General update/to-do list.

• Still must write and post reviews of NIN|JA, Band of Horses, John Vanderslice, and Zoop! concerts. If I end up going to see Old 97's tonight, that will be added to the never-ending to-do list.
• In the next few days I plan on blogging about an upcoming EP from an Denton, Texas band called Sleep Whale. The EP is very good indeed, and I'm excited to share it!
• Today marks the first day of the Infinite Summer. Are you in?
• Thanks to the support of everyone, I raised $1125 for the autism walk, besting my goal by 50%. Now I have a ton of cover songs to record. If anyone else still wants in, I will be accepting requests until June 30. Click on the thermometer to your left or go to http://tinyurl.com/thom09.
• Seriously, should I go see the Old 97's tonight? I have never seen them before, so I'm thinking maybe I should.
• Oh yeah, I have been vegetarian for nine days now. It's a small, possibly lame milestone, but it's a big change for me and I'm proud of it. I will blog more about it later this week, possibly. (See, I told you this wasn't just another music blog!)
• Seeing the film Food, Inc. later this week. You all should, too.

What Makes You Think I'm Enjoying Being Led to the Flood?: The National, 2009.05.29

The National/Colin Stetson

The Electric Factory

Philadelphia, PA

2009.05.29

IV. Flirting with Disaster 

As you will recall from last time, dear readers*, Anthony, Bill and I (and Bill’s girlfriend, Jess) had decided to fly in the face of disaster and thumb our noses at the National Curse, purchasing four tickets to the May 29 show at the Electric Factory. And predictably… nothing happened. There was no grand disaster. Hell, security didn’t even try to stop me and tell me that my camera wasn’t allowed. It all went so very, very smoothly. Perhaps the third time is a charm? (I decided to forgo the full description of the events leading up to the show itself, mostly because Bill has already posted a thoroughly entertaining, complete, and accurate account on his blog. He did mercifully leave out the part where I made an ass of myself and cracked the windshield of my car, but I just negated that act of kindness in spectacular style. Also, in case anyone is curious as to what my aka acquisitions were:  The Thermals – Now We Can See LP; John Phillips – John, The Wolfking of L.A. LP; Red Hot + Bothered 10” compilation. Record stores are awesome.)

All that was left to do now was wait.

V. The Trick Is to Keep Breathing

Colin Stetson was the opening act. I did not know what to expect, having never heard of him before, but I was surprised to see the stage set up with a lone microphone, a baritone sax and what appeared to be an alto sax. When he came out and began playing unaccompanied, I began to wonder how an act such as he had been chosen to open for a rock band. This is not to say that he was bad – quite the opposite, in fact. He was wonderful. Unfortunately, I don’t really know how to explain his style. Bill described it as “techno played on a saxophone,” but I don’t really agree with that assessment (with all due respect, Bill). If anything, and I know that saying this makes me sound like a pretentious, over-intellectual douche, but his composition and even his playing style reminds me of the work of Erik Friedlander. The compositions, which I am assuming were originals, were marked with a good deal of unorthodox technique; techniques that I don’t know the names for, because I know almost zilch about saxophones and therefore cannot speak about his set with even a pretense of intelligence or knowledge. So I will stick to what I know: the music rocked without being rock music; his combination of sustained mournful tones through circular breathing with the groove of low pedal tones and an almost beatbox-like effect that he employed when playing the baritone created an effect that I had never heard from a sax player. I was kind of almost dancing, even, and everyone knows that the almost never happens. Mr. Stetson only played a four- or five-piece set, and seeing the amount of effort he put into playing the compositions, particularly those for the baritone, I was kind of surprised he played for that long; they obviously required a degree of physical stamina and discipline to which I simply could not relate. Looking around, I was surprised to see how many other people seemed to be enjoying his set. I had expected people to either be indifferently bored or to actively dislike it. Once again, my misanthropy and faux-elitism let me down.

VI. Go Ahead, Go Ahead, Throw Your Arms In the Air Tonight

The National were nothing short of powerful, captivating, and spellbinding from the start. Opening the set with a new song of quiet, controlled intensity, “The Runaway,” was a remarkably audacious move – not only did the band risk alienating fans by not drawing them in with an instantly recognizable song, but they also dared to set the bar almost impossibly high by kicking things off with what they must know is possibly one of their most endearingly majestic and hypnotic songs yet. Indeed, the song was one of the absolute high water marks of the show for me, and is quickly making me very excited for the next album.

The National live are all about presence. Looking at my photos, you will note that Matt Berninger has approximately two “poses” while singing; in essence, if you’ve seen one photo of Matt performing you’ve seen them all. Photographically, this would suggest a certain stasis, a stiffness, a detachment from the performance. In truth, however, none of this is true. While Mr. Berninger may look boring/ed in the photographs, witnessing him perform live, the closest analogy I can think of is a preacher; there is such an intensity to his stage presence, and when he grips the microphone just so and half-hugs himself, it is with CONVICTION. And  his eyes, when he opens them, have that slightly wild, distant look that is often associated with the true fanatic. When he’s not at the microphone, Mr. Berninger stalks around the stage like a feline, pacing back and forth, eyeing the crowd, seeming to focus in on the energy of the room and feed off of it. Unfortunately, anybody who has not seen the National live probably cannot recognize any of this in the photos. Those of us who have shared this experience, know, though. The National, in spite of the brooding, is an affirmation of life, a controlled explosion of energy and emotion.

The band, augmented by three horn players (including Colin Stetson) and keyboardist Doveman, was flawless, in spite of the absence of violinist Padma Newsome. I don’t want this review to turn into a groveling praise fest, but the band were really just that good. I really only have two criticisms to offer. The first is the setlist: it would really be nice for the band to acknowledge that they released records before Alligator. Seriously, “Fashion Coat,” “Murder Me Rachael,” “Wasp Nest”… I would have loved to hear almost any of the songs from Cherry Tree or Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers. Or even rearrangements of songs from the first album. And what about a stripped-down reading of “So Far Around the Bend”? As much as I love both Alligator and Boxer, I think some representation of their pre-fame albums wouldn’t hurt. As it is, their current live set makes it seem as if these two albums are the length and breadth of their career. I just think that sticking almost exclusively to this material represents a missed opportunity and almost implies that the earlier work is inferior or unworthy, which is absolutely untrue.

My second complaint: the horn section absolutely ruined “Slow Show,” which is possibly my favorite song from Boxer. It’s a shame. That song needs to be more stripped down.

Still, though, when all is said and done these complaints/criticisms don’t amount to much. The boys put on a memorably spellbinding show, played their asses off, and debuted three songs that, if they are representative, indicate that album #5 could conceivably be their best yet.  If that’s the trade-off, then sure, I’ll endure a curse.

Setlist:

The Runaway (new song)

Start a War

Mistaken for Strangers

Brainy

Secret Meeting

Baby, We'll Be Fine

Slow Show

Vanderlylle Crybaby (new song)

Squalor Victoria

All the Wine

Abel

Ada

Apartment Story

Green Gloves

Fake Empire

-------------------

Blood Buzz Ohio (new song)

Mr. November

About Today

For other perspectives on the show, I strongly urge you to check out Jess’s review over at Crawdaddy or A.D.’s review at Music Maven. Both are very well-written reviews by awesome people whose blogs you should be reading on a daily basis anyway.

My entire set of photos from this show can be viewed at Flickr.

Also, after all my praise of "The Runaway," why don't you check out this awesome, high quality live video of it, courtesy of QTV in Canada?

* - I kind of feel like, no matter how small it may be, I now have something of an “audience” or “reader base.” I hope it does not offend the two or three of you that I refer to you directly; this is a very exciting moment for me. Yes, I am a sad, sad man.

The National Curse: A History in Three Parts, or Prelude to a Concert Review

I. Introduction

In order to fully grasp the significance of my attendance at the National’s concert last weekend, you need a little background into my show-going history, and a phenomenon known as “The National Curse.” I had been hearing a lot of praise for this band ever since the release of their second album, Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers. This was, of course, an awesome title, and I really wanted to check out the band, but I just never got around to it. By the time their universally-hyped third album, Alligator, came out, I had sort of lost interest in actively trying to check them out.

Then, as it turned out, they were announced as the opening act for Arcade Fire’s initial U.S. tour in support of Neon Bible. I had tickets for the May 5, 2007 show at the Tower Theater, and was vaguely looking forward to finally hearing the band. Bill was also at this show, although we traveled separately and were not sitting together. When all was said and done, I ended up being really impressed by the band. They already had a headlining show scheduled at Johnny Brenda’s, but that was, of course, already sold out.

I believe it was at the Battles show at the First Unitarian Church that summer that Anthony, who had also just discovered the National, and I were discussing the band’s upcoming dates. At this point, I was in perhaps a small minority by considering Boxer to be an album that thoroughly trounced Alligator on nearly every level – perhaps this was a symptom of the way I discovered them, or perhaps it just has more to do with my unabashed love for musical subtlety. Either way, now that I was more familiar with and appreciative of their material, I was determined to see them again. They had a show scheduled at the TLA, but it was on the first night of the semester and I knew I would not be able to make it. But they were also, I pointed out to Anthony, playing a free show in New York as part of the River to River Festival on a Friday night. This sounded perfect. We decided to go.

 

II. The Curse Reveals Itself

By the time the day of the show came, it was Anthony, Bill, Bill’s friend Nikki, and me crammed into my car. I don’t deal with driving/parking in the city, and because of the ridiculous price of train fare, we I decided the most effective way to get there would be to drive to Staten Island and take the free ferry to Battery Park, then walk from there to the Seaport where the show was being held. It was a perfect plan, and I had made the drive to the SI ferry so many times that I knew the route perfectly.

The evening started with Anthony and I getting a slightly late start. It wasn’t that big of a deal, though. A couple of wrong turns getting to Bill’s house resulted in a net loss of about 10 minutes. As we backed out of Bill's driveway and approached the highway, the rain started.

This was almost two years ago, so I don’t remember all the details. What I do recall is some discussion as to whether we should take the Turnpike to exit 10, or take Route 1 up. I believe that I was the only one who was vehemently in favor of Route 1, and since I was driving, that was the route we took. (At this point, it would be beneficial to note that I had not lived in central New Jersey for three years at this point, and had forgotten what Route 1 could look like on a Friday during evening rush hour during the summer on a perfectly clear day, let alone one with apocalyptic weather-related catastrophes.)

Route 1 was a mess, but it was manageable. What wasn’t manageable, however, was the steadily-increasing intensity of the rainfall. By the time we hit South Brunswick, we were driving through sheets of rain. In New Brunswick, near the junction of Route 1 and Route 18 (always a bad traffic area even on the best of days), an entire lake had appeared from nowhere in the middle of the highway.  Seriously. A lake. And so, three lanes were bottlenecked into one, and so an extra half hour or so was tacked on to our travel time.

Deep standing water on the roadway hampered our progress even more in Edison. We were inching our way slowly, inexorably toward the ferry. As we turned onto Route 440, we encountered a wall of traffic such as I had never seen on this road. Clearly, I had made an error of judgment.

Bear in mind, during this entire ordeal, my iPod was playing Boxer on an infinite loop.

Anthony seemed to be taking it in stride, with his typical sardonic humor. Bill seemed annoyed, but was trying to be nonchalant about it. Nikki was just pissy (and for those who know the situation, that should come as no surprise whatsoever). For my part, I was trying to remain optimistic and upbeat about it right up to the bitter end. At Bill’s request (I believe the quote may have been, “For the love of GOD, Thom, can you PLEASE change the album???!?!) we started listening to bands other than the National. We listened to Doolittle and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Yes, we were in traffic long enough to finish two albums.

Clearly, I had made a huge mistake.

We finally fought our way to the ferry, engine running hot, brakes smoking, and us not knowing if my car would still be intact when we returned – I think we all expected it to burst into flames as soon as we boarded the boat. Of course, we had just missed a ferry and had to wait over 30 minutes for the next one. There was a convenience store with Big-AZ™ chicken sandwiches. They were as disgusting as they sound. Anthony and I probably knocked at least five years off of our lives.

The ferry finally came. The John F. Kennedy. Seriously. Insert bad jokes repeated ad nauseum. We half expect to sink into the bay unnoticed under the cover of darkness, but to our surprise, we dock safely at Battery Park. After a few minutes I get my bearings and take us in the direction of the pier, optimistically reminding my jaded and shell-shocked co-travelers that there were two opening acts and that they were probably running on musician time, and that even if we missed some of the show it won’t be a complete loss.

They all humored me, but they seemed decidedly unconvinced.

And so, walking up Wall Street, picture my complete lack of surprise as we see a swarm – no, not a swarm, but a stampede, an avalanche – of hipsters coming at us from the opposite direction, all singing “Mr. November.”

The National Curse had reared its head and stricken for the first time, but not for the last.

This night resulted more or less directly in the dissolution of a friendship. When they say it’s only rock ‘n’ roll, don’t believe them.

On the bright side, this night also resulted in our discovery of Venom Live at City Gardens. To each cloud, my friends. Silver lining. It’s there.

When we returned utterly defeated to Staten Island, my car was intact and unscathed. At least something had worked out for us.

 

III. The Curse Goes Viral

When it was announced in 2008 that the National would be the opening act on the ridiculously good R.E.M./Modest Mouse tour, Anthony and I made immediate plans to attend. Bill, on the other hand, bowed out due to his unfathomable indifference toward R.E.M. – I could understand it more if he actively disliked them, but just being indifferent? I can’t wrap my head around it. Anyway, the show was at the Mann Center in Fairmount Park, a venue I had been to many times in the past. It was an easy venue to drive to, and I felt confident that everything would go without a hitch. Bill, of course, joked that we would never make it specifically because the National was playing.

Jenn, Tanya, Anthony and I piled into my car – a bit later than we had wanted to leave, but still leaving plenty of time – stopped off for something to eat, and hit the road for Philly. We were making great time until we hit 76. Then, traffic just stopped. And stopped. And refused to move.

Things were stop-and-go for a while, but once I reached the exit for the venue, all hell broke loose. It was a complete clusterfuck of cars. We would sit for half an hour without moving. People were putting their vehicles into park and getting out. I had never seen traffic like this for shows at the Mann, not even for shows that were sold out. The crazy thing is that this show wasn’t even sold out. Somehow, the curse had obviously gone viral and infected all of these people. Their sole motivation now was to prevent Anthony and I from seeing the National.

When we finally rolled into the parking lot, I immediately slammed the car into the first spot I could find and booked across the parking lot toward the venue. We got close enough so I could start to hear some of what was going on on stage.

Some banter. Applause from the crowd.

Insistent drumbeat with aggressive bassline. Chiming yet incisive guitar.

Yes, that’s right - we had arrived just in time to hear “Mr. November” as we ran across the parking lot. Do you sense a pattern?

The facts here: Bill and I had managed to see the National open for Arcade Fire in May 2007. Bill, Anthony and I had fallen victim to the curse in the summer of 2007. Anthony successfully saw the National by himself in September 2007. In summer 2008, Anthony and I once again were victims of the curse.

The obvious answer was that it was the combination of Anthony and me that roused the hex.

And so, earlier this year, when tour dates were announced and we saw that the National were due to play the Electric Factory on May 29^th, we began to make plans….

To be continued…

Introducing the Flaws Mix CD Mixer.

A post I recently read on another blog got me to thinking about mixtapes. Now, for those who don’t know me, one thing you need to understand: I love mixes. Yeah, I know, who doesn’t, right? But no. You don’t understand. I LOVE mixes.

In 2006 I undertook an ambitious project I dubbed the Mix CD Odyssey of 2006. It was kind of a social experiment in which I tried to use mixes to bring disparate groups of friends together. The idea was as follows: I would make a CD every week for a year. I had recruited a distribution list of 25 or so friends to whom I would give copies of this CD. I would then post the tracklisting of each disc via various social networking outlets as well as on my own (now-defunct) website, and encourage people to discuss, ask each other questions, interact. The social aspect of the experiment was pretty much a failure, as no real discussion between the subscribers ever seemed to spark and comments were limited to praise for my song selection or sequencing. Still, though, the comments were very appreciated and encouraging, and I had a hell of a lot of fun making the CDs until the bottom fell out – which it was always bound to do. (Another thing you may not know about me if you do not know me well: I have a long history of undertaking fantastically ambitious projects with the best of intentions, becoming overwhelmed, and completely abandoning them). 52 mixes in a year is a lot of work, not to mention the cost of making and mailing 25 copies. I made it about 46 weeks before I completely threw in the towel, although after week 30 or so they started to reach fewer and fewer of my subscriber. If any of those people are reading this now, I’m sorry. I intended to do a similar project this year, except doing the mixes monthly instead of weekly. Unfortunately, life got in the way and the project never got off the ground at all. Apologies again for anyone who expected to get in on that project.

This was originally supposed to be a post explaining the various reasons why I have such a love for mixes, but I think that rather than telling you, perhaps I should show you. Action is always more fun than intellectualization, yes? I agree. And so, I formally invite you to take part in the inaugural round of the Flaws Mixtape Mixer.  Simply put, let’s trade mixes.

Here’s how we’re going to do it. None of this making a single mix that I send out to everybody; each of you who take part in this will be receiving your own personalized mix, even if I don’t know you. If you’d like to take part, simply write me something. It can be as short as a sentence or as long as a short story. It can be anything. A sentence you just read in a book. An account of the happiest, or unhappiest, day of your life. A description of your first kiss. A recounting of your most vivid nightmare. Your biggest fear. A secret. A story you wrote. A story somebody else wrote. Or send me a photograph. Or anything else. I will use whatever you send me as a jumping-off point; it will be the inspiration for your mix. I will send you some inspiration to use for my mix. Maybe at some point we can branch this out more, and get complete strangers to make personalized mixes for each other. It’s always about the communication. Making that connection across time and distance and odds.

Also, I'm flexible. While I tend to work with CD-R just because of convenience, I can also do cassette if you want to do an old-school thing. Just let me know in your e-mail.

I know I’ve been flaky with these mix things lately, but seriously, let’s make this happen.

Kindly e-mail me at its.flaws at gmail.com to take part in this.

This post was composed to the tune of The National by The National.

Statement of purpose.

Hello, interpeople. I'm Thom. I'm guessing, for now anyway, that if you are here, you already know me. If not, I have no idea how you got here, but I hope you'll stay. I'm not going to tell you a lot about myself, but because I tend to have a strong and easily-identifiable voice in my writing, you will likely get to know me as I write (and as you read, naturally). I also write at We Recommend Things to You along with my better half, but this blog is more of a solo vehicle for my writing.

This is not going to be just another music blog. Yes, the focus of this blog will most definitely be on music. I will be reviewing new releases and concerts. I will try to offer some news, perhaps. I will write reconsiderations and appreciations of older releases that I feel are overlooked or that I simply feel is ripe for another look. I will likely also write longer think pieces from time to time on various issues affecting either the music industry or listenership. I hope to be able to offer some unique perspectives on things and to strike up some thoughtful discussion.

However, this will not be the extent of my writing. Because music is only one part of my worldview, I plan on also writing about art, film, literature, current events, cultural commentary, and perhaps even politics. My eventual goal is to present my worldview and hopefully to get some feedback on how it differs from or resembles yours. I want to foster some real communication and interaction here. I want to sow how everything interacts with everything else, how it is all just so many pieces in a puzzle that makes up the world. Although the pieces have their flaws, they still somehow make a whole.

While this is perhaps a little lofty and ambitious for something which looks on the surface like just another music blog, I hope you will call me on my bluff here and join me on this journey. It won't be half as much fun without you.

 This post was composed to the tune of the Celebración de la Ciudad Natal live EP by My Morning Jacket.