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December 16, 2005
Mark Gardener, Dantes, 12.15.05
Walking down to the show last night in the chilly winter weather I thought about how I'd waited over 10 years to see Mark play--I remember seeing his name on the marquee at Dantes a few years ago, and then a few months ago he opened up for B.R.M.C. at the Doug Fir. I avoided both instances because it seemed liked the right thing to do--I wanted to retain the concept of this man as an early-90s shoegaze icon (with Ride), and the thought of seeing his balding current self cashing in on my nostalgia was more than enough to keep me away...
Until last night, when the allure of a $5 cover and cheap beers (plus the somewhat recent enjoyable listens of his Knitting Factory acoustic set CD) made me brave the elements to give the man a chance to prove me wrong.
Sky Parade opened the show, and my first thought was they were pretty nü-gaze, but then they started to sound a lot like the second coming of U2. It seemed like the guitarist wanted to make up for the bassist being confined to his chair (the singer told a great story about how he hurt himself rescuing a kitten from a tree) by moving around too much--maybe find another band that needs your energy?
Before Goldrush took the stage I sampled some of the pizza, which was truly amazing--honestly the best New York-style slice I've had in ages. Also, I found a spot by their fire pit, warmed myself up and checked out the remodeling work at the club. I guess I hadn't been there in well over a year, so maybe its not too new, but it looked great--much more open and accessible.
Goldrush took their sweet time getting ready, so I was a bit bored by the time they started their set--and stayed bored throughout their forgettable 30 minutes on stage. However, I did amuse myself with a trippy light photo:
Once it was finally time for Mark to take the stage I debated about standing up, but decided against joining the rather feeble group of supporters. However, after seeing them sway, air guitar and air drum in my line of sight I hoped being closer would prevent them from distracting my attention. I quickly eyed the setlist on the stage and noticed a couple old songs, the first of which "Taste" sounded pretty good but kind of like hearing a cover band (the guys from Goldrush played most of the set as his backing band). However, I was really holding out hope that I would enjoy "VT", which could only mean "Vapour Trail" (unless he had some new song about Vermont that I didn't know about). Sure enough, he belted out the classic tune:
It sounded great--especially with the one Goldrush dude playing violin--and despite the annoying hippie dancing dude next to me I admit it felt good to finally see this favorite song of mine performed live. For his last song he took requests, and eventually settled on "Dreams Burn Down." They jammed a bit, and even though it wasn't Ride it was all I could ask for after waiting so long to hear him play.
Posted by j_john at 01:40 PM | Comments (0)
December 03, 2005
Mae Shi, Food Hole, 11.25.05
Okay, there is so much leading up to this show. If you just want juicy tidbits on the show itself, go underneath the stars.
So, a year ago I went to L.A. The city I hate and I hate movies that take place in LA and I hate that the citizens employ way too much smelly body product. I went there for the soul purpose of a date with the Mae Shi. I had recently come across Terrorbird and fallen slowly and deeply in love. I was dating this CD, if one can be romantic with a piece of painted plastic, I was.
So I wandered through downtown LA—which as you may or may not know, ironically resembles Escape From LA in some parts—in search of nouveaux relocated club, The Smell. After my long and arduous journey, the anticipated fruits of my labor were yanked from right under my nose: The Mae Shi decided not to play at the last minute because somebody’s mom was in the hospital. Okay, okay. Sad and fair enough.
I began an e-mail rapport with the impresarios of Terrorbird, my new boyfriend. The long distance relationship was not as tough as they say. Terrorbird sent me posters of itself and various trinkets of affection to apologize for the no-show. So, you can imagine how pleased I was when the date was set for lover boy to come to my hometown a full year later.
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Sorry to say that I stayed away for the opening act, The Pope, because the pounding on my temples from squirming wisdom teeth rendered me a temporary hater of noise.
About 20 minutes after I hid from the openers in an adjacent club, The Tube, I got a text message that I was already missing TMS! I forgot that 15-minute sets exist in some venues and not just basements. I raced over to Food Hole and elbowed the little kids to wedge my-taller-self to the front.
I was filled with total joy-crack as they bashed out old familiars as well as two new jams that sounded incredible and catchy the first time around (similar to “Vampire”). Ezra (vocalist) pretty much crouched over his mic the whole time and his prepubescent screaming sounded the exact same as on the album: Sooooo good. For that matter, the whole sound was analogous to their recorded songs. Jeff Byron (keys, guitar, vocals) jumped around like a good intentioned monkey and dove into the sea of crowd with a puerile smile on his face. Actually, if I remember correctly, he was the only one smiling and the rest were wearing six weeks of tour on their expressions—like a bad hangover type look. Corey (drums) threw his peddle all the way to the back of the room (where, unbeknownst to him, nobody happened to be standing at that particular moment). Then, to the misfortune of us all, they decided that, after just 20 minutes of show, the PA broke. (Which it didn’t, according to 1) Bennett the soundman 2) Every body else.)
The kids didn’t seem disappointed, like “yeah, that’s rock’n’roll, dude” while I stared on in disbelief. They happily scuffled out of the venue while I was brainstorming how to put the fire out that was coming out of my eyes. Last time I felt that angry was when Zero 7 delivered a whopping 30 minutes of show at the Roseland, preceded by my purchase of a $17 ticket. It doesn’t matter to me how punk or DIY the fantasy-fun-fun world a band lives in is, the parental allowance the kids saved-up to go to the show/the gas the parents purchased to get them there/and the Iraqi children that had their arms blown off to get the gas into the parents’ mini van…is very real. That’s reality man!
So, while I feel the warm stream of anticipation running down my leg just thinking about the next album, I have broken up with Terrorbird. It’s hard to separate our two dates gone sour from all the other aspects of our meaningful relationship. Perhaps I’ll just stick to a long distance relationship with the next piece of plastic that steals my heart.
Posted by Jenna at 05:04 PM | Comments (1)