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.

Paint the Black Hole Blacker: St. Vincent, 2009.05.21

St. Vincent/Pattern Is Movement

First Unitarian Church

Philadelphia, PA

2009.05.21 

I was first exposed to the music of Annie Clark in early 2007, months before her debut album as St. Vincent, Marry Me, suddenly and unexpectedly stole countless indie rock hearts (mine included). She was opening for John Vanderslice on a tour preparing for the release of his Emerald City album. Going into the show, all I knew about her was that she had previously played with both Sufjan Stevens and the Polyphonic Spree, and that she was apparently some kind of guitar prodigy. When she took the stage, I was intrigued by her nimble fretwork, her use of effects pedals to create layers of texture from a single electric guitar, her steady rhythm-keeping by way of a pedal-operated kick drum sample,  and her idiosyncratic songwriting style. Of course, although I would like to downplay this, the fact that she was unbelievably gorgeous did not hurt matters. By the end of her set, when she played a self-assured version of Jackson Browne’s oft-covered “These Days,” I had fallen completely in love. I immediately purchased her tour EP (happily featuring the aforementioned Jackson Browne cover) and decided to make it a point to see her every time she came to town.

I missed her every time she came to town.

In April 2008, I got my first taste of what her live show sounded like when augmented with a full band when she played the PLUG awards in NYC, playing a brief two-song set comprising “Now, Now” and “Your Lips are Red.” Where before her performance had been marked with precision, complexity, and a graceful patience, there was now an air of danger, recklessness, and ferocity. I was very excited to see a full set by St. Vincent the band.

Once again, I missed them every time they came to town.

Chris from Pattern is Movement

To cut  long story short (too late), the release of Actor, the second St. Vincent album, quickly became one of my favorite albums of the year so far, and when the band’s tour stopped at the First Unitarian basement in Philadelphia, I made damn sure I was there. Local heroes Pattern Is Movement opened; I had seen them once before, ironically, opening for North Carolina band The Physics of Meaning, which is the main gig of Daniel Hart, who also plays violin and guitar in St. Vincent. Pattern Is Movement is a 2-piece band – drums and keyboards – marked by gentle vocals that reach into the upper register of the vocalist’s range and odd time signatures with unpredictable and seemingly random changes. They kind of sound like a less aggro Dismemberment Plan, perhaps. Daniel Hart came out and played violin with them for a song or two – though, oddly, I didn’t remember them being a two-piece last time I saw them. My impression of them, however, was exactly the same as it had been the last time I saw them: although it was pretty music and definitely was a refreshing change from your standard “indie rock” band, I found that they had sort of worn out their welcome with me after about 20-25 minutes. Their set lasted for nearly 50 minutes this particular night, which was just far too long to hold my interest. The highlight was a D’Angelo cover.

I was excited to see the array of instruments being set up for St. Vincent’s set – clarinet! Saxophone! Flute! Fender Jaguar! (Seriously, does EVERY band have a Jaguar these days?) Plus the typical drums, bass, and keyboards, as well as Annie’s two guitars and trademark double microphone stand. From the opening salvo of “The Strangers” and “Save Me From What I Want” – also the first two songs on Actor – the band made it clear that although they were perfectly capable of recreating the textures and layers of the studio recording on stage, they were not interested in stopping there. The mannered, structured, orchestrated noise that ever so politely bruises the lush studio arrangement on records becomes an entirely different beast on the concert stage – there is a disquieting, threatening quality to the guitar outbursts here, a palpable physical violence in both Ms. Clark’s guitar playing and her occasional vocal outbursts (such as during the performance of single “Actor Out of Work,” which on record relies on a building tension that never resolves itself into an explosion – in performance at the Church, Clark suddenly shrieked “I think I’M FUCKING MAD!” so loudly, it ended up being the only moment of the main set that caused my recording to clip, and genuinely startled me at the time).

It was a long show – at 74 minutes, it was definitely much longer than I would have expected from an artist with two albums to her name, neither one particularly long – but it was well paced and never once felt boring or like it was dragging. The setlist was, as one would expect, heavy on the excellent Actor material, but almost to a fault – although Annie promised to mix in Marry Me material and make it a “greatest hits show,” the band only played three songs from the debut, and had already played two of those by the time she made that promise. And of course, the nostalgia lover in me would have loved to have heard her perform “These Days” either in addition to or even instead of her delicate solo reading of “Oh My God.” But these are all minor criticisms. Annie Clark has assembled a fantastic group of musicians to flesh out her arrangements, and they seem to share a hive mind of sorts. Impossibly tight and precise, the musicianship combined with Ms. Clark’s vibrant personality, witty humor, and uniquely subtle yet intense stage presence make for a compelling and entertaining live show that everyone should experience given the chance. I will definitely be in the crowd the next time Ms. Clark and crew pass through.

Setlist:

The Strangers
Save Me From What I Want
Now, Now
Actor Out of Work
Marry Me
Oh My God
The Bed
Laughing With a Mouth of Blood
Black Rainbow
Marrow
Just the Same But Brand New
----------------------------------------
The Party
Your Lips Are Red 

More photos can be found at my Flickr account.

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.