through the lyrics and catchy tunes, but also the sheer range of instrumentation and sounds in each track. Honeysuckle Weeks is undoubtedly playful and pleasant, but in a grown-up, experienced way that simply adds to its appeal. It certainly made me forget for how long I’d been waiting for some method of transportation.

Aren’t they lovely?

[from www.pluginmusic.com]

www.myspace.com/thesubmarinesmusic

Half and Half

Half British. Half American.

Half optimistic. Half cynical.

Half dreamy. Half grounded.

Half sweet. Half jaded.

Half critical. Half complimentary.

Half inspired. Half apathetic.

Where is this all going?

Only I know the answer. Tune in tomorrow for something more than an introduction, less than an essay, with a touch of postulation thrown in for good measure. After all, aren’t we all self-absorbed enough to think that we can really make a difference with anything we create? Of course. It’s part of being human and trying to make sense of life.