Feist at Radio City Music Hall

Under the warm smoldering embers of orange light of Radio City Music Hall, with the soft tactile feel of its red velvet chairs beneath my strumming fingers, I rocked slowly back and forth to the the lullaby hymns of Feist. My belly was warm and full with wine, food, and laughter shared with my oldest friend.

We were 5 rows away from the stage- the figures of the small army of Feist's orchestra were close to life size, a welcome change from the birds eye view of ant sized musicians I am normally granted at Radio City.  The good feelings were vibrating throughout the cavernous hall, a few hundred of Feist's army of fans before me, while behind me miles of avid fans all danced and smiled along. The relaxed amusement and ease of the audience was contagious and welcome. I basked in the comforting warmth of the hall and its habitants, like it was a cave filled with the light of a summer day. The sounds of violins, singers, numerous drums, and acoustic guitar all layered into a harmonious string of thread. This aural string of thread was then woven into a fabric, a beautiful tapestry of sound which undulated in the melodic breeze of Feist's feathery voice.

Awesome Photo Courtesy @ShapAttack

I found myself swaying side to side like an underwater plant to the beat of the music. It was a lullaby dance that kept me centered and comfortable, a feeling that is hard to give up when you manage to find it in New York City.

Luckily, no one seemed to want to let that feeling go, not even Feist. There was even a passing moment where she pleasantly whispered into the mic that as the show came to a close, she'd turn into an arc of light above the music hall and shine for all of New York to see in the pale of the moon. We all decided to join her as the set finally reached its closing tune. We all became rays, rays of feisty sunshine with wide moonbeam grins.

(whoops, we were late!) 

A Commotion 

Undiscovered First 

The Circle Married The Line 

How Come You Never Go There 

Mushaboom 

So Sorry 

My Moon My Man 

I Feel It All 

Graveyard 

Anti-Pioneer 

The Bad In Each Other 

Comfort Me 

Caught A Long Wind 

Get It Wrong, Get It Right

Encore:

The Limit to Your Love 

Pine Moon 

Sealion (Nina Simone cover)

Let It Die

Encore 2:

Intuition 

BlackBoard Eats Presents: Beacon Restaurant Pre-Feist FEAST

Jack White at Webster Hall

Have you ever been to a concert, and thought to yourself, "Whoa. This feels like music history is being made"? Some day people will ask me, and I get to say, "Yeah, I was there". Jack White at Webster Hall, and me, six people deep from the stage, looking up and smiling, dancing, throwing my hair around, and pumping my fists in the air to the beat of the drums. It felt like an ultimate moment, one that I will have with me for the rest of my life, I shall relish it, for sure. There was a lot of anticipation leading up to the moment of deliberation for this concert. People waited in line for hours, hours longer than I, just to catch a glimpse of the man known as Jack White.

There were some tense moments, particularly when the astoundingly disorganized Webster Hall staff thought it would be a good idea to shuffle people into the venue bar to wait out another hour. The once easy to discern front of the line became blurred, and suddenly people who were waiting 5 hours were behind people who just happened to show up minutes ago. Frustrated and angry, the devotees of the front line began a verbal tirade on any new face that appeared. There was one angry older man who began shouting things like "I WILL CLEAR THE ROOM" and "DO NOT BREAK THE LINE!", which, of course moved me to start quoting Lord of the Rings, Gandalf style with "YE SHALL NOT PASS!" and stomping my foot. This, luckily broke the tension, and reminded us all that we are all Jack White fans here, and should be friends.


After hours of waiting, and repeated instructions about NOT taking video or photography, they let us into the main stage area of Webster Hall. Then we waited so more. Then an impressive looking trio of black clad Lydia Dietzs  known as the Black Bells came out and performed a charming little set full of pretty sick guitar riffs and rockin' tunes. Hot goth women who can WAIL on their instruments? Sign me up. Then we waited some more. Then they played short films of Jack White and Gary Oldman that only the VIP folk could see and hear. Then all sound cut, and the tension mounted to its ultimate climax of the evening, as the show FINALLY began.


There was an immediate frenzied eruption of sound at the sight of the eccentric man known as Jack White casually walked onto the stage. In his robin egg blue suit, his limp black hair falling in wiry strands across his pale face, flanked by The Peacocks- his band of all female beauty queens who can rock the shit out if their instruments (noticing a pattern here?) a smile creeped up on his face for only for an instant as the first recognizable notes of "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" began to play. The floor began to buckle at the weight of 1000 people stomping and jumping. It was utter chaos, pandemonium, and a hell of a lot of fun. Jack played a fair mix of his newest work from his solo album "Blunderbuss" as well as a healthy mix of White Stripes, Raconteurs, and Dead Weather, along with some covers. It was interesting to hear Stripes covers expanded with a full band behind Jack, but... you couldn't help miss the simplicity of the two-piece unit. Luckily, the nostalgic longing was short lived once I heard the expanded sound of "I'm Slowly Turning Into You" and "Seven Nation Army".

The show was split up into two sets, one set performed with The Peacocks, the second with his band of men, Los Buzzardos. There was even an intermission with a young woman with red hair and a sky blue baby doll dress holding up humorous signs that read "Elvis has left the building, but Jack White hasn't!" and "Jack's home phone number is..." (which I called, and it is indeed the number to Third Man Records). It kept morale up to have the lovely dame there as they switched up the instruments. It also gave way to a second wave of anticipatory tension and another satisfied release as Jack White opened the second set with the explosive track "Sixteen Salines".

His sound has evolved, for sure, and each evolution is inspiring, and has somehow managed to not grow stale, tired, or bored. It is an amazing progression to witness, and I look forward to see where he is heading musically. I feel lucky to have been there, and to have been able to see and hear one of my generation's only true rock stars perform.


The rest, they say, is history... and available to view on YouTube.  

Jack White with The Peacocks:

Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground (The White Stripes song)
Missing Pieces
Freedom At 21
Love Interruption
Hotel Yorba (The White Stripes song)
Two Against One (Rome cover)
Top Yourself (The Raconteurs song)
I'm Slowly Turning Into You (The White Stripes song)
Blue Blood Blues (The Dead Weather song) (With "Screwdriver" Riff Intro)
Take Me With You When You Go


Jack White with Los Buzzardos:
Sixteen Saltines
I Cut Like a Buffalo (The Dead Weather song)
Weep Themselves to Sleep
Trash Tongue Talker
You Know That I Know (Hank Williams cover)
We're Going to be Friends (The White Stripes song)
Hypocritical Kiss
Hello Operator (The White Stripes song)
Carolina Drama (The Raconteurs song)
Catch Hell Blues (Fragment) (The White Stripes song)
Seven Nation Army (The White Stripes song)
Goodnight Irene (Leadbelly cover)

Rasputina at The BKLYN Knitting Factory 04/14/12

A passive gasp of recognition lept out of my mouth as the first thunderous notes of Trenchmouth began. It's been some years since I've heard this song played, and I took it as a good sign for the state of the rest of the show. A good sign it was indeed. I've not seen my favorite group of cellists since October, where weird wet wintry weather unleashed its wrath upon Manhatten and spoiled my Halloween fun with snow and sleet. All that bad stormy juju had resulted in a VERY delayed Rasputina, which then in turn produced a shortened set list, and lastly, and perhaps most saldy, a bleeding inky mess of an Indian headdress. This show at the Brooklyn Knitting Factory, as Melora, Daniel, and Dawn tore through the set, seemed to me was an exceptional way to apologize for mother nature's misgivings that fateful October night.

Looking particularly svelte and attractive, Melora had locks of lavender tinted waves flowing out from her head with Mucha-Esque flowers adorning the sides of her face. Her knit top only slightly masked the lower curvature of a rather flattering hip corset completed with a pair of lovely and particularly frilly bloomers. Daniel, handsome as ever wore butterfly wing makeup in tints of cerulean blue and a rather dashing hat with skeletal accoutrements nestled delicately in his billowing mass of hair. His open collared shirt was cinched with a pin striped man-corset, with his camo-socks and dapper brown shoes tapping in time with the cello. Dawn stood out with a crown of flowers, pig tails, and streaks of her of blue and black bangs framing out her heart shaped face. She also wore a golden corset with a delicate white lacey top beneath. I focus on their dress because it made me nostalgic for the days when I would go to a Rasputina show dressed to the nines, with flowing fabrics and lace, and a cinched waist.

The crowd only further deepened my misty eyed reminiscing as a good portion of them were dressed in period clothing and other outlandish getups that I haven't seen in quite an age as well. It makes me want to dust off my doll shoes and red flower corset, for sure. I'd like to hope and think that Rasputina and I have been around so long that we have finally come back around in the carousels of fashion to an age where dressing up for a concert is back in vogue (wouldn't that be grand?) BUT, I digress, my apologies.

Everyone was absolutely beautiful that night. Even better, the way Rasputina and their audience looked paled in comparison to the way they performed. They were burning the place DOWN, one passionate harmonious pluck of the chord at a time! I swear, I saw smoke rising from their bows as Melora and Daniel dragged them fervently across their cello's strings... strings that seemed to positively tremble with glee just to be played. Their was an ecstatic frenzy to their playing that night, and for the first time in quite a while, I could feel the joy in the room flowing out from the musicians on the stage. Melora even cracked a smile, delicate as baby's breath. Further proof of the positivity came when drunkards at the rear bar were becoming cantankerously loud during a beautifully arranged and quiet performance of "Secret Message". Melora looked over from her spot on the stage and simply shouted the ever effective "Shut up!" which surprisingly WORKED. Despite this hiccup  it didn't seem to kill the good nature of the room. The set list was a delicately balanced menu of olde and neue. This was definitely one of the best Rasputina shows I have been to in a long while, and as always I eagerly await the next opportunity to see them- maybe next time I'll dust off the waist cincher.

The Spectacular Setlist:

Trenchmouth

Humankind as a Sailor

1816, the year without a Summer

Holocaust of Giants

Sweet Sister Temperance

Identity Tokens

Secret Message

Momma was an Opium Smoker

Two Miss Levens

Any Old Actress

I Want You to Want Me

Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works

High on Life

In Old Yellowcake

Retinue of moons/Infidel is Me

Encore:

The New Zero

Rats

Hunters Kiss

Fiona Apple at the Music Hall of Williamsburg

She is still petite and she is still rail thin, only now her lithe form is outfitted with demure musculature. Her eyes still carry that glimmer of crazed knowledge beyond her years, but Fiona Apple is older now. Her rage is deeper rooted and far more believable as a 34-year-old than it ever was as an 18-year-old. Through the anger you can still sense the aching fragility of her character. I can't fathom functioning well enough to balance on a wire between rage and fragility. It is one circus performance I definitely don't feel confident to perform, but Fiona Apple knows the act well, and years away from the stage hasn't hindered her ability to perform at all.

It's been a while since her devoted following has heard or seen anything from their sullen girl, and it showed in their mood while waiting for her to get on stage. It felt as if I was swimming in a tank filled with starved piranhas. By some miracle of god I managed to procure a spot directly in front of Fiona's piano at the left side of the stage. The women around me were pleasant enough, but if you were over a certain height, you were going to get your ankles chewed off. I overheard one girl shriek desperately to a man who stood in front of her, "I've been waiting for this for 10 years, please don't spoil it by blocking my view!" I couldn't blame her, that's exactly how I felt. When Fiona finally emerged from the back, it was as if everyone exhaled at the same moment. An epic sense of relief washed over us at the sight of our angry siren standing above us on the mic, shyly talking about her dog, and how we need to be quiet and respectful to musicians when they're performing. To be fair, we deserved the criticism, but having an opening act when you've been M.I.A. for years is a bad idea.

The show was a hopeful taste of what's to come. We got a hefty sampling of new material, including my particular new favorite track of promise "Anything We Want" it was a peppy blend of fun and dramatic, a Fionian nuance that's sparked and flourished beautifully over the last few years. "Valentine" seems like the piano anthem lost "grrls" of the nineties will be blasting in their iPod earbuds while they sip their coffees during their commute to work- which (depending on how you perceive that sentence) isn't necessarily a bad thing. "Every Single Night" had a very modern feel to it, and appeared to me as the most sophisticated form of Fiona's musical evolution to date. It makes me even more anxious to grab a copy of her new album "Idler Wheel" as soon as it's released. We got a fairly mixed set list of all her albums- personally I could've used A LOT more from Extraordinary Machine, but this is an instance where the cliché "beggars can't be choosers" comes to mind. 

Actually, the way the show panned out, I'd say that was the catch phrase of the EVENING. Given the fact that at the end of her single encore ditty we all stood and stared famished and begging for more. Despite our tireless efforts, which included multiple rounds of applause, foot stomping, cat calling, chanting, and hooting that went on for well over 20 minutes, not a singular extra scrap of a note was played. The house lights flew up and suddenly I was sent out into the chilled vernal night, with only fragments of what had just happened echoing in my ears.

Welcome Back, Fiona, please don't keep us waiting too long.

Set List:

Fast as You Can

On the Bound 

Paper Bag 

A Mistake

New song "Anything We Want"

New Song "Valentine"

Sleep to Dream

Extraordinary Machine 

New Song "Every Single Night"

Carrion

Criminal

–––––––––––––––––––––

Encore song: "Only You"?

I haven't sent a text message post in a very long time, in the age of smart phones and portable doodads it seems silly to send a text blog post anymore. Yet, as I sit here on this bus barreling southward towards Washington DC it dawned in me that it's been a long while since I've written.

It's not because I haven't had anything to write. 2011 went out with an explosive force of energy like I've never experienced before. I saw the Cure at the Beacon Theatre, I went to the Czech Republic, and, I received the greatest gift I've ever had the honor and privilege to receive, a diamond ring from the love of my life.

2012 began quietly, with a content smile on my face, then a sudden jolt and frenzy of activity l had me summersault in merriment - I got a fancy new studio with my team to design in, I had brunch with one of my favorite musicians of all time (seriously, I'm still reeling) which inadvertently leaves me short one copy of Brumalia (you owe me a copy mr. you know who you are! I am all smiles as I say this), I wept at Madame Butterfly, then I saw Miss Piggy in her wedding dress ala Muppets take Manhattan, followed up by Zola Jesus at Webster Hall. That was just January and February.

Now it's March and here I am on a bus, eagerly awaiting my arrival at one of my oldest friends doorsteps to take in some smiles and hopefully the sight of cherry blossoms in our Nation's capital. Next week I am seeing Fiona Apple.

With all this good stuff having happened, happening, and about to happen... How is it that I haven't written? Well, with all the good life gives you, there must be a balance with the bad. It's been a personally tumultuous time for me, physically and emotionally speaking. Admitting weakness has never been a strong point for me, and even just writing that sentence has me hesitating to continue, but I'm trying to break a spell, undo a hex, lift a curse, uncork myself and my ability to create and be creative.

I want to be myself again.

So, maybe this is a start of my blogging again, or an apology to myself for the way I've been avoiding my own passions- I don't know. I just know that life despite its demented curve balls doused in gasoline... Is predominantly good and needs to be celebrated more often by me... And you too.

Thanks for reading.

Rasputina: Highline Ballroom 10/29/11

Something happened this evening that in my 10 years of attending Rasputina shows, has never happened before...

They were late.

They were INCREDIBLY late. Thankfully, I'm a sociable person and got to meet very friendly and talkative people that helped pass the time rather beautifully. Unfortunately, because they were late, we got an abbreviated show.

There was a buzz in the crowd, you could feel the impatience elevating like heat. The demand for waitresses to fill patrons cups increased as the minutes waiting stretched on. We all kept looking over at the nude stage with eager embarrassment. We were all here for a show after all. Then a second event occurred that I'd never witnessed at a Rasputina show. A sudden stirred frenzy of activity began with a loud THUMP as equipment was hurled onto the stage by a roadie. An epic swarm of people began flying all over the place. Amps, pedals, a simple drum kit, and two large black cello cases were brought out. Then Daniel DeJesus stepped out and began tuning and prepping the cellos. All the clever mystery of their stage performance was revealed in the ragtag soundcheck. The quilts weren't even laid out!
 

Then a clearly stressed Melora stepped out in a pale lavender corset with a coordinating shredded lace lavender skirt, and a blue and white striped silk top that she wore only the sleeves of- the rest buttoned and worn across her back like a cape. One peekaboo glance at her legs and feet revealed a shock of bright cyan and dark blue vertical striped stockings with platform stiletto aquamarine pumps. She turned to us let out a strained smile and curtsied as the audience mildly applauded. Lead cello soundcheck let to a brief acapella rendition of "In Old Yellowcake" which, frankly, tickled me. An apology was given to the crowd. Apparently her home in Hudson Valley which normally only takes an hour or two to get to New York City from, instead took them TEN HOURS. That's what happens when it SNOWS in October, I suppose.

Melora is a professional, no two ways about it- she runs a tight and efficient ship- they plowed through an impressive and dynamic set that still maintained Rasputina's core outlandish stylings. Honestly, it boils down to the expression, "it was short an sweet." While I was disappointed that we didn't get more tunes, I've seen them enough times to not let it affect my love affair with them.

What was very nice to see was the mutual affectionate glances passed between Daniel, Dawn, and Melora. Their cohesion as a trio is becoming more seamless, and the music is benefitting greatly from it. They shared the same stress and trauma of their delay, and rather than being frustrated when they reached their instruments, they used the excess adrenalin to play wildly well. Eleven songs, all packing a punch were brought to the cabaret style tables. I hope it's not too long until I see them again, maybe with some new songs? Preferably when the weather is better.

The Shortest Rasputina Setlist I've ever seen, but it was still good...

Hunter's Kiss

1816, was the year without a Summer

Holocaust of Giants

Secret Message

Sweet Sister Temperance

Identity Tokens

Momma was an Opium Smoker

Transylvanian Concubine

Any Old Actress

Saline

Retinue of Moons/Infidel is Me

Oh, did I mention I was dressed as a Native American CHIEFT-RESS?!